8 The subtle seductions of the willow tree

The Celtic Tree Calendar
When I was a student, I became aware of what I later learned to recognise as ‘plant spirit medicine’; initially through the books of Carlos Castaneda and later Lynn Andrews, and much later again in a book of that title by Eliot Cowan. I wrote a bit about this in a blog in 2012.

If you have read my book A Spell in the Forest – tongues in trees you might remember that I recount a surreal/bizarre and unforgettable encounter with the ‘plant spirit’ of the willow tree. There are folk stories of willow ‘stalking’ humans; this is one, weird though that might sound.

In the Celtic Sacred Tree Calendar and Alphabet which is at the heart of my book, willow is the key tree of late spring, April into May. It has many virtues and attributes, some of which I’ll mention below. As its Latin name salix tells us, one of its gifts to humans is salicylic acid, from which we make analgesics, such as aspirin.

From salix comes Saille, the Irish name for the tree as in the calendar/alphabet, and sallow, one of the many varieties of willow; and also the title of Yeats’ famous poem, made into a song, ‘Down by the Salley Gardens’. This song has particular meaning and resonance for me, as when my much-loved mum had Alzheimer’s, singing this song together was one of the few things we could do, and it made her happy.

The so-called sacred trees of the Celts embodied certain characteristics; in my book and the courses that preceded this I suggest readers and participants consider the psycho-spiritual correlates in their inner lives.

Many trees, and especially the traditional sacred trees, were also historically the bearers of many not-so-subtle gifts to humans: rather essential, in fact (eg timber for fuel and building, food, medicine, bows and arrows, spears, staves, compost and more). One of the most helpful trees is the willow.

Willow has a strong affinity with water. I write about that too in Spell: that and its connection with the dreamworld, the emotional and intuitive natures, and the unconscious.

The weather is always bigger than our intentions
I’ve been thinking about this because I’m currently facing one of our failures here – the loss of the best part of 110 willow slips that I’d planted early this year, probably due to the drought.

One of the aspects of our project is short-rotation coppicing for fuel and woodchip, of willow and probably later hazel; perennial biofuel and mulch, in other words. We planted a row of willow in the North Field, where our new arc of fruit trees is, and in which, towards the wooded side, we’ll be making the forest garden, starting this winter. We’ll be planting another row or two as a windbreak against the prevailing westerlies. Willow roots so very easily (under normal conditions) that a short length of willow stem stuck in the ground generally takes. Our 110 slips seemed to have done so.

We are still sorting out rainwater capture, and the North Field, although probably hosting underground springs towards its lower edge, is not close to a water supply otherwise. In about late August I noticed that one by one the slips were turning black. I imagine this is due to the heatwaves here. In temperate Brittany we have had extremes of temperature, as most of Europe has, and we know that this is going to get worse. Nonetheless it was shocking that willow too succumbed. Even the mature but not old ‘guardian’ willow tree at the front door of the cottage has succumbed.

Gifts from the willow tree
I was interested to read an article by Charlie Morton in Permaculture magazine of summer 2023. In it Morton, clearly passionate about his subject, outlines the many human benefits of willow, some of which I didn’t know.

Arts and crafts: we know about baskets, and willow sculpture. Public sculptures are the great Wicker Man on the Somerset Levels (of course perfect for willow-growing) on the M5 northbound; the willow horse on the Millennium Greenway in Cheshire; the small leaping deer on the A303 eastbound; and my own favourite, a stag on the woodland sculpture trail at Calgary Bay, Isle of Mull, Scotland, above

Biofuel: Morton quotes Cookstown in Northern Ireland which in 2008 switched from oil to locally-grown willow to heat the public swimming pool, and saved more than £1000 per week. In 2009, Polish research found that fast-growing willow cultivars provided more than 27 tonnes of dry biomass per hectare per year. Morton tells us that that’s the energy equivalent of 11,000 litres of petrol or 12 tonnes of coal; and outstrips other annual biofuel crops like maize and rapeseed, and ‘compares favourably with wind farms occupying the same area’

Carbon sinks: willow, being a perennial, will continually capture carbon in the atmosphere through leaf-fall, roots and mycorrhizal fungi, and sink it back into the soil via its root system to the extent that it becomes a carbon-negative form of energy

Erosion control: since willow has such an affinity with water, its natural habitat is riverbanks, where its massive root system has a significant role to play in stabilising the banks and preserving the rich silty soil beside them. In New Zealand, it has been planted for centuries as a way to prevent soil erosion on banks and hillsides (the latter being an increasingly problematic environmental concern with all our deforestation)

Clearing toxic waste: it seems research done at Stockholm and published in 2022 showed that osier willow had successfully reduced seven types of industrial toxins in the soil by over 50% in 10 years. This is significant, isn’t it?

Wildlife: apart from the early bee-food in its catkins, willow is second only to the oak in the number of insect species it supports. These in turn provide food for birds, and willow is one of the trees particularly favoured by the nightingale

Foraged food: some of the fungi species hosted by willow, dead or alive, are edible for humans.

Given what I said about how easily willows take root, I’d like to think I might have whet your appetite for making room for a willow in a garden, if you have one, or even a stand of willow if you have the space? If so, you only need a 12” length of willow twig, cut from a dormant tree. Bury it up to its neck in the ground, ensure enough moisture, and in a year or two it’ll be close to head-height.