A Plant With Too Many Uses
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Photo by Aleksander Borawski
Nature

A Plant With Too Many Uses

The Joys of Growing Hemp
Katarzyna Tyszkiewicz-Borawska
Reading
time 12 minutes

My friends and I were told that hemp plants are returning to Poland’s soil. Naturally, we too wanted to grow them. We had no idea how many problems they would bring us, but also how much joy.

The three of us set up a limited company – me, my husband Aleksander, and our friend Przemek. We were like the three friends from Reymont’s The Promised Land, only we didn’t build a factory, but a hemp plantation. We got our seeds from the Poznań Institute of Natural Fibres and Medicinal Plants. We would provide them with new seeds for re-cultivation and, in return, the rest of our crop – flower heads (or inflorescences) and hemp straw – would be ours to do with as we wished. Straight away we decided that we’d produce oils and Hempcrete. We were energized and optimistic.

In early spring, Przemek (who is a farmer) prepared the soil. He ploughed it and added fertilizer. We planted our seeds in May, thinking that the process would involve going out to the field, reaching into little sacks hanging from our belts, and then tossing the seeds around in the late-spring sunshine, wiping the sweat from our brow after an honest day’s work. Meanwhile, Przemek got in his tractor, hooked a seeding trailer to it, and in half an hour the job was done. We only had two hectares to cover.

By the second half of July,

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The Oak Chronicles
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Illustration by Cyryl Lechowicz
Nature

The Oak Chronicles

Urszula Zajączkowska

“And suddenly, Bartek appeared; his great green crown blooming across the road. What a giant. So I pretended I could not see him yet. I was too shy to look at this tree”, writes Urszula Zajączkowska, a poet and biologist, describing her encounter with the arboreal colossus.

I seem to have no trouble ploughing through the sticky entrails of scientific laws for hours on end. I can draw complex dependency graphs of strange occurrences from the lives of plants, measure and count all data, conclude it all in a plump, round sentence without a comma in sight. And yet, I know what I know. And now I will say it: despite all that time spent counting and writing, I cannot stay immobile for too long. I have always been restless, and it will never change. The only way I can work is when contemplation is laced with spontaneous explosions of bending and flexing the body (nobody in the world of academia knows this, so please don’t pass it on). That’s why on some late evenings I run through empty university corridors, screaming things that don’t sound very pretty; or I gallop up and down the stairs, praying I don’t twist my knees and that the security officers don’t notice me. During the day, I dance in my laboratory; I jump in an almost normal way. Sometimes, I do push-ups near the microtome I use for dissecting plant bodies. (Between these exercises, I sometimes put my serious face on and give lectures). And when I need to achieve an extraordinary level of focus – whenever I feel I am nearing the crucial points of the most difficult cases – I pull myself up on to the partition walls in the university bathroom.

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