I thought about titling this “My Little House on the Hill,” or “My Little House on the Meadow,” or even “My Little House on the Prairie.” Yes, I’m still thinking about Laura and her sisters frolicking through the tall grass and wildflowers and wondering, “Were there ticks back then???”
She’s technically not MY little house. I’m only her caretaker, and some days, I feel like she owns me. I’m a renter and fortunate to have landlords who recognize my love for their little house.
I moved here in November of 2020. When late spring rolled around, and everything began to grow on the hill, I quickly saw that gasp! I was living atop a meadow!
I’d never lived in the country before, and because I was so enamored with everything growing around me - Yarrow, Mullein, and Self Heal, oh my!- I made the executive decision to let the plants grow wild.
And so, they did, right up to my little 10’x20’ patio space, which is the only area that, for whatever reason, remains (for the most part) bug-free. The following summer, I had an area around the house mowed in hopes of keeping the ticks at bay. Everything else was left to grow free and untouched.
This summer, before the landscaper arrived to mow around the house, I noticed a large patch right in front of my patio safe space that didn’t seem to be grassy as much as filled with all sorts of plants that people like to call weeds.
I saw new little Yarrow leaves popping up alongside Mullein and PRAIRIE Fleabane! Daisies. Lots and lots of Daisies mixed with Red Clover. But I mostly noticed that dozens of Queen Anne’s Lace were multiplying each day.
There was no way this was getting mowed down.
Fortunately, my mower didn’t bat an eye when I explained to him that I wanted it left alone. He said his mom was an herbalist. :)
I cannot begin to convey how much joy this 6x20-foot patch of “weeds” has brought me.
The only thing good about the hot and humid weather is that the scent of the Queen Anne’s Lace is more pronounced. When there’s a breeze, it’s just divine.
I mean, look at her.
Early in the morning, before it gets too hot, I stand in the middle of this patch of beauty and do my little qigong routine. Standing with my feet in the dewy, unkempt grass today, I thought I heard one of the flowers say, “We know you’re missing winter, so just pretend that we’re snowflakes!”
Here’s a video if you’d like to learn more about her.
The first few summers I was here, it was all about making potions—tinctures, oils, etc. Lately, however, something has shifted in me. I feel like just being with the plants is as potent a medicine as ingesting them.
Oh sure, I still make teas and nibble on the edible ones, and occasionally use what I’ve made in the past or what friends have gifted me with. But, more and more, I’m content to just be with them.
1n 1979 an American acupuncturist, Eliot Cowan, discovered that plants are not simply factories for the production of food, fiber and chemicals. They are fully alive. They have feelings. They have awareness that often surpasses our own human awareness. And most of all, plants know something that we seem to have forgotten: how to live in balance.
He found that the practise of 5-element Chinese medicine had given him a worldview that helped him learn from plants in his dreams. The plants taught him their spirit medicine, which touches the human spirit without being ingested. Plant spirit medicine gave his patients a fuller, richer experience of life, and improved their relationships with themselves, with others, and with the natural world. Eliot found that symptoms would often improve or even disappear entirely as a side effect of that touchless touch.
I’ve written about my time studying with Eliot at the Blue Deer Center in the Catskill Mountains of New York. He had a profound effect on how I viewed plants and their medicine. The Blue Deer Center has one of the most beautiful meadows, teeming with wildflowers, but we were not allowed to pick anything while staying there. At first, I thought that seemed silly - couldn’t we even make some tea? Eventually, I understood.
Most of these weedy wildflowers are survivors. Even in a scorching drought, they continue to bloom. So, you can only imagine how potent their medicine is. The often-maligned Dandelion is one of the most healing plants on this planet.
Just what does the word “medicine” mean?
Merriam-Webster writes:
A substance or preparation used in treating disease.
Something that affects well being.
The science and art dealing with the maintenance of health and the prevention, alleviation, or cure of disease.
The branch of medicine concerned with the nonsurgical treatment of disease.
A substance (such as a drug or potion) used to treat something other than disease.
An object held in traditional American Indian belief to give control over natural or magical forces.
Magical power or a magical rite.
There are so many possible definitions.
Wild Medicine reaches far beyond the plant world. Eliot taught me that medicine is stepping outside your door and saying hello to plant and animal spirits, rivers and ponds, mountains, and the elements.
You don’t need a plan. Just sit there. Or stand. Or walk. You don’t need to ask for anything. You can, but you don’t need to. I think they know.
The other morning, I was up before the sun. The heat and humidity hadn’t settled in yet, so I put on my bug protection gear and walked to the Pond. I hadn’t been there in days and was missing her.
She is my medicine.
I removed my boots and socks and let my feet dangle in the water. A sweet, gentle breeze and Dragonflies kept most of the deerflies at bay.
So I just sat there for a while, trying not to think about anything. When I clear my head, I feel that energy move down and into my heart. There’s such peace in solitude in the natural world that makes it much easier for this to happen.
My mind drifted to a few special people in my life who are struggling. I closed my eyes, and one by one, I pictured these beautiful souls in perfect health, free from the excess stress piled on them, and filled with more joy and less hardship.
Pond Medicine. Moving through me and hopefully reaching them.
She’s just a humble little Pond, but her medicine is potent.
It doesn’t matter where you live - in a little house on a hill or a city apartment. There is always medicine to be found.
Mary Oliver popped into my head while sitting by the Pond, and I remembered her poem titled:
“Praying”
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorwayinto thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.”―Mary Oliver, Thirst
When I need heart medicine, I walk out my patio door and visit with the Dappled Willow - one of the few plants I brought to The Little House. I stopped in my tracks at the nursery when I saw her, but I had no idea she would grow so tall. Last year, I considered relocating her, but I’m happy I didn’t. In the spring, she turns the most delicate blush Pink. And I just noticed some Queen Anne’s Lace have taken up residence underneath her!
I haven’t literally made medicine from her. She is my medicine.
Each year I’m here, I let more and more of what’s around me go wild. I guess some of it could be construed as laziness. A kinder word to myself would be disorganized. An even kinder perspective would be that I’ve learned to let go.
It would be nice to have a beautiful cultivated garden. Instead, I support the hard-working farmers at our year-round market and watch how the wildness around me changes daily, much like me.
My medicine might not be anything like your medicine. Some days, writing, reading a good book, or soaking up the sun is my medicine. On other days, it’s dancing, singing, or humming. Yes, even humming is healing.
I think a spoonful of medicine can be anything that makes us feel better. Healthier. More inspired.
On another note, which I’m not going to spend much time on, Pitta Season appears to be in full swing, and the fire element is off the charts. 🔥🔥 I feel like the USA needs a collective jump in a lake to cool down. 💦💦 I’ve been limiting social media time, including Substack.
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.—Wendell Berry, from “The Peace of Wild Things: And Other Poems”
A friend shared this quote with me the other day, and it is certainly food for thought.
As muddy water is best cleared by leaving it alone, it could be argued that those who sit quietly and do nothing are making one of the best possible contributions to a world in turmoil.
—Alan Watts
What is your Wild Medicine? I’d love to know.
Much Love,
Barbara
P.S. Just for laughs (@PaulTaroComedy)
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Barbara, you are so wise and humble at once and your words make the world better. Thank you, Wild thing yourself.
Beautiful post - as always.
The healing we need grows right where we need it, when we need it.