Catskills Comfrey

comfrey's allantoin promotes new cell growth,
supporting your own body's inclination to heal itself


The Perfect Colors of Harvest

I began growing calendula this season. It’s a yellow flower, quite prolific it turns out - and is one of the primary ‘supporters’ of comfrey in our new Arnica & Calendula ointment. I had never grown calendula before.

Do I grow it in raised beds? Do I simply throw the seeds or lay them out in ordered rows, with defined spacing? How do I know if they are healthy? And, when this writing arose, how do I know when to harvest the yellow flowers?

I was fortunate. The calendula grew easily and had many buds; a good sign, I had read. My wife was thrilled. She had envisioned the several raised beds at the far end of our ‘formal’ growing area to be easily visible, awash with yellow flowers acting as a broad border, several beds wide.

And that is how it happened. Now, late in the season, I found myself wondering “Are the flowers ready? Are they wide enough? Pick them today? Tomorrow?”. There were no obvious answers and googling was not fully clarifying.

I started picking and found the process rather peaceful. Walking through the several beds, each 12’ x 2’ wide - and full, full, full of brilliantly colored petals of yellow and orange - it became a daily ritual. It became a Zen thing, as I slowly walked and pinched off, into each hand, the top bud with the colorful petals. I had to focus and I looked forward, in high season, to the daily 20 minute ritual of picking the ready petals. There was no other thinking of worldly matters; just the simple pinching of buds as I selected those with that unmistakable, ‘perfect’ orange and yellow bloom of petals.

How beautiful these colors were, these yellows and oranges. As I picked each one and gathered them into a basket, the basket became filled with the most intense hues of perfect orange and yellow. If you had asked me to define the perfect hue of either yellow or orange, I would have said “Come while I harvest calendula and I will show you.”. It was so obvious.

And then it dawned on me. A simple epiphany. You harvest when the fruit, flower or leaf has the truest, healthiest color. Yes, it’s a subjective call. But nature makes it easy - and gives you brilliant colors to choose from when the fruit is ripe. It was easy to confirm this simple finding.

I also grow cherry tomatoes for a small income (very small) and because I love cherry tomatoes. It’s wonderful to see a large cluster of cherry tomatoes, like wine grapes - and thrill in their brilliant colors. The SunGolds give the purest gold when ripe; the Esterinas a soft, rich yellow; the SuperSweet100s a fire-engine red when healthy and ripe; and the Black Cherry, although not truly a ‘black’ tone, provided an unusual, full and deep darkish green to observe when they were ready for harvest. Inside, their meat was an unusual deep purple. Usually it’s the SunGold that grabs all the attention - and it was so again this year. But the unassuming Black Cherry got a surprising amount of rapturous attention this past season.

I sold all of the cherry tomatoes to a local restaurant, Peekamoose - and the staff would often comment on how beautiful the colors were when I brought 30 pints in each week: red, orange, yellow and ‘black’. It was an especially good tomato season this year, but short, maybe 6 or 7 weeks. But during that time, Peekamoose featured my tomatoes on their Appetizer menu. I had my seasonal moment upon the stage or, more aptly put, upon their menu, “Seth’s Cherry Tomatoes”.

But the biggie escaped me. It was the comfrey. And I knew it intuitively. All season I had been remarking to anyone who came over on the deep, pure green that the leaves exhibited. And the larger ones became engorged with this color. It was so obvious when to harvest at the most opportune moment.

In the Catskills, I can get about three harvests from a comfrey plant. The first harvest is the fullest, maybe late April/early May - and the plant is so full, you literally chop the entire plant down several inches above the ground. But as the season grows into a 2nd and 3rd harvest, the focus is simply to select the largest and, I found, the most richly green leaves from each plant. Here again, the perfect color green drew me to the plant and which leaves to harvest.

Conversely, there is a perverse expression of this if the color does not appear. I live in upstate NY, within the confines of the Catskills region. Rip Van Winkle supposedly hung out an hour from here and the Hudson River painters painted in one of the most beautiful areas of the Catskills nearby.

I’ve been here nearly 25 years now, in the midst of maple trees in every direction, for miles and miles. NY is the 2nd biggest producer of maple syrup, right behind Vermont. When the maples color, it is a spectacle. Doesn’t happen every year but when it does, I congratulate myself for living here.

But this year the colors didn’t really happen. Invariably, the colors are intense here the first week or two in October. You can book a room a year in advance and expect to see the colors. Not this year. Just didn’t happen. The leaves dropped, they were brownish, muted. Everyone agreed that it was an off-year.

And this judgement was rendered throughout the region simply by the lack of color. The intense reds, oranges, yellows and gold were non-existent. It was visually obvious the colors were not prime-time. My wife and I play Tree Judge when the leaf colors are happening, excitedly pointing out that beauty or another. The Tree Judges weren’t needed this year - gone for lack of perfect color. A somewhat perverse way to indicate a no-show.

Nature makes it simple - and provides the clues to a successful harvest. Yes, subjective, but somehow we know the perfect color that is being presented. It’s healthy; it’s pure. Put me in a room with 20 women, one of whom is pregnant - and I will pick out the woman who is with child. It’s the woman who has the peculiar, healthy glow in her skin. It’s subtle but it is there and obvious.

Nature puts this clear signal to best advantage. There’s always this perfect hue, the perfect tone that says ‘Pick me; I’m ready.’. This season’s harvest is completed, dried and stored. But I’ve got filed away, the pleasant expectation of harvesting calendula’s perfect yellows and oranges next year. It’s a perfect daily moment of walking relaxed with ‘no particular place to go’. I have yet to see arnica blooming. But I will next year. I’m certain, too, that arnica will present its own perfect yellow. And I will know exactly when to harvest it without having to google it.


Perseverance Furthers

Perseverance furthers. It’s a common refrain in the I Ching, repeated often. And with good intent. It’s meaning appears obvious. You have to make an effort if your venture is going to be successful.

I wrote in an earlier blog another requisite for a successful outcome is to actually enjoy what you are doing. “If something’s not right, it’s wrong.” [courtesy Bob Dylan]. For the easiest route to success, you have to like what you do and offer genuine persistence in attaining that goal. Don’t expect it to come easy. But expect it to come.

I’ve been greatly encouraged by the genuine, affirmative response I’ve received to the efforts of my own recent ‘perseverance’. “It’s a new day dawning.” [courtesy Jackie Lomax]. I’ve now got the two new flavors, Chili Pepper and Arnica & Calendula, in addition to the Original as a direct result of the efforts expended these past two years - and the good support of folks who actually have some real skin in the game and have bought Catskills Comfrey.

The immediate response by the stores who’ve seen the new look are enthusiastic. I have two pharmacies, Village Apothecary and WellnessRX Pharmacy, representing Catskills Comfrey in their attached wellness centers - and their more ‘official’ applause is especially gratifying, especially in regards to the Chili Pepper flavor where good research suggests the benefits of capsaicin in reducing discomfort from neuropathy. This response encourages more perseverance.

Every effort requires perseverance, however short the moment in time needed to see the job successfully completed. Moments can be short, a passing flirt in Rende, Sumba, or for a lifetime when you marry. Each of these moments require the same liking and the same constant perseverance throughout the life of the moment to make it happen the way you want.

The comfrey plant is amazingly persistent. It simply grows and does it well. I had the first comfrey harvest this past May. Cut the comfrey plants down to s the ground. Gave them a shovelful of aged horse manure - and are they back with vigor! They persevere fully in what they do - and by their visually rich, deep green leaves, like growing here.

The next phase of perseverance has been clearing this new 30’ x 60’ patch in our pasture. Two rocks for every dirt, they say in the Catskills. It’s true. And I’m getting the piles of rock and sod to prove it.

This has become a symbiotic relationship between the comfrey and me. It’s a slow grower - and persistent once started. Now I have to get another 200+ new comfrey plants or roots in that patch this summer. Nearly 75 are there now, 150 roots are growing in a ‘start’ garden and another 50 plants are on the way.

I know that once the plants are set in this rich Catskills soil, the plants will flourish. But the hard work will have been done; now it becomes a longer moment of simply harvesting, drying, crushing the comfrey and preparing it for the infusion process. The hard work has been done. When you’re 80, you want to harvest, not sow.

Whether it's a focus on my own lifestyle or bringing this health-laden product to the public's door, it's a healthy pursuit, naturally. Perseverance furthers.


It’s Springtime - The Red-Winged Blackbird is Here

Here it is, mid-February - and there’s no snow on the ground. I have a ¼ mile trail that loops the upper pasture - and I do a near-daily walk of four laps to do a mile (18 ½ minutes, if you’re wondering) - and one ‘edge’ is adjacent to the large, raised beds of comfrey. If you are using Catskills Comfrey, the dried leaves came from these plants.

I often throw a “let’s grow!” greeting to the comfrey as I pass by - they hear me through the snow cover. But this week, the snow had melted and the plants, covered with just the mulch and manure I had laid on them last fall, were exposed. Let’s take a look, methinks. It’s mid-February; comfrey grows in the very hardy climes of Russia.

I kneel down at one plant, scrape away the mulch - nothing. Another plant, same result. But after a slight ‘excavation’ of the third plant’s cover, I see the fresh tip of a comfrey spear pushing up. The young comfrey shoots are very distinctive, like a small knife blade rolled, with an inwardly-flared tip. It's visual music to my eager eyes.

The nearly two-week binge of non-stop single-degree weather in early January had been tough. The groundhog report I had seen said six more weeks of winter. But then I gained minor hope when my friend, David, said that “Well, there were seven other groundhogs who called it the opposite way.”.

The groundhog prediction is always a bit dubious. But just today, an hour ago, David called back and excitedly asked, “Have you seen the red-winged blackbird? They’re over here now feeding.”. David lives in the next valley, not far as the red-winged blackbird flies. David’s been watching them for nearly 40 years now and their arrival is the sure Spring signal in the Catskills - and confirms the seven groundhogs were right.

There WAS something in the air. I had, in fact, this morning, completed my Fedco order for this season’s seeds. It had been there as a daily reminder on my Pixel 2 for the past two months. Hey, do this!

This order has the calenula and arnica flowers that I will grow this summer, along with the comfrey, as the ‘active’ ingredients for ACCtion, the trifecta of anti-inflammatory beneficials: arnica, calendula and comfrey.

But then I get an “all things must pass” reminder.

Remember, too, though, as spring circles forward again, be mindful of the now-passing winter - and those that finished their race. As in the birth of spring, there is the reckoning of harvest and completion in the winter.

A friend, John Gregg, died several weeks ago; I likened him to Hesse’s Siddhartha: he’d sit behind the counter in an old store in Andes NY - and be peaceful. I had known John for many years before I started Catskills Comfrey - and he responded favorably to the comfrey for his lower back pain, allowing him to more easily navigate the steep stairs from the upstairs in this old building to the shop below.

Paisley’s, John and Judy’s shop, was right there on Route 28 in Andes. It was easy to pull off when passing through - and offer up a “hello” and see if I could tease out a testimonial from him. John wrote a book about life in NYC - but I never could get him to write a testimonial. Did I need one? No - and I was glad that the comfrey had helped him.

The comfrey shoot assures me that as we have the persistent roots of the comfrey plant, roots that will not go away, we can live forward with the spirits, the thoughts of others, rooted forever in our own if we choose to let them in our garden and take root. It’s the amazing grace of life that the consequence of one’s spirit can become part of another’s - and make it healthier.

I'm looking forward to the new plantings of calenula and arnica flowers. They will take root, too, as John's spirit has placed small, but meaningful, roots in my own spirit - and grow to a healthy liaison with the existing comfrey. It's spring - and time to take ACCtion.


If Something's Not Right, It's Wrong

The title is courtesy of Bob Dylan from Blood on the Tracks: You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go - and it’s been a guiding light for my own life’s actions, starting as the guiding principle in the process of ‘‘getting straight’ I began nearly 50 years ago. How can I expect that anyone be enthused about what I’m doing if I’m not even enthused about it? I’ve always been reluctant to pursue an activity if it doesn’t make me want to leap out of bed in the morning. If something’s not right, its wrong … so why start out a journey with a limp?

I’ve been lucky throughout my life - and have jumped out of my bed for many different types of work in the past fifty years. And have they ever been varied!

I drilled for oil in the Java Sea off the coast of Indonesia as, perhaps, the youngest drilling engineer to ever run an offshore drilling rig - fun stuff 24/7 [I got the assignment when I told the oil company I would call them when I didn't know what I was doing.]; I’ve searched for rare, antique textiles in the remote islands of Indonesia - and pieces I’ve found in the field now reside in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, other major museums and important private collections; I devised a unique physical-gold investment program that supported the manufacturing of handmade, 22KT gold jewelry in Indonesia; and, technically, built websites, mobile applications and professionally designed relational databases that organize complex data systems across an entire enterprise.

A lot of variety in my life’s race - and each pursued with enthusiasm and a clear sense of direction and responsibility. And now, I’m focusing this same sense of purpose and focus on comfrey, in a concerted effort to produce a clean and green, organic product that offers relief to myriad skin conditions.

The more I delve into comfrey, the more I become convinced that I’m on the right track. My heart is telling me to do this; I know it won’t make me a fortune. But I’m doing it. Too many folks, for too many conditions, are saying, in effect, “This stuff works.”. It provides relief to the discomfort imposed by skin inflammation, as well as subdermal conditions of Trigger Finger, pulled muscles, tendons and ligaments, and hastening the healing of broken bones and sprains. It's all happening in the allantoin.

And that, coupled with my personal need to simply feel passionate about something, is driving this endeavor. I knew I was retiring soon. I wanted to be outdoors where the sun offered a good vista for my eyes, rather than staring at a computer inside the house. And, too, I knew that gardening would provide a LOT of healthy, ongoing physical movement throughout the day. It was true, too, that I wanted to build an additional income stream to supplement our savings - and to a definite degree, a successful outcome would be a positive experience. All this, along with my own unexplainable feelings for comfrey, brought comfrey to the fore - and a commitment. I’ve been encouraged by all the good that has occurred as I continue down this trail.

This embrace of comfrey has been most beneficial. The wholesale response has been encouraging, which allows me to get out and meet new folks - and drive in ever-widening radii (throughout beautiful Delaware County) to find viable outlets. It’s especially gratifying when a store re-orders because that means folks are buying - and for me, the more hands (literally) involved, the better for Catskills Comfrey’s prospects.

This encouragement fosters more creative ideas. Already, I’m planning on producing a new version next year that will be comfrey ’on steroids’ [Yes, I know, a terrible metaphor.]: comfrey with arnica and calendula. I want to position Catskills Comfrey as THE skin conditioner, the salve to have, the balm that can calm the inflammation under your skin, the ‘right on target, so direct’ way to mend your skin. The unspoken new, fun challenge next year is that I have to grow both the arnica and calendula, flowers I’ve never grown - and the rewards of watching plants grow from a seed remains a wondrous feeling fueled with a heavy deposit of anticipation.

Applause at anytime in one’s life is welcome. For me right now, the literal growing success of Catskills Comfrey is a wonderful kind of applause - and offers me all the satisfaction and confirmation to continue following my heart.


It was the Best of Times, It was the (less than) Best of Times

As I get older, I have noticed a mellowing of my attitude to issues that affect me daily. I’ve learned at my age (70), you become very aware of what defines each day and what provides meaning, benefit and pleasure in the daily actions I undertake.

I wrestled with the title for this blog. I was going to name it The Sorrowful Farmer in honor of a young, rail-thin farmer we met early on in our days (ca late 1990s) at the Round Barn, one of the largest and longest-running farmers markets in the area. I now cannot even remember his name - but he was very affable but with his long beard, his occasional tales of woe re farming left me with a sense that his daily life as a farmer was not as successful as he had wanted it to be. I heard that he later died - but the whole-wheat flour I bought from him lives on in my freezer.

So why the pessimism?

The cherry tomatoes I planted this year didn’t happen as anticipated - the profusion of rich SunGolds on the vine just didn’t occur. The sun wasn’t out enough, the days were cool and the rains frequent, leaving me with beautiful green fruit that stimply appeared to stall on the vine and not ripen. And I had one hundred plants in the ground! And to top it off, the deer discovered the plants, nibbling away at the lower fruit, literally halving my available crop. Yes, I was caught off guard re fencing but the deer had not bothered the four ‘test’ beds I had planted last year - my wife felt the bigger mass of plants attracted them. I DID learn, though, that of the ten varieties I planted, there are (five) various reasons why I won’t replant them next year.

But, to balance all that, the comfrey thrived under these same conditions. It was wonderful to watch the phenomenal weekly growth of rich, lush comfrey leaves, some measuring 2’ in length. I had weekly harvests of comfrey leaves throughout the summer and into fall. And in the end, as I made my last comfrey harvest, in mid-September, I was able to accurately determine what my approximate comfrey yield could be.

And I successfully installed a three-barrel irrigation system for both the cherry tomatoes and comfrey, making watering both more convenient and consistent. And all this supporting a gravity-fed system with a natural spring located nearly ½ mile higher up the mountain. The stream water is potable - and makes our entire gardening system possible. This, to me, is a true blessing.

The ongoing summer and fall days have been incredible: warm enough to still be going barefoot and lying in the hammock as the sun sets. My wife and I are both happy - and delight in the monarch butterflies alighting on the many, many zinnias we planted this year in front of the house

And, I suppose, to top it off, the maple leaves have begun to color, just when we had declared this fall’s leaf ‘peeping’ season a bust. The colors in the Catskills, when they happen, are magnificent and a joy to behold. Last year, my wife’s sister, an avid hiker, came out from San Francisco. She caught last year’s colors perfectly and was so blown away, that she vowed to return.

And she did this year, bringing 20+ hiking friends from the San Francisco area. She arrived a week earlier than her group and although the sun was out and the preliminary hikes we took were breath-taking, the colors weren’t really happening, like Annie and I knew they could do if inspired.

But two days before the group arrived, the colors began changing - and as we drove around Delaware County, in pursuit of hikes or a short drive to enjoy the colors, the constant litany of “oooohhhh”, “look at that tree” or “look, over there” became constant.

Yes, it’s another beautiful day in the Catskills.


It’s Another Beautiful Day in the Catskills

I’m committed to growing comfrey, providing an easily-applied topical balm for relief from myriad skin conditions and subdermal inflammation, eg, Trigger Finger symptoms, arthritis, bug bites, bee stings, sunburn, broken bones and sprains, acne.

I’m as committed, too, to growing the best cherry tomatoes in the local area. I’ve planted nearly 100 cherry tomato plants, consisting of ten different varieties of this particular type of sweet tomato … SunGold, Esterina, Black Cherry, Supersweet 100 and several more. Gold, red, yellow, white, black and blue colors: a veritable rainbow of fresh colors that encourage you to pick and eat as you walk the beds.

I depend on the Catskills environment. We have a small farm, nearly eight acres which, truth be told, can grow a LOT of cherry tomatoes and comfrey. I’m using very little of our available land but it keeps me busy, insuring the tomatoes are pruned, the comfrey harvested and dried and that I have a sufficient water supply. Tomatoes are notoriously thirsty plants.

Although we have a natural spring feeding our gardens, I knew that the addition of 100 tomato plants would be a literal drain on the available water supply. My engineering background came into good use by building a drip system for the tomatoes (12 beds, 2’ x 12’) and comfrey (4 beds, 4’ x 12’) - and, to deter the literal ‘drain’ on our active, natural water supply, powered by the water being stored in three 55-gallon drums.

When my wife objected to setting the barrels in the field near the raised beds as being visually unpleasant, I grumbled but then realized there was a serious advantage of locating the barrels ‘out of sight, out of mind’: The Catskills are NOT flat by any stretch of the imagination: small streams are everywhere and running at different inclines, presenting particular issues to control the water. In my former position as the DBA for the Watershed Agricultural Council, I learned that USDA farm planners were constantly challenged to keep the ‘clean water clean'.

When I stepped back and looked at the issue objectively, I realized that relocating the barrels ‘out of sight, out of mind’, I’d be gaining six additional feet of pressure to power the gravity-fed system by placing the barrel stand higher up the pasture and behind a large honeysuckle bush. A big benefit with no cost (other than 120' of garden hose to bring the water from the barrels down to the raised beds).

It was particularly gratifying that it worked the first time I opened the valve for the first time. So now instead of watering plants manually (and probably conveying tomato blight by ‘bouncing’ the water onto the leaves) for an hour or two twice a week, I open up a valve to fill the barrels (30 minutes) and then open another valve to water the plants (1.5 hours) evenly and cleanly. A great saving of time and an assurance that the water is now being delivered in a responsible, thorough manner to each individual comfrey and cherry tomato plant.

This is clean, drinkable water direct from the earth, gathered with virtually no carbon footprint. This is what the comfrey and tomatoes drink, along with the rain from our clean,pure Catskills air.

In my last blog, I was still uncertain whether my new comfrey plants would even germinate. I’m happy to report that virtually all of the 70 new comfrey plants have germinated - and showing their rich, green leaves. They are now actively being transplanted to their final growing location.

The initial tomato flowers are now appearing, I’ve had four comfrey harvests this year already - and we’re currently shipping Catskills Comfrey liniment with 2017 harvested material.

It's summertime now with warm, breezy days - and cooler nights. The water we drink is as pure as any you can find in the world. The air is clean, the night skies are, well, dark - and the Big Dipper is perfectly framed in the upstairs skylight above the bed for our AirBnB guests. The sun shines, the rain falls lightly and our spring flows 24/7/365. My wife and I are both still healthy and laughing at 70.

Yes, it’s another beautiful day in the Catskills.


Nothing’s Ever Certain Until the Check Clears the Bank

In my last position before I ‘retired’, I was the database administrator for the Watershed Agricultural Council. In this capacity, I became familiar with the myriad problems a farmer can face throughout a growing season. The streams are rising; will the farmers near the river get flooded? It hasn’t rained in three weeks; will the corn suffer? You can sense the anxiety among folks who depend on the earth’s cooperation when they sense the earth isn’t ‘right’. It’s essentially a case of “nothing’s ever certain until the check clears the bank”.

That’s the situation I now find myself. Now I’m the farmer. So what’s my anxiety? Every day, first thing in the morning on going outside, I go over to see if the seventy new comfrey rootings have broken the surface. Are they budding through? This is important issue to me - and my Catskills Comfrey’s future.

Yes, I already have a few growing and very healthy comfrey plants established. These plants are the basis of the production I have achieved to date - but you can’t be the next “Burt’s Bee of Comfrey” with a dozen plants. So I purchased new comfrey roots last fall, knowing that they’d be dormant while ‘wintering’ over in the bed I prepared for them AND that I would not be able to harvest any leaves from these new plants in the first year.

My thinking was that as I grew this business, my initial dozen plants would suffice this first year; after all, I wasn’t going to harvest anything from the new plants that are growing under the best of prepared-soil conditions. And, too, my current few sales and projected growth for 2017 could be filled from the dozen good plants I already have.

But are they growing? My established plants are doing fine, peeking through the ground with their slender, pointed slivers pushing straight up. It was actually exciting to me to be able to recognize the barest mention of the comfrey plant breaking through the ground, knowing it should be there. “There it is!”, I say, congratulating myself on the learned knowledge one can only get when you have something on the line or, in this case, in the ground.

I’m optimistic enough to realize that the first breakthrough of the seventy plants will happen; after all, they’re starting from basic roots planted 2” deep. The established plants are just now beginning to say “hello”; therefore, the plants starting fresh from roots can’t be faster than the already-planted comfrey.

I have faith and the optimism to know that at some point, the tide will turn, comfrey will become recognized - and I’m going to need the capacity the seventy new plants will offer. It’s not this year; but it will happen. I’m a farmer now; not a DBA. I can no longer count on the database to keep it straight; it’s up to just me - and the seventy comfrey plants starting a new, long life on my land.


The 'Aha' Moment

Why am I actually doing this? Why am I, at nearly 70 years of age, beginning a new business of growing comfrey and then infusing the dried comfrey into the final product, Catskills Comfrey? I knew, at 70, my technical career of designing databases was at an end. And after spending a year learning how to write smartPhone apps for Google and Android, I realized that there were LOTS of other programmers doing the same thing - and with much bigger budgets.

My eyes, too, were becoming less effective so did I want to spend what available time I do have left in front of a computer screen, under less than ideal conditions, where I knew I would never read clearly again with any convenience?

My wife, Annie, and I live in Delaware County within the region known as the Catskills. It’s beautiful up here (well, 8-9 months of the year - we’d rather be in Jamaica during the winter!): crystal clear water, pure air, dark night-time skies and ground that is ideal for gardening. I had been the DBA for the Watershed Agricultural Council and that, peripherally, allowed me to become more knowledgeable of agricultural practices.

Annie, though, was the big mover re gardening. She was the prime-mover in breathing life back into Dag Hammarskjold Plaza, a NYC Park located immediately in front of the UN. She remains the lead person in maintaining and directing the Katherine Hepburn Garden within the Park.

But it was up here where we literally put our roots down. We’ve been gardening for nearly the entire time we’ve been living here, nearly 20 years. Tomatoes, lettuces, spinach, beets, potatoes, arugula, chard, herbs … we barely bought any vegetables in the summer. The ground was receptive and we learned a lot.

My wife had studied herbology. Several years ago, she broke her pelvis on a bike accident in NYC. She had read that a comfrey-based poultice could relieve the pain and hasten the underlying bones to heal. She healed far faster than she ever expected - and credited the regular applications of the comfrey as a direct benefit.

My ‘aha’ came, in 2015, when I developed Trigger Finger symptoms; my fingers were exhibiting the ‘usual suspects’ of locking or spasms occurring, sometimes so bad that I’d literally have to pry my fingers open. The PA at my doctor’s office confirmed the self-diagnosis. “You can do massage, get an injection or, eventually, get surgery.”.

I’m not a big believer in pushing for injections - and a hand surgeon somewhat discouraged me from pursuing the cortisone-injection option, “Continue self-massage.”, he advised. I had been trying a poultice of sea-salts and vinegar to minimal benefit.

After reading of the numerous subdermal benefits of applying comfrey to achieve relief from the Trigger FInger symptoms, I decided to produce my own ‘medicine’ - and literally see if comfrey could help. I had time - and discomfort - on my hands, so why not? The process of infusing dried comfrey wasn’t hard; rather easy, in fact. I concocted a mix of mostly coconut oil, with olive oil added - and infused it with the dried comfrey we were already growing on the property.

In just days after beginning the topical application of the liniment, I began to notice relief: fewer contractions, much less intense, virtually no more 'lock and pry' issues. It was too obvious; I was doing no other type of treatment to overtly mitigate the symptoms.

Growing comfrey, I figured, would keep me outdoors, provide plenty of good movement and allow me to use my eyes under the best possible circumstances. It was also obvious that once the comfrey plants became established and planted [Note: In Spring 2017, we’re planting another 70 comfrey plants in raised beds.], they don’t really require a heavy load of maintenance of the growing plants; rather, the work is in the frequent harvests of the leaves throughout the growing season.

And now, when I receive reports that, eg, “...on the 2nd day, I began to experience relief.”, it’s all the more gratifying that I’m contributing some good to a specific person somewhere, offering inexpensive, clean and organic relief to an actual discomfort.

I'm in the ground for good reasons.


skin inflammation? this is the salve to have!