The Art of Communication – 100 Artist Show
February 1-March 3rd


This pen and ink illustration was created for The Art of Communication – 100 Artist Show at the Mary Lou Zeek Gallery in Salem, Oregon. I decided to use my pen and ink drawing style for this black and white illustration. It seemed in keeping with the topic. I also added a little Caran d’Ache pencil for color.

First Day of Issue Stamps.

Mary Lou Zeek was inspired to create the show when she found a collection of first day of issue stamped envelopes at an estate sale. She invited 100 artists to participate in the project and paired us with each other. We were then sent a stamped envelope, addressed to our partner artist, containing a sheet of blank writing paper and asked to write a letter on any topic we liked.

While reflecting on the title of this project I thought my letter would be some kind of meditation on the nature of communication. However, when I actually received the package I was so moved by the first day of issue stamps on the envelope that I wrote about preserving the past instead- a subject I’m passionate about.

An inspiring letter.

I received a wonderfully moving letter in response to mine from my partner artist, Leslie Peterson. A couple of lines recounting a story from her family’s past really struck me and sent me back to reflecting on the nature of communication once again. In our letters we both lamented the often “casual disregard” for the past here in the U.S. and Leslie talked about preserving “memory”. She wrote about her grandfather, an immigrant from Austria who never learned English, while his children, born and reared in the U.S., never learned German. This was not unusual for the time. However, I keep wondering how Leslie’s grandfather communicated with his children? How did he pass down his family’s stories, his history, and what was lost?

An authentic voice.

I too am an immigrant. I come from Ireland originally. Thankfully times have changed and I don’t have to worry about assimilating in a way that would force me to deny my past or silence my voice. So, in the end I created a piece that simply expresses my need to have my own voice – to communicate honestly and authentically who I am- no bells and whistles or special effects. And I communicate as an illustrator because that is what I am.

The Art of Communication- 100 Artist Show starts next week at the Mary Lou Zeek Gallery.  If you would like to learn more about the exhibition and see all the artists’ work just click on this link and scroll to the bottom of the page to see all the artists’ work.

Aislinn Adams
January 12, 2012.

Feisty, Famous Irish Women.

To celebrate the 100th anniversary of International Women’s Day I’m launching the first two greetings cards in my new series- Famous Irish Women. The first two women are Queen Maeve of Connacht and St. Brighid of Ireland, one a warrior queen, the other a spiritual leader and god.

Queen Maeve of Connacht

St Brigid of Ireland

Who was Queen Maeve?

Queen Maeve, spelled Medb in the Irish language (Gaelic), was the famous warrior queen of Connacht, a province in western Ireland. Medb is best known as the main protagonist in the epic mythological tale “The Cattle Raid of Cooley” – Táin Bó Cúailnge.  Any enemy warrior who cast his eyes on her would loose one third of his power and courage.

Queen Maeve ruled a large kingdom with a powerful army. She was a woman of great ambition, drive, and energy- characteristics that the Christian monks, who recorded her story in the 8^th Century, didn’t quite appreciate in a woman. I like to read between the lines of their patriarchal “spin”, which cautions against the excesses of an “uppity” woman, and revel in her temerity and boldness.

I offer you my own interpretation of Queen Maeve in an effort to cast her in a more positive and empowering light and to inspire us all to celebrate such characteristics in ourselves.

Who was St. Brigid of Ireland?

St. Brigid, (c. 452-525) or Naomh Bríd in the Irish language (Gaelic), is believed to have founded a famous monastery in Kildare, Ireland. Bríd, regarded by many as a god, is one of Ireland’s three patron saints along with St. Patrick and St. Colmcille.

Imbolg and the god Bríd.

St Brigid’s day, February 1st, falls on the pre-Christian Irish spring fertility festival of Imbolg (or Imbolc) – no coincidence I’m sure. Imbolg is one of the four ‘cross-quarter days’ (days that fall approximately half way between the solstice and equinox)  and often referred to in Irish mythology. Many believe the god Bríd was Christianized as St Brigid when the Irish people peacefully adopted Christianity in the 5th century C.E.

Patron saint of many.

Brigid is the patron saint of so many it’s hard to keep track.  Some of my favorites are healers, artists and poetry. Her hagiography is rich in symbolism. In my greeting card design I show several of the symbols or stories associated with her- the oak leaf because Kildare, where she founded her monastery, means the church of the oak in Irish; the tongues of fire around her head are believed to symbolize her connection to the Christian God. The sacred flame was also central to the druids’ faith and a perpetual flame was maintained by nuns at Brigid’s monastery right up to the 15th century.

St. Brigid’s cross – a more ancient symbol.

St. Brigid’s cross is probably the most commonly known object connected to her. In many parts of the country people bring a freshly made (from rushes) Brigid’s cross into their homes each year on February 1st. Recently I learned that the distinctive Brigid’s cross is not only a Christian symbol but also harkens back to the ancient symbol of the great mother god of infinite life-giving powers- the diamond shape in the center of the cross represents the mother god’s navel holding the sacred seed.

My favorite Brigid symbols.

My favorite symbols in the illustration are her traditional Irish cloak or brat (in Irish) and the crozier- symbol of a bishop. Even though the brat features in one of her most famous stories I chose it also because later during the colonial conquest of Ireland in the 17th century the brat, being traditional Irish dress and possibly a symbol of national defiance, was out-lawed by the English. I show her with a bishop’s crozier because many believe that as the founder and abbess of the great Kildare monastery Brigid was indeed a bishop. This is controversial of course given the Catholic Church’s current struggle with accepting women as leaders.

Whether you regard Brigid as a god, saint or bishop, there’s no denying her incredible popularity and influence. St. Brigid was not a leader who exerted power over people but rather one who inspired loyalty through her wisdom and compassion- an empowering leader. Bríd the god was the self-generating mother god representing the earth’s life force- a very powerful figure. I hope you enjoy my new greeting cards celebrating Brigid and Maeve. There are many more to come – Ireland has no shortage of interesting, inspiring women.

Aislinn Adams.

© 2011 Aislinn Adams

St. Brigid of Ireland, Naomh Bríd.

February 1st is the first day of spring and St Brigid’s Day in Ireland. St Brigid, or Naomh Bríd in the Irish language (Gaelic), is a powerful historical figure who founded a famous monastery in Kildare, thirty miles west of Dublin. Bríd, regarded by many as a god, is one of Ireland’s three patron saints along with St. Patrick and St. Colmcille.

Imbolg and the god Bríd.

St Brigid’s day falls on the pre-Christian Irish festival of Imbolg (or Imbolc) – no coincidence I’m sure. Imbolg is one of the four ‘cross-quarter days’ (days that fall approximately half way between the solstice and equinox)  and often referred to in Irish mythology,  the others are Bealtaine, Lughnasadh and Samhain. In Ireland there is an almost seamless connection between the pre-Christian sacred places and festivals and the later Christian sites and holy days.  This is why many believe the god Bríd was Christianized as St Brigid when the Irish people peacefully adopted Christianity in the 5th century C.E.

People across the world will soon be celebrating St. Patrick, Ireland’s best known saint. Patrick was a contemporary of Bríd, they knew each other and there are accounts of their traveling together throughout Ireland. Interestingly both were intimately acquainted with slavery also: Patrick was forced into slavery as a boy and Bríd’s mother was a slave- though her father, a chieftain, raised her as a free person. Patrick, however, unlike Bríd, was not born and reared in Ireland. One wonders how much he learned from and relied on her wisdom, knowledge and influence in his work?  Today we need to recall and recognize Bríd’s unique contribution to Irish Spirituality and to humanity.

New greeting card series celebrating famous Irish women.

St Brigid’s illustration is part of a new greeting card series I’ve created celebrating famous Irish women or, feisty Irish women, as I like to call them. I hope there will come a day when people are as likely to receive a blessing and a card on St. Brigid’s day as they are on St. Patrick’s day.

In the meantime Lá Fhéile Bríde sona daoibh, Happy Saint Brigid’s Day.

Aislinn Adams

© Aislinn Adams 1998

My first American Sweetgum, Liquidambar styraciflua.

The first time I saw an American sweetgum was in the National Botanic Gardens, Glasnevin, Dublin, Ireland. It was autumn and I was a first year horticulture student attending college there. Ireland is not known for its fall color but that sweetgum, growing on a small island in the “pond”, stopped me in my tracks; its glowing orange-red-purple leaves took my breath away. Such a marvelous display would have done New England proud.

I know there’s a whole series of chemical reactions, triggered by temperature and day length, which make leaves turn the colors they do but seeing that sweetgum made me wonder – if Ireland had more N. American native trees like sweetgum would we have better fall color too?

An American native plant.

Sweetgum is native to the eastern U.S.A. but can be found growing in many parts of the country, including on my own street here in Salem, Oregon. It is not popular with many of my neighbors because its shallow roots push up through the concrete pavement causing large cracks. Even though several neighbors have replaced the sweetgums with smaller, more sidewalk-friendly species, there are still enough on the street to give a striking autumnal show- one I look forward to every year.

Ireland can have good Fall color too.

The botanical watercolor illustration above is part of a series I created for Birr Castle Visitor’s Center in Ireland (and part of my botanical watercolor greeting card series.) I worked on these botanical illustrations while staying in Washington D.C. and was happy to use sweetgum plant specimens from my D.C. neighborhood. I have visited Birr Castle demesne many times (I grew up about 20 miles from Birr) but I don’t recall seeing sweetgum growing there. I have no idea how good the Birr sweetgum looks in an Irish Fall but decided to paint it with good fall color anyway as I like to believe that it too can give as good a show as any of the trees here in the U.S.A. after all, the National Botanic Gardens’ sweetgum looked great.

Aislinn Adams

© Aislinn Adams           When Sleeping Women Awake

Every accident has a silver lining.

Many years ago I fell while rock climbing at my local crag in Dublin, Ireland. I broke my ankle and spent nine weeks in a large, heavy cast, from upper calf to toe tips. I broke the talus bone- the second rarest bone in the body to break- and difficult to heal. I was warned that on no account should I put any weight on the leg. The orthopedic surgeon, well known for his poor bedside manner, left me in no doubt that if the bone didn’t heal I would have a permanent limp. I hopped out of his surgery on my new crutches stifling a sob and vowing to do everything possible to help my ankle heel.

A forced vacation.

At the time I was a free-lance graphic designer living in a second floor apartment with no elevator. This was in the ‘old days’ before email and websites. I had no option but to take a forced vacation. I rested my broken ankle, elevating it as much as possible until the swelling eased. I had been free-lancing for a few years at that stage and had never really taken any vacation: as a self-employed person if I didn’t work I didn’t get paid. I worried a little about the loss of income but I had some money set aside and I knew that no amount of money could compensate for a permanent limp.

“When sleeping women awake, mountains will move”.

One day during my ‘convalescence’ I visited some female friends. Several of them were women religious from a prominent Catholic religious order in Ireland. I enjoyed the spirited, intelligent conversation darting back and forth across the table as we drank tea. They were highly competent women, leaders in their communities. We discussed an article one of them had read. She shared this quote from the article, “When sleeping women awake, mountains will move”. We all responded enthusiastically to the inspirational quotation. The irony of the situation was not lost on me as I sat there with my climbing injury, unable to get near a mountain.

A dream-like image came to mind.

One of my friends turned to me saying I should create an illustration to go with the quote. Usually my imagination doesn’t work that way. I don’t just come up with an image to order. I have to let the idea or feeling sink in. Not this time. Almost instantly a dream-like image came to mind. When I went home that evening I started working on it. I chose a pen and ink cross-hatching style to create the desired affect.  I used my finest rapidograph, handling it carefully, its ridiculously narrow-gauge hollow ‘nib’ only letting the ink flow when held lightly and delicately above the paper. The work took me hours and hours. I didn’t care. I was totally engrossed. With time the mountain range of women moved from my imagination onto paper and to this day that illustration strikes a chord with so many women. What a gift that fall turned out to be.

Eventually my ankle healed and, after a lot of physical therapy, I went back to climbing. I had no limp and a new portfolio of illustrations.

Aislinn Adams

The story of the common fig, Ficus carica,  needs more than one blog.

I started writing about the common fig in my last blog- The common fig, Ficus carica, Fruit, Flower or Carnivore? As I uncovered its story I realized that it would take more than one blog to share its long and complex history.  I illustrated the common fig, Ficus carica, several times for the “Digging In” gardening column of the Washington Post. This week I post a botanical illustration of Ficus carica “Negronne” to illustrate this entry. This natural dwarf variety can be grown in containers and is particularly suited to the Pacific North West, where I live.

The common fig, Ficus carica, and the first farmers.

It seems everything I read currently brings me back to the first farmers. Recently while reading about the Burren region in the west of Ireland I learned how the first farmers impacted that environment, using only a simple axe as their main tool. Then, while researching the common fig, Ficus carica, for this blog, I discovered that it was probably the first plant cultivated by humans: predating the Neolithic farmers’ “eight founder crops” -einkorn wheat, emmer wheat, lentils, chickpeas, barley, flax, bitter vetch, and peas, Wikipedia- by many centuries.

Neolithic Farmers.

The Neolithic period (starting c. 9500 BCE) marks the beginning of farming and the common fig comes from the region where farming began, the Middle East. Common fig subfossils found in the Neolithic village of Gilgal 1, 13 Kilometers north of Jericho (present day West Bank,) date from 9400-9200 BCE.

Parthenocarpic figs and human selection.

This first fig crop was a parthenocarpic type i.e. the fruit is produced without pollination (see my last blog for more on this subject.) This means that these fig plants were “cultivars” i.e. plants selected and propagated from cuttings by humans rather than grown from seed. We have been growing and eating figs, as well as introducing them to different parts of the world, for over 12,000 years. Parthenocarpic varieties helped this spread because they don’t need a local insect to pollinate the plants in order to produce fruit.

How much do I know about the food I eat?

Reading about the common fig makes me realize how little I know about the food I eat. I’m not talking about which farm my food comes from, whether it is organic or conventional, what variety it is, or how far it has traveled to reach the grocery shop’s shelf. Rather, I am talking about food’s cultural history. I wonder what it means that we have been eating figs since the end of the last ice age? What a long human-plant relationship this is. Have we co-evolved together?

Plant or human selection?

In my last blog I also wrote about the high nutritional value of figs, especially in relation to our human needs. Is this just a happy coincidence? Science may explain the selection and success of figs as a food crop through a mixture of human interference and natural selection but I wonder if those first farmers choose the fig knowing how nutritional it was to eat or just because it tasted good? Or, could it be, as Michael Pollan suggests in his book The Botany of Desire, that the common fig chose us to guarantee its survival?

Agriculture- from Neolithic times to today.

Agriculture has come a long way since Neolithic times. The highly intensive form that we now practice, with its heavy dependence on chemicals, limited selection of crops grown in vast monocultures and enormous use of fossil fuels and other natural resources to produce the crops, is a far cry from those early days. I imagine those first farmers, mostly women undoubtedly, scratching their heads in amazement. Learning about the common fig’s story raises my awareness of our dependence on nature to sustain us: the long and critical relationship we humans have with the plant kingdom- the source of most of our food- and the role this small fruit has played.

Aislinn Adams

The Common Fig, Ficus carica, unwelcome bounty!

I originally started writing about the common fig, Ficus carica, because of my annual battle with it. Our neighbor’s fig tree leans over the fence onto our yard and rains its bounty of figs onto our vegetable garden every year.  Unfortunately, neither I nor my husband or daughter eat figs. I find them too sweet, preferring fruit with a more tangy taste. Every year I spend hours cleaning up semi-rotten figs after they have smashed their way through our tomato plants before embedding themselves, like small, sticky bombs, into the mulched paths. Then the clouds of fruit flies follow. It is not one of my favorite gardening moments in the year.

Coming to terms with the common fig.

Even though I don’t like to eat figs I do feel guilty that I am allowing this food source to go to waste. I ask friends and neighbors to come and pick but to date no one has taken me up on the offer. In an effort to come to terms with this dilemma I started researching the common fig. Maybe knowing more about the plant would help me change my attitude and even motivate me to eat some of them or make more of an effort to pass them on to others at least.

I have illustrated the common fig several times for the Digging In gardening column of the Washington Post. Both times I used my neighbor’s tree for reference. I love drawing botanical illustrations, regardless of the subject, especially when I can use a live specimen, and there is no shortage of live specimens of fig in my garden!! I feel I owe this tree something seeing as it has helped me out in the past.

The common fig, a fascinating story.

Once again I start researching a plant and find myself drawn into a long and intriguing story that brings me all the way back to Neolithic times and the first farmers. By coincidence I am reading a book at the moment that has spurred on my research- The Fruit Hunters, A Story of  Nature, Adventure, Commerce and Obsession. This book by Adam Leith Gollner is a great read and even if you have only the slimmest interest in plants you will find it full of great stories to edify and entertain.

Too good a story for just one blog entry.

The story of the common fig, Ficus carica, is a complex and multi-faceted one that merits a book or indeed a series of books. There are two aspects of the fig’s story that have delighted me and sent my imagination into over-drive.

1. The reproductive cycle of the fig and its pollination strategies.

2. The first farmers (Neolithic) who domesticated the fig.

For this reason I’m writing two blogs on the subject starting with the reproductive cycle of the fig and its pollination story.

A fruit that is not a fruit!

I should write ‘false fruit’ or ‘multiple fruit’ when referring to the fig because what we eat is in fact the flower or inflorescence (an arrangement of multiple flowers.) The fig ‘fruit’ is a flower turned inside out: its juicy, red interior made up of lots of individual flowers and seeds growing together. The pollinator, a small female fig wasp that depends totally on the fig for its life cycle, must enter through a small opening in the fig, loosing her antennae and wings en route, to lay her eggs on the female fig flowers.

Fig tree pollination-well, sometimes?

Before all you fig lovers start spitting out your figs let me reassure you. Figs have several ways of producing fruits and most of the varieties in our gardens (Adriatic, Black Mission, Brown Turkey, Brunswick, and Celeste) are self-fertilized i.e. parthenocarpically. This means that they do not need pollination to produce their fruit.

Carnivorous figs?

The fig varieties that are pollinated by female wasps (e.g. Calimyrna, Marabout, and Zidi) consume the wasp after she has done her job laying her eggs and pollinating the flowers (Does this make the fig a carnivore?) When these eggs mature into female and male wasps the males (who are wingless) mate with the females and chew a tunnel through the fruit creating an opening through which the female wasps can escape. This suggests to me that the wasps may have left the fruit to find new fruits to pollinate before the fig is eaten but one account I read said that we eat the wasp’s eggs with the fruit- extra protein for us all?

Great nutrition- keep eating your figs.

I hope my account of the coevolution of the fig and fig wasp and their symbiotic relationship doesn’t put all you fig lovers off your figs, but rather fills you with the wonder and awe that nature continues to inspire in me? Who needs science fiction when we have nature all around us. I do eat dried figs and now that I’ve learned what a nutritious food it is, I plan to eat more. According to Wikipedia, figs are one of the highest plant sources of calcium and fiber and USDA research on the Mission variety found that dried figs are richest in fiber, copper, manganese, magnesium, potassium, calcium and vitamin K, relative to human needs. They also contain many antioxidants.  So keep eating your figs and maybe I’ll figure out a way to dry some of my neighbor’s next year.

Aislinn Adams

Hedge bindweed, Calystegia sepium © Aislinn Adams 2009

A new greeting card.

This week I post another botanical illustration from my Washington Post ‘Digging In’ gardening column days and the subject of my latest greeting card design- part of my Botanical Illustration Series #1. In this series I combine my illustrations with favorite quotations. For this card I’ve chosen the quote:

“Many things grow in the garden that were never sown there.” Thomas Fuller (1654-1734)

When I read this quote I think optimistically of all the serendipitous plants that turn up in the garden. Often I have bought a plant from my local nursery only to find another species has hitched a ride in the pot. I have acquired some interesting specimens this way: a happy and welcome accident.

Hedge bindweed, Calystegia sepium, not a ‘happy accident’.

This week’s blog subject is definitely not one of those ‘happy accidents’, rather the opposite. Hedge bindweed, Calystegia sepium- formerly known as Convolvulus sepium- is a troublesome weed by anyone’s standards.  This vine twines counterclockwise around plants, often overwhelming them. It is also a well-traveled weed as it can be found throughout the temperate regions of both the northern and southern hemispheres. Calystegia means “covered calyx” while the older name, Convolvulus, means “to entwine” -a name that says it all.

Why do I celebrate this plant in a blog and as a greeting card?

When Thomas Fuller wrote this quote in the 18^th century I doubt he was thinking of this troublesome plant. So why do I choose to celebrate this plant not only in a blog but also as a new greeting card? The answer is not that easy to explain.

© 2010  Aislinn Adams

I like my botanical illustration of hedge bindweed in spite of the actual plant’s bad behavior. But this is not the main reason I’ve created this card. The truth is that while working on this design I also battle with the plant in the wildlife garden or ‘naturescape’ (natural landscape) at my daughter’s elementary school. For three years I’ve worked hard to create this naturescape and I don’t want to loose it to this fast-growing plant.

Hedge bindweed- a difficult weed.

In my experience this weed, while not an ‘invasive exotic’, is one of the most difficult to remove from a garden, almost impossible in fact. At the moment it is succeeding quite easily in taking over a large area of the naturescape. Last spring I organized a group of energetic volunteers to pull the weed but within a few weeks it was back again: fresh spring-green shoots pushing through thick hogfuel bark mulch.

I have wasted a lot of time worrying about this plant, wondering how I can get rid of it, imagining it taking over the whole naturescape- kudzu-style.  Maybe by creating this card I hope to weaken the spell this plant has cast over the naturescape- and my mind. Maybe by combining this botanical illustration with a thought provoking quotation I can view it from a different perspective and maybe by thinking more philosophically about this plant I can lessen its power.

My ‘Coyote plant’?

This is my ‘coyote plant’. You know Coyote the Trickster of Native American fame. It teaches me that all my efforts to create the perfect naturescape with lots of well-behaved native plants -not always the case of course- is foolishness on my part. I can’t control nature, even this small area on the south side of my daughter’s school.

Grudgingly I learn that I have to respect this plant: its tenacity to keep growing in spite of all my efforts to eradicate it, and to admit that it too has certain qualities that could be called beautiful. But I will keep pulling it and as soon as school starts again next month I will organize another volunteer day of weeding. In the meantime I will reflect on this quotation and learn to live and let live- for the moment anyway!

Aislinn Adams

© Aislinn Adams 2008   Squash, Cucurbita pepo.

Celebrating the arrival of squash.

Squash season is here so this week I’m posting a botanical illustration to celebrate its arrival. When I illustrated this black and white illustration for the “Digging In” gardening column of the Washington Post I didn’t have time to research its story. Writing blogs about my botanical illustrations allows me time to research my subject in more depth- a very enjoyable endeavor.

Sorting out the different kinds of squash can take a while. They are loosely divided into two groups – summer or winter squash. Squash, also called marrow or pumpkin, usually refers to four species of the genus Cucurbita- C. maxima, C. mixta, C. moschata and C. pepo. The summer squash varieties have thinner skins and can be eaten raw whereas the winter squash usually have tougher skins and need to be cooked. The botanical illustration above, Cucurbita pepo, is a summer squash and includes such varieties as standard field pumpkins, small pie pumpkins, acorn squash, vegetable spaghetti, pattypan, summer crookneck and zucchini (also known as courgette).

There’s no waste on a squash!

One can eat nearly all parts of the plant. Apart from the fruit, squash seeds can be eaten directly, ground into a paste, or pressed for vegetable oil. The shoots, leaves and tendrils can be eaten as greens. The blossoms too are an important part of Native American cooking and are also used in other parts of the world.

A fascinating journey!

Little did I realize when I began to research squash that it would lead me on such a journey. So much so that I am now hard put to keep this blog entry short. There is enough material in what I’ve learned for a month of blog posts but I don’t have a month of squash illustrations. I will have to save some of the squash’s story for later blog posts and new botanical illustrations.

Central American caves, the Wampanoeg people and a Patuxet named Squanto.

The more I read about squash, the deeper the story goes. I travel from caves in central America, where archaeologists found 8000-10,000 year-old squash seed (Cucurbita pepo), to the Wampanoag tribe of New England and a Patuxet named Squanto (or Tisquantum) who, despite being captured and sold as a slave to the Spanish and later regaining his freedom and finding his way back to his homeland, helped Plymouth colonists survive those first harsh winters in New England by teaching them how to cultivate corn, squash and beans.

The “Three Sisters”- a clever combination.

The “Three Sisters”- corn, squash and beans- were the main indigenous plants used for agriculture in the Americas.  The corn provides a climbing structure for the beans and shade for the squash, the beans fix nitrogen into the soil, and the squash spreads across the ground providing cover from weeds while keeping the soil moist.

Origin of the name squash.

The word squash comes from the Native American word askutasquash: a Narrangansett word meaning ‘a green thing eaten raw’. Narragansett, an Algonquin language, is related to the Massachusett and Wampanoeg languages.

The important role of Wampanoeg women as farmers.

Squash was also a staple of the Wampanoeg diet. Wampanoeg women were responsible for farming and fruit and nut gathering. This meant they provided up to 75% of all the food needed in Wampanoeg societies (Wikipedia [4] ). The importance of their role as food providers is reflected in the status they enjoyed in their communities: land was passed down through women i.e. matrilineally, and they often held leadership positions. As it was the women who grew the food they, along with Squanto, must have been responsible for teaching the Plymouth colonists how to grow the “Three Sisters” during those first few critical years.

The next time you pick up a squash, pause a moment to consider it’s long and bountiful history: the generosity of the Wampanoeg people who shared this food willingly, and nature’s generosity in providing us with such a nourishing food for over 10,000 years.

Aislinn Adams

© Aislinn Adams  Turnip, Brassica rapa.

A Botanical illustration of a vegetable with a very old pedigree, turnip, Brassica rapa.

I chose the theme of fruit and vegetables for my June blogs but I have so many botanical illustrations to choose from my ten years illustrating the “Digging In” gardening column for the Washington Post that I’ve decided to continue this theme into July. So far too I’ve written only about fruits though several have been regarded as vegetables- see my blogs on plum tomatoes and sweet peppers. This week’s botanical illustration is of a true vegetable with a very old pedigree, turnip, Brassica rapa.

Turnips, Swedish turnips, or rutabaga?

There are several different vegetables originating from this species including Oil-seed turnip rape and many varieties of Chinese cabbage. Brassica rapa originates from the wild turnip, Brassica campestris. This turnip should not be confused with the Swedish turnip, Brassica napus, also known as swedes or rutabaga. The Swedish turnip is a winter vegetable and the one I think of when I hear the word turnip. It’s the one I associate with my childhood. I remember my mother buying it in the local ‘green grocers’: as vegetable shops were called then in Ireland. That Swedish turnip variety was about six inches in height: a solid, purple-skinned taproot, usually round in shape. I also remember it being difficult to chop. We ate it boiled and mashed with some butter and maybe a bit of parsley for garnish. The turnip, Brassica rapa, though similar in shape, is a ‘softer’ tuberous vegetable and easier to prepare in my opinion.

The Irish origin of the Halloween ‘Jack-o-lantern’

I also remember struggling to ‘carve’ out the inside of the swede turnip one Halloween for a lamp and ultimately giving up due to its tough, solid interior, not at all as easy to carve as a pumpkin: the vegetable of choice for Halloween ‘Jack-o-lanterns’ in the U.S.A. In Ireland turnips were hollowed out and small embers placed inside to ward off evil spirits. It is believed that this is the origin of the ubiquitous Halloween ‘Jack-o-lantern’ today. I’m guessing that when the Halloween tradition came to the U.S.A. someone must have hit on pumpkins as a much easier option- maybe after a similar experience to myself!

A European vegetable from pre-Christian times.

Turnip cultivation goes back to pre-Christian times. Its native range is uncertain but it has been suggested that central Europe is its likely place of origin. Theophrastus, the Greek Philosopher, knew of it in the 4^th century BCE and many early varieties were given Greek place names. Later the Roman philosopher Pliny the elder listed 12 distinct varieties- categorizing them into the two groups- rapa and napus.

Origin of the name.

The turnip is related to cabbage: the scientific name Brassica is the Latin for cabbage and rapa means turnip. According to the illustrated encyclopedia “Vegetables, Herbs and Fruits” the common name ‘turnip’ comes from a combination of the Anglo-Saxon word ‘naep’ (from napus, in Brassica napus, the botanical name for rutabaga or swedes) and turn meaning round.

These days I enjoy eating a variety of turnips, including this white one illustrated above. I like to chop them up and bake them with a variety of other vegetables. I haven’t seen the purple turnip from my childhood here in the U.S.A.- where I now live- but one of these days I’ll find it I’m sure and then I’ll try it again, boiled and mashed with a little butter. However, I’m sticking with pumpkins for our Halloween lamps.