Plantain

Plantain is an unusual type of banana sold in stores. Somewhere, sometime, those plantains were wild edibles, needing only to be deep fried in coconut oil for palatability. But not in these parts. The plantain of which I speak today is related as homonym only to the above.

Latin Plantago major does not mean Major Plant, or even God of all Plants and does not harken from the word Plant (from the Latin plante, meaning plant: Webster's Unabridged, 1954). Rather it means "foot-sole" for it's round flat leaves that hug the earth like the soles of gravity bound earthlings.

Some Native Americans referred to Plantain as White Man's Foot because it followed in the foot step of settlers (Growing and Using the Healing Herbs by Weiss and Weiss). The immigrant and one-time genocide harbinger, Plantain, is also called: Waybread, Waybroad, Snakeweed, and of course #@%!!! by obsessive lawnistas. Plantain overtakes a lawn in short order, which is lucky for us. If you don't have a lawn, visit your closest park. It will be there. A favorite place for plantain is the green slope at Gladish Community Center in Pullman. My six-year-old daughter has, perhaps unwisely, taught her pals to identify and devour the playground plantain at "recess". She claims it eliminates the need for packaged snacks.

You too can eliminate the need for packaged snacks by seeking out this earth-hugger.  It's rosette of ribbed, green, round, papery, juicy leaves grow on the ends of fleshy stalks. Pick plantain with rounder leaves as the kind with the narrow leaves is less tasty. From the center of the rosette, a tall thin stalk with cream-colored wispy "flowers" will eventually grow to almost 12". Hundreds of small seeds, suffused with lawn-conquering potential, will then hug the length of the stalk.

With certainty, identify this plant, far from any signs or signage indicating "this area just poisoned." Gather the young leaves before the seed stalk grows. Age causes the leaves to toughen unpleasantly and become a stringy gagging hazard, though not poisonous, per se.

The fresh spring leaves taste of mild mushrooms, though some claim a Swiss chard flavor. Use as salad greens, sandwich dressing, soup additions, and roasted side-dish. If you're hesitant about that "wild" flavor, this is your baby.

For your insignificant effort, you will be rewarded with Vitamins A, C and K. You will devour a mild mucilaginous laxative, anti-bacterial flavenoids, allantoin (good for tissue) and mild tannins (Edible and Medicinal Plants…). The FDA has not examined, approved, nor disapproved of these claims, nor is it expected to.

For the tiny additional effort of drying leaves, you will gain year round access to a tea with several centuries experience is soothing sore throats, bronchitis, coughs, etc. (Edible and Medicinal…)

Externally, Plantain poultices have been used the world over for rheumatic joints, insect bites, sunburns, poison ivy, blisters, and other skin irritations. Poultice: mash fresh leaves or dip fresh leaves in hot water and place them on area of concern. In the Wild West, fresh plantain treated snake bites, if they couldn’t be avoided. Ms. Weed, if that is indeed her name, recommends Plantain leaves for perineum support during labor, diaper rash, and hemorrhoid help (Wise Woman Herbal for the Childbearing Year).

A cousin of colon-cleanser Psyllium seeds, Plantago major seeds (available beginning mid-summer) similarly exfoliate the colon. Additionally, soaking the seeds in a little water produces a gelatinous salve for thrushy nipples or a natural hair gel, or both, if you have really hairy nipples.

Plantain roots have been recommended for toothaches, headaches and bad gums (Edible and Medicinal…).

It exhausts me just to think about it all. Clearly, if you ache, Plantain wants to help. This plant offers basically everything under the sun, even it's own earth-hugger energy. Although Plantago major does not even loosely translate into Major Plant, it should.

Plantain invites you to take off your shoes and plant your plantars in the dirt with him. You're soles easily remember how to hug the earth. In Remembrance, Take and Eat this scrumptious hugger. Plantain is the Waybread-wafer of redemption, as we return to the free gifts of this world: heaven is earth.

Pineapple Weed

Who will be the next Miley Cyrus? Who? A question, generated by internet news engines, which burns deep in the minds of the Palouse's more cosmopolitan residents.Will Hannah Montana be replaced? Can she be?

As a po-dunk, hokey resident with a strained relationship with the information age, my big question is: who would want to be the next anybody? Bob Dylan, Shakespeare, Judy Blume: would you be the Next? In my fuzzy dream of this world, no one should want to be a sorry copy of anyone else. Nobody sings their soul to be a second rate substitute.

And that is why our sympathies and understanding should be accorded Mr. Pineapple-weed. "Experts" compare Mr. Pineapple-weed to chamomile without flower petals. Mr. Pineapple-weed's Latin handle Matricaria discoidea is just one off from Chamomile's Matricaria recutita. The affects of Mr. Pineapple-weed's tea compare favorably to the mild, soothing reputation of Chamomile tea. And his English name, Pineapple-weed, announces his odiferous likeness to the spiky, tropical fruit.

How would you like to go through life with people saying things like, "Oh, I do know that Sarajoy. She's looks just like Sally and talks a lot like Arthur." No Thank You! Or perhaps you're name is Sally-esc or Arthur-itic. Compare and Contrast.

Therefore, I will refer to the edible, frilly, silly-looking plant of Pineapple-weed by a different name that hopefully doesn't compare it to something else: Mr. Weed. Admittedly this new "unique" name sounds much too generic and/or as if I'm comparing it to another plant with which, I assure you, there are no similarities aside from their propensity to photosynthesize and grow roots.

Unfortunately, in order to describe a new plant to you, I will need to do the dreaded comparing and contrasting on Mr. Weed anyway, whether I want to or not. His leaves are alternating and ferny, growing up the stems to the plant's height of a foot or less. The chartreuse flowers are like coney domes. It really does look just like Chamomile without the white flower petals and with more pronounced heads.

Where will you find the next Chamomile Pineapple? I have never looked further than my front walk. On second thought, perhaps I have looked as far as my gravel driveway. Unless you are missing the sense of sight, you've seen these around. Once mowed, Mr. Weed hunkers down with lawn, especially in municipal parks.

When will you find Mr. Weed? Barring the return of our over-zealous Warden Winter to imprison us, Mr. Weed should be hanging out in inauspicious places from May to July or beyond.

For such a humble and goofy plant, it's uses are many and mild. Mr. Weed can be steeped into a relaxing tea. The fruity floral heads are also passively nibbled by my young as they meander about the yard seriously attending to the business of play. Once Mr. Weed was introduced to the "New" world, Native American children also enjoyed grazing on the flower tops.

Apparently an insect repellent, dried Mr. Weed was sprinkled upon food to keep away flies by the Flathead of Montana. Mr. Weed also has a history with the Ktunaxa and Stl'atl'imx as air freshener (Food Plants of Interior First Peoples by Nancy J. Turner). And others used it as baby bedding and pillow filler. (Edible and Medicinal Plants of the Rockies by Linda Kershaw).

Ms. Turner notes that Mr. Weed's scientific name means "mother-care". Ms. Kershaw concurs with a list of uses for pre-, mid- and post- natal care.

If you have an aster or ragweed allergy, use caution with Mr. Weed.

Mr. Weed may look and smell like many things, but the combination is ironically unique: looks like Chamomile without white petals but smells like pineapple. Nothing else really matches this description, although I can imagine a messed up scratch-n-sniff sticker.

Who will be the next Miley Cyrus? Nobody, not even Mr. Pineapple-weed.

As with any consumable, be sure you've got the real thing before you partake.

Arrowleaf Balsamroot

April winds bring a curious alchemy to our dusty hills. The magic is this: dirt, our very own loess, is transformed into silver and gold. And the treasure chest of Paradise brims with the golden rays of Arrowleaf Balsamroot flowers and the silver sheen of their leaves. In our fields gone feral, on our hills un-bruised by human hands, in our parks, and upon our ridge tops, gold and silver tumble down.

More sophisticated than pure gold and far superior to actual silver, these wild flowers outshine those inedible, domesticated minerals of arbitrary value. This gold and silver can feed us, without the middlemen. From root to seed and all parts in between, these holy, shining fortunes sustain soul and body both.

Unless you have a sunshine allergy or severe agoraphobia, I am confidant that on some April day you have seen a hoard of yellow "sunflowers" around. And it was surely the gorgeous bounty of Arrowleaf Balsamroot (heretofore referred to as AB).

AB, of the Aster family, is nearly identical cousins with the Common Sunflower, reflected by layman's terms: Spring Sunflower and Wild Sunflower (Food Plants of the Interior First People by Nancy J. Turner). You can deduce from these common names that AB's flowers are sun-oidal with golden rays extending from a round gold center.

The leaves, as the name more than suggests, are arrow shaped, growing up to two feet long. A sheen of white hairs tones down their green to a trendy silver/green hue. These leaves clump together and produce a bevy of one-flowered stalks from 8" to 30" tall. The official sunflower sprouts many heads per stalk, but AB believes that flowering involves only one flower and one stalk, together for the rest of their lives.

The roots, which apparently smell of balsam, as the name in both scientific Greek Balsmorhiza sagittata and plain English indicates, are rich in carbs and fiber both (www.usask.ca "Rangeland Egosystems and Plants). Before miners dug the hills of North Idaho oh-so-unsustainably, Native Americans dug here for the roots of this real silver and gold. In spring, local tribes dug up smaller, carrot-sized roots, avoiding the largest taproots. Then the preparations began. First, they beat them to loosen the outer skins, then peeled, then pit-steamed overnight, then ate as is or dried and stored or powdered for flour. These roots were also boiled into medicinal teas for immunity, childbirth, headaches, and whooping cough. The roots were lit as incense in various Native American ceremonies. (Edible and Medicinal Plants of the Rockies by Linda Kershaw).

I admit to lacking root experience for two reasons: 1) I have no sense of entitlement over any field of these enough to dig them up and 2) the extensive preparations are way to "slow food" for even me, maven of the 3 hour dinner.

The new shoots, however, are much more accessible. Before AB blossoms, the newest leaf and flower stalks are good enough to eat, peeling first if you like. Tasting akin to intense celery, the Nez Perce loved their páasx (www.Native-American-Online.org) this way. Some eat the leaves as well, but the velour texture is too much of a mouthful for me, as is the name itself: Arrowleaf Balsamroot. The newest leaves can also be boiled as "greens".

The sap was used as a topical anesthetic, as well as anti: septic, bacterial, and fungal. Mashed, the leaves were placed on burns, small cuts, insect wounds and athletes foot (Edible and Medicinal Plants…) I guess moccasins weren't all they're cracked up to be.

The seeds were also a staple for Native Americans who roasted them or filled a buckskin bag and pounded them into a meal (Food Plants of the Interior). They can be used like sunflower seeds, in granola and breads.

According to Kim Williams in Eating Wild Plants, AB is ranked precisely third in importance to area tribes. This bronze medalist was bested by only Camas and Bitterroot. Clearly, a plant with all edible parts would be a top contender for favorite food, a reliable stock, and a secure investment. Silver and gold grow annually, freely, and in abundance here. As always,be 100% sure it's the AB silver/gold/green of natural-value before you bite into it.

Burdock

The story begins in the dark winter when one European immigrant bur inconspicuously settles in receptive soil.

In April (Latin: Aprilis, meaning “open,” wide open), Burdock (Latin: Arctium lappa, meaning bear-seizer) lumbered awake. Without a manual or self-help book, Burdock’s root found its place in the soil and his leaves began their odyssey toward the sun. At this time, Wild-Eater noticed the unexpected visitor in her yard. She felt the thick leaves, rich with nutrition.

All summer, opulence crept into alleys, parks, creek beds and the Burdock. With abandon, Burdock offered its leaves to the sun and root to the earth. As the leaves unfurled in gratitude, the sun found a growing welcome for its energy. The cycle of gratitude and attraction fed itself.  Wild-Eater inspected Burdock again. She noted his leaves, extravagant like Rhubarb’s. The layered, 1’ by 2’ (or smaller), immense heart-shaped leaves with woolly undersides were like jumbo Valentines. Thick, short stems grew from one place in the ground.

One Autumn day, Burdock said, “A good season deserves a good rest.” And with that he began to curl his sleepy leaves in.

Wild-Eater thought about using a pitch fork to dig, dig, dig up the massive white, fleshy root as intact as she could. Instead, she precisely noted Burdock’s location.

Burdock slept serenely that winter without worry. He knew his root, filled with iron, thiamine, magnesium, zinc, Vitamin A, calcium, and protein, was strong. In spring there would be energy enough to start his leaves again (Healing Wise by Susun S. Weed).


The older, wiser Burdock gracefully uncurled his leaves from a confident rosette that second spring. The Wild-Eater came again. Being 100% certain that she had identified the right plant, she took several new leaves and boiled them as greens. People have also used them in poultices: mash, dip in hot water, place leaves on burns, sores and eczema.


Wild-Eater entertained a debate about abundance vs. too much of a good thing. She foresaw the six foot tall giant with Velcro-inspiring burs dropping into her husband’s dreadlocks. Wild-Eater decided to harvest the second-year Burdock. It would die in the fall anyway, root rotting, a meal for worms and beetles only.

If Wild-Eater had been ancient Nez Perce, if her faith in the earth to provide was great as a Nez Perce’s, if she believed, as they did, that giving away remaining food stores awakened the abundance that lies in the earth, sleeping and dreaming of giving itself away, she would have given a First Roots Festival (Lecture 3/13/06 by Joy Mastroguiseppe of UI). But the Wild-Eater did not yet understand the laws of nature, abundance, gratitude, faith and attraction.

Without festival, she shoveled into her wet April yard, a wide, deep, unattractive hole. Perhaps a post-hole digger or pitchfork would be a better idea. Sweaty and tired, she finally just chopped off what exposed root there was.

Wild-Eater washed the thick root then boiled it for twenty minutes, changed the water, and boiled it for 5 more minutes, perhaps unnecessarily. She chopped and fried it with other veggies and it tasted buttery, like artichoke hearts. She might have added it to soup. She read of shredding and frying it like hash browns or roasting and grinding it like coffee. She would never feed them to pregnant ladies or diabetics.

What Wild-Eater had not foreseen that April day was her sadness the next April at finding no conveniently located Burdock. She would have to go down to the creek or borrow someone else’s Burdock now. She might collect seedy burs next autumn to plant.

If Wild-Eater now contemplates planting Burdock next year, it might just be true that you reap what you sow. Perhaps Burdock has knit himself into the fiber of Wild-Eater’s being, like a bur, and is still unleashing lessons of generosity and gratitude upon her. Perhaps he is waiting, within her, to unfurl his leaves of faith, thanksgiving and plenty, waiting for his place within her garden. Perhaps she will try First-Roots-Festival faith, and perhaps she will try gratitude for roots and burs alike.

Ultra Violets

In the beginning was Vi(olet), an elderly nanny with a parakeet named Charlie.In her hallway hung portraits of three men.She told me they were her husbands, who had all died. I thought, "What good luck! To have three husbands! But what tragedy that they all died at once!"Years later, my parents explained to my confused self that it was only allowed for one man to marry one woman and vice versa. I protested that Vie had had 3 husbands at once. They broke to me the tragic news that her husbands had been in succession, not at once. Burst my bubble right there.

Violets are modest creatures (not ones to have three husbands at once), delicately beautiful and frustratingly ephemeral. In all their violet wisdom, they are here for a very limited time only.

Violets thrive in woodsy spots on drippy, draining hillsides.They love the shade behind a compost bin and the leaky slope beneath an apple tree. Find a trail up the south side of a hill, and as you duck beneath the trees, there is a mass of violets on the muddy hillside. They succumb to summer heat, so find them now, and sup of your little piece of ecstasy.

The violet leaf is, not surprisingly, shaped like a heart, with tiny-toothed edges.One leaf per stem, and several stems from one spot. The five-petaled, floppy "flowers" come in purple, yellow, white, cream, blue or any combination of these. Identify clean violets with 100% certainty using a reliable guide/book.

Violets are never violet. The authority on color, Roy G. Biv, asserts that violet has a shorter wavelength than blue at 420-380 nm, but is Not a combination of blue and red (that would be purple, which Is the color of many violets).

All violet flowers, including pansies and johnny-jump-ups, are edible. The so-called "African violet" is in another family all together, so don't get excited about eating your windowsill plants for breakfast.

The inscrutable, unavailable sweetness of violet flowers, which always leaves me begging for more, is explained by an ionone compound that these flowers give off along with their scent. This compound disconcertingly handicaps your sense of smell (Wikipedia.com). The deeper you inhale, the less scent you get.

Violets, the quintessential temporal tease, enforce a respect for pleasure's fleeting nature. One second you smell the faint joy of viola odorata and the next, it's gone, despite cramming the nosegay up your nose. In grasping and clinging is loss. Vi's parakeet, Charlie, taught me this too, with her eggs. Open hand: open to receive, to give, to let go. Clenched fist: for breaking stems (a necessity), noses, and little parakeet eggs during 2nd grade show-and-tell.

The flowers can be gathered without much worry about the plant's ability to propagate. These tease-scented flowers are exuberant show-offs, but the true flowers, according to Susun Weed (Healing Wise), are humble, seedy, autumn flowers.

Everyone recommends candying the show-off flowers, a laborious process involving pricey accoutrements (according to the directions I read).I would rather eat them like candy (uncandied), toss them with my dandelion-green salads, or pour boiling water over them for a purple tea.

Most information on violet edibility focuses on the flowers, but the lesser known fact about wild violets is that their leaves are an edible source of vitamin C and vitamin A. The leaves taste bland and a little sweet, perfect for adding to potent dandelion and wispy chickweed salads. Toss in some flowers and you have an extremely nutritious and beautiful salad fit for the gods. They also thicken soups.

Susun Weed recommends drinking a violet leaf infusion (pour boiling water over dried violet leaves, cover and let steep for 4 hours) for headaches, "fevered fantasies," and anxiety. Recent research confirms that violets contain, salicylic acid, a natural aspirin, "which substantiates its use for centuries as a medicinal remedy for headache, body pains and as a sedative," (altnature.com).

What violets bring to me is spiritual, sensual and edible. The scent of a heart full of love and loss. Flowers smelled, un-smelled, and devoured. Husbands loved and died. Eggs laid and crushed. Spring salads: glorious, gorgeous and unavailable tomorrow.Carpe diem, with a open hand.

Wild Mint

Do not read while eating. If you do, be sure to have some Wild Mint on hand.

"the most useful sources of illumination are not always holy books, revered dogma… They might also be serendipitous anomalies that erupt into the daily routine and break the trance of ordinary awareness." –Rob Brezny, Astrologer.


Wild Mint is like dog crap in exactly seven ways, you will be surprised to learn:
1) When you step on it, the smell immediately fills your nostrils,
2) the smell is unlike anything else in this odiferous earth,
3) it can be discovered in convenient places the world over,
4) its history is intertwined with ours from the dawn of time,
5) in large doses, it could be dangerous to pregnant ladies,
6) it comes out when the snow melts, and&
7) accidental discovery can "break the trance of ordinary awareness."

That's a lot of similarities to dog crap for an herb that is among the world's most popular flavorings of all time!

You will not be shocked to learn that dog crap and wild mint don't have anything else in common.

For instance, dog crap is not named after a naiad, a river nymph who was transformed into a plant by Persephone just when the naiad Menthe was about to get it on with Hades and thereby inappropriately sweeten the odors of the netherworld.

In addition, dog crap is not globally known throughout all recorded history as a tea herb good for sloshy and icky stomachs and raw and painful throats, as is mint.

Dog crap attracts flies and rodents, whereas mint is said to repel these pests. 

A lover's mouth that smells like dog crap? Turn Off!  A lover's mouth that smells like mint? Turn On!  Apparently this is not a new concept.  Ms. Kershaw, author of Edible and Medicinal Plants of the Rockies, notes that people have freshened their breath and bodies with mint since males began finding it necessary to seduce their females, as opposed to whatever went on before. 

I have stumbled across this herb in Deary, Cottonwood, and Pullman,  beneath our apple trees and along rail road tracks.  Each time, the place has been wet, with a magical feel.  If I were a water nymph, I would haunt these enchanting spots myself. 

There are three types of mint:   Wild/Field mint, Peppermint, and Spearmint.  Most of these have apparently circumnavigated the globe, co-mingling, procreating and naturalizing, likely due to their seductively smelling bodies.

Wild Mint grows 8 inches to 2 feet tall.  It's thin velvet leaves with sharp, toothy edges, grow in pairs on opposite sides of their four-sided stems.  Purple tinted flowers grow in clusters at the leaf axils.

Many plants may look like Wild or Field Mint when they are young: nettle, false dead nettle, and perhaps Wild Bergamot (none of which would be a deadly mistake).  However, only Wild Mint will smell like mint.  And I don't know of anything dangerous that smells like mint but isn't.  If in doubt, crush it between your fingers.  My apologies if it turns out to be nettle.

What to do with Wild Mint?  Eat it right then, take it home for fresh mint tea, dry it for tea later.  For drying: harvest before it flowers, hang upside down in a dry place with decent ventilation and no direct sun until dry yet still green, then store in a jar in the dark.  My favorite dinner recipe for my cache of Wild Mint is Moosewood Restaurant New Classics' Thai Eggplant and Tomato Salad on Pasta.  Mint and Pasta? Yes!

The flavor of Wild Mint is harsher than domesticated mint, and I would guess that intensity varies with location.  Experiments may be necessary to find your stash's best quantities.

Although bulk mint from the co-op is hardly expensive, Wild Mint holds the thrill of discovery, a connection to the wild earth beneath our feet, and a close encounter with the seductive naiad Menthe.  You could just buy some, but why cheat yourself?

Wild Mint is something I look forward to stepping on.  These refreshing leaves are the "serendipitous anomaly" I Want to stumble in to.  Your dog's crap? Not so much. 

Miner's Lettuce

You thought you knew her. For well over a decade you munched on her juicy green leaves while strolling in the woods. On spindly 3-12" stalks she holds her succulent leaves like a waitress. Clusters of delicate, white-flowers centered artfully upon the thick green platters. Her leaves seem to grow around the flowers in varying stages of circle, with possible points, like a square merging with a circle. You thought you knew her.

With an unimaginative name like Miner's Lettuce, she couldn't have been very complex, very interesting. You hear her name and the history is obvious: miner's ate it, probably 49'ers as those are the miners our imaginations stock. Why did those 49er's name this lettuce?

Whether you’re a miner, a sailor or some other unwashed, hairy, single male back in the day, you either got Vitamin C or scurvy, take your pick. In this purported favorite of miners, the Vitamin C is plentiful, whether fresh in a salad or boiled for a spinach "substitute". And that's it, end of story. "My darling Clementine, Miner's Lettuce is as simple as that," you say.

And then one March day, East of the Cascades where annuals actually die and are born again (rather than in the moist West where everything seems to live forever), someone points to some new weed in the alley and says, "Look! the Miner's Lettuce is finally out!" And because you are absolutely sure that you Know Miner's Lettuce and this is Not it, an argument ensues that ruins the sunny, muddy spring stroll, and leaves you angry and humiliated.

You wonder of the Miner's Lettuce, "How could she have deceived me for so long?" But the truth is that you never bothered to know the whole story, the whole plant. You made your assumptions early on and you were happy with them.

What you saw in the shady, wet alley was this: it was a flat plant, hugging the earth. The stem and leaves were brown, not the Kelly green of the Miner's Lettuce you know (but perhaps sometimes it Is green when it's new, you just don't know anymore). The stems were laid out like bike spokes, each individual one tipped with a spade shaped leaf. It looked like an ancient call to the four directions and all parts in between. It looked like a compass to find true bearings. It looked like a fancy clock saying it's time, all the time. It looked not anything like the slender late spring Miner's Lettuce, slouching beneath the Pines and Cedars, with thick square-round leaves along the stem. That's why you held your ground. That's why you refused to believe your eyes and your mentor, and everything else you take with you to make sure that you have the right plant before you eat it.

Eventually, maybe over the course of a year or a lifetime, you pry your mind open. Perhaps this is Miner's Lettuce, too. Perhaps it Is possible that a plant can look so completely different in early spring than it does in late spring. You didn't know it's secret name, Claytonia (or Montia) perfoliata, so perhaps there are other things you don't know about her. And perhaps, you don't know everything.

Indeed, this flat brown March weed is Miner's Lettuce. Once the pride is swallowed and the mind accepts this new information, the delightful surprise of learning brings a thrill to your spirit. You long to know more; you want the whole story.

You want to know if maybe spinach is the real substitute. Or if there are other miners involved from years other than 1849. But the trail's gone cold now. Everyone assumed the obvious about Miner's Lettuce; you haven't been alone. Information is lost. You will never know who else ate this lettuce, how they ate it, and what ancient names it was called by. "Indian" lettuce is the only clue left. The simplicity of the story lulled everyone into complacency.

Miner's lettuce is now more mysterious than you ever dreamed and it thrills you. The alley looks fresh and carpeted with adventure. The world is new and expansive. The earth holds secrets for you to uncover. Open up and come outside, again. Spring is here.