Spring Medicine Part One – Adder’s Tongue

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This far North, Spring is slow to arrive and sudden in her fullness. Every year about this time we have a few early- risers; notable among them Trout Lily,  Trillium (Birthroot) Bear Garlic (ramps) and Wild Ginger. In my garden, Monarda, Yarrow, Teasel, Comfrey, Vervain, Marshmallow, Hyssop,  Mugwort, Motherwort and Stinging Nettle are pushing their way upwards. The ubiquitous (but no less glorious for that) Dandelion offers a field of antioxidant rich,medicinal and scrumptious blooms, leaves and roots for oils and fritters, vinegars and tinctures and salads and more. All of this friendly, familiar, immediate and  generous medicine is greeted with much  love and anticipation after a long Canadian winter of snow, snow and more snow. Still, the call of the wild is strong. I want to know the medicines that sustained natives of this area long before my ancestors arrived. I want the forest’s bounty – just a taste, if you please.

As I make my way up the long slope of field that faces East of my house, I anticipate  a woodland scene of dappled light and a floor fully carpeted with the yellow lilies and burgundy and white Birthroot flowers. Fuzzy baby Mulleins will seemingly double in size with every visit. Ferns of all description raise their incredibly resilient fronds to greet the growing sun, every where. Cohosh is awakening too, turning from the wrinkly blackened stalks and shriveled leaves of late winter to the unmistakable healing plant that so loves this rocky forest.

Some of these plants have been used in modern herbalism (Cohosh) some not so much anymore (Birthroot) and some seemingly very little if at all (Trout Lily).   Since I’m always drawn to the obscure, the overlooked and the forgotten, I’ve been keeping notes on some of the lesser-used plants as well as the more popular ones. Ever eaten a Trout Lily corm?  No – me neither, but I’m sensitive to everything and working up to a plant that is wellknown as a potential emetic.  Since these beautiful plants are everywhere I thought I’d share a few notes from my journal on them. They do have uses for humans, but mostly, bears and deer love to eat them. And, they certainly brighten up the still-greyish forest floor with their loveliness.

Trout Lily/Adder’s Tongue

Erythronium americanum

Lily Family (Liliaceae)

Common Names: Adder’s Tongue, Deer’s Tongue, Fawn Lily, Dogtooth Violet

Found: All over North-eastern Canada and the States

The nodding yellow flowers and unmistakable mottled leaves of Erythronium are a hallmark of Spring  in the Gatineau Hills. Most of the common names applied to this flower refer to the mottling; my favorite is Fawn Lily.  While not popular as a herb anymore,  Erythronium has its uses. First, it is edible although some people will have a rather unpleasant reaction – trout lily can be emetic, so consuming large quantities is not a good idea. The larger leaves should be steamed and the smaller ones, and the corms, eaten raw. But as with any wild food – start slowly. I personally test a plant dermatologically by crushing a small piece and applying it to my arm. If I get a response – often a rash – I don’t eat it. Many people do eat the leaves, corms and flowers of this plant. Since it is very easy to identify, I don’t feel worried about sharing this. (Anything you ever sample in the wild must be 100% positively identified).

As well,  trout lily does have medicinal applications.

Clinical Actions:

Emollient, Emetic, Anti-scorbutic (fresh) antifungal/microbial

Trout lily was indeed used by many Native Americans for a variety of purposes. Perhaps most perplexing (but commonly mentioned) is the idea that the leaves are contraceptive. (One site I visited claims the reason this worked is the women who ingested them were too busy throwing up to have sex – interesting, but probably not the truth). Sources I used have been pretty consistent; Alma Hutchens cites it’s use “made into a tea with Horsetail ( Equisetum hyemale) for conditions of bleeding, ulcers of the breast or bowel; or tumours or inflammation therein”. I suspect the anti-hemmorhagic action comes form the horsetail, as I haven’t seen this mentioned in regard to trout lily anywhere else, and horsetail is wellknown as an astringent.

She goes on to state that the root and leaves simmered in milk are useful for dropsy, vomiting (which is odd, as the root is highly emetic according to other sources )and bleeding from the lower bowel. Further, the plant “boiled in oil is a panacea for wounds and inflammation” – hhmm, I am wondering about a salve?  Hutchens mentions bruised fresh leaves applied to skin ulcers, best if the tea is also taken internally. I’m willing to go with external application for now. J.T.Garrett says
the roots were used in Appalachia by “squeezing the juice and combining it with crushed leaves for a skin and hair softener”.

A brief mention in Mrs.Grieve reiterates the same ideas; use leaves externally for “swellings, tumours and scrofulous ulcers.” Modern research has not yielded a lot about Adder’s tongue; I did find  commentary about one constituent, but not a lot of follow-up.  Researchers have found “active substances in the plant ( alpha-methylene-butyrolactone, or tulipalin) inhibits cell mutation and could be useful in fighting cancer.”

The best research I was able to turn up shows tulipalin – so named for it’s presence in tulips and wellknown  for its propensity to irritate skin – is an anti-ulcer agent, capable of ameliorating peptic ulcer distress and general irritation of the upper GI tract. Tulipalin is also antimicrobial and fungitoxic…for those with an interest in the biochemistry.

I will try a fresh leaf poultice, first.

Some lovely photographs here: http://www.wildwoodsurvival.com/survival/food/edibleplants/troutlily/index.html

Single leaf of a young plant. Trout lily can take seven full years to bring forth a blossom.

We return from our walk with a few fresh leaves and flowers. The lilies will not last long once the sunlight grows stronger.  Spring comes to the Gatineaus – kisses our sleepy hibernating eyelids with a splash of mottled leaf, elegant yellow flower, and the memory of bears waking for a long awaited breakfast.   Danny sighs and plops down on his bed for a snooze after much exuberant sniffing and marking. I sit with the flowers awhile, thinking of my ancestors who settled this area, and of the life that went on here for thousands of years before their arrival.  Were the Hills this sweet and serene,the stream this enigmatic, did the trout lilies long to be made into medicine?  I sit in a tunnel of time remembered in the soul of this one simple flower…diving deep, and surfacing.

References

The Cherokee Herbal:Native Plant Medicine from the Four directions…J.T. Garrett

Indian Herbalogy of North America…Alma Hutchens

A Modern Herbal…Mrs. Maud Grieve

King’s American Dispensatory, via Henriette’s Herbal:  http://www.henriettesherbal.com/eclectic/kings/index.html

http://www.altnature.com

Midsummer Musings

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Re-posted from last Midsummer (2011)

The early morning sun, high in the North, burns a blaze of fiery orange as he rises above the crest of rocky, densely forested hills to the East. A haze hangs over everything; the dogs are listless from the get-go, the air is redolent with new mown hay, and even the robin seem too lazy to sing his usual morning song. I’ve been at work for three hours now, and done not half of what I usually accomplish. I’m sweaty, a little grouchy but deeply blissed out at the same time – it’s a humid, pre-storm morning in the Gatineau Hills, squarely between the Fairy magic of Midsummer and the glorious revelry of Lammas.

We had a lovely and magical Midsummer this year. Alex drove me around looking (in vain) for St.John’s wort, but I did gather a little yarrow, and plenty vervain, cinquefoil and rue… made a solar cross myself from vine in our back yard (I’ve made many before but purchased the materials)…started all my rose work….a lovely time. I miss having a circle with fellow Pagans, but I never let that stop me from deep celebration and attunement.

A few Midsummer pics:

Solar Cross in Eastern window

At Midsummer, reflection on purification, reinforcement of protection, and above all, fairy-magic.
It was a good one, this year, and I hope yours was as well.

Rapture

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A woman of indeterminate age walks slowly and carefully through the long wet grass; barefoot, the feel of the soft moss and small flowers under her feet, but gently she passes so they spring back unharmed. A woman of mixed and unusual background; not old, not young, with memories flooding from centuries past, memories not so much forgotten as stolen, buried, ripped from her heart by the forces of modernity and culture. In the lengthening morning she walks to what will be her garden, the one that brings food and medicine all summer and into the cold months. As she does, she passes through the much larger area of eyebright and cinquefoil and yarrow and selfheal, by the ferns and the hawthorn and apple and pine, the presences that arrived unbidden, of their own soulful accord, to nourish and make medicine and bring balance, along with that which is cultivated, teachers and protectors and guides all..

A woman of great age, as souls go, calling back the birds to a small parcel of land almost stripped of it’s wildness by two centuries of isolation and taming- much like her own body, once structured and imprisoned and implanted with the necessities of modern acceptability, now grown wilder and warmer with nourishment instead of punishment. The house and acre, surrounded by farmland, had been manicured and polished to a picture perfect image, just six years ago – weeds contained, imported prettiness strategically planted to provide colour co-ordinated blooms every season in perfect timing. And she did love it’s blossoming beauties every year, but marveled at how readily the Wild stepped in and corrected it all. She marvelled at the lack of birds,initially, it seemed strange in a wildish countryside… and the huge effort required to keep the white peonies and salmon pink poppies and rounded or steepled cedars just so. But as she herself fell into wildness and longing and freedom of soul, so too did the manicured parcel of land begin first to whisper, then to sing, and finally to burst forth in shouts of reclamation and joy.

And the birds came back, and the herbs arrived, one by one, some shy and unassuming, some rough and tumble in-your-face, and some just treasures of exuberant beauty and presence.

And now, the gateway opened, the Woman of Indeterminate Age but Ancient Lineage walks a straight line to the pulsating centre of the soul of the land. Under her feet, plantain and chickweed and club moss and earth. Over her head, sapsuckers and orioles and songbirds of every description. All come home, all sung home by the opening of the wild heart, that aches and burns and pours forth love and is finally, incredibly free. All bursting with hope on this warm and sunny day in the Avalon of the Heart, externalized in an island far from it’s origin. Earth sea and sky, the four directions, the layers of life opened again. She stoops to pick a flower she needs to learn about. She stops to thank the mourning dove for her song and gentle presence. There is much to do and the day is young. But a morning like this must not be missed. Before the day is passed, a new dance will begin.

A dance of rapturous love for the living earth, a paean of praise to the Mother….
but above all, a remembrance.

Birch Syrup

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Around about three years ago now, I was visiting the Outpost ( which is now Magasin Generale but I kinda prefer The Outpost) for basic supplies, when I saw an interesting looking tray of small bottles near the cash – bottles shaped like your standard maple syrup type but with a thicker looking, blackish liquid inside. Of course, I had to find our what they were – and to my delight, they contained pure, local birch syrup – made by one of my cousins! Now I had never tasted birch syrup, but I’m a total sucker for our glorious fresh maple stuff – in cakes, over pancakes, flavouring baked winter squashes and a whole variety of confections and cookies. But birch? This is the land of the beautiful paper birch – along with less conspicuous but equally lovely (and healing) yellow variety. yet, in my 20 years living in the Outaouais, I have never seen nor tasted birch syrup.

So of course, along with my Santrapol coffee and locally made beeswax soap, I bought the syrup. I love anything that connects me ever deeper with this magical forested land I am blessed to live in. I was excited to get home and taste the new find, in it’s humble little bottle, with all it’s spiritual connection to this area.

Well, a few things. First, the syrup is an acquired taste, and it isn’t a good idea to just use it as a replacement for maple. I love the stuff now, but it took a while. The syrup is made by boiling the sap of the tree early in spring, exactly as maple syrup is made, but for the birch version it takes 120 litres of sap to get one litre of syrup. With maple, only 40 litres of fresh are required. The taste of birch syrup is distinctive, rich, somewhat like a blend of molasses and caramel, and a little goes a long way. I liked it best over buckwheat and currant cakes, but even so I still prefer ample. Where birch syrup shines in this household is in various condiments; I made all the recipes that came with it and every one is a keeper. Below is a sauce I developed and was a real hit with white fish and scallops; non vegetarians could use it with fowl as well. I think I will try some baking as well, although one thing holds me back from a show of real enthusiasm; birch syrup is predominantly composed of fructose. That does give me pause, although the hype says “more easily digested than sucrose” there are concerns about fructose:

http://www.reuters.com/article/idAFN0210830520100802

http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2002/01/05/fructose-part-two.aspx

Mind you, the small amount ingested in sauces and vinaigrettes isn’t making me lose sleep over this.I don’t drink fruit juice or otherwise inhale sugar in any form, so I can live with this. All foods have pros and cons, and birch syrup IS higher in Vitamin C, calcium and manganese than maple. As with all things – moderation is key. ..but, it’s something to be aware of.

Birch Syrup Sauce a la Chez Rupert

1/2 cup water
1/3 cup birch syrup
1/4 cup Tamari
1/3 cup white wine (I used Canadian Riesling)
1/4 cup lime juice
2-3 cloves garlic (to taste)
1/2 teaspoon minced ginger

Whisk together well, then brush on fish before, during and even after cooking. You can marinate in it for an hour in the fridge, but with delicate fish like sole this can get overpowering.

Just one idea of many; I found this unique blend on a blog about native foods – interesting, no?

“As I type this I have a good dose of birch syrup mixed with of small handful of shallots, dab of butter, another dab of whole grain Dijon mustard, a splash of chicken stock, a gush of orange-banana-strawberry juice, a sprinkle of chilies, a pinch of S&P, and a glug of smokey Laphroaig scotch whiskey, thickening in preparation for glazing my pan roasted pork tenderloin.

Smells and tastes like heaven I tells ya.”
Maybe I’ll try that one day, but not soon, and definitely not on pork..

But, this site has a whole bunch more stuff I need to try:
www.yukonbirch.ca/index.php?pr=Recipe_Ideas

All in all, a marvelous find,and I won’t let the worries about fructose bother me muchly. It’s used in small quantities, and it’s a marvelous product. Breathe in the Boreal! Bake, glaze, and don’t forget to drink spruce beer and elderberry wine while you cook! Food for the soul, from a magical tree.

Earth, Teach Me Stillness

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Earth teach me stillness

Earth teach me stillness

as the grasses are stilled with light.

Earth teach me suffering

as old stones suffer with memory.

Earth teach me humility

as blossoms are humble with beginning.

Earth teach me caring

as the mother who secures her young.

Earth teach me courage

as the tree which stands alone.

Earth teach me limitation

as the ant which crawls on the ground.

Earth teach me freedom

as the eagle which soars in the sky.

Earth teach me resignation

as the leaves which die in the fall.

Earth teach me regeneration

as the seed which rises in the spring.

Earth teach me to forget myself

as melted snow forgets it’s life.

Earth teach me to remember kindness

as dry fields weep in the rain.

~~Ute, North American prayer~~

This is a blog about progress

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I have several blogs now – some are active, but require a certain mood, a “professionalism” and the inspiration to rewrite  topics I have written on so many thousands of times I can’t even think about it. Some require quietude and a contemplative mindset and the rarest of commodities for me – solitude. This one requires nothing. This is my plant journey and all I have to do is show up. I don’t have to be the professional with all the answers, I don’t have to be in the right frame of mind, I just have to be. These are the lessons of mallow and white pine, those gentlest of healers and protectors, who came to me very early in my transition  (from armchair herbal wannabe to whatever it is you’d call me now) and said – we are here, we protect,soothe – warm and cool,  bring things to the fore and then help them heal-  and we offer ourselves to you as Allies.

Now some people will find that really out- there. I would have found that really out- there, except the truth is, it blasted open a frozen part of me, shook me to my core with love, and changed forever the way I see the world. First the pine, and then others  – poplar, hawthorn, calendula, maple and rose – then mallow… such an outpouring of wisdom and love, such a breathtaking transformation.. I am four years into this new way of seeing plants and indeed, the world – and it feels like remembrance of  deep, lost knowledge – oh every breath of it does. It feels like a reward for much work that felt for great stretches at a time that it was going nowhere. It feels like love.

Around me I see so many others whose lives are moving into connection with the ancient ways, working with plants as spiritual healers. Often I spend so much time there when I surface and connect with the dis-connected world I feel disoriented and alone. but we are never alone. It seems to me only a logical progression – from mystical empathy with other species, to all mammals, and then to birds and all life — and — the next step is to the plant  world,  our Ancestors, those beings without whom there would be no life at all on earth, as we know it.

So this is my moment in the Cycle, and here I can be, not the professional, not the teacher and Guide, not the Elder with the answers – but just me. Would you like herbal tea, coffee or a beer?

Mallow and White Pine

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The name of this blog refers to the two plant allies I am working with this year – although they have long been friends, and I trust and love them deeply, this is the year I decided to honour their Medicine and deepen my relationship, by working with both as Allies. For those who might not know what I mean by that, more later. For now, a simple introduction to  the Medicine.

White Pine (Pinus strobus) was my first ally, when I started working in this way with plants and trees.It was Susun Weed’s writings that started to shift my relationship to plants from “things to get constituents out of ” and  magical correspondences, to the way I relate to, love and understand them now. For many years I fancied myself a bit of a herbalist; to be fair, I had walked around this area for a decade with my Peterson Field guides and  well worn copies of John lust in my backpack – I could tell you the common names (and a few Latin) of most of the usual field and roadside plants – and add in a couple f uses as well. I proudly made mullein ear oil for the dogs and a blend of chapparal, echinacea and I-forget-what now, that I got from Jeanne Rose’s section on herbal help for animals. I could certainly tell you what storebought and usually trendy herb to get for your arthritic dog, or your own upset tummy…I had a dozen herbals and a pretty expansive knowledge of magical uses. The store I worked in, lat 1980s, had a line up from Acacia to Yohimbe, in glass jars right in the front window(a pretty bad place, if I may say so in retrospect). In my work with dogs, I’d grown accustomed to using the same dozen commercial herbs over and over. Plus, I had a working knowledge of about 20 Essential Oils, mostly blending them into formulas for such thing as anointing candles at Beltane or Yule.

I had no idea how much there was to learn.

I can’t recall just why I started the ABCs of Herbalism  with Susun, but it was at a time when I felt I needed to ground my magical practise in something immediate and lived – “magic” per se felt like it was becoming a little abstracted and remote, whereas I prefer a green Witch, Earth Path kind of approach, weaving magic into cooking, caring for animals, even cleaning and organizing my home, and Susun’s straightforward and down-to-earth method of teaching appealed to that. I started with the idea of an Ally, rather hesitantly – what could I say to a TREE? It’s weird to look back on that now and wonder, whatever was I thinking, I mean I spoke with ancient deities, the Fae and Spirits of the Land all the time, but still somehow saw plants as inanimate objects. It goes to show how deeply our attitudes toward life and the Green World really are inculcated! As I found out, it was not so much what I could say to a tree, but of course, what he said to me, and how my process of hearing unfolded..

And so I started thinking about just this one tree, in a different way. Doing the daily breathe-with exercise. Speaking to him, learning his ways. Slowly making medicines – pine needle tea and vinegar,  salve from overflowing resin and needles infused in almond oil, baking crushed needles into shortbread and quickbreads (with varying results). I learned as much as I could about the species (I’m good at things like that) learned to make things with needle and resin (I’m ok at things like that) and then I waited for some gnosis to strike me, so I’d *get* this “plant shaman thing.” (I am terrible at waiting).

I won’t try to sum up such a long and lovely unfolding of  relationship here. I’ll just make a start with the first thing I really *saw* –  and I’ve practised augury of various kinds for decades – I needed something concrete and unmistakable to wake up, an I think the Pine-being knew that. So one morning several years ago, I was out poking around the edge of the property – where my one White Pine presides, and found this on the ground in front of me, unavoidable, plain as the day.

you can’t see it here, but this was a perfect length and shape (forked end) for a stang. So now it looks like this:

Well, actually it’s been further stripped and sanded, and is awaiting  adornment (I don’t make enough time for this aspect of my life) but I don’t  have a newer photo, and this one has my beautiful cat Sita Mari in it, plus my Temple door and groovy Qabalah print (from my BOTA days). . So it shows the gift of pine..that started opening me to hearing plant spirit speaking.

For those who don’t know what a stang is, a good description can be found  here:  http://www.traditionalwitchcraft.com/Stang

Now it is years later and while I put aside the Ally work for a while, to focus on cramming as much book-learning into my head as possible(and yes, some medicine making and wildcrafting as well) I have come to immersion in the deep wisdom of the Ally. Althea had a great part to play in that realization, as did my Silver Maple tree…but enough for now. This blog is about process, healing, magic, beauty, and finding one’s purpose at whatever stage of life. It’s about perserverance and strength with a touch of softness, like both Mallow and White Pine. It’s about opening to spirit in places you had not thought were there. It’s about plants, animals and one woman’s journey.  May you find your own Allies and love them as I do my own.

The Moment Before it All Awakens

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Or at least, that’s what today felt like walking through the forest behind my home in the Gatineau Hills.
That’s the pattern most of the time; snow melts (eventually) and the drab grey fields appear, the stark trees stand looking hopeless, the ground squishes but does not bring forth. That’s April or some of it anyway. It isn’t our prettiest moment in these parts, although to be honest I can’t imagine anything here being unlovely, just more so or less so.. These days in between snow melt and explosion – days or a couple of weeks at most – are still wonderful in that walking is fantastic of your footwear is good; it’s not cold and it’s not hot and there are no bugs at all, nor hunters, and bears can be avoided, thought it’s true they are waking up. It’s a strange little mini-season, with a core type of energy and some influence of course from the planets and stars..  we fall asleep with the windows open, excited to feel the air at last but by 4 am we’re freezing under the  feather duvet and have to get up to close them.  We go out wearing scarves and mittens but have to take them off before long.And it doesn’t last long.

Slowly – imperceptibly if you’re not paying attention – the seedlings and blossoms and babies appear. we tend to notice birds – robins and veerys and mourning doves and kestrels – and we tend to gripe about the sloppy ground and the unpredictable weather. But this phase is  deceptive. There’s always little buds and  catkins and the very beginnings of green everywhere. I started paying attention a while ago; this year is no different.

It’s the moment right before it all explodes. That’s the usual pattern. Grey, dreary, a little greener, a lot greener and then – it’s Paradise. Today was one of those moments right before, I can expect maybe a week at most, the greenery will be dazzling and the forest exploded with beauty and freshness.

What have I seen so far this year?

Well, in this microclimate of the region, we have a zillion  Trout lilies very early on (Erythronium americanum), incredibly dense in some areas, their mottled leaves and bright yellow flowers nodding in the breeze – edible, but the leaves should be steamed, and start slow, they can have an emetic effect on some folks. I’m not excited about eating them.  I’m going to post a separate entry about  Trout Lily, Birthroot, Wild Ginger and other early plants separately, for now here are some image of the lovely yellow flower, right in my backyard:

And a couple of pics from a late April hike – Danny and me, serenaded by a Mockingbird, whose vocal gymnastics never cease to amaze me.

Birthroot everywhere

A veritable ocean of ramps

Indian Creek is “haunted” they say – I prefer the word “enchanted”

He always waits for me, love of my heart that he is.
This time in front of a bunch of hawthorn trees, I cannot wait for blossoms.

One part Mirkwood and one part The Shire – the magic of the Gatineaus has to be felt- and everyone who comes here feels it. Pictures never convey the enchantment -but this picture captures a little wee bit.

Healing the Healer

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The beeswax candle that stands beside the old bathtub is carved all the way around with leaves and flowers, its gentle, soulstirring fragrance wafting through the open window to the sky and birds beyond. Around it, she has arranged small but potent emblems of her connection to the Divine Feminine, the Source of her magic and mysticism. Every room in the house features some corner of this presence, from the  vibrant yellow and amber of the bedroom’s central shrine to the downstairs hallway table that seemed to decide it was an altar to the seasons, all on its own; to the small sacred items tucked into the large bookcase filled with cookbooks in the kitchen.. The bathroom, a sanctuary of  rare quietude and sweet relaxation, has the candle, and a little pot of amber salve made by a Sister; a tiny fluorite pyramid; many carefully selected crystals, an incense burner with the finest rose stick available;  a pouch of pine and juniper for incense. A few inches away sits a glass bottle with a well loved oil blend; pomegranate, rosehip, macadamia nut and a little blue chamomile for its extra healing power. A crystal dish holds sugars mixed with tamanu and apricot oils, to slough away the tired world and dry tired skin along with it.. In individual bottles, lavender, rose, neroli, clary sage and bergamot line the edge of the tub. An antique bowl holds fine French clay mixed with arrowroot, ground calendula and lavender, and rose.  A faint but stimulating scent of patchouli and vanilla from bars of exquisitely made soap fill one corner of the room. Dried hyssop in a bundle with rosemary,tied with white silk thread and consecrated to Matrona,  hang from above the small corner of indulgence. Rose and white birch hand creme graces the windowledge along with a broken, but cherished antique brass mirror.

Another antique, beloved amethyst glass,  holds a few sprigs of rosemary, juniper and one perfect  jonquil from the first blossomings of spring.

Tired and yet filled with the satisfaction of purpose and meaningful work,  the Healer climbs the stairs , leaving behind clients and courses and questions and  needy little fur-beings – to  curl into herself, into warmth and beauty and the soft glow of candles reflecting an owl’s call not far away.

Attention to both self and detail  build the Beauty element of the  herbalist’s way, bring its sweet essence alive and into the lived, day by day moments of  her world. Downstairs,  two long sideboards serve as cupboards for home made tinctures of all description –  yarrow, elder, Solomon’s Seal, elecampane and burdock, echinacea and ground ivy and plantain and goldenrod, vervain and St. John’s Wort and aspen, hawthorn and rose, rose, rose…elixirs of pine needle and rose petal and cardamom and elderberry –  dried leaves roots and flowers, lined up with care and love and an eye for the aesthetic. Bottles of infusing oil promise sweet massages, eased soreness, future salves, balms and perfumes.  Brand new dropper bottles, scales, beeswax and mango butter, vinegars and lozenges – downstairs is the healing she gives mostly to others…the partner with aching feet and skin rashes, the wheezing asthmatic cat, the sensitive dog who runs a little too hot for his best state of being, the old one with a fragile heartbeat, the blind horse who follows her and stops/starts at her least whisper of guidance. Downstairs are the stacks of texts and papers and binders and class notes and case studies and fresh plants, seedlings, twigs and branches and first aid kits and FOOD. It is work – a lot of work! but work lovingly and heart-fully undertaken with all her heart. Still, it can deplete and diminish if she is not mindful and willing to give back to her self.  The bathroom, the southfacing private bedroom with it’s long days of sun and  magnificent view of the heavens each night, the consecrated temple with the scent of sandalwood, cedar and rose seemingly  woven into every blessed and purposeful item – these are the places of nourishment and love she cultivates for herself alone.

But is it every really for us alone? The time and care I give to the small bits of beauty around me – to plumping of pillows and polishing kettles – is time that heals my Soul, restores my peace of mind and strengthens me – so I can continue my work, passing on healing love and care to others. The cup I carry my steaming herbal tea up to bed in is special and used only for that purpose.  If beauty is harmony, then the inner state I achieve with each quiet corner of space and time brings harmony to my very core and balances my world. As much as the herbs I infuse and partake of daily, the half hour of stretching or the insistence on regular sleep, Beauty in my environment nourishes my being on every level. Words, song, food, space and quietude, gentle fragrance – plus a few small sprigs of jonquil in bloom – balm for the soul  and spirit.