Chickweed

In the Miss Wild Edible contest, there are many runners up, but only one of these ladies has super star status.  Wearing the eternal crown and sash of Miss Wild Edible is Chickweed.  Chickweed's Latin name, Stellaria Media, means little star, in the midst.  She was born to wear the crown and sash.  Despite the biased judge, she's actually well qualified to be Miss Wild Edible.  Personality wise, she is the humblest of wild edibles, hanging low, around the ground in alleys and sidewalk cracks.  She's courageous, braving the cold of winter, jumping up every time the snow melts.  She's got charisma too, as the first wild green, heralding spring, lush and juicy.  And she's a good national representative.  I personally have snacked on her from New Orleans to Orcas Island.

           
She will be around in February, barring major snow accumulation.  Chickweed is always small, but especially so in February.  However, picking off the tops will give you more tops to pick off later.  I have not needed to venture any further than out my back door to find chickweed.  She loves shady, wet, and protected areas.   In my old alley, she grows around the water main, on a very old compost pile and under a hedge of lilacs.  In your days as an undereducated fool, you may have chucked her from your garden.  She would have been the one that was easy to uproot. 

           
Late spring, chickweed will be a 12" tall spindly mat of tan colored twine topped with incredibly green, little leaves and a constellation of small white asterisks.  Currently, the chickweed is about 4" tall.   Like myself, chickweed is Not a morning person, so her five, white, dual-lobed petals don't open until afternoons.  The leaves are the most encouraging green, ½" long usually, and shaped like shovels, but pointier at the ends.  There are two at a time from the same place on the stem.  With good eyesight, you can see one tiny, shifting line of hairs on the stem.

What to do with chickweed?  Eat the green tops by the bucket load, fresh.  There is a chamber of my heart dedicated to loving every moment I have spent eating chickweed.  It is the sweetest wild green I have ever tasted.  Add some wild to a tame leaf lettuce salad.  Temper the bitter greens that we'll gather later this year.  Munch as you hike.   You could also substitute it for spinach in a sauté, casserole or soup.  There is no need to dry or cook it, though some experts encourage this.

       
According Susun Weed (author of Healing Wise),  chickweed is very high in copper, iron, magnesium, manganese, silicon and zinc.  It is high in calcium, chlorophyll, phosphorus, potassium, protein, Vitamin A, and fat.  And it is a good source of Vitamin C, riboflavin, niacin, thiamine, and plant sodium. 

        
Certainly, we can be sure that the FDA has never investigated or verified the healing power of chickweed poultices.  However, Susun Weed advocates chickweed poultices be applied to every possible injury.  Anecdotally, I have used chickweed poultices to rapidly clear up physician-diagnosed pink-eye that would not respond to eye drops.  Here's how you make a chickweed poultice:  fill a small jar with chickweed.  Pour boiling water over it.  Pull the chickweed out shortly thereafter, place on a very clean, thin clothe.  When cool enough to handle, but still quite warm, place it on area of ailment until cool.  This whole process is rather hot.  Please be sure to not burn or scald anyone.  You could also drink the nutritious green water left in the jar.  Repeat it every few hours for success.

        
Warnings: Identify with 100% certainty. As it is low growing, you will want to beware of animal excretions.  I am careful to not pick chickweed growing near poisonous mushrooms. In Herbal Medications, D.G. Spoerke wonders if large amounts of chickweed infusion might have been responsible for a temporary paralysis.  He then assures us, "There is no recent evidence to indicate that chickweed presents a toxic hazard."

        
Therefore, it is my pleasure to crown her Miss Wild Edible!  Here she comes!  Waving her princess wave.  Down the red carpet.  Into your heart and belly.          

Peas and Butter O'DEATH

The English language wallows in a mire of obfuscation and fraudulence.  Knot only our are spellings laughably perverse, add homonyms, and mix with terms like Greenland, buttercups and sweet peas for a deadly cocktail of confusion.  With the whole world careening into this one language, global tragedies must ensue, mark my words!

In the ethos of "Think Globally, Act Locally,"  let's resolve this year to prevent global calamity by straitening out a few linguistic kinks in the local Wild Edible realm. As has become my New Year's tradition, I commence upon this newest addition with a study of Wild In-Edibles as a vital counterpoint to Wild Edible practice.     

Buttercups are Not made of butter.  English's "Buttercup" is the mangy mutt bastard of French's "Button d'or," (Golden Button) and Anglo-Saxon's "cop" (head).  Somewhere along this twisted family tree Buttercup meant "Golden Button Head,"  which sounds like something to choke on rather than a fattening dairy creation.  (Plants of the Southern Interior from Lone Pine).

Buttercups grow tall or short, creeping or upright, margarine gold or fresh butter mellow.  Their green leaves are usually deeply lobed into three, sometimes two, sections of often frilly points.  Their shiny, five-petaled simple flowers, cheery yellow cup'o'toxins, spring up early in the year. 

Do Not pat these upon your morning toast, for all buttercups will bring you are the blisters and burns of poisonous alkaloid compounds.  They do not taste like butter, but are so bitter that before ingesting too much of it we tend to notice that something is seriously amiss.  Reportedly, buttercups pose greatest risk to dozy-eyed cows.  However this does not bear out with personal experience, not because I am a cow, but because my first 15 years were shared with steers who Never ate the buttercups carpeting our field.

             

This hurtful and useless plant's legends are thickly spread across the globe.  The nearby Nlaka'pmx (now there's a language!) poisoned arrowheads with it.  Okanogan's warned children to not touch it.  (Plants of the Southern...)  The English believed the smell could drive one to madness.  Beggars, following buttercup's lead of deception, slathered themselves in its blistering juices to gain sympathy (hey, everybody's got to make a living!).  Roman scholar Pliny "noted" that buttercups induced maniacal laughter ending in death (Edible and Medicinal Plants of the Rockies by Linda Kershaw).  On May Day, Irish farmer's rubbed the flowers on cows' udders to increase milk production (or was that puss?).  Buttercups have also historically soothed the rheumatism, arthritis, and neuralgias of the desperate. 

Soon we will marvel at this bright flower's chutzpah as the Sagebrush Buttercup is among the first natives to shrug off the Palouse winter.  Despite your admiration, do not bring them home.  Do not drink from this cup.  Do not melt them upon the following Peas.

            

 The pea family creates confusion via appearance, classification, and nomenclature.  Some wild peas are edible, some are deadly poisonous.  In the Pea family are these poisonous relatives:  lupines, goldenbeans, locoweeds (no confusion there), timber milk-vetches (churned into buttercups, no doubt), pea-vines and American vetch.  This family grows garden-pea-like flowers giving way to pea pods which look like something to pop open and eat as impromptu trail-mix.  A more experienced Wild Eater could select peas that won't leave you vomiting or paralyzed.  But I will not take my slim chances.

            

Example: Timber milk-vetch, a pine-forest-loving perennial, upright, clumping, white or lilac pea-flowers, thin pods. This vetch's milk collects selenium, causing its digesters depression, diarrhea, balding, and heart and lung failure (AKA: death), molybdenum for poor growth, brittle bones and anemia, locoine alkaloids for locoism (which is apparently English for Spanish for Insanity) and last but not least, miserotoxin, a well christened poison causing either rapid or slow-acting deaths from nerve damage, brain bleeding and lack of breath (L. Kershaw). I do not believe you get to take your pick from the miserotoxin's bag of goodies.  As my young daughter says, "You get what you get and you don't make a fuss." 

            

 Above are several of our language's more unpalatable fibs.  If you do get served a nasty dish of Milk-vetch peas and buttercups in the 12 months looming ahead, don't make a fuss, and better luck next year.

Bellyaching aside, Sarajoy does love her native tongue.

POISON

Happy New Year!  Lets make a good New Year's Resolution together. 

In the past (perhaps as little as 12 months ago) I have made resolutions of improbable achievement.  Later, I tell myself that I didn't necessarily resolve to Do the splits, but resolved to contemplate them.  But this year, I am going to give you my own new and improved resolution, hoping these things bare no resemblance to birthday wishes which will not come true if you tell them.

I resolve to NOT eat any poisonous plants this year.

To aid in this serious endeavor, requiring all the resolve I can usually muster for these formulaic promises, let us look as some local plants of detriment.  We have already examined Indian hellebore, poison and water hemlocks, and snowberries.

This year, I begin with the most Goth plant ever; clusters of deep purple star flowers with gold stamen cones, slender vine, and deceptive, cheery red berries make Bittersweet Nightshade (Solanum dulcamara).  The dark green, purplish leaves (1-4") sometimes have extra "lobes" near the base.  When picked or crushed, Bittersweet nightshade exudes a horrific "green" smell, which should ward off any human predators.  This prolific vine chokes streams and plants with smothering mats. 

Screaming was the inarticulate yet appropriate way my mother responded when I handed her an enchanting bouquet of these flowers which had filled my young self with awe, adoration and some bewilderment at the stench.  Her response was based upon information. Mine was based upon appearances.

Birds eat the berries with impunity, spreading their seeds as nature intended.  But Bittersweet Nightshade is responsible for the deaths of livestock and children via the green-potato-toxin solanine and dulcamarine.  The leaves and green berries are the most poisonous.  But the red berries could turn you inside out as well, depending on the soil they sprout from.  Should you not keep our New Years Resolution this is how you might feel:  irritated skin, abdominal pain, tired yet restless, headache, difficulty breathing, low body temperature, dilated pupils, diarrhea, paralysis, convulsion, and then possibly death (www.metrokc.gov  King County's noxious weed information pages).  Gosh, it almost reminds me of high school.

Tansy (Tanacetum vulgare) is found along roadsides and is overwhelming my neighbor's garden.  It grows 2-3' tall, with fragrant lacey leaves, and golden button-like flower clusters topping the stems.  Edible and Medicinal Plants of the Rockies by Linda Kershaw gave Tansy a long list of medicinal uses such as last ditch efforts at fighting parasites, fungi, bacteria and tumors.  And then this Warning: "volatile oils of these plants are poisonous – a small quantity can kill in 2-4 hours."  Edible Indeed!  In minute quantities, Tansy once flavored Easter cakes in England as both superstition and a way to cleanse the body after the salt-fish of lent (www.botanical.com).  Thujone, a chemical also found in absinthe, would be the Tansy's way of delivering convulsions and death, should more than a pinch be taken (Wikipedia).  Tansy is probably best as insect repellent in mattresses, and I've heard that planted near doorways, in can keep the spiders and ants out of your habitat.

Groundsels are another roadside attraction teetering on the fence between sustenance and death.  Common groundsels (Senecio vulgaris) could be mistaken as a "type" of dandelion or sow thistle.  The leaves are shaped like deeply lobed dandelion leaves, but are thick and shiny and grow from the stem.  The flowers are yellow and look like closed dandelion flowers, then turn white and fly away with their seeds.  Western groundsels (Senecio intergerrimus) are tall with up-pointing thick leaves and bunches of yellow, raggedy, daisy looking flowers at the top.  Both of these groundsels would gladly deliver to your liver alkaloids which would cause permanent damage before you ever felt a thing.  Once you started feeling, hope would vanish with the onset of bloody diarrhea, sleepiness, weakness, staggering, jaundice and death.  Groundsel contaminated flour and honey can cause similar pains.  Arrow-leaved groundsel (Senecio triangularis) is considered an Wild Edible when young, but with the aforementioned relatives, I'd just as soon keep my distance. 

Girded with these warnings (which are Not exhaustive) I hope we can all make it safely to 2008.  Lets leave the bloody diarrhea and convulsions for another year. 

DEATH

The dead of winter seems like an appropriate time to discuss Poisonous Plants.  When I am in April, filled by a wild salad, and in August, with berry juice running down my arms, I feel a satisfying sensation that the earth loves me and wants me to thrive.  But in January, I have my doubts.  Now is as good a time as ever to look at the wild and free ways that the earth would like to kill us all.  One such way is through poisonous plants, many of which grow abundantly around here.  

These are important plants for every wild forager to know well.  Use a reliable identifier.  I recommend Plants of the Southern Interior British Colombia and the Inland Northwest, published by Lone Pine.  

Water-Hemlock (Cicuta Douglasii) is perhaps the most deadly plant in these parts.  This is not to be confused with the nutritious conifers Western and Mountain Hemlocks.  Water-Hemlock is a water-loving, parsley-family perennial which grows along rivers and streams.  The parsley family, not unlike my own, contains both beneficial and toxic members, most appearing similar to the Water-Hemlock.   According to Plants of the Southern Interior…, the powdered roots were used by the Okanogan as arrow poison.   Water-Hemlock grows 3-6 feet tall and has a thick, sometimes purpley stem.  The leaves are compound, divided, oblong with toothy sided leaflets that some say look like marijuana leaves.  The peculiar, defining features are that the leaf veins end in notches between the teeth and that the base of the stalk is chambered.  It has greenish-white lacey flowers in the summer.  Its poison is an oily fluid permeating every part of the plant.   The roots contain the most oil, and are therefore the most deadly part (one bite is enough).  Immediately wash your hands or tools if they touch this plant.    The gruesome death you could expect Water-Hemlock to produce would be theatrical with a quick succession of vomiting, staggering, violent convulsions, paralysis and finally, failure to breath = death.

             

Poison Hemlock (Conium maculatum), the infamous accomplice to the death of the iconoclastic and heroic Socrates, can be found in these parts as well.  It enjoys the same watery ditches and creeks as Water-Hemlock, and is equally deadly.  Poison-Hemlock is taller,  2-8 feet, with summer, Queen-Anne's-lace-like flowers.  Plants of the Southern… describes it as a "course, freely branching biennial from a stout taproot, with highly dissected, feathery leaves and purple-spotted stems." 

Indian Hellebore (Varatrum viride)  is my kid's favorite poisonous plant.  She points it out, yelling to us to make sure we don't touch it.  This plant looks like a mix between a lily, skunk cabbage and corn.  The leaves are large, oblong and ribbed with a hairy underside (though I've never inspected it that closely).  At their bases, the leaves wrap themselves around the thick stalk.  The flowers are green "drooping tassels." (Plants of the Southern…).  I've spotted this throughout the woods at Idler's Rest and Kamiak Butte.  Drinking water from nearby a Hellebore is said to cause stomach cramps.  Eating a hellebore may not cause death, though you may wish for it as you writhe, vomit, foam at the mouth, can't see and experience "lock-jaw".  Native Americans recognized it as a remedy for advanced stages of cancer and tuberculosis.

Snowberry (Symphoricarpos albus) is another toxic local plant, growing within city limits, Field Springs Park, Kamiak Butte, Idler's rest, etc. etc.  It looks like a Huckleberry or Service berry bush, but with white berries.  Translated from native languages, it is "corpse berry" and "ghost berry."  Food Plants of the Interior First Peoples, by Nancy J. Turner reports that the Stl'atl'imx identify them as Saskatoon (service) berries from the Land of the Dead.  Some also know it as wax berry. They reportedly have killed children and the Nlaka'pamux believed they were fatally poisonous. Unfortunately, I was unable to locate gorey descriptions of Snowberry fatalities.

This is not a complete list of the common and native poisonous plants, but they are my favorites.  Luckily, I have no first hand Cautionary Tales regarding these wild and free in-edibles. 

I am left pondering until spring if the earth loves me. She loves me not. She loves me.  She loves me not…

Dreams

Though the foreshadowing was thick, it seems sudden: the ground is frozen, the trees are bare and the berries are shriveled. The earth withholds now. And I consider the things I lack: my Christmas wish list.

From February to March, my calendar of Wild Offerings is full, but in this quiet, dead place, where we hope rejuvenation is churning beneath us, I think of all the things I will not write about, even in seasons of opulence, because they are not "mine".

I want you to know about them, though. If the opportunity arises for you to try them, I want you to seize it. And learn and eat until you are full, and brag to me about it later.

Among these, is the now reclusive, yet still famous Camas.

From the University of Idaho hails one Joy Mastroguiseppe, an encyclopedia of local, ancient Native American meals. Speaking at Neill Public Library in March 2006, at the invitation of the Palouse Prairie Foundation, she informed attendees that the stretch between Moscow and Pullman (now an enormous blacktop fit for a fleet of Jumbo Jets) was once prime and coveted Camas land. Highway 270 has since supplanted Camas's purple star blossoms and humongous bulbs. Although there still seems to be a humble vestigial bloom tucked between two hills, visible at bicycle speeds, in April.

Ms. Mastroguiseppe's slides illuminated the extensive preparations of Camas which involved a three-day lasagna-like layering of bulbs, leaves and coals. The rumored result is a sweet, digestible starch, the backbone of Native American cuisine used for cakes and gravies.

Camas preparation appears to have been a mega-project requiring a tribe, which has also been superseded by the social equivalent of Highway 270. Women dug up the Daffodil-looking roots with sticks, sometimes competing for poundage to show off wifely prowess. It was a task to which the men would have brought bad luck according to Edible and Medicinal Plants of the Rockies by Linda Kershaw. The men apparently tended the large fire pits, smoldering the bulbs. Women would cause death in the family if they touched them. Common stereotypes would suggest that these pre-urban myths kept barbecue projects in the jurisdiction of men, and gathering a ladies-only affair. Which was probably a little sad for the men that wanted to dig and the women that wanted to smolder. But that's what this Wild and Free is about: unfulfilled dreams.

If the preparations alone weren't discouraging enough, there's also the pesky identification problem posed by its evil twin, Death Camas.

Lichens also are a Wild Edible draped across the branches of my dreams. The hairy locks dangling overhead are allegedly edible. Although the gag-texture of Big Foot sheddings may be too much for some, I simmer with curiosity about this ancient staple. When born of a tasty habitat, these hirsute plants were pit-steamed into cakes, added to soup and pulverized into bread flour (Kershaw). It could be gathered year round, dried for any occasion (perhaps Christmas or a birthday?), and was considered a survival necessity (Food Plants of Interior First Peoples by Nancy J. Turner). Whereas, expert Turner refers to only Black Tree Lichen, expert Kershaw notes imaginatively dubbed Speckled horsehair, Old-Man's beard, and Witches hair.

This wild, hairy food, remains locked in mystery to me, in part because Kershaw warns that lichens can be poisonous from area to area. She notes that the experienced taste small amounts before gathering. I suspect that my Westernized palate would be unable to discern a poisonous taste in something that is already incomprehensibly foreign to my tongue.

Although not dissatisfied, I dream of the earth's more esoteric provisions finding their way to my reverent mouth. Perhaps these foods, like tribal-living, make a better fantasy than a reality. But what are these long dark nights in cold, barren lands made for other than such dreams? Looking closely at each bare tree branch, I notice that even before winter sets in, the buds have found their places and are snuggled in for winter, dreaming of spring and opportunities for the adventures which will some day, surely, be theirs.

Why, A communion morsel

With most plants denuded, resting and not so edible right now (rotting brown "green" salad, anyone?), I approach my Wild Edible habit philosophically: Why?    After all, the stores are filled with food, both local and well-traveled, that is ready for buying and eating.  So why go through all the work to learn, identify, collect and prepare marginally tasty wild foods?  

Consider survival.  Knowing how to survive in raw nature, without all of this civilized gadgetry, is elemental.  Ironically, independence is prized in our culture, a culture highly dependant on things like oil and globally transported food, and global communication systems.  What if all that we depend upon collapses?  What if major governments and/or corporations collapse? Is Monsanto too big to fail?  As I navigate the never ending phone tree trying to understand why my cell phone isn't working, this idea thrills me.  Collapse?  Yes! And take that damn phone tree with you!  

Knowing something about the Real world, the world that was here before us and will be here after we are gone, is security in a way that Prudential just doesn't understand and cant' provide.  Granted, I have no illusions that I could actually survive long term on eating a few plants that happened to grow between the sidewalk cracks.  Real survival would probably involve killing animals which is beyond the scope of this girl's knowledge, ability, and stomach. 

But wait!  Wild Edibles are so much more than mere survival supplement.  They are connection, imagination, and that most essential element, surprise.

Wild Edibles connect us to the source.  I go out into the elements and I find something to eat.  That generous gifts as blackberries and dandelions are snubbed by so many saddens me and the Earth too, I imagine.  But we find that even after all the abuse and neglect, our Mother is still offering.    After all the hours and days my back is turned on her as I tend to a computer, job, bill or book, she is still there, offering her goodies. 

Looking for Wild Edibles, I get down on my knees and I sift through the dirt and the weeds like a supplicant in prayer: seek and ye shall find.  And I do.  It's there, beneath my feet.  When I seek and find Wild Edibles, I find my connection to the sacred, to the ancient, to my origins, to my ancestors.  I'm on the line with the earth: This is a phone tree, people!  And, in an act of communion ancient and powerful, I take this leaf or that berry, and I put it into my mouth, and I eat it.  This is communion with the earth.  This is connection to all.  This is connection with the place that birthed me, birthed my kind, sustains me, sustains my kind, and takes us back into her when our lives are done: the beginning and the end. 

One might get this same thrill from apple juice at preschool or wine in church.  But on farms of apples, grapes and everything else, plants grow where the farmer intended: in convenient, straight rows.  The thing about Wild Edibles is that they are Wild.  They grow wherever they want, untouched by Euclidian geometry and the needs of machines and human minds.  In my love of mystery, I hope that by imbibing these wilds, I too might be a little less tame, a little less in line, a little less likely to lay down in a neat row like the dead.  I'm hoping I am what I eat and that I am a little more wild and a little more free because of it.

Wild Edibles are food for my imagination too.  When I gather Wild Edibles, I think about ancient people for whom every edible was Wild.  I love to imagine what their lives and minds were like, knowing the Real World more intimately than I.  How many hours a day were they collecting food?  When could they trust their kids with Wild Edibles?  Who would I have been if I had lived with them? 

I'll conclude on a practical note:  I'm broke and not so good at gardening so I take what what's freely offered.

Evergreen Tea

Cup your hands around a warm, steaming mug. With slow, clear breaths you smell ever-green: a long life for you and for the trees. It smells like The Holidays. You feel so good, so kind, so open to the gifts this world has for you and generous with the gifts that you bring to this world. With a sip, you welcome the ever-green world into your world. The warmth flows down your throat and into your blood.

That is a little Yogi Tea-esc meditation for a tea made from any sort of Pine, Fir, Spruce, Douglas fir, Western or Mountain Hemlock (never to be confused with the completely different, ultra-poisonous Water Hemlocks!). These needles could even be harvested from your Christmas tree, wreath or swag. With respect to my Jewish friends, I do not recommend menorah tea. And even the most atheist among us can honor the scientific fact of the shortest day of the year with a little greenery and light.

My favorite Tannenbaum tea is of the Douglas Fir. It is aromatic, almost spicy, and tastes like your favorite Christmas memories. It will be like marinating your soul in Holiday good will. You will become one with the scent of Yuletide. It will ooze from your pores and you will sweat Holiday cheer.

Not quite so festive, but lovely just the same is the tea of the Blue Colorado Spruce.

I was sure Pine tea would taste like Pinesol, so I was surprised to find the Western White Pine tastes like dirt. The Sentinal Eastern White Pine tastes like spinach, the Mugo Pine of miso, and the Bristlecone Pine of butter (at least to Huckleberry). It seems that only the Scotch pine tastes like Pinesol. But the Australian Black Pine tastes pleasantly piney. I have heard that our native Ponderosa Pine makes the Best pine tea, however all of the Ponderosa's I've seen recently keep their needles 20 feet or more above my head.

For identification, I recommend The Manual of Oregon Trees and Shrubs published by Oregon State University.

According to Eat the Weeds, by Ben Charles Harris, scientists have found that the needles of pinus strobes (White Pine) contain high amounts of Vitamin A and five times the Vitamin C of lemons!

By now, you are no doubt asking yourself, "How do I make this Ultra Holiday Tea?" Carefully noting the species of plant, pick a handful of the youngest needles, clear of dirt, soot from cars, animal fur, etc. The best are the tender new needles of spring, but winter needles will do almost as well. Put them in your pot or mug and pour boiling water over them. Cover and let steep for 10 minutes. I drink mine straight. The needles are usually so large, there's no threat of swallowing them. I've never bothered to strain them out.

Of course not all ever-green needle-leafs should be used as tea. Again I trot out the specter of the dreadfully poisonous Yew tree, of dark green, flat needles which sometimes sport red berries. The Yew, among others, is not edible or potable as tea.

Additionally, I have read that the sap from Western White Pines is edible, tastes like sugar and should be added to teas, possibly even our Holiday Swag Tea. But, alas, I read this in a book from the East Coast, and I believe there may have been some identification mistake, because the pitch from the Western White Pines that I tried was putrid. It coated my teeth with a grainy concentration of Pinesol and made my tongue turn dry. Huck found the taste distantly pleasant, but then it made him sick to his stomach. This Cautionary Tale illustrates three Wild Edible points: 1) it’s a very good idea to learn the Latin names of things, which I have yet to do; 2) it's a very good idea to take everything you hear from East Coast Edible Experts with a grain of Pacific salt and 3) always make your husband try it first.

Merry Darkest Days of the Year!