Winter has settled in, and with it comes the inevitable symphony of coughs echoing through classrooms, shared books and coffee cups passing along more than just knowledge. It seems every conversation starts with, “Everyone’s sick,” as students bundle up against the cold but can’t quite escape the endless cycle of sniffles. Lately, my thoughts have turned to elderberry (Sambucus canadensis), a plant that has long been a trusted ally against winter’s grip—both in the world of modern herbal medicine and in the traditions of the Wampanoag people who have called this land home for generations.
Elderberry thrives along the Massachusetts coast, its delicate white blossoms giving way to clusters of inky purple fruit by late summer. The Wampanoag knew its potency well, crafting decoctions from the berries to soothe colds and fevers, keeping their communities strong through the bitter months. Unlike some of the more palatable wild fruits, elderberry requires patience—it must be cooked to neutralize its raw bitterness, a reminder that some of nature’s best medicines require a practiced hand.
Even now, elderberry syrup is a staple in herbalist circles, its deep purple richness brewed into teas or taken by the spoonful as a daily safeguard. Some say it shortens colds; others swear it keeps illness at bay entirely. At the very least, its tart, warming presence feels like an act of self-care, a small defense against the tidal wave of winter ailments.
Beyond its medicinal gifts, elderberry is a quiet but essential presence in our coastal ecosystem. It stabilizes soil against the restless pull of wind and tide, offers shelter to birds, and lures in pollinators when its blooms unfurl in spring. It is a plant of resilience, one that thrives despite the changing seasons—something I think we could all use a bit of right now.
So, if you’re feeling the weight of winter and the cold that just won’t quit, take a page from the past. Whether you find elderberry in a store-bought syrup or steep it into your own brew, know that you’re partaking in something ancient—an old remedy passed down through time, from the coastal marshes to the hands that still tend it today.