Maypop, Passion-vine, Holy Trinity Flower, Passionflower, Old-field apricot
A Tangle of Healing and Heritage
Passionflower doesn’t march in neat rows like basil or stand proud like rosemary. No, she sprawls. She climbs. She embraces. Her vines weave themselves through fences and hedgerows, creating a wild tapestry of spiraled tendrils and outstretched leaves. And then, as if conjured by moonlight, her flowers appear. Lavender and white, crowned with a halo of threadlike filaments, strange and mesmerizing.
Centuries ago, Indigenous peoples knew her well. The Cherokee, for example, brewed her leaves into tea to quiet restless minds. Spanish missionaries, enchanted by her otherworldly form, saw the symbolism of the Passion of Christ in her floral structure, hence her name.
The name Passionflower was not given for romantic love, but rather for the Passion of Christ. A way to remember, through petals and structure, the sorrow and sacrifice in that sacred story. But long before she was tangled in European lore, she was a healer of hearts and minds, a bringer of peace to the anxious and sleepless.
The Herbal Legacy of Passiflora incarnata
Before Passionflower became a name whispered through apothecaries and written into herbal books, she was already known and cherished by the Indigenous peoples of North America. They called her by names rooted in local languages, shaped by the land and culture, long before missionaries arrived with Latin words and symbolic associations.
In their hands, Passiflora incarnata was not just a beautiful wildflower. She was food, medicine, and gentle companion.
The maypop, as her fruit came to be called, ripened in the warmth of summer, bursting with a flavor somewhere between guava and pear. Children would pluck them from vines that climbed trees or hugged fence lines, cracking the yellow-green shells open to scoop out the sweet, seedy pulp. In some tribes, the tender shoots were harvested like wild greens, boiled, fried, or added into nourishing meals.
But Passionflower’s gifts went far beyond the table.
Her roots were known to heal. Crushed and warmed, they became poultices for bruises, wounds, boils, and earaches applied with care and patience, as medicine passed through generations. The vines and leaves, too, held calming properties. Steeped in hot water and shared in quiet moments, they became tea for the nerves. Tea for grief, for long days, and restless minds.
This plant taught balance.
She grew with wild grace, weaving herself through woodland edges and abandoned fields, thriving where other plants might give up. And yet, despite her strength, her medicine was soft. Her presence was never loud or forceful, it was comforting, centering, and steady.
What’s most moving is how Indigenous communities honored her whole being. From fruit to flower to root. Nothing wasted. Nothing taken without intention. That kind of relationship with the land is what we are being called back to.
Today, as more people rediscover plant allies, Passionflower stands as a reminder that nature has always been speaking. And sometimes, the best wisdom comes in vines not straight lines. In slow growth, not quick fixes. In quiet, daily rituals. Like a warm cup of tea shared with the past and poured into the present.
Today, herbalists still use Passionflower in many forms:
- Parts Used: Leaf, flower, stems, roots, and fruit
- Preparations: Tinctures, oil infusions, poultices, compresses, teas
- Tea Ratio: 2 teaspoons of dried leaf and flower to 8 ounces of hot water or milk
Here’s how she works her charm:
- Anxiety & Overthinking – When the mind is a chattering monkey swinging from thought to thought, passionflower soothes it into stillness.
- Insomnia & Restless Nights – If sleep feels like a distant land you can’t quite reach, she helps ferry you there, increasing natural GABA levels to quiet the nervous system.
- Tension & Stress – A cup of passionflower tea after a long day can feel like slipping into a warm bath, the day’s worries dissolving into steam.
Tea for Dreaming: Steep a teaspoon of dried passionflower in hot water for 10–15 minutes. Add a touch of honey or lavender if the spirit moves you. Drink before bed and listen. She has stories to tell.
Tincture for Calm: A dropperful under the tongue or in water, especially during those heart-fluttering, breath-catching moments of stress.
A Garden Companion: If you have the space, let her climb. Let her tangle. Let her remind you that healing isn’t always linear—it spirals, it reaches, it blooms in its own time.
A Gentle Warning
Passionflower asks for trust, but she also asks for respect. Too much, and her lullaby can feel too heavy, pulling you into grogginess. If you’re on medications, especially for anxiety or blood pressure, consult with a herbalist or practitioner before inviting her into your routine.
A Fateful Discovery by Althea Theresa
It was a warm Florida evening, the kind where the sky melts into colors of soft tangerine and gold, where the air is thick with the scent of jasmine and damp earth. My husband and I had just moved into a new neighborhood, still unfamiliar with its twists and turns, and decided to take a different route on our evening stroll.
As we wandered through quiet streets, a splash of purple caught my eye. Tangled among the wild greenery of an abandoned lot, a vine was weaving its way up a towering pine tree. It was passionflower, also known as the Holy Trinity Flower, its blooms like miniature galaxies, each one a burst of delicate filaments crowned with a golden center.
We paused, entranced. There was something both wild and sacred about it, growing untamed in a forgotten space, thriving without care or cultivation. Every evening after that, we took the same route just to admire it, watching as its vines stretched further, its tendrils gripping onto whatever they could reach.
And then the thought came. What if we took a piece of this magic home with us?
One night, my husband bent down and, with a determined hand, yanked an offshoot from the ground. But the roots were fragile, clinging desperately to the earth they had always known, and despite our best efforts, the sprout didn’t survive.
We weren’t discouraged. The next time, we came prepared, carrying a small hand shovel. Carefully, we dug into the soil, lifting four or five young sprouts from the earth, their roots cradled gently in our hands. At home, we nestled them into pots, giving them fresh soil and whispered encouragement.
But nature has her own way of deciding what will flourish. Of the five, only one survived.
For years, I kept my lone maypop in a pot. She was alive, her vines trailing, but she never flowered. Still, I tended to her, watering and watching, waiting for the day she would reveal her true self.
Then life shifted. I moved to Louisiana, settling into a small town where I finally had space to build a garden. I spent weeks planning, mapping out the sun’s path, treating the soil, choosing companion plants. And in the midst of it all, I knew exactly where my passionflower belonged.
With careful hands, I placed her into the ground, nestled among plants that would support and nurture her. And then, as if she had been waiting for this moment all along, she took off.
Her vines stretched farther than I had ever imagined, climbing the fence, trellising over neighboring plants, weaving herself into the landscape. Now, she produces over half a pound of flowers per day, an abundant gift from a plant that once refused to bloom.
Passionflower Sleep Tea Recipe
A gentle herbal infusion to calm the mind and ease you into rest
Ingredients:
- 2 teaspoons dried Passionflower (leaf and bloom)
- 1 teaspoon dried Chamomile (optional, for added relaxation)
- 1 cup boiling water
- Honey to taste (optional)
- A splash of warm milk or milk alternative (optional)
Instructions:
- Place the dried herbs into a tea infuser, teapot, or heat-safe jar.
- Pour 1 cup of freshly boiled water over the herbs.
- Cover and steep for 10–15 minutes to preserve the aromatic oils.
- Strain, then sweeten with honey or add a splash of milk if desired.
- Sip slowly, preferably 30–60 minutes before bedtime.
Tip:
This tea is best enjoyed in a quiet space, paired with a journal moment or gentle music. Allow Passionflower to soften the edges of your day and gently call you back to center.
Have you tried growing Passionflower? I’d love to hear how it’s gone for you.
Let me know how you feel after your first cup my inbox is open.
Lessons from Passiflora
Her tendrils seek connection, not control. A lesson in how to grow while still remaining soft. She gives without asking: shade to the tender seedlings below, fruit for the curious palate, nectar for the bees, and calming medicine for the overworked heart. Her leaves, flowers, and presence are offerings in themselves. Passionflower does not shout her wisdom. She invites you to sit beside her, to notice the way she holds space, and to remember that healing can come quietly. She is a living emblem of unconditional care. A steady reminder that forgiveness, like flowering, is a natural unfolding.
