The wood was Crataegus. Hawthorn. Paradoxical, according to Gregorovitch, and she tended to agree. They were plants that projected the desire for solitude. Covered in three-inch long thorns, their flowers produced trimethylamine, the same compound formed by decomposing animal flesh. The pollinators they attracted were not the usual bees and butterflies, but carrion beetles, tricked into the job by the lure of dead meat. But beyond the surface lay hawthorn’s true value: its berries could be eaten in jams and candies and, when prepared properly, an extraction of its leaves and blooms could be used medicinally to treat congestive heart failure or clear a tapeworm.