Happy Thanksgiving: A Weed Bit of History

Here is a little story that is not well known about the pilgrims and their first Thanksgiving and the new world.

How many of you have heard of a plant called ‘Datura’? It grows all over North America. In the east, it’s known as jimson weed. Out west, especially in the southwest, it is known as the sacred datura, the moon lily, moon flower, the dream weed or the devil’s trumpet.

Now they didn’t have this plant in merry ole England. The Pilgrim Fathers didn’t discover it until they came to the new World. Most likely it was one of the indigenous Americans who turned and pointed out the plant and suggested that if the immigrants wanted to really give thanks, and at the same time do themselves a big favor, they should nibble a bit of this plant. Any part of it – petals, stems, leaves – taken internally launched the person into a world they had never known before.

Not only was datura a guaranteed hallucinogenic, it had curative powers as well. For example, when consumed in a fire and the fumes inhaled, it aided respiration. The plant was also used as a poultice to salve burns and sores. Merely rubbing the eyes after pulling the leaves off the stem could cause the pupils to dilate.

This is a plant that could both heal you and kill you.

In India, for example, assassins used it to dispatch their victims. The priests of Apollo at Delphi ate datura to assist them in making prophecies.

Now let’s be realistic, how many of you have sat at a groaning Thanksgiving day table, bored out of your skull, stuffed to the gills with sodium-loaded turkeys, seated next to some long-lost cousin who can only talk about all the money he is spending, and wishing you could be anywhere else than where you are.

Well, thing about those first pilgrims who, before they sat down to enjoy their first major repast in the New World gobbled down a handful of petals from the ubiquitous moon lily. There are reports of pious Christian elders getting to their feet midway through the sumptuous feast and dancing on the table, singing at the tops of their lungs, and attempting to remove critical articles of clothing. Others, it is reported, were found hanging from tress, giggling maniacally.

Think about it. Is this not a good way to celebrate the arrival of the Europeans into this brave New World? This we do have to be thankful for.

(Jimson weed = James Town + weed)

Top and last (1932) paintings by Georgia O`Keeffe, second and third images from desertusa.com, and fourth homegrown from Missouri Plants.

Object: Posset Pots

When I hear of a combination of milk and beer or wine, I have to tell you, I think of a hangover remedy -- something to soothe the stomach with a little dash of hair of the dog to ease a pounding head.

Posset pots were drinking vessels usually made from tin-glazed earthenware, sometimes made from silver or glass, to drink the milk and alcohol mixture from. They had two handles and a spout and were very popular in England and Holland from the sixteenth through the eighteenth centuries.

Bristol Delftware Posset Pot, circa 1690; Sotheby’s NYC January 20, 2006; Realized Price: $12,000


Sometimes an egg and spices like cinnamon were added. Sometimes a sweet sherry was used instead of ale or wine. The alcohol would cause the mixture to curdle and separate and the drinker would sip the concoction through the spout.

Dutch Delft Polychrome Posset Pot 18th Century (painted in imitation of Batavian ware); Sotheby’s, Amsterdam, Netherlands, December 4, 2006; Estimate : €800 - €1,200


A little protein post a bout of too much drinking the night before is always recommended. However, I would opt out of drinking this recipe. I am covering my lips with one finger right now as my stomach turns a bit.


George II Delftware Posset Pot circa 1730-40; Christies’ London January 20, 2009; Realized: £1,625


Posset was a popular drink at celebrations such as weddings or Christmas feasts and the posset pot was passed from guest to guest each one sipping from the spout. I wouldn’t have liked to be the last one to sip this mixture. Some people tend to leave a bit of warm, thick backwash.

Posset Pot, ca. 1710 Bristol, England, Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in KC.


A really good posset was said to have three different layers: the upper having foam; the middle a smooth custard; and the bottom the alcohol. The custard portion was eaten with a spoon and the leftover liquid mixture sipped through the spout. At weddings a wedding ring was sometimes thrown into the posset pot. It was thought that the person who fished it out would be the next to get married.

It was also commonly used for those in bed sick to slowly sip this milk and alcohol mixture from one of these pots. In some rural portions of England, this was practiced even up until the mid twentieth century.

English Delftware White Posset Pot, curca 1700; Sotheby’s NYC, October 20, 2003; Estimated Price: $6,000 - $8,000; failed to sell.


Some seventeenth-century recipes called for bread crumbs, eighteen yokes and three-quarters pound of sugar. (My bottom is spreading from just reading about it.) This recipe sounds similar to a bread pudding I make -- but it has a whiskey sauce mixed with butter and sugar on top. There is no curdling. There is no communal sipping sludge from the bottom. And everyone has their own portion from their own plate nibbling from their own fork.

I must not judge. Times have changed. And I am sure an eighteenth-century English woman would have thought eating a rice cake that tastes similar to Styrofoam was unappealing.

English Delftware Polychrome Posset Pot and cover, Circa 1770; Sotheby’s NYC; October 6, 2006; Estimated Price: $18,000 - $22,000; Realized Price: $66,000 !

Something about these spouts makes me feel a little uncomfortable. Anyone else?

Top image: Posset pot, Netherlands, Late 17th or early 18th century ; Victoria and Albert Museum .

Artist: Lizzie Siddal (1829-1862)

… All changes pass me like a dream,
I neither sing nor pray;
And thou art like the poisonous tree
That stole my life away.

- Elizabeth Siddal from “Love and Hate”

Many of us have succumbed to the powers of attraction.

Our bodies ruling over our heads. Our emotions soon to follow.

A spell is cast and no matter hard we fight to break it, we just can’t seem to get away.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti was one of those… a sorcerer of sorts, and not the good kind. Lizzie Siddal, an artist in her own right, fell under his spell. Today, she is known more as a model or a muse, for the drama with Rossetti and not her work.

Beatrix by DGR

At the age of twenty, Elizabeth Eleanor Siddall was working as a milliner. She was unusual in appearance than most of the girls her age. Tall and lean with a mass of glorious red hair, she had agate-colored eyes and alabaster skin. Her voice soft and scant. She caught the attention of many men. She was introduced to Dante Gabriel Rossetti and soon, at his demand, she became his exclusive model.

Lizzie showed promise as an artist, and Rossetti took her on as a student. He had her live with him. He dropped the remaining ‘L’ from her last name. And then he promised to marry her.

Self-Portrait 1853-54

By 1854, several of Lizzie’s paintings and illustrations appeared in the Pre-Raphaelite Exhibition. Lizzie was the only female artist. The following year, John Ruskin saw her work and purchased everything. Ruskin even gave her an allowance to continue her work.

Years passed and Rossetti ’s promises to marry her went unrealized. He began to entertain other artists’ models. Their relationship became tumultuous. Several times she tried to leave but was always worried Rossetti would replace her with a younger, prettier muse. Grief stricken, Lizzie would often fall ill taking laudanum for relief.

In May of 1860, Rossetti and Lizzie finally married. The following May, she gave birth to a stillborn daughter. By the end of the year, Lizzie was pregnant again. In February, she went out to dinner with Rossetti and a friend. She returned home and he went out again. At 11:30 he came home to a dark room. He called to her and received no reply. In bed he found her with an empty vile of laudanum next to the bed.

The grieving husband threw a manuscript of poems he had written into her casket. he began to drink. And take chloral.

Seven years went by and then Rossetti persuaded his friends to exhume Lizzie's body. He wanted to publish the poems he had thrown into her coffin. Late one night, they dug up her grave and pried open the coffin. The poems were retrieved and drenched in disinfectant. His friends told him, not to worry…. Lizzie looked remarkably well.

Georgiana, the wife of the painter Edward Burne-Jones, said of Rossetti: “no one could produce the peculiar charm of his voice with its sonorous roll and beautiful cadences.” No one really knows why or how another person can cast such a powerful spell onto another. No one really knows why people cannot break away from others. But you wonder if Lizzie was able to break from his spell and finally leave him not having to carry the label of a divorced or 'fallen' woman, how good her work could have become.