Earth Maker took from his breast the soil and began to flatten it like a tortilla in the palm of his hand. From
it the first green thing grew: the creosote bush. He gathered the gumlike lac from the scale insect on its branches
and, pounding out shapes while singing, he formed the mountains.
The Creosote Bush Is Our Drugstore
LONG ago, darkness just lay there. No earth, moon, or stars had yet been finished.
The old people of the desert-certain Papago and Pima elders-remember such darkness whenever wintertime comes. They
recall hearing of when there wasn't anything.
As darkness washed up against itself, a spirit grew inside it: Earth Maker. Earth Maker took from his breast the
soil stuck to it, and he began to flatten this soil like a tortilla in the palm of his hand. He shaped this mound
of earth, and from it, the first thing grew: the greasewood. From its branches, the first animal came. It was a
tiny, scaly insect that could use the resin of greasewood to produce its own covering of lac. Earth Maker gathered
this gumlike lac. He began to sing. Pounding out various shapes while singing, he formed the mountains. They hardened
like shellac, making a hard crust for the earth. The space which brushed against their edges became the sky
The plant called greasewood by the Papago is known in botany books as creosote bush, since scientists prefer not
to confuse it with two other Southwestern "greasewoods," Sarcobatus and Atriplex. Whatever common name
is preferred, Larrea tridentata goes back a long time. Paleoecologist Tom Van Devender discovered this down near
the Camino del Diablo, in the Tinajas Altas Mountains of southwestern Arizona. Pulling out a chunk of crusty plant
debris from an ancient packrat midden stuck back in the rocks, he encountered creosote fragments embedded within.
When radiocarbon-dated, these greasewood pieces confirmed that such plants had established themselves near the
Lower Colorado River more than seventeen thousand years ago.
Larrea records nearly as ancient have been recognized for other areas in the western region of North American deserts.
Van Devender now speculates that after migrating up from South America, creosote remained limited to a few lowland
refugia throughout much of the Pleistocene. Then, as the Ice Age waned, greasewood began to spread. The Lower Colorado
creosote probably extended up into the Mohave Desert. Larrea likely moved from another refugium along the coast
of the Sea of Cortez to reach out across much of the Sonoran Desert. It spilled over into the northern Chihuahuan
Desert around 4500 years ago, according to Van Devender's reckoning. Creosote has since dispersed further, so that
it now covers a quarter of Mexico-some 30 million hectares-and another 18 million hectares of the United States.
Once greasewood gets settled, it sticks around. Take King Clone, near Old Woman Springs, California.
Flying two hundred and fifty kilometers northeast from the heart of Los Angeles's chaotic sprawl, pilots noticed
odd elliptical patterns of growth on the ground below. Botanist Frank Vasek visited this area on foot and found
an oval ring of creosote shoots averaging almost eight meters in radius. It was tweny-two meters in width at one
cross section, with a bare spot of earth and dead wood stubble in its midst.
As Vasek studied the configuration, he surmised that it might consist of just one plant, instead of simply being
a population of numerous individuals aligned in a curvilinear design. Vasek's colleague Lionel Sternberg confirmed
through chemical studies that the population was in fact a clone of genetically identical Larrea.
It was not just a clone. It was the most extensive creosote clone known-King Clone. Yet how did the growth from
a single seed end up covering a horizontal distance of tweny-two meters? And when did that pioneering seed germinate?
By observing younger creosote clumps, then delving deeper into the distribution of King Clone's shoots and roots,
Vasek began to answer these questions. A new creosote sprout grows vertically until it reaches a few centimeters
in height; then lateral branches develop. They shoot up diagonally, so that young creosote bushes are shaped like
upside-down ice cream cones. As the plant matures, it begins to send up additional basal shoots from its root crown,
but always at the periphery of the plant.
Sooner or later, the original stem dies and its dead wood slowly disintegrates, leaving a bare spot in the center
of the clump. However, satellite shoots continue to branch out, gradually putting down their own roots in a ring
around the original crown.
Concentric circles of new clonal shoots enable the original plant's genome to persist even as other inner stems
die and leave a bigger hole in the "doughnut." Vasek decided to measure the rate of expansion of the
creosote rings, to estimate how long it might have taken King Clone to attain its present size. His early estimates
were on the order of eleven thousand years!
Vasek then measured the distance between concentric rings of dead wood stubble, and he radiocarbon-dated samples
from several of these rings. Although the order of magnitude of his King Clone age estimate was still probable,
these new data suggested that ring expansion rates may have varied through time. As the historic climate changed,
both creosote growth rates and overall vegetation composition were affected. Vasek's more conservative age estimate
for King Clone-9400 years-suggests that this plant began to grow when junipers still dominated the valley. Today,
near Old Woman Springs, King Clone's creosote progeny mix with a scattering of bursage to cover the valley floor,
while junipers have retreated upslope several hundred meters. Whatever King Clone's exact age may be, it is older
than the most ancient bristlecone pine known to humankind.
Like pine, greasewood is a resin reservoir. These resins are evident as an amber, tacky syrup exuded as droplets
on its stems. More importantly, they make up ten to twenty percent of the dry weight of Larrea foliage, being found
both internally and as a waxy sheen on the external surface of the leaves. These resins, a complex mix of flavinoids,
lignins, volatile oils, saponins, and waxes, serve to protect the plant in several ways.
On the leaf surface, these resins decrease the amount of ultraviolet light and heat that can reach the leaf interior,
where photosynthesis and other vital activities might be slowed or disrupted by more extreme doses. Resins also
limit the loss of water from leaf surfaces, thereby reducing overall transpiration.
Furthermore, Larrea is protected chemically from overconsumption by browsing animals, ranging from cattle to tiny,
nearly imperceptible insects. A number of compounds in creosote resin simply taste terrible and repel potential
herbivores. Other compounds make creosote leaf proteins indigestible by forming new chemical complexes in an animal's
gut which are resistant to digestive enzymes. Only one grasshopper is definitely known to have counteradaptations
in its gut chemistry which can deactivate creosote's defense system. These Astroma grasshoppers, incidentally,
are creosote cryptics. The females, which stay low in the bush during the day, resemble old stems. The males mimic
young leaf sprays. In design, these insects are essentially extensions of their host plant.
To produce such pervasive defenses against their enemies and the elements, any single creosote bush generates an
astonishing diversity of chemicals. Biochemist Tom Mabry has isolated more than 360 constituents from the oil components
of leaves of various Larrea species. At least forty-nine kinds of volatile oils can be found in a single greasewood
stand. These give the plant its characteristic odor. When warm summer rains wash creosote clean for the first time
after months of drought, the desert smells like vinyl and methyl ketones, camphor, and limonene. No wonder Sonorans
call it hediondilla-"little stinker."
It probably did not take desert cultures too long to realize that creosote's chemicals did more than stink-something
that pungent might also be medicinally powerful. The Jesuit missionaries who pioneered in the Pimeria Alta-present-day
north-central Sonora and southern Arizona-documented the curative uses of creosote just as early as they did those
of other major plant medicines. Ignaz Pfeffercorn complained that this hedionda "gives off an odor which is
almost unendurable to a somewhat sensitive nose," but the old German did admit that "it is really a very
powerful remedy... for worms in children as well as in adults." His contemporary Juan Nentvig believed that
it was beneficial to those afflicted with syphilis, and that an ointment made from creosote branches fried in tallow
was efficacious when massaged onto gnarled rheumatic limbs. He added, however, that "if the masseur washes
his hands after applying the ointment, his hands will become gnarled."
Over the following two centuries, travelers, explorers, cowboys, botanists, and anthropologists documented an incredible
diversity of medicinal applications of creosote stems, leaves, and gum. The richness of documented usages of creosote
among a single tribe, the desert Cahuilla, is staggering. From David Barrows's seminal work as a visitor among
the Cahuilla at the turn of the century to that of Katherine Saubel among her own people in recent decades, Larrea
has been recorded as part of the treatment for at least fourteen afflictions and diseases: colds, chest infections
or lung congestion, intestinal discomfort, stomach cramps associated with delayed menstruation, consumption, cancer,
nausea, wounds, poisons, swollen limbs due to poor circulation, dandruff, body odor, distemper, and postnasal drip.
Sprigs of twigs and leaves are boiled as a tea, and drunk; placed over a fire to create steam that is inhaled in
a sweathouse; dried, pounded into a powder, and pressed into a poultice on wounds; and heated into an infusion
that is applied to the scalp or to the pits. What's more, it cures horses as well as humans. . . .
"Fascinating reading for anyone interested in human ecology or ethnobotany . . . a splendid way to learn
to love--and save--the deserts."
--Natural History
"Nabhan has chosen a dozen of the more than 425 edible wild species found in the desert to demonstrate just
how bountiful the land can be. . . . A rich blend of scientific facts and observation."
--Choice
"The desert will never look the same once you've seen it through the eyes of Gary Paul Nabhan. . . . With
the style of a storyteller and with accompanying drawings by Paul Mirocha, Nabhan shows that the desert is anything
but barren."
--Rodale's Organic Gardening
"This gentle blend of history, scholarship and country yarns makes for a book that entertains while it teaches."
--Whole Earth Review
"If placed in the middle of this environment, how well would we fare? Nabhan becomes our guide. The empty
baskets we bring to this book are gradually filled with seeds from each chapter. . . . A beautiful book."
--Orion Nature Quarterly
"A timely contribution. . . . Strongly recommend this book to all those interested in expanding their thoughts
on desert culture and ecology."
--Agriculture & Human Values
"This a highly original book . . . reads like a novel. . . . The book is very accessible."
--Cultural Dynamics
"It should be noted that besides good reading, this book is as aesthetically pleasing as a basket made from
Devil's Claw."
--Mexico Journal
University of Arizona Press Web Site, November, 2000
Summary
Gathering the Desert explores desert plants as calories, cures, and characters and in what season they can be found.
