The seed cluster of a ginseng plant.

Dr. Robert Beyfuss is obsessed with ginseng. He is also obsessed with other things, like studying deer ticks and hunting wild turkeys, but on his off-time there is nothing he would rather do than tend his forest garden of ginseng plants—well, maybe hitting a winning home run in the old- timers' softball league he's played with for 16 years, but other than that, there's definitely nothing he likes better than growing, digging, drying, grinding, and ingesting ginseng.

Beyfuss lives in a small red house that hasn't changed much since he bought it from two priests several years ago. The cupboards are still filled with the plates, cups, and cutlery the priests left behind and the bottom of one of the closets is packed with nearly-full leftover liquor bottles. His mantle is decorated with framed photographs of family, friends, and former interns, and hanging on a living room wall is a large botanical illustration of one of his ginseng plants. He commissioned the artist to visit the plant in his garden several times during one growing season, and in the fall Beyfuss temporarily unearthed it so the artist could sketch its roots. He loves the illustration so much he had its likeness tattooed on his upper arm. It was a 50th birthday present to himself. "Cheaper than a sports car," he says.

Ginseng roots distilling in vodka.

Canisters of powdered ginseng line the shelves in his kitchen, alongside glass jars of whole fresh ginseng roots that are distilling in amber-colored vodka. In the fridge a brown paper bag holds roots ready to be dried or soaked. Another bag is stuffed into a closet—dried roots ready to grind. On his kitchen table is a notebook filled with years' worth of meticulous observations. And in his computer are thousands of photographs: hunting ginseng, digging ginseng, individual roots, study gardens, leaves with blight, root rot, healthy berry clusters, and every single ginseng plant in his garden—including aboveground images of each transplanted root, along with follow-up images of the numbered and labeled plants as they grow and mature.

Beyfuss's introduction to ginseng came when he was 10 years old. A fisherman used to give him a dime for every root he found in the woods. In the early 1980s Beyfuss wrote his master's project at Cornell on "The History, Use and Cultivation of American Ginseng." He has been studying it ever since. Today he is the Agriculture and Natural Resources Program Leader of Greene County's Cornell Cooperative Extension and he regularly presents talks on ginseng across North America. Much of his research involves interviewing people who have been working with ginseng for generations, and his hunts often lead him through Kentucky. Because old wild roots command a significant price, gatherers are notoriously tight-lipped about their best hunting grounds, although Beyfuss's interests are scientific, not monetary. Poaching from commercial growers is such a serious threat that ginseng farmers guard their plots with security systems, lights, cameras, motion sensors, and dogs. To gain their trust, Beyfuss sits himself down in local bars—wearing a sleeveless shirt—and casually buys drinks for the roughest, toughest old-time Kentuckians. His exposed tattoo acts as a beacon and the libations act as a charm. "Pretty soon they talk to the Yankee," he says.

It is believed that by ingesting a plant that has lived for so many years, the plant's life energy, or chi, is transferred to the person who eats it. Another reason people take American ginseng is to help them cope with emotional or physical stress. The older and gnarlier the root, the more chi the plant is thought to have accumulated. Age is determined by counting the rings on the neck of the plant between the root and the leaves: One scar is formed each growing season. Ginseng has an uncanny ability to lie dormant for 20 years, however, so counting rings reveals only a minimum age.

Historically, ginseng is one of America's oldest exports. Fur trappers used to hunt and harvest the wild roots, and at the turn of the century there were 5,000 ginseng farms under lathe houses in New York State. Today a pound of dried wild or wild-simulated ginseng roots from the northern Catskill Mountains sells for between $500 and $1,500, depending on the quality and age. The really old roots—those 25 years and older—demand the highest prices. Beyfuss has seen individual 80-year-old roots selling for $10,000 in Chinatown.

Ginseng is also cultivated commercially: heavily monitored under shade cloths, and copiously sprayed with pesticides. But these conditions generate smooth, fat, and not at all gnarly roots. While the availability of this cultivated ginseng has increased over the years, the price it commands has dropped and many commercial growers now find themselves storing thousands of pounds of dried roots they can't sell. But the demand for wild and wild-simulated roots remains strong.

Dr. Robert Beyfuss in his ginseng garden.

Beyfuss himself does not sell ginseng. He studies it, grows it, processes it, and takes pleasure in sharing his knowledge and teaching others how to set up growing operations for commercial or private use. He has sold thousands of copies of his booklet, The Practical Guide to Growing Ginseng, and has spoken to as many people about it. His research regarding moisture, pH, and calcium requirements is responsible for changes in the way ginseng is grown all over the world. While it is not the easiest plant to grow, cultivating wild-simulated plants is an option for people who own otherwise unused forest. On a small to large scale, crops can be a way to supply oneself with a top-quality health product, supplement an income, or become a modest income on its own.
On a tour through Beyfuss's ginseng garden, to my untrained eye, the forest looks like any other forest in the Catskills. But here the forest floor is dotted with white tags beside bushy plants. The leaves look like hickory, a bit like poison ivy, a little like wild raspberry, and they could be mistaken for young ash trees. Considering that sometimes the leaves grow in divisions of three and sometimes in fours or fives that the plant may be rather tall or it may be quite short, or that the leaves may be serrated or smooth, round or pointed, it is overall a difficult plant to recognize—although the trained eye can spot one in an instant.

Personally, Beyfuss regularly takes his own teas, powders, and elixirs on rotation throughout the year. Environmentally, he promotes forest crops as a way to make use of woodland while protecting watersheds. Socially, he has invested 25 years of study toward developing a way for rural people to earn extra income from land that otherwise might be taken from them due to rising taxes and associated costs. Despite losing a second wife to his botanic passion (she left him two weeks prior to the launch of the first ginseng festival he organized), Beyfuss believes in the healing properties of the plant with all his heart. In moments of stress he finds peace in a few drops of liquid gold.