My first encounter with elderberries was in the kitchen at Angelic Organics farm.  Lora Krogman, then the resident chef/poetess/fermentation goddess/beekeeper, gave me one small teaspoonful of elderberry syrup from a cold remedy bottle.  That stuff was the most delicious medicine I’ve ever had, and thereafter lodged itself as a tiny jewel of sense memory in the vault of things I wanted.

Lora’s sudden passing several years ago left me with a longing to inherit the practices she had been cultivating so simply, quietly, steadily, and with such generous wonder.  In the time since then, I’ve made sauerkraut fairly regularly (the dear JJLyngly guided me through the hesitation of my maiden flight).  I’ve tended a sourdough starter (a child of the Deep Springs culture, given to me two summers ago by SML).  I’ve harvested dandelion and burdock root for tea and coffee (encouraged by my own mother, a woman who passionately and single-mindedly pursues new fascinations, especially if they’ve been mentioned in passing by her children).

I’m drawn to these acts of transformation, and each practice has populated friendships with new things to make and share.  This has been a double gift.

The second time I heard of elderberry was from my friend here in Wisconsin, and then he spoke of elderberry wine.  He didn’t have any to taste, and I can only imagine.

It’s fitting then, that my first real meeting with elderberry comes here, as I myself spend the winter in West Central Wisconsin.  Recently, I proposed a barter with a friend and colleague: some desktop publishing assists in trade for some of the elderberries he’d listed on a community forum.  I was thinking of trying out recipes with a pound or two of berries.

My friend, in his sterling generosity, presented me with a large mass of what must be at least 10lbs. of elderberries, double-bagged, from a frozen trove stashed in his barn.  I promised that he’d find himself heir to a healthy stock of tincture and syrup at the end of things.

Yesterday, I shelved 3 quart jars of elderberry tincture, combining recipes suggested by two friends who are herbalists.  Here’s what I did (for visuals, check the gallery at right):

1. Purchased one liter of neutral grain spirits from the corner store.   That’s 190 proof or 95% alcohol, more than twice as strong the vodka that most recipes call for.  Sarah Root–readers may remember from the awesome story she tells about primate apothecary–recommends neutral spirits over vodka because the water present in the plant materials can dilute the solvent (in this case, alcohol),  and result in a less potent or less stable preparation.
2. Removed stems and leaves from 3 quarts of frozen elderberries, also discarding any unripe green or red berries.  The stems and unripe fruits can be toxic.
3. Washed 3 quart-sized canning jars and their lids in soap and water.  Rinsed with boiling water.  This is probably overkill–if anything can survive hanging out with 190proof, then I’m doomed anyway.
4. Scooped berries into the jars, crushed using a long-handled spoon.
5. Added alcohol to cover berries.  Some tincture recipes, including one from another herbalist friend, recommend 1 part elderberries to 2 parts vodka.  By using a higher proof, I can increase the volume of berries to make a more concentrated tincture and dilute later if necessary.  In any case, I’ve got plenty of berries.
6. Tightened lids, shaking jars briefly to agitate contents.
7. Tapped upright jars to loosen air bubbles, stored in a dark cabinet.
8. Marked the calendar for a month from today.  That’s when the tincture will be ready.

To read more about elderberry’s nutritional and medicinal profile, you might want to see this materia medica.   Next on my list is an elderberry syrup recipe.