Last week I attended Jeff Carreira’s meditation retreat in Flat Rock, North Carolina. Every day after the morning meditation and breakfast, I went for a walk on the beautiful grounds of Highland Lake Cove.
There was a loop trail that bisected the lake full to the brim with blooming lotus flowers. I took numerous photos of the blooming lotuses and felt the perfection of their presence on the retreat. But it was another plant that I had never seen before that caught my attention.
One day I happened to be strolling slowly next to the lake and I spied something pink in the tangle of plants near the water’s edge. I squatted down to get a closer look and found a vine with a small, multi-tiered flower that reminded me of a pea plant. I took lots of photos and sketched it later that day.
When I googled the photo I learned it was the American Groundnut (Apios americana) …also called Indian potato, potato bean, cinnamon vine, hodo-imo, or hopniss. The North Carolina Extension describes it as “a native perennial vine in the legume family and is found in tidal and non-tidal marshes, wet thickets, stream banks and bottomland forests. It has edible fruits and large edible tubers that provide numerous health benefits. Although the fruit and seeds are edible, it is the tuber that is most desirable but the only place it is cultivated as a food crop is in Japan. The vine can grow 8-16 feet long.” It has been described as a North American equivalent of the South American potato (1). It was cultivated by Native Americans as a staple food source and was also an important food source for the pilgrims (2). Efforts have been made to domesticate the tuber, but the plant doesn’t easily lend itself to this as it may appear far from where it is planted and takes a couple years to produce tubers (1).
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| Hopniss tubers (4) |
One of my favorite things to do when I encounter a new plant is to research its spiritual significance. It seems every plant in the world has a spiritual connection attributed by humans and hopniss is no exception. In 1590 a plant in Virginia was described as,
“Openauk, a kind of root of round form, some of the bigness of walnuts, some far greater, which are found in moist & marish grounds growing many together one by another in ropes, or as though they were fastened with a string. Being boiled or sodden they are very good meat.” (1)
This root was indeed hopniss, or, as the French like to call it, la patate en chapelet, because of its visual resemblance to a rosary (3). There were several historical references by the French to the root which they described as tasting “very good like truffles.” The Jesuits also wrote about the Native Americans eating the tuber “that our French call the rosary” and looking for the tuber when famine threatened, only to find they were already mostly harvested by the native tribes (3). Weirdly, I found this religious reference to the rosary adorable. It made me envision a fairy-tale giant sitting with a potato-string rosary thumbing his potato beads. I was raised Catholic but have never said the rosary. I remember having to memorize certain prayers in the fifth grade and being nervous to recite them. Researching the rosary this week I can see that it is a beautiful practice to commune, ponder the mysteries and quiet the mind, even if it is with a string of potatoes.
The different Native American tribes also called the plant by many different names, including “nu-nu, chicamins, maskoseet, and chiquebi.” Specifically, the root word for the plant in Algonquin was “pen,” and occurred in various forms such as “openauk” (mentioned above) and “penak.” Even the word “Hopniss” can be traced back to this root word: o-pen-niss (2). When I read this, I couldn’t help but chuckle because the retreat was about being an “open” portal to the divine, or consciousness, or universal energy. Magically, the name of the plant I just happened to find while walking at the retreat is a direct reminder to remain open. One of my main takeaways from the retreat was the realization that to be “open” means taking life in whatever form it comes. I may think I prefer vanilla, but if I am utterly open to the moment, a preference for chocolate might arise. I know this is a simple example, but the implications are huge. It also means remaining open even when things don’t go “my way.” This is beautiful in concept, but I have found not always easy in practice. But life offers me daily opportunities to practice and so I do. In hindsight, I have often found that what I thought was “against” me was surprisingly in my best interest. I have even come to the realization that ultimately it is all “for” me, regardless of what I perceive as “good” and “bad.” This deep faith in life has not come easily, but perceiving the world in this way eases suffering when adversity arises. It also helps me remain open to solutions instead of focusing on resistance and frustration.
After reading about the hopniss references, one to the rosary and the other to openness, I pondered both concepts and let them steep for a few days. After stewing, the tangled vine of ingredients melded into one flavor (Hah! I think the word “rosary” was reminding me of “rosemary”! … alas, one should never write while hungry). What arose may very well be the world’s first spiritual poetry about hopniss.
Hopniss Rosary
We are all connected underground, you and I
Our plump bodies tied by a string
Each of us a delicious prayer
A luminous, joyful, sorrowful, glorious mystery
Hail to the mother, full of grace and starch
Blessed is the fruit of thy womb
Around the circle, potato petitions
One rhizomatous corded connection
Delectable tuberous portals we are
Storing the light of the sun in the dark
We drink the rain, we grow
Above ground, vine spiraling upward
The cross we bear, a rose-colored bloom
Tiers of passion and pink
My body will feed you.
In the beginning and the end,
Above and below
We open
Openauk
Sources
Thanks Vanessa. That’s a lovely rosary poem or meditation. I’ve seen groundnut and it’s beautiful. Never heard it called hopniss or knew any of the ethnobotanical richness you share. Your poem lead me to recall a Gary Snyder poem, song of the taste.
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A rich exploration of a beautiful flower and its "roots".
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