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| Sweet Annie, Artemisia vulgaris, annual mugwort |
Years ago on a fair fall day,
my sister-in-law and I wandered through a craft show in Grand Rapids with her
first baby. Throughout the park, dappled light shone on vendors’ tents under
old oaks and maples.
The spirit
of geniality triggered “nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina in the
morning.” Reruns of the Dick Van Dyke Show are prone to play in my mind in such
ideal conditions.
Nancy
stopped before a display of wreaths fashioned with summer’s harvest: grapevines,
lavender, gourds, and plants I couldn’t identify. Plump wreaths of fernlike
foliage and tiny yellow buds caught my eye. I leaned in for a whiff of a honeyed
scent new to my nose.
“Just
what I was looking for,” Nancy said.
“What
is this plant? It smells wonderful.”
“Sweet
Annie. I buy one every year because the fragrance fills the house.”
The selection
of Sweet Annie wreaths was plentiful and decorated plainly compared to the
others embellished with spiders, ghosts, and gourds. When a plant is that attractive
and aromatic, a modest bow will do.
I
bought one for my bare, new kitchen, took it home, and hung it on the wall under
a cabinet close to the sink.
I’d inhale
Sweet Annie and think of Nancy and our afternoon together, taking turns pushing
Becka in her stroller. In sequence, Nancy brought another daughter and a son
home where she grew vegetables and herbs.
My
wreath had long last served its purpose when I threw the dusty thing into the
fire pit.
Much
later, while weeding the fragrant quadrant in the herb garden of Seven Ponds
Nature Center, I found countless Sweet Annie seedlings and took one home for my
backyard gardens.
Nothing
could be finer than making my own wreath from Artemisia annua. However, the herb didn’t protect my roses from aphids
as other gardeners testify.
Of
the Asteraceae family, Sweet Annie is also known by other names, one being sweet
wormwood, meaning it gained popularity for expelling worms when used as a
tonic. However, most herbal sources state the use of wormwood’s absinthe, a
toxic substance, “may produce convulsions in large doses and should not be
taken.”
Another
name for Sweet Annie is annual mugwort, Artemisia
vulgaris. Now, this is enough to confuse an herbal student.
With
great expectations, I planted my seedling in the shade and watched it grow to
my height. Meanwhile, I learned Sweet Annie isn’t a good girl in the kitchen, so
use French tarragon instead, Artemisia
dracunculus.
With
all this botanical multiplicity, no wonder Sweet Annie went berserk in my
gardens. Thousands of seedlings sprung up in every crack and crevice the following
spring.
My
battle with Artemisia ensued three summers.
Dear
Reader, whoever Sweet Annie is botanically, wormwood or mugwort, she may pretty
and smell good, but don’t be deceived. The girl’s trouble.
Nothing
could be finer than to be rid of Artemisia in the morning.
I
hope Nancy knows.
