Identification

            I know everyone has noticed and even bee affected by the layer of ice covering, well, everything.  For me it means shuffeling across the untouched lawn to the stomach dropping cadence of shuffle shuffle slipcrackcrunch. 

Shuffle shuffle slipcrackcrunch. 

            And that’s only on the steps my feet actually make an impression on.

            But I am here on this hand seizing, lamp-lit night with a purpose: Identification. 

            With the National Wildlife Federation’s Field Guide to Trees of North America in hand I face the frozen garden.  To be fair, I cheated.  My roommate, a Biology student with a preference for plants and bugs, pointed me in the right direction earlier in the week by listing a few of the plants.  I stopped listening once she mentioned witch hazel.

            Witch hazel.  How could I not have noticed the witch hazel? 

            My relationship with witch hazel has been rather muggy over the years.  The first bursts of yellow nearly blended in with the siding at the front of my house.  But they were there, stealing the sun out of the sky to turn into flowers.  Stealing summer to replace it with fall.  Exchanging my freedom for a structured school week. 

            My roommate didn’t tell me which corner each plant resided in, but with the field guide, and my memory, finding the witch hazel was simple enough.  Three plants caught in the middle of shrub and tree stand proudly in the back corner of the garden.  They were not planted here out of coincidence, but because witch hazel prefers the shade and this portion of the garden is continually overcast by the towering brick wall. 

            These shrub-trees are not the frozen skeletons I see in the distance.  Their limbs are malleable, and covered in soft mustard brown polyps.  The field guide shows me an example of immature capsules, but these look more like bouquets of bean sprouts.  These are the opposite of immature capsules.  This is what’s left behind when the last of the spidery flowers have fallen.  Because this is witch hazel’s autumn.  While the trees in the distance have long been sleeping these shrub-trees are just settling in.

            The flowers appear after the less recognizable leaves have fallen.  From what I know after years of watching the transition of my backyard’s weeping cherry blossom, this plant works backwards. 

            But back to the leaves.  I can only go by the description and picture in this field guide, which show me an asymmetrical fan in a deep green.  Though less recognizable than the spidery, yellow flowers, these leaves are what witch hazel is cultivated for.  Brewed into a tea or turned into a commercially available astringent, witch hazel is used to calm sores, bruises, swelling, and overall un-wellness.  At least for some. 

            My mom always had the perfect remedy for any sickness.  Homemade ginger tea, disgusting cough syrup disguised in Gatorade, and of course chicken noodle soup.  So, having a panic attack at sixteen, I didn’t question her judgment a when she placed a washcloth soaked in witch hazel (the kind from the store) on my forehead.  She promised it would sooth me while I relaxed on the living room sofa.  The smell stung my nose as it filled my sinuses.  My head spun and my stomach dropped.  Every breath I took ripped at my throat while the sour taste clung to my tongue.  I threw the cloth on the table and made it to the bathroom just in time for what little dinner I managed to eat to vacate my stomach. 

            I return to my apartment with a small twig of the witch hazel to help with this week’s writing.

            “This is the witch hazel right?” I show the piece to my roommate.

            She examines it closely before bringing it to her nose.  “Yup.  Didn’t you smell it?”  She holds the twig out to me.

            I take a step back but the memory is already stinging at my nose.  “No thanks.  I’ll take your word for it.”

            While some might look to witch hazel for a remedy, I’ll continue to admire the bright sign of fall from a far.