The Herbalist Path- literally.

Me and Peony

Let me start out with- I love my home. LOVE. But there are times when home, no matter how amazing and magical it is, can be a bit too much. Working from home while maintaining a homestead can often feel very overwhelming. If my eyes are open I see dishes to be cleaned, floorboards to wipe down, jars of herbs to dust, or food going bad in the fridge. Even outside, I am bombarded by all the ‘shoulds.’ I should weed one of the gardens. I should divide and replant that herb. I should resow the peas and lettuce. So there are times when I am happy to give myself a break from the chaos gardening, the half-assed housewifing, the needy pandemic pups, and the solitary entrepreneurship to escape to the outside world. Sometimes, anywhere is better. 

But dear Lord- I LOVE coming home. I have created my heart-home here at the Barefoot Medicine Farm, and lately, as I’ve played with a bit of intentional gardening over the years, I’ve noticed one of the reasons I feel so welcomed and so held as I walk the path to my front door is because of who I have chosen to greet me. 

Admittedly, I never really gave this too much thought before Mason Hutchison of Herb Rally mentioned it during my interview (podcast here). I will also admit to having basically no knowledge of gardening outside the world of herbal medicine. Everything that I have planted here at the farm is for a purpose, whether that be growing medicinal plants for remedies, land stewardship with native plants, or for food. I don’t do aesthetics. My gardens all have a job, and it’s not just to sit there and be pretty. 

But then, the first summer we lived here, I saw a voluptuous, velvety, totally foreign flower burst high above some dark green leaves. They were planted by the original owner along the brick path which leads to my front door. As one does, and because I couldn’t help but shove my face into this billowy cloud of silk petals, I took a whiff. 

The clouds parted. Angels sang. My lungs were filled with ambrosia as my heart was enchanted by this scent. Peony. Something new to me, though I had heard of its medicinal values. Somehow, in the course of thirty-seven years of my life, I had missed this. Now I understood why people grow gardens for beauty and joy, without needing to think of its other uses. Move aside, Rose- I want Peony in my life all day every day. New favorite flower, unlocked!

The next year, I happened upon Pulsatilla, my Spirit Plant, at a garden store. I was pretty surprised to see her there since I assumed this wasn’t something everyday folk planted in their local gardens, so I bought a couple to grow for the first time. This plant is very dear to me (you can read more about our relationship here), but I’ve never grown her before. Placing her on the path to my front door seemed like a nice reminder of all the reasons I resonate with her on an energetic level. And because I choose not to harvest Pulsatilla due to my woo-woo personal respect for her, it made sense to have her line my path. She reminds me that I am stronger than I think I am. 

A year after that, one of my former clients, who is more like family now than anything, offered to gift me some of her Poppies (Papivar somniferum) that had gotten out of control. Luckily she lives close by, which also offered me an opportunity to see her beautiful gardens. Having a piece of her to bring home and see each day is a reminder that what I do matters. That not only am I helping people feel better with plant medicine, but that it forges lasting relationships within my community and widens my circle. And, cuz Papivar is just freaking cool!

Lastly, there is Nettle. Oh…my dear friend Nettle. My gateway herb. My strange addiction. My compulsive interest in saying hello through pain. Each time I see her, I let her sting me. It’s our thing. If you haven’t heard my Nettle story, you can hear that on the podcast, too, or on my social media accounts. Basically, I love Nettle and have constant use of her, but can’t seem to get her to grow anywhere on my property- except in this shitty plastic pot outside my front door. At first I thought it was kind of funny, like, oooh maybe some unsuspecting visitor will get handsy and touch her, as I cackled to myself and leaned further into my witch of the woods persona. I figured it wouldn’t last here, similar to everywhere else that I have tried. However, for years now, this is the only place she will thrive and come back. She doesn’t spread, though I have allowed for bountiful seeds to disperse and though her roots have now plunged through the bottom of the pot and into the soil below. She stays put in her pot. *UPDATE! As a science person, I tried to replicate this scenario outside my apothecary door, which has very similar conditions but a little less light (which she often likes), and NO! No deal. Did not come back this year. She only wants to be at my front door. My protector. How cool is that?! This, however, is the only plant on my path that I will harvest from. I sit with her often and I feel this is what she wants me to do. We live happily together this way. Nettles, and our relationship to each other, reminds me that I am not in control. That the plants have a life (and sometimes a mind!) of their own that we will not, should not, expect to completely understand. 

And while Mason mentioned that he liked to ask herbalists what they have growing outside their doors, it had never occurred to me that this could hold so much meaning. The plant allies lining the walkway to my house really do exemplify me as my journey on the Green Path has unfolded, and will continue to unfold going forward. I am excited to see what friends join in the homecoming parade over the next seven years.