weeds by the moon

an almanac for the pandemic, and some reflections for the White House Garden

a reflection by Rachel Pimm

A second, a minute, an hour, is too little time, measured in units of hypercapitalism

A solar day can be too short or long, too good or bad, be a write off

A week is a cultural fiction producing an anxiety of false productivities and rests

A month is a rougher measurement during which I can truly try, fail, try again.

A year is long enough to see things change

Another year is long enough to start a pattern

Happy two years to the start of my non-residency.

When does a year start and when does it finish? Perhaps it starts afresh at every moment, perhaps it never gets started. I’m writing this too late for ‘happy new year! 2022!’ which I never subscribed to anyway, too late also now for the new lunar year. My typical nonschedule, another setback in a project borne of delay. To conclude two whole solar cycles since I began this residency, this residency which never took place. Two luni-solar cycles as amorphous as time itself in the pandemic, even the seasons are out of time. Two opposing things can be true. I haven’t made any work for this residency and I haven’t stopped working on this residency. It’s been exhausting and refreshing. Nobody knows what I’ve been up to and everyone knows this is all I’ve been up to. I have measured time in no particular order in this era and I have failed to measure time. I recall it only through periodic encounters with organisms and celestial bodies.

I had a plan.

I wrote 4 letters with seeds enclosed- a remote growing garden. Each less structured than the last.

you can read them here, here, here, and here.

I wrote a bad text for a publication that never existed. You can read it here.

I planted and harvested various flax patches.

I noted some weeds in the garden.

I collected books to start a herbal library.

I photographed the plants I learnt, and made a diagram, an almanac, weeds by the moon.

I animated my almanac, made it a lunar clock. A silent film to observe time passing.

I leave it all here in the commons of the internet, alongside the instagram trails

As a parting gift, and to put a mark in time, I’d like to share with you some things you can prepare, and some things you can also not-prepare. Each one a public workshop that never was, alongside a hundred and fifteen or so more yet, all of which will cost you nothing in money, only in time- either by the fleeting moment of observation, or by the slow time of gathering, processing, cooking, eating and sharing, by the moon. Each promises to share with you my favourite private moments, flashes of life in the slurry of seasons, ones I know I will wait for year after year, welcome in and repeat and gift to people I love, ones which will nourish and connect you to a cycle of life that cannot fail to uplift you. Ones that will both slow you down and also keep time moving even when nothing else is, when the day, week, year is otherwise bad. This menu will move you along. If you, and I, can notice or taste or even prepare something, roughly once a month, looking up at the moon to tell the time, or just whenever you can- that is doable, I tell myself. That is enough.

Identify and prepare the Luni-solar Menu

For starters, simply keep your eyes open when outside, if you find the plant, take a bite! Let the juices flood your taste buds! Ask yourself what does it remind you of? How would you describe it? Do you like it? What other flavours would it compliment? This is your wild food literacy and once you learn it you will never lose it.

Trust yourself and your body. If you’re unsure, even at all, find out more first. Things that are bitter or worse are warnings. Things that are sweet are invitations. If you notice something new growing, look at it, find out more, learn its habits. It might be trying to introduce itself. That’s how I meet new weeds mostly.

If something isn’t poisonous, it’s edible. Follow what you like.

Spit it out if you aren't sure!

Try it once, just a little of it, wait a little and if it’s good, try it again.

Intolerances will reveal themselves on the first attempt, allergies on the second.

The more you eat wild, the stronger your gut biome will get, but your stomach will never ‘learn’ to digest something it can’t.

Sadly, private property still exists and a thousand pound fine for a bunch of wild garlic isn’t worth it. Not everyone will get away with it. Especially anyone who isn’t a middle class cishetero able-bodied white man.

Sites of special interest are there to protect biodiversity. Anything you find just a few of in any location needs protecting not picking.

Looking and smelling is as good as having.

There’s little point taking more than you an eat that day.

Many things you’ll find were staples of the past.

Everything else is an experiment! Enjoy new flavours! Many don't compare to any cultivated foods, and all of these will cost you nothing, be on your doorstep and make the supermarket feel as off putting as it should be.

Luni-solar Menu

13 preparations and 13 non-preparations

for 13 moonths

violet flowers
cleavers, juiced

magnolia petals
seaweed salad of sea lettuce and sugar kelp

hedge garlic, wild garlic, garlic everything
chickweed and hairy bittercress pakoras, hogweed shoot tempura, nettle crisps

spruce tips
hop shoot green salad with tender yarrow, vetch, winter purslane, salad burnett, cow parsley

samphire and purslane
elderflower sun infusion

nasturtium flowers, leaves, seeds
fennel and dandelion blossom fritters

lime leaf
chicken of the woods nuggets, fat hen cakes

fig and damson
lavender and rose meringue mess, elderberry syrup

evening primrose buds
hedgerow ketchup