Matricaria chamomilla
Plate from Köhler's Medizinal-Pflanzen, Gera-Untermhaus. Biodiversity Heritage Library, no known copyright restrictions.
If one plant taught me patience, it was this one. Chamomile asks for almost nothing — a sunny sill, the occasional drink of water — and returns small daisy-like flowers that smell faintly of apples when you brush past them.
Sow the fine seeds on the surface of the soil and press them in gently — they need light to germinate. Keep them in the brightest spot you have and let the top of the soil dry between waterings. It’s a plant that prefers a little neglect to too much fuss.
Pick the flowers when the white petals are still flat, not yet curled back. Lay them on a tray out of direct sun for a week or so until papery, then keep them in a sealed jar away from light. A single plant, picked often, will keep giving through the summer.
Use a heaped tablespoon of dried flowers per mug. Pour over just-off-the-boil water, cover, and steep for five minutes — covering it keeps the calming oils from drifting off in the steam. Strain, and drink it slowly, ideally with nowhere else to be.
A cup of chamomile is less a remedy than a signal — a small ceremony that tells the body the day is done.
Chamomile is in the daisy family, so if you’re sensitive to ragweed or related plants, go gently at first. As always here: this is a gardener’s field note, not medical advice.