There is one flower still burning in my garden this week. The tomatoes have collapsed, the herbs have gone woody and tired, but the calendula is throwing gold like it hasn't heard the news — copper and marigold daisies opening in the cool morning while the rest of the bed lies down for the year. In October, that means something to me. This is the season of the thinning veil, the month we set a place for the ones who came before, and here is a flower that insists on blooming as the garden dies back. Of course the ancestors chose the marigold. It knows the way home.
Meet the plant.
Calendula, Calendula officinalis, is the pot marigold — the old apothecary-garden flower, the edible one, not to be confused with the ornamental Tagetes marigolds you'll see sold as bedding and decorating altars for Día de los muertos. As an ecologist I love it for its generosity: it feeds late pollinators when the buffet has otherwise closed; it companion-plants and acts as a guardian, drawing aphids off the vegetables; and it reseeds itself into next spring. Full disclosure, my calendula fell to the garden pests fighting like a full on Avengers so that my tomatoes could thrive (before they were ruthlessly stolen at their peak ripeness off the vine). But early spring I did manage to collect almost a cup of petals and my fingers are crossed that a few seeds made it so I might see a few late winter blooms. As a supertaster I love the petals — peppery, faintly bitter, warm and saffron-gold, the reason it often referred to "poor man's saffron" and stirred into broth to give it that familiar golden hue.
Grow it yourself.
Calendula is one of the easiest things you'll ever sow. Scatter the seed where you want it, it dislikes being moved, and give it sun and well-drained soil. Pro tip: keep picking — the more you cut, the more it blooms. It prefers cool weather to hot, which is why October is its second act rather than its finale, and it shrugs off a light frost that would flatten tender plants. In mild zones you can sow a fall crop now to overwinter for early spring, and whatever's open, harvest on a dry morning and dry the petals for the bar. Leave a few flowers to go to seed and you'll never buy calendula again. The garden, like a family, hands itself down.
The cocktail.
There's a piece of New Orleans that visitors are always trying to catch: a good old Second Line — the dancing, the parasols, the color, the whole neighborhood falling in behind the music. It’s a tradition that reminds us that remembrance there isn't only lowered voices and candlelight; it's joy loud enough to walk the spirits home. So for the Season of the Ancestors, alongside the quiet pours, I wanted the other half of the tradition in a glass — bright, golden, effervescent, alive. I call it The Second Line. You steep calendula petals into a honey syrup until it turns the color of a marigold, then build something that lifts the 10-Year Wheated, whose own orange, apricot, and peach are already dressed for a celebration, shaken with the marigold honey and a little lemon, then topped with dry sparkling wine so it arrives with bubbles. The whiskey isn't buried under the sparkle — a full two ounces of cask strength holds its ground and lets the effervescence carry the calendula up, not cover it. Float a scatter of gold petals across the top like petals thrown in a procession. It's the marigold's celebration, poured.
The Second Line
2 oz New Dawn 10-Year Wheated Whiskey
¾ oz calendula-honey syrup*
½ oz fresh lemon juice
2 oz chilled dry sparkling wine (or chilled club soda for a lighter pour)
Garnish: a scatter of fresh calendula petals floated on top like confetti; a long lemon twist
Glass: champagne flute
Shake the whiskey, calendula-honey syrup, and lemon juice with ice until well chilled. Strain into a champagne flute. Top with the sparkling wine and stir once, gently, to keep the bubbles alive. Scatter fresh calendula petals across the top like petals thrown in a procession, and add a long lemon twist. Calendula-honey syrup: warm 1 cup honey with ½ cup water until just dissolved (do not boil), take off the heat, stir in ¼ cup fresh or 2 tablespoons dried culinary calendula petals, steep 20–30 minutes, then strain. Keeps refrigerated for two weeks. Serves one. Please enjoy responsibly. 21+.
Sip with purpose. This month drink with intention and with joy: grab a bottle of New Dawn Wheated Whiskey and make a bright pour raised to someone you loved, the marigold's own celebration, a second line for the ones who came before. And don’t forget to sign up for the email newsletter for exclusive offers. [Join here]
