The Poke Patch

My Journey with Rusty.

2011-10-08T16:16:00.000-04:00

April 8^th, 1998. That’s the day I met Rusty. I remember the date because his owners said it was his birthday. He was one year old. They’d brought him in to the vet I worked for to be euthanized. Who euthanizes a dog on his damn birthday?

I held the trembling little dog on the slick tabletop as he was examined. He had Demodectic mange, was covered in red oozing sores, had goopy eyes, and stank. They weren’t interested in any more dips, the only treatment this vet offered, even though it was outdated and other more reliable and less toxic methods were available. They’d had enough. The kids didn’t like him, they didn’t like him. He was “stinky”. All agreed on euthanasia, and the owners didn’t want to be present.

So he was handed over to me to stick in a cage upstairs until the mad morning rush was over and the doc could euthanize him in private. I remember so clearly when the decision was made. I looked down, and made eye contact. Those gummy brown eyes, so full of sadness and suffering, looked back at me and I saw quite clearly the plea for help. I shook my head and stuck the little dog in a cage and went on about my business.

But I couldn’t concentrate. Those eyes, and the message in them, haunted me. I saw in them a strong spirit, willing to fight, along with the knowledge that he had no allies, and no one loved him. He was all alone in an uncaring world. So when lunchtime came I asked for custody of him. I knew there was a great dachshund rescue in North Carolina. Easter weekend approached, and Friday was my last day of work. My last act there was to scoop up the sick little dog, wrap him in a blue blanket, and take him home to a house full of Akitas who would just as soon kill him as look at him.

I introduced Rusty to my stud dog, Gunner, who immediately took him under protection. One problem conquered. I made a few phone calls, but got nowhere with the upcoming holidays.

When I woke the next morning, everything had changed. Rusty was MY dog now. Suddenly, and somewhat unwillingly, I had become responsible for the future of this sad sick little animal. I kept him through the weekend, bathed him, and spent hours online researching cures for this mange.

I decided he needed a good Holistic vet. The one I worked for was far too willing to stick a needle into his vein. I found several listed online, and one name caught my eye. Angel. I believe in signs. A vet named Angel was ninety minutes away, further than the other two, but something inside me said “This dog needs an angel”, and here was one! So I called and made an appointment.

We arrived and met the vet, who hugged the stinky little dog and admired him. She could see the same weakness of body contrasting with the strength of spirit I’d seen, and she agreed he needed a chance. I’d been toying with the concept of a raw diet for my dogs for some time, and this seemed like a good opportunity to test it. I mentioned it to her, cringing inside as I awaited the condemning reply. Instead I heard “Raw diet? Cool!” She not only agreed, she was enthused!

So we chatted for a time as she completed her examination and skin scraping. We agreed on a course of antibiotics to cure the staph infection. We agreed not to subject him to surgery to neuter him, and she gave me a Chinese medicine preparation to add to his food.

I came home, did more research, and went shopping for him. By nightfall I had a plan, a refrigerator full of nutritious groceries and raw meat and bones, and even a tiny food processor for preparing his meals.

Rusty improved immediately. His skin cleared, his teeth, which had considerable plaque, cleaned themselves as he crunched his bones. His eyes brightened, and the sweetest most energetic little dog emerged. He was a hoot, bold, playing tag with a house full of Akitas and a grumpy cat. He held his own, and added a new dimension to our lives. Who knew I’d love a little dog so much?

On a sudden whim I gave him a Reiki Master attunement. Rusty’s crate was under a small table and I was attuning a Reiki Grid to Master level. He was interested, very interested, so I asked, he answered, and it was done.

In time he was pronounced clear of the demodex. We neutered him, then handled the expected flare-up in quick fashion, and he thrived. He’d go to dog shows with me and hang out with Gunner. One of his favorite things to do was to rush to the end of his lead barking his head off at some big dog, then rush back to stand between Gunner’s front feet and dare the other dog to approach. At 28 inches tall and 118 pounds, no one approached Gunner, and Rusty’s ego grew.

After a year or two, Rusty started having seizures, full blown epileptic seizures. Angel diagnosed him with idiopathic epilepsy, and outlined treatment options. For whatever reason, I flatly refused the usual arsenal of drugs for him. I hated the side effects, and didn’t want him on them. Angel gave me syringes filled with valium to give him to stop them. He usually had clusters, so they had to be stopped or he would continue to seize and die.

I learned to chart moon phases. I learned that Rusty seized with the full moon and the new moon, and rarely any other time. I learned to keep one eye on him during these times, and he learned when he was going to seize, and he always came to me. And so we managed them nicely with few scares. I hated the term “idiopathic”, was determined to find the cause of his epilepsy.

A few years later I read an article about dryer sheets. It was one of those sensational articles that blamed every disease and condition known to man on the darned things. You know the type I’m speaking of. I generally ignore them, but something made me think, and neurotoxic side effects were at the top of the lengthy list. I thought, what the hell, it’s easy enough to try!

So, I stopped using dryer sheets, and started using vinegar to soften my clothes. Rusty stopped seizing. He STOPPED seizing! It WAS the dryer sheets! We’d won, again! In time I learned that it was likely the fragrance oils in the dryer sheets that caused the seizures. When he got too close to scented products, he’d seize. So I systematically eliminated all scented products from my home. You have no idea how many products we use day to day have artificial scents in them!

After a while Rusty developed cervical problems. He’d have severe muscle spasms in his neck, probably caused by rough housing these big Akitas. It was so hard on him. These spells could last for weeks. I’d have to put him on strong anti inflammatories and muscle relaxers. I hated the muscle relaxers. In order for them to stop the spasms he needed a pretty high dose, and that made him drunk, wobbly, and grumpy. He’d growl at the other dogs, and they’d retaliate. He’d get grabbed by a pissed off Akita and then I had to treat the new injury and the infection that always resulted. This dog had no immune system. This would not do!

Enter herbs. I’d been using herbs all along with Rusty and my other dogs. I was largely self-taught, and by now had a good enough repertoire that I could figure most things out. Lobellia had been mentioned to me by another herbalist to use on myself when I suffered from kidney stones. It was good for spasms. I’d also met and grown to know Solomon’s Seal.

So I mixed up a formula for Rusty the next time he started having spasms. I started giving it to him on the second day, and by nightfall had him completely off the muscle relaxers. Amazing! Another victory for us.

Our next challenge began when I went to feed Rusty a treat one day and he grabbed at air beside my hand, then nosed until he located my hand and took his treat. What? Angel saw deficits in his vision, and we were sent to a board certified eye specialist, who diagnosed Progressive Retinal Atrophy. I’d heard of it, as my Akitas were subject to develop the disease, and were examined annually. Rusty was going blind!

How would we be able to deal with this? How could a blind dog possibly navigate these steep hills and sudden drops to the creek? I dived in and read everything I could find on it, and got a second dachshund, Bella, as a companion for him and as a guide. Rusty quickly learned to follow the sound of the bell on her collar. All my dogs were belled with different sounding ones so he could recognize each of them. This worked amazingly well, and I eventually lost my fears of him getting lost. He knew his way around familiar territory, and would simply track me or one of the other dogs when on unfamiliar ground.

And then on a spring morning the worst happened. Scooter, my Akita with a reactive temperament, decided Rusty was too close to his bone and grabbed Rusty and shook him. One of my other Akitas, StarBaby, burst through the storm door and saved his life. Rusty had severe punctures and deep bruising on his neck, one shoulder, and one side.

I rushed him to his doc and they took him into surgery. He was already developing a severe infection that would progress to gangrene, and later sepsis. Rusty spent five agonizing days in intensive care, enduring multiple surgeries to try and keep up with the advancing gangrene. Several times they thought he would die, and each time he somehow managed to pull through. His doc, Iain, a partner at the office who already had a great track record with my dogs as a “miracle man” performed miracle after miracle. Rusty lost a great deal of muscle on the right side of his neck, and on his left shoulder. He ended up with a huge wound that was too large to close, extending from his spine to below the elbow on one side, and most of his lower neck on the other.

They allowed me to come in and do Reiki. I did a healing attunement after surgery, and the next day my friend Linda came and we redid Rusty’s Reiki Master attunement. The infection was clearing with the antibiotics, but he was weak, so weak, and his bloodwork looked like he was “dead on paper.” I looked into his eyes and did not see defeat. I saw spirit, just like the first time I met him, so I took him home.

By nightfall he’d eaten a little and had peed, even to lifting his leg, when I took him outside. His recovery was long but unremarkable, and in time we had out little friend back.

A year later Angel heard a heart murmur when she did his annual exam. Heart failure is common in the breed, and I suspected that the bacteria from the gangrene had attacked the heart valves, damaging the mitral valves. Rusty was going into heart failure

Again I researched herbs, and came up with a daily supplement of hawthorn berries, rose petals, motherwort, and others mixed into a paste with almonds. He ate that daily. He did well. Eventually he developed a cough, and the first signs of fluid buildup in his lungs. I used diuretic herbs, and decreased the fish in his diet to eliminate salt, and upped his daily fish oil capsules. This bought us more months, that turned into years.

Finally his heart reached the point where the herbs weren’t enough, and his docs put him on lasix and Enalapryl. He bounced back! His cough got much better and he regained some energy. We watched as Rusty began to decline, ever so slowly and gracefully. His walk was slower, he was almost completely blind now, and he’d lost much of his hearing.

Still, he went with us on our walks daily, up the road or down to the creek he’d toddle, slowly. We’d wait, he’d join us. We continued to enjoy each others’ company.

Then came the day he choked shortly after eating, aspirated, and got himself into real trouble. He recovered from that incident, but it was evident his abdomen was now filling with fluid. A call to Angel was in order. She tripled his lasix. It helped, but not enough. His quality of life dropped significantly in just a few days. I knew his time was near, but gave him time because I knew it sometimes took days for the lasix to clear the fluid. It didn’t clear.

Sunday afternoon, August 7^th, he made it to the water bucket to drink. He aspirated water, and no longer had the strength to clear his lungs. He died with me sitting beside him, beaming him Reiki one last time, for his highest good…..for his transition.

As his spirit left that worn out little body a small dachshund puppy appeared, jumping up to lick my face in absolute joy. Rusty was free at last, and was letting me know how happy he was, and thanking me for sharing his journey. A journey that lasted 13 years, 3 months, and 29 days.

What a ride.

The next day I was returning from shopping and saw a hawk sitting on a wire above the road. He took off and flew in front of me, escorting me around a curve, his shadow right in front of the car until he swooped up and landed on a limb. I waved as I went by.

Message received.

Rusty made it.

Help; My Sick Dog Stopped Eating!

2010-12-09T12:01:00.000-05:00

“My sick dog stopped eating, what do I do?” is a question I hear frequently. Sick animals, like humans, often lose appetite and are reluctant to eat. There may be several reasons for this, but I am going to address only one.

Trust.

One thing many people do when a dog or other pet is ill and needs medication is to start “hiding” it in the pet’s food. This is a huge insult and breeds mistrust, for both the owner and the food. Dogs’ sense of smell is many times stronger than our own, and they identify scents differently.

Take a bowl of stew, and hide a capsule in there. Give it a good sniff. We smell a bowl of stew. The dog smells potatoes, carrots, meat, fat, salt, pepper, etc, AND that capsule, each individually and distinctly. Considering that a dog can locate by scent something very tiny from a great distance, hiding a pill or other medication in the food fools no one. Sure, he’ll gobble up that bowl of food with that heartworm pill in it no problem, when he’s healthy and the appetite overrules the suspicion. But let that same dog be sick, with a questionable appetite, and that same bowl of food will be refused. It’s tainted. Something foreign, something that tastes bad is in there. The sick dog refuses, and gets worse. And worse than that, he or she loses trust in you.

Taking medication should always be a completely separate event from food, and should be identified as such to the dog. There are ways to make medicine taking more pleasant, and using peanut butter, bacon fat, cheese, or something else tasty can help soothe the bad taste. No, sticking a pill in a ball of cheese and offering it is not the same as hiding that pill in the dog's food bowl. Huge difference.

Identifying the act is important. “Time to take your medicine Sparky!” in an excited voice lets him know several things. Medicine is coming. Tone of voice conveys this is a happy event, no big deal, plus a yummy treat always follows and it makes Mom so happy. Rewarding the dog for taking the pill is important; both praise and a favorite treat should be offered.

My Rusty has to take an herbal tincture formula now and then for his cervical spasms. Nothing about alcohol tastes good to a dog, and nothing hides that taste. Yet Rusty comes willingly to me when it’s time, takes his medicine, and happily accepts his praise, hug, and treat that follows. I always dilute his tincture in a bit of water, suck it up into a syringe (no needle), and dose him with his mouth closed, the syringe inserted between cheek and teeth. The liquid is slowly squirted at a rate that doesn’t cause panic. He can take his time and swallow. He is not traumatized. His dinner is served separately and is always eaten with gusto. He trusts his food, and he trusts me.

Pills and capsules are easier. I like to lubricate them with a bit of fat; butter, bacon grease etc. Open mouth, insert pill to back of throat, close mouth. Wait for the swallow. Praise. Hug. Treat. Easy peasy. If he’s spitting it back out, you’re not hitting the sweet spot in the back of the throat, the place of no return. Once there he swallows automatically. Practice until you get it right. Or get a pill gun. Some pills taste really bad, and coating them with peanut butter or cheese helps keep the pill from contacting the tongue or taste buds. No, it’s not hidden, he knows it’s there, but he doesn’t have to tolerate the nasty taste. Again, follow with praise and a special treat.

Hiding medicine in a dog’s food is a convenience for us, doesn’t do a thing for the dog, and breeds fear of food and mistrust in the relationship. Then, when he’s really sick, when eating is so vital to recovery and health, he refuses food because he can’t trust it to be food.

Start now, while he is healthy, and never give him reason to mistrust you or his food, and when the time comes and he must eat, chances are far more likely that he will.

Mintaka's Journey

2010-10-20T13:24:00.000-04:00

Taka, my nine year old Akita, lies beside my chair. She is beautiful, a lovely silver gray with black mask and white markings, almost identical in appearance to her great grandfather Kuma, my original stud dog and heart mate. She inherited her love of water and her gentle nature from him.

Thirteen months ago she suffered an almost fatal internal bleed. It was something I am familiar with, having watched both her grandmother Dancer and her mother StarBaby succumb to hemangiosarcoma, a blood borne cancer that usually begins in the spleen, and spreads via the blood to other organs.

Sure enough, her veterinarian, Angel, found the large firm tumor in her belly. Déjà vu. All over again. We sat together on that floor and discussed options; surgery, which never cures, only buys time, and most of the time spreads cancer cells; chemotherapy, which I neither trusted nor could afford; euthanasia, no, she’s too strong spiritually, not ready to go; and herbalism, something that might hold some promise, if not to save her then to prolong quality of life for a time.

So we talked about herbal protocols, with Angel helping me on energetics, being primarily a TCM practitioner and damn fine diagnostician. Bloodroot was mentioned and discarded, we’d both heard too many horror stories, mushrooms, turmeric maybe, and of course my always ally Poke. So I took my Taka home and explained the news to the rest of the pack; Diva, Taka’s sister and constant companion, Bear, my young Pyr/golden mix, and Rusty and Bella, my dachshunds, who are in charge of entertainment. Being animals, and never worrying about what tomorrow might bring, they took the news with indifference, only happy that Taka and I had returned home and that dinnertime was close.

For most of the next three weeks I was sure I’d made a mistake in bringing her home. She was so very weak, and had to be helped outside to potty and to lie in the sun. Most of the time she slept, a shell of the vibrant dog we all knew. But gradually, as her blood was replenished, she gained strength, and once again became the sweet companion and pack mate we all loved. She was able to get to the creek, to swim and wade and stick her muzzle deep into the water to bite it, coming up with that characteristic Akita grin on her face.

I knew then it was time for me to seek help for her, and I planned a journey to that other world so few of us know how to reach. I sat here in my chair and held a poke seed, my ticket, and set the mood; phone off the hook, dogs outside, my drumming CD to help guide me and show me the way back home. Taka had refused to go outside, and she lay at my feet. On impulse I asked her if she’d like to go with me, and her answer was yes. Cool.

And so we began. The drumming started, and in short order my spirit and hers left our bodies and entered the secret passageway to the otherworld. Together we walked down, down that deep dark damp tunnel till we saw the light at the opening and we entered that world that is the same yet different.

The path led straight to a clump of Poke, and I sat, following my usual routine of making myself comfortable near the plant I wanted to speak to and waited. I found myself sitting at the feet of an old woman, fragile with age she seemed, but her energy was strong. Her clothing blended with the ground and with the poke plants surrounding us; her skirt and shawl the colors of poke; mottled greens, deep magenta, dark purple black, threads of white. We knew each other already, and I felt comfortable with her, silently sitting and waiting until it seemed right to speak.

As I waited I looked around, taking in the falling night, the sounds of creek and wind and something else; spirits all around us in many forms, some invisible, some only shadows, none could I make out clearly, which was unusual. There was a bonfire burning nearby, and I could see the dancing flames and more shadowy figures seeming to dance in a circle around it. We sat still in our shadows under the poke and waited.

In time, as time goes down there, she spoke; “I see you have come again for help. How can I help you?” I introduced her to Taka, explaining that she was the daughter of Sonny, the first dog she had helped me with a few years ago. She looked at my dog, and reached out to her. Taka settled herself on the ground beside me with a groan, and allowed Poke woman to touch her, stroking her gently from head to tail.

Poke woman stopped at Taka’s belly, and looked back at me, shaking her head. “She has old dead blood here, we must take it out.” I could see her then, hands scooping deep into my dog’s belly, scoping out a black mass that resembled poke berries in black juice. She would gather a handful, remove it from Taka, and toss it away, repeating this action many times as the dog lay quietly, trusting completely. As she scooped she listened to me as I explained about this cancer taking both Taka’s mother and grandmother. I didn’t want to lose another to this disease, and wanted help to heal her.

To my dismay she simply shook her head, still working as she spoke. “There is nothing you can do.” She said simply, “Nothing you can do will heal her.”

“But that can’t be!” I wailed, suddenly overcome with such deep sadness and grief. “But I can see spirits, those shadows over there….”

“They are not here for you.” She said simply, and waited for me to understand that.

“Then who…” and I realized then, and grew quiet.

Those shadows, those spirits I was seeing, unable to make out, weren’t waiting to speak to me, to help me, they were here for HER, for Taka. I sat and cried, so overcome with grief and love and the sudden knowing that Taka had come down here to seek her own help, to make her own deal, and I was privileged to watch, if not participate.

I could feel Poke woman’s hand on my shoulder, offering comfort as we watched Taka slowly stand and make her way to those shadows. Still grieving I cried tears of helplessness that I couldn’t help, but at the same time I knew there was hope. She told me then; “You cannot help her with herbs, but you can take her home when she is finished here. Take her home. Love her. Feed her. That is your role. Not everyone can be healed, you know that, and it is no fault of yours that in this instance you can do only that little bit. It will be enough.”

I sat and watched as best I could, peering through the trees, trying to make out those shadowy forms only Taka and Poke could see. Finally Poke woman said softly; “I will show you one of her spirit helpers, you know it already.” With that she made a motion with one hand, and the shadows were lit by the flames for an instant, but in that one instant I saw one quite clearly; it was Dancer, Taka’s grandmother, the first to die from this cancer. Dancer turned her head and looked me in the eye then, and gave me her famous smile.

I knew than that my Taka was in good hands, that she too had powerful spirit allies, allies that did not necessarily coincide with my own. It suddenly came to me why I had named her grandmother that all those years ago, when she was such a sunny bright dog. I named her “The Shadow-Dancer”, and here she was, some twenty years after being named, seven years after her own death, dancing in the shadows. I could never have known then why I named her that, but now knew that her future as guide to her granddaughter was already planned.

And so I sat and cried with a plant spirit and marveled at the magic and wonder of a dog going on her own journey, her own quest for help from her ancestors.

We returned from that journey, and Taka got better. She didn’t heal, that wasn’t in the cards for her, but she grew strong again, could run and play again, could chase bears and rabbits and turkeys and swim in the pond and splash in the creek and sleep in a pile with her beloved sister and her packmates, and she could hug me every morning. She lived beyond the three weeks to three months prediction. She lived another year. She celebrated her ninth birthday with her sister in September, and celebrated mine with me earlier this month.

Her time is drawing near now. She is weak, and thin, and the tumor inside her has grown, taking up much of her belly. She can still go for short walks with us, and made it to the creek day before yesterday. Sadly she didn’t go in, and I knew it was because she is so weak. Akitas have this great pride, a warrior’s pride, and they don’t like to be helpless or get themselves into situations they may need help to get out of. So she sat beside me on a rock at that spot in the creek where we spread the ashes of dogs as they leave their bodies empty and we watched her packmates play.

We reflect together she and I; on life, on our journeys that we have made together this lifetime and ones past. She stays close by me now, needing me to be near her. I feel that same need, and I watch her closely. But she feels no sadness, no fear of leaving. I am reminded of a line from a favorite poem by Wendell Berry as we sit together and cherish time in this special place of peace; “I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.” I marvel at the miracles we have both been privileged to be a part of, and I do not grieve nor feel guilt or failure.

With Samhain approaching, the veil between worlds thins, and many times lately I have caught a glimpse of Dancer’s face, smiling at us, and I have felt Taka’s other ancestors as they gather close. Soon they will lead her on the next part of her journey and I will be left here in awe of the magic that is life and death.

Close Encounters with Foxes

2010-10-10T15:14:00.000-04:00

I’ve been fortunate to enjoy close encounters with wild things in my life, all of which have left a lasting impression. Two of my favorites involve foxes.

Back in the early days of my marriage I used to go trail riding on my beloved Appaloosa gelding Winterhawk. We were closely bonded, two rebels who connected and enjoyed being alone together on sunny days. I was fortunate that there were many trails in the area, long paths along canals built to drain the swampy land that was Pitt County. Most of the farmers in that rural area didn’t mind our trespasses, for I always closed gates behind us, never rode into plowed or planted fields, and was careful not to litter, leaving only footprints to mark our passing.

On one bright day I saddled up and headed out, crossing the street and making my way through a small pasture of yearling cattle. As I was closing the gate at the exit of the pasture something caught my eye. A red flash of movement streaked across the open field before us, which had lain fallow for a year or more. As I followed the movement it materialized into a red fox. She ran along the edge of the field in plain view, even though she could have ducked into cover at any time. I knew she intended to be seen, and the only reason that came to mind was that I was disturbing her den.

Hawk dropped his head and began to graze on the lush pasture grass by the gate as I studied the field closely. Sure enough I saw a mound in the center of the field, contrasting with the flatness. It was about the size and shape of a pitcher’s mound on a baseball field. The she fox disappeared into the woods and we were left alone. Minutes passed, the only sound was of Hawk’s chewing and the occasional squeak of leather as the saddle shifted. Soon enough my patience was rewarded. A tiny nose appeared in the center of that mound, followed by the head of a small fox cub. He peered around and then disappeared again. But almost immediately he reappeared and was joined by another, then another, until there were four of them, spilling out of the hole that marked the entrance to their den.

I watched, fascinated as they grew bold and began to wrestle and play like puppies, never straying far from the safety of their den. Our ride forgotten, I concentrated on the wonder before me while Hawk took advantage of my inattention to him and gorged on the grass. I watched them for a long time, maybe thirty minutes, before picking up my reins and clucking to Hawk to move on. As soon as he stepped forward, all four cubs dived back into their den and did not reappear. We enjoyed our ride and when we returned later through that same field all was quiet, but I didn’t forget my glimpse into fox life.

From then on I’d often stop on the return trip and sit while Hawk grazed under a tree beside the path. More often than not we’d see the fox family, and enjoy their antics before heading home. One day as we trotted down that path, heading home after a long ride I was dismayed to see a pickup parked under our tree. I recognized it as the farmer’s truck, the man who owned the property. The cubs were playing boldly and I knew he had seen them. I knew also that this would mark their death. Farmers don’t generally like foxes, as they kill chickens, and this man had a chicken house too.

As I approached the truck the farmer turned and saw me. To my surprise he made a shushing motion with a finger to his lips, and then pointed to where the cubs were wrestling. I pulled up beside the truck and Hawk dropped his head to graze. The Man was smiling, obviously happy to be witnessing the same glimpse into the wild as I had so often done over the past few weeks. He whispered to me then, saying he loved to watch them, and that he hadn’t plowed or planted this field in three years, because the female fox made her den there yearly. My new friend and I talked quietly about how lucky we were to witness such a thing, and he cautioned me to never say a word to anyone about our secret.

Hawk and I moved on then, not disturbing the fox play as they’d become used to us and we no longer posed a threat. I moved the following fall and never again saw the field, the farmer, or the fox family, but I knew they must still be there, protected by a farmer’s simple appreciation of the wonders of nature.

A few years later I had another encounter, this one even closer. I loved to hunt deer, and I’d go out into the forest behind property we now owned in another part of the county. My husband built several tree stands and I’d go sit in one and wait for my deer to pass. I was lucky to bag a doe each year, and was a good shot, so each one I shot dropped in her tracks. On this particular day I headed out about an hour before dusk. I had a habit of using fox pee on the bottoms of my boots to mask my scent. The stuff had a pretty strong odor to it, and I held my nose while I applied a few drops to each boot, then hiked along my trail to my favorite stand.

This stand was on a fallen tree, a big maple. It had been down a long time, years, but the roots were still in the ground and several large limbs jutted straight up from the horizontal trunk. On one such limb was a natural V, several feet from the trunk, maybe eight feet from the ground. I had a nice board nailed across the V, with a nail to hang my thermos from, and a good view of the trail that ran alongside the tree.

I walked on past the tree to lay tracks, then turned and made my way back to it, climbed up on the trunk and settled into my seat to wait for dusk and my deer. As I waited my thoughts wandered, traveling to many subjects while my body remained as still as the limbs of the tree. About an hour later dusk began to fall, and I heard rustling along the path. The rustling turned into footsteps, and I carefully slipped the safety off my rifle and pointed it toward the place my deer would appear.

What appeared was not a deer, but a gray fox! A dog fox, who, with nose to the ground, was tracking something intently. He was tracking me! I watched as he followed my tracks to the point where I turned around, then straight to my tree. I sat as still as I could and was rewarded when he stopped under my tree and gazed up, looking straight into my eyes. I held my breath and he continued to approach, hopping up onto the trunk and standing on his hind legs he sniffed the bottom of each of my boots. Then he looked up at me quizzically, as if to ask why on earth I had fox pee on my feet! I had to choke back a laugh, he was so comical and clearly confused as to why a human would do such a thing. We stayed that way for a minute or so, watching each other with wonder. Then he turned and hopped down from the tree and continued along the trail. I waited for several minutes, then climbed down myself in the now almost dark and headed slowly home, as excited as I had been the day I shot my first deer, and every bit as proud.

I bought a camera soon after that and always had it with me on future hunts, but I never saw another fox. I still have the photographs my mind took, I still remember the bright eyes looking into mine, and I cherish those memories.

Oh those Allergies!

2010-05-04T20:08:00.000-04:00

Spring is here and that means misery to those who suffer from seasonal allergies. With the pollen counts at the highest levels since 1990 many people are finding their allergies especially bad this year. Some people develop sinus infections and even bronchitis from their allergies. There are several ways to avoid the antihistamines and other allergy medications and still alleviate allergy symptoms such as runny or stuffy nose, itchy eyes, and sneezing symptoms.

A Neti pot is a small ceramic or metal pot resembling an Aladdin’s Lamp, with a short narrow spout, designed to hold eight to sixteen ounces of fluid. The Neti pot is filled with warm salt water and used to irrigate the nasal passages and sinus cavities. First time users can be intimidated, but the method is easily learned and even small children can be taught to use this useful tool. Filled with warm salt water, one inserts the spout into the opening of one nostril and, bending over a sink, water is slowly poured into the nostril where it passes through the nasal cavities and out the other nostril.

This serves several purposes. First the warm water softens and loosens thick or sticky mucus, allowing it to be flushed out. Additionally any pollen or other irritant is flushed out, lessening the body’s histamine reaction to the allergen. Nasal passages are lubricated and irritation lessened. Used twice daily for a period of two weeks can resolve many peoples’ issues. Daily use is recommended long term for anyone with sinus or middle ear problems.

Neti pots are available from many stores, including local Herb stores, and online. The price runs around fifteen dollars. It is important to use a good quality sea salt, and never table salt, as it contains agents to prevent caking that are sinus irritants. Pots come with instructions for use.

Simply washing the face with cool water when returning from high pollen areas can have a moderate benefit, as this removes pollen before the histamine reaction can begin. Remember to wash hands more frequently and avoid touching the face after handling plant material or gardening. Consider wearing a respirator mask, like doctors use, when cutting grass or doing yard work to prevent pollen from being inhaled.

Raw local honey is excellent for allergies. Honey made within fifty miles of your location is considered local. It contains tiny bits of pollen and when used daily it helps the body become less sensitive to the allergens. Pasteurized honey is useless for this purpose. Use honey to sweeten tea or other drinks or just swallow a teaspoon daily. It takes some months to have an effect, so is best started several months before allergy season. However, starting now can help lessen allergies that are associated with pollens that come out later in the summer and early fall, and continued use through the winter months should help improve allergies next spring.

Stinging nettle (Urtica dioica), a local herb, is excellent for helping the body overcome allergies. Nettles works on the adrenals, and seems to have the benefit of “resetting” the body’s allergic response. This herb can be taken several ways. It is delicious when lightly sautéed and served as a green. Add fresh or dried leaves to soups and stews when cooking. Freeze dried nettle is available in capsules and should be taken daily for several months for best effect. Dried nettle can also be taken as an infusion. Place a half cup of dried nettle leaf into a jar, cover with boiling water and cap tightly. Allow it to steep on the counter for four to eight hours, strain, and drink at least a cup daily. I like to make mine at bedtime, so it is ready by morning. Nettle seeds are also effective and can be taken in tiny doses. Just a pinch taken daily for several months can have a significant effect on allergy symptoms.

I recommend several local herbs as tinctures as well. A few drops of Plantain (Plantago major or P. lanceolata) tincture in the Neti pot helps increase the moistening effect. Red Clover tincture tonifies mucus tissues and can be added as well. Both herbs are mildly astringent and can be used to help control that drippy nose. Goldenrod (Solidago spp.) tincture, taken in small doses, just three or four drops, can help speed healing of those irritated membranes. Echinacea tincture is helpful in sinus infections, and for a more severe infection Goldenseal may be used.

Many of our common culinary herbs are excellent choices for sinus issues. Adding fresh or dried basil, sage, or oregano to a pot of boiling water releases essential oils to the steam. Cover the pot and set it on a table. Cover your head with a towel and bend over the pot, remove the lid carefully to avoid getting burned, and inhale the steam. Do this for several minutes for best effect. Sinus passages often open right up for relief. This is a good time to follow up with the Neti pot, to flush out mucus.

Consuming garlic is a well known method of addressing allergies, as are fish oil capsules. The high Omega 3 fatty acid content of fish oil is a natural anti-inflammatory. Drinking lots of water helps the body flush the sinuses and keeps mucus thin, as does avoiding air conditioning or low humidity areas

Unlike over the counter and prescription medications, herbs work slowly and gently, addressing the cause rather than simply stopping symptoms. However, consistent use of herbs can result in a significant decrease of symptoms and even in some cases resolve allergies altogether.

Emerging from Winter in the Appalachians

2010-02-28T13:09:00.000-05:00

Spring in the southern Appalachians is still some distance away. As I write this I am in my office with my shawl wrapped around my shoulders, my feet propped on a hot pad, and a cup of hot tea by my side. It’s been the story of my life this winter, which has been the coldest and longest anyone around here remembers for many years. It’s difficult to write about spring when the ground is still frozen and snow lingers on the shady dark northern slopes.

In spite of the cold and dark I feel the stirrings of my body and mind to emerge from my comfortable cocoon and get myself ready for Spring. The longings for comfort foods and sleeping late and long naps on the couch are beginning to fade, and my body needs to be outside more. I bundle up and head out with the dogs more frequently now and walk our favorite trails. My eyes automatically seek the first violets, toothwort, and bloodroot even as my brain knows it is much too soon. These plants still sleep under their blanket of snow and last years leaves in the still cold ground.

I see the occasional Mint sprig or baby Motherwort sprouting from the half barrel on my southern deck, peeking out from the snow, and then freezing and dying back once again as they learn the hard way that hibernation is still a necessity. Even herbs seem to get spring fever. The Akitas are blowing their coats, shedding clumps of dense winter fur that I scatter outside so that the birds and squirrels can have warm linings for their nests. The local raccoons become bolder, and try to raid my bird feeders, to the delight of my dogs who enjoy the chase and occasional capture.

I begin to make more energizing teas on the wood stove daily. Instead of the warming and comforting oat straw with ginger root and elderberries, pine needle, or Goldenrod and honey I find myself using more nettles, Holy Basil, and other green and energizing herbs. I start wanting my smoothies made with berries and coconut milk instead of hot eggs and bacon daily.

The difficult part for me as an herbalist is feeling those cravings for spring greens and herbs when there are still none to be had. I don’t want to use dried herbs. I want to forage and pick new tender shoots instead, but the only thing available is Chickweed, and I gorge on her whenever I find a patch under the snow. I have to satisfy that craving with frozen turnip and collard greens, fresh asparagus from who knows where, and citrus fruits that are expensive now due to the freezes even Florida endured. I find myself eating less meat and root vegetables and leaning more towards lighter nourishing soups filled with chopped greens and broths instead. I want salads and Balsamic vinegar. I eat an orange or a grapefruit daily now, after having no desire thru the long winter months for anything more than apples and an occasional banana.

Spring cleaning begins, not so much in my home as in my body. I mix myself a tonic of tinctures, using those from whole dandelion plants, cleavers, yellow dock, and nettle seed, and take small doses daily. My liver wants to clear out the sludge of winter indulgences from too many carbohydrates, and my sinuses, dried and irritated from months of cold temperatures and low humidity, wood heat and smoke, benefit from frequent use of my Neti pot with a drop or three of plantain and red clover tinctures, to tonify and lubricate mucus membranes.

I feel the energy of those plants working, clearing accumulated toxins gently and slowly, far different from the harsh cleanses and purges recommended by so many. There’s no need to insult my body with such. Spring awakenings should be slow, like the body from a long sleep; a gentle stretching and yawning and foraging rather than a rude awakening.

I long for my gardens to awaken, along with this mountain and all the green and furred and feathered inhabitants, but like those tiny Mints and Motherworts, I have learned to be patient; to give myself time to awaken slowly, to adjust to this new time, and to enjoy the time that is between winter and spring, just as I cherish dusk and dawn.

Soon enough I will be walking more daily, gardening and harvesting the spring herbs. Soon enough I will be too busy doing my spring and summer work helping others with their gardens and teaching my classes. But for now, this in between time is for me, a time to nourish my body and mind and prepare myself for the work to come.

An Interesting Experience with Lobelia

2009-09-14T12:12:00.003-04:00

A few weeks ago one of my dachshunds injured his neck. Rusty has a history of cervical spine problems and he’ll do something, play too hard, get swatted by a large Akita paw, or something else that will trigger severe muscle spasms and pain. Historically this pain/spasm ordeal has lasted weeks, and I’ve had to resort to using a prescription muscle relaxer, Methocarbamol, and a strong anti-inflammatory, Deramaxx (COX-II), along with chiropractic adjustments to resolve the discomfort. When Rusty was badly injured by one of my Akitas several years ago and developed gangrene he lost much of the muscle in one shoulder, and on the opposite side of his neck. This makes his musculature unbalanced at best, and when his neck problem flares up it’s even worse.

I immediately put him on the usual drugs and called my vet for an appointment for chiropractic adjustments. Then I started thinking; Rusty hates Dr Iain now. When he had gangrene it was Iain who saved his life, several times. Dr Iain did multiple surgeries and had to go in daily to debride dead tissue. Rusty was in a great deal of pain despite drugs for pain management and as a result Dr Iain became “the bad guy”. I was pretty sure Rusty would not relax for chiropractic adjustments, so that Dr Iain wouldn’t be able to help him. I called and cancelled the appointment.

What to do? Rusty was on the highest dose of Methocarbamol and Deramaxx and it wasn’t enough. My little buddy was still having severe spasms in his neck and shoulder that radiated down one leg. I could see his muscles spasm from across the room. He would awaken in the middle of the night and scream sometimes. I had to do something.

I posted a query on Facebook to my network of herbal friends and got a reply from Karen Vaughn suggesting Lobelia. I had plenty of the tincture, having made a batch last year. Also, I’d noticed on walks through my yard and along trails that Lobelia was everywhere this year, far more than in years before. My instincts tell me that when an herb starts to grow profusely around me it’s telling me to “look at me, study me, use me!”

I was hesitant. I’d only used this powerful herb in tiny doses before, for migraines a friend suffers. Michael Moore had recommended it to me last summer as an ally for the terrible pain of passing kidney stones, but I didn’t use it as I managed to pass my stones remarkably easy without having to use pain meds or strong herbs at all. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to calculate a dose for a fifteen pound dog without causing him harm or at least some vomiting, which would only make his problem worse.

But I had to do something. My little friend was suffering, and the drugs weren’t helping. We had nowhere else to go. So I dosed him with one drop of tincture in a bit of water and watched. I thought I saw a small improvement. I dosed him again, this time three drops, and sure enough, could see it was working. I made a formula for him using one part Lobelia, two parts Solomon’s Seal (for helping to realign muscles and connective tissues), and four parts Skullcap (nervine) tinctures and gave it to him every three hours. By nightfall I had him completely off the Methocarbamol and the next day I discontinued the Deramaxx.

Rusty’s spasms stopped. He’d come to me and ask for his herbs if I was late. He typically does this, has always been very aware and involved with his treatments, and so is one of my best teachers. I kept him on the formula for a week, gradually decreasing the frequency, always making sure he got it first thing in the morning and at bedtime, with other doses when he asked for it.

Within a week he was completely back to normal. I was amazed, and thankful. Once again Rusty forced me to take a chance and learn something. He now has a new ally, and won’t have to have drugs for his chronic problem.

A Fall Poem

2009-09-01T10:17:00.001-04:00

Alban Elfed

the air is different today

the wind sings with a new tone

sighing of changes

coming

the harvest gathered

a flower, a nut

some mead, and bread

a candle and a prayer

returning the fruits

in thanksgiving

to the grove

and receiving

it's blessing

again

A Student's Tribute to Frank Cook

2009-08-23T14:14:00.001-04:00

The passing of Frank Cook has been on my mind very much these last few days. When you meet someone like Frank, so vital, strong, and wise, it is difficult to accept that they too are mortal and can succumb to disease or accident.

I remember meeting him for the first time in May of 2007, up at Soulflower, Ceara Foley’s magic home and Herb Sanctuary, where we, as students of Appalachia School of Holistic Herbalism would meet for long Saturdays filled with herbal lessons and fun.

Such a presence! He was there that weekend to talk to us about fermentation, and the values of fermented foods as both food and medicine. Highly educated, well spoken, and earthy at the same time, Frank was unique among men. I remember sitting in a circle in the back yard, talking about dreds and plant spirits and the Five Tibetans. To me he was the Green Man personified.

I remember taking copious notes, trying to get onto the pages of my notebook the very important things he had to share that could change my life, make me healthier, and in turn enrich the lives of my future students and clients. So very many things I wrote down in quotes, feeling they would be important to me as I looked through and organized my notes later. As I went through these notes the past few days I clearly heard that wonderful deep voice as if hearing him that day two years ago.

Together with Joshua Reeves he taught me how to make my first batches of Kombucha and Mead. Together we, students, Ceara, Frank, and Joshua sampled and tasted many different Kombuchas. That was my first introduction to fermentation and the magic of it. Of course I went right out and purchased Sandor Katz’ “Wild Fermentation” and Sally Fallon’s “Nourishing Traditions” and explored what was a whole new world for me. I learned new habits I use today and I wonder how I managed without those skills.

Later that month Frank taught us on his Materia Medica for the Urinary System, something I paid close attention to, as I, being a typical Libra, have some kidney issues. I remember Frank saying “”Kidneys have consciousness, are sensitive beings prone to fears, stress, worry, doubt, loneliness, and fear of rejection.” If that didn’t hit the nail on the head I’ll hush.

One thing about Frank, he didn’t limit himself to teaching us about plants; he focused on the Spiritual as well. He taught us that every organ, every system of the body, was part of the whole and had individual personalities that blended and became the whole of us. One way to heal kidney issues he recommended was to “Have conversations with people who make you angry, even if they are dead or unapproachable. Talk to their higher self.” I’ve had several rather meaningful conversations with my own grandmother since then, and I have to say they have been profound. “We must honor our kidneys, become better at expression, as our kidneys hold all this if we don’t”. And “Do not burden them”, “Become creative with the stress in your life”.

When I had a frightening experience with kidney stones last year Frank was one of the teachers I turned to for wisdom. He was generous with his help, emailing me with advice and helping to calm my fears. As a result I managed to pass on my own a very large and “unpassable” (ha!) stone with a minimum of discomfort, largely due to remaining calm and somewhat fearless. Between the advice of Frank and Michael Moore (another great loss to the world) I accomplished the almost impossible, and am healthy today because of their teachings.

Frank encouraged us most of all to “Know your plant families”. I admit this is a weakness for me. For so many years I’d turn to my guidebooks and look in the section with the yellow flowers in order to identify some plant with yellow flowers, bypassing altogether the family. Still today I realize that I don’t focus on the family, but am still stuck on individual identification. If I can do one thing, take one action to honor Frank as my teacher I believe learning my families to be that thing. After all, here was a man who resolved to learn all the plant families of the WORLD. Surely I can focus on my beloved Appalachian plants and learn those! So, that is my resolution, to honor Frank and to improve my own knowledge and understanding of the plant world.

Yesterday on a walk with neighbors on their land hunting for Elderberries and Boneset my friend Deborah pointed out a plant and asked me what it was. Unknown to me, but I touched it, found opposite leaves and square stem and knew it to belong to the mint family. Frank’s face appeared before me, smiling. I smiled back inside and thanked him for his wisdom.

And finally, as I turn through the pages of my notebook, I find these last quotes from Frank;

“Our greatest healer is the wise and ancient being inside our core. Gain confidence to face the fears that come with illness.”

“Remember....everybody dies.”

Mullein; a Versatile Healer

2009-06-30T21:26:00.003-04:00

Blog Party!! This month's party is hosted by Darcey Blue over at http://desertmedicinewoman.blogspot.com Check out her blog for links to all participating blogs. Enjoy!

I was driving up my road the other day and spotted the largest stand of Mullein I’ve ever seen, along the previously Roundup’d banks of a neighbor’s home. “This guy has some problems” I thought to myself, as I am a believer that what we need most grows profusely around us. This home was literally surrounded by Mullein, most of it second year and made even more spectacular by the multitude of yellow-flowered stalks rising from the poisoned ground. The vision of that bank stayed with me and prompted me to research and write this.

Not native to North America, the seed of the plant were likely brought over on early settlers’ footwear or ships’ ballast, much as Plantain was. Mullein, or Verbascum thapsus, is a biennial herb, with a rosette of leaves the first year, and shooting up a tall stalk with flowers the second. It is easily recognized by the large fuzzy leaves and the tall stalk with yellow flowers. Growing almost everywhere, Mullein prefers the sun and poor soils where the land has been abused, so it is frequently seen along roadsides and semi-bare construction areas. Other names for it are Wooly Mullein, Flannel Plant, Candle Wick, and Quaker Rouge.

Mullein has been used to treat a multitude of ailments, and the history is well documented; One well known use is for lung issues, namely colds, coughs, asthma, bronchitis, tuberculosis and Flu. Some evidence exists that the seeds were once used as a fish poison; crushing them and scattering them in water created a layer of saponins on the surface, which caused the fish to rise to the surface to be easily caught. Quaker women liked to rub the fuzzy leaves on their cheeks to impart a nice glow when being courted. The stalk, dried, can be dipped in tallow or wax and used as a torch. The leaves can even be used as emergency toilet paper, but use caution, as some folks itch terribly when the leaf comes into direct contact with skin. Hikers and folks caught out in cold weather can use the leaves to line socks and shoes for added insulation against cold.

Modern day scientists have proven its effectiveness against colds and Flu, Staph a, Staph e, and E coli, and have identified components that act directly against the viruses Herpes simplex and Influenza.

All parts of the plant have uses in medicine, except the seed, which should not be used. The root can be dug from either a first year or second year plant before it shoots up a stalk. One can make tea or tincture. It is effective for back pain and bone breaks, causing the muscles and tendons to realign the spine or breaks. It also tightens the trigone muscle at the base of the bladder to help remedy incontinence. Try it along with Kegel exercises for stress incontinence. Some Herbalists have reported it effective against Bell’s Palsy when combined with St John’s Wort.

The fuzzy leaves can be harvested at any time and used. The plant is even green over the winter here in the Appalachians. Use the leaves to poultice broken bones, make tea, tincture, or syrup (Always strain Mullein products through a coffee filter before use, as the tiny hairs can be quite irritating to the throat!) and take for colds, Flu, bronchitis, and asthma. To make a tea select about one cup of leaves with no mold spots, either dried or fresh, and simmer in a quart of water for thirty minutes, strain carefully through a coffee filter, sweeten with honey, and serve warm. A syrup can be prepared by simmering for thirty minutes and decocting until reduced by two thirds volume, then add two parts honey, glycerin, or even molasses. For a tincture I use fresh leaves, 1:1 in 100 proof alcohol. A salve can be prepared from Mullein oil, either from leaves or flowers, and used for skin infections and minor wounds, burns, herpes lesions, and bruises.

Mullein is expectorant, demulcent, and antispasmodic, so really helps with chronic cough. Some Herbalists use the leaves for back issues as well. The leaves have been smoked to relieve lung ailments, ease asthma, and quiet coughs, and it has some sedative properties that can promote sleep, making it valuable in treatment of endless coughing fits that drain the energy and keep one from rest. Use care in drying the leaves, as the thick center vein dries slowly and many a batch of dried herb has been ruined due to the still moist veins molding. I like to separate the center vein before drying, making it easier to rub the leaves to a fluffy consistency for smoking.

The flowers make the very best ear oil ever. Pick flowers from several stalks as they open, preferably in the morning after dew has dried. Drop them into a small jar and fill with olive oil. Let sit in a cool dark place for two to six weeks, strain and use. Children who are prone to earaches due to wax buildup especially benefit. Place a few drops in a child’s ear and watch as the pain goes away almost instantly. Leave the ears unplugged and allow the oil and wax to drain naturally overnight. Adding a second pillowcase or soft towel to the pillow is useful here. For infections and swimmer’s ear, try crushing a clove of garlic and adding that to your oil. It is my treatment of choice for ear mites and ear infections in my dogs too.

Watchouts and contraindications;
NEVER use the oil in ears that may have a perforated ear drum or in childrens’ ears with tubes!!!

Do not use Mullein flower oil and garlic combo on cats. Use the flower oil only and sparingly.

Avoid using Mullein if taking the drug Lithium, as it can intensify the effects.

Avoid using Mullein with muscle relaxing drugs for the same reason.
Some evidence exists that mullein is diuretic (although I have not found it to be so) and use should be avoided if taking prescription diuretics.

First Egg!!

2009-03-31T12:37:00.003-04:00

I got my first egg today! Wooo hooo! OK, stop laughing, this is a milestone for me, so let me revel.

The chickens are settling in well. Both mini-chicken houses were used last night, all the food was gone, and the whole flock met me at the gate this morning clamoring for food. Rocky had competition eating from the bowl I held.

Rocky looks different, acts different. He's standing much taller, almost completely erect, and strolls around like a lord among his ladies. I've noticed he stands around a lot watching them scratch and eat, like he's protecting them, as he gives a soft alarm call they all heed when one of the dogs gets nosey.

I kept hearing a chicken squawking earlier and ran out to see what was wrong. One hen (they don't have names yet) was standing outside the newest chicken house just squalling at the top of her lungs. She ran to me when I came in and I swear it was just like a kid coming to complain to mama. I understood immediately. (Yeah, that's weird, but apparently I speak chicken as well as I speak dog) Another hen was in that house, all settled down in one of the nesting boxes, and THIS hen was upset because SHE wanted that box! Too funny. I picked her up and talked to her and the other hen came back out. I set hen number one down and she immediately ran into the house and took over the box.

Those two hens are both claiming the house, although hen number two doesn't make a clatter when hen number one is in there. I just checked and number two was in there, with an egg. So I took it and she refused to leave the house, so she may be going broody, and the other one may be too, or they're just establishing territories and ranking order.

This promises to be a fun and interesting project, with the added bonuses of food and compost for my gardens. Neighbors were already asking me at breakfast this morning what I'll be selling eggs for! Cool!

That's all for now, I'm going to go eat my egg.

New Chickens!!!

2009-03-30T17:36:00.006-04:00

I finally found some good chickens to buy, hens already laying. I've been watching Craigslist daily, hoping someone would find they just have too many hens. Sure enough, I saw an add today for Golden Comets, being sold to downsize the flock. I made a quick call and off I went to a small farm south of me. I found a nice place, with chickens, a couple of donkeys, a mule, an assortment of sweet dogs and a gorgeous tabby cat.

Everyone seemed very happy there, and if I had to describe the place in a single word it would be "harmonious". The chickens were pretty tame, and I stayed for a few minutes getting pointers on introducing them to Rocky and what feed they used. I was happy to see the health of these birds and the love they were shown by their owners, just the kind of birds I wanted!

I stopped off at the store on the way home to grab oyster shell and a fresh bag of layer mix to tide me over till I can mix my own. I added a second chicken house to Rocky's pen and scattered fresh food and some greens from the garden, then brought the girls in and turned them loose. Rocky went into rooster mode immediately and chased a couple of them a little before seeming to realize they are all hens, then he settled down to scratch with them and occasionally act studly. All in all he's a pretty well mannered guy, so things calmed down nicely and when I left they were flocking together. Soon I hope to have fresh eggs, so I can finally give some to my brother who has been picking on me for the past year about my "success" as a chicken farmer!

Spring Awakenings

2009-03-16T13:01:00.008-04:00

It's almost spring here on Grassy Mountain. This is a time of transition, with weather extremes; one week we celebrate almost record temperatures and can wander around in shirtsleeves, and the next we have ice and snow everywhere!

As I write this we are on day four of a cold rain, but it is most welcomed, as it will help my gardens get off to a good start and will jump start the greening of the mountain.

I've spent the last two weeks alternately hunkered down with the dogs by the wood stove and getting out to hike here and with friends.

I've managed to get all of my gardens ready, cardboarding the disaster of the culinary herb garden, trying to kill the Comfrey there that some fool (read Sam) transplanted last year to a new spot. Of course the Comfrey roots left in the culinary garden thrived after being cut, and I had plants everywhere. Cardboarding and heavily mulching will get rid of them, but unfortunately will also kill my Oregano.

Not to worry though, as I'll be attending the annual Asheville Herb Festival in early May and will replenish my gardens with new young plants. If you're local to this area you should check them out. It's a great source for locally grown herbs and garden plants and seeds, and features many other herbal and hand made products. It's always good to support local growers and businesses, and I enjoy the chance to keep my money local.

This year I will be trying something new for the vegetable garden, as I have such limited space and want to grow more yummy stuff. I'm going to train all my summer squash and zucchini plants up a trellis, and my tomatoes will be moved to upside down buckets hanging from the barn. That way I'll have more room for the other plants. My Jerusalem Artichokes should fare well, as I didn't do a complete harvest last fall. I left a lot of the tubers untouched, so the bed will spread. The 'chokes will become my potato substitute.

I'm also trying something new in my community, and will be holding a FREE "Ask the Herbalist Day" on Tuesdays at the local Switzerland Cafe. This is a great little cafe and General Store run by friends Ann and Lora. If you're in the area please check them out. They have the freshest salads and the best quiche anywhere.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. Every Tuesday at 2 PM I'll be setting up at a table outside and holding court with anyone who comes along. I'll be available for all herb related questions. Folks can bring samples or photos of weeds in their yards for help with identification and a brief talk about the best uses for the plant. General questions about health will be entertained and discussed, and I'll have my herb books, press book, weed of the month handouts, and may even have a plant of the week present for discussion. It's a way I can provide service to my community, and hopefully make new contacts and friends who will then go on to attend a class or herb walk.

Chickens. Well, I have to admit, I stink as a chicken farmer! As I last reported, I ended up with what I thought was two roosters and one hen. But that hen just never would lay any eggs. I checked every day for my first "free range egg" to no avail. Then one day I noticed "her" comb was growing, and "she" was growing some suspicious looking tail feathers to boot. My hen I'd watched so closely was none other than a crossdressing rooster! Great. No eggs. After a time the three began to fight, and my favorite one, the white one I named Rocky was getting the worst of it. I finally butchered the two mean red ones and now have this one pretty white rooster that comes when I call and stands to be petted. But no eggs.

I'll remedy that in April with the addition of several hens purchased from a local hatchery who keeps pullets till they are about ready to begin to lay. No more biddies for me!

I've spent the last few days updating my website, so please do check it out when you get a chance.

And that's all for now folks!

Bringing in the Harvest

2008-09-30T15:09:00.011-04:00

Blog Party! Check out other posts on harvesting at Gais's Garden; http://desertmedicinewoman.blogspot.com/

I set out this afternoon armed with my large basket, camera, and the usual assortment of dogs. I head down the graveled road in search of things to pick, dig, and carry home in my basket and my memories. The dogs are excited about our daily walk, never growing tired of it, always spying or scenting something new to chase, eat, or roll in.

I take a picture of one of the many Poke plants in the yard. The berries hang like bunches of purple black grapes, and I cut several bunches to hang and dry in my sunroom. They make great little pills that way, and I take one every time I feel the slightest hint of a cold or other virus. With her as my ally I am rarely sick. I indulge myself in a little childish face painting while I’m at it.

My garden is almost dead now, a few tomato plants with no more tomatoes, dying squash vines, and some spent pepper plants. But crowning the upper end are my Jerusalem Artichokes, “Sunchokes” that I planted for the first time this past spring. The bright yellow flowers top the towering stalks and I know I will have a nice crop of inulin filled tubers just after first frost.

I pause to cut a bunch of goldenrod flowers. This sweet herb has recently teamed with others to help me pass a very large kidney stone. I stroke her leaves and whisper my gratitude as I gather more to dry for winter teas. Delicate white flowers of Queen Anne’s Lace join the Goldenrod. She too has helped me with the stones, and I gather flowers in all stages from full bloom to dried birds’ nests with mature seeds.

I pause as always at the place of the Fairy wands, and am excited to see several tall stalks sporting not yet ripe seeds. I will gather a few of them to share with friends in another few weeks. For now I enjoy my picture taking and the energy of this special place.

I hear a sudden explosion of wings and look up in time to see all three dogs flush a small flock of turkeys we have surprised. They take wing and head up to a higher spot on the ridge while the dogs, ever futile but always game give chase. Bella yips her hunting call while Bear runs at breakneck speed up the steep slope. They will no doubt join me on the path as it climbs later.

I find a large Lobelia inflata plant right at the crest of the trail and stop to speak. I don’t need to harvest any this year, as I have plenty on hand, but I pay my respects just the same. I’ve only used her for my friend’s migraines, and mild asthma a client has had since childhood, but have made a mental note to use a large dose on myself if the pain from my remaining kidney stone becomes unbearable. A powerful plant, she commands respect, as she will hurt you if used unwisely.

I am joined by the dogs, panting and hot now as they greet me on the upper trail. The turkeys are nowhere to be seen. I step over a few of the outer husks of hickory nuts and know that the squirrels are doing their harvesting now too. The scarlet leaves of a maple contrast with the still deep greens and the few yellows of early fall. Bear pauses to rest a moment and I get a rare shot of him. And when I reach the place where I make my daily prayers Bella allows me a quick shot of her too. Rusty, getting slower as his eyes continue to fail is almost always under my feet.

I walk on and spot bright red berries, Solomon’s Plume, and more berries that turn out to be Spice Bush. I pick a single berry and chew it slowly, enjoying the burst of spicy flavor in my mouth as I continue on the trail. I find a single pink-purple turtlehead blossom near several varieties of morning glory. I have loved this plant since I was a child and I have future plans to encourage them to grow up a home- made trellis.

I see Solomon’s Seal as well and pause to thank her for the help she has given me with my friend T’s shoulder problems. I don’t need to dig a root this year as the one I got last year was huge and will last me through this winter easily.

As I walk back down toward the house I think about harvesting Joe Pye roots, and decide to wait a bit longer, digging them when I dig the roots of Black Cohosh, Goldenrod, Queen Anne’s Lace, Dandelion, and Poke, all of which are better after first frost.

Heading to the pond I gather a few Buckeyes to make salve and tincture for my friend’s varicose veins. I drop them into the basket and go back to the yard to finish filling it with chestnuts from my two large trees. I toss a few cracked ones to the chickens and laugh as Bear harvests a few for himself and chews them, spitting the shells. I cut sage, oregano, rosemary, and thyme from my small culinary garden and begin filling a second basket. I add cuttings from Mugwort, Tansy, and Wormwood to them and a bunch of Comfrey leaves.

Back in the house I empty the basket, tying herbs in small bunches and hanging them to dry for teas and winter dishes. I chop some of the Goldenrod and Queen Anne’s Lace for tinctures and crack and chop the Buckeyes for tincture and oil. The chestnuts go into the refrigerator to be roasted later. They will make a sweet addition to some home- made bread and the stuffing for my Thanksgiving turkey.

The next few weeks will be much like today. I will harvest a few plants at a time, and smells of oils, drying herbs, berry syrups, and teas will fill my home.

Update on the home front

2008-07-08T13:42:00.003-04:00

I can't believe it's been six weeks since I blogged! Time flies this summer, and my computer time has become limited as my outdoor activities increase, but life is good. I have no complaints. Lets see, where to begin? The orchard first, since so many have asked.

I left the orchard the day of my first scheduled Herb Walk for the season. When I arrived at my scheduled time, the orchard was being sprayed. Great I thought, perfect timing. I was told to go ahead with my walk, and that I would be in no danger. All my instincts disagreed, and when I stepped outside into a cloud of drifting toxic mist the orchard keeper reminded me of the dangers of the chemicals used, and not to go into the orchard at all. So I went back inside and cancelled my walk, disgusted and apprehensive that this was likely the first of many times I'd face this during the season.

I had a lot of thinking to do, and some research. So when I arrived home I emailed and asked for the names of the chemicals used. I then researched the MSDS on all four chemicals and quickly determined that I did not belong there at the orchard. I have been anti-chemical for years, choosing not to use toxic chemicals in my home to control bugs or other pests. I don't even vaccinate my dogs. My friend Linda calls me the "chemical Nazi". I cringed as I read warning after warning, and saw documentation of the effects these chemicals had on humans and other animals and wildlife, water quality, and long term pollution of land. All this went totally against my conservation minded brain. So I cancelled all my appearances for the season.

I was able to find another place fairly quickly however, so will be doing my walks at the local Inn property, as well as conducting my herb classes at the local meeting house. Cool! One door closes....

Dogs; All the dogs are fine. The Bear puppy has doubled in size and remains a joy to be around. He's attended a couple of cookouts with me and we enjoy lunch one day a week at the local pet-friendly Cafe. Sadly he killed one of my chickens that had gotten out, and fetched it to the sunroom to feast on, where I took it away from him. So, I guess he'll be more of a pet and companion than a livestock protection dog! Bella is his favorite playmate, Rusty tolerates him, Mintaka likes him, and Diva still wants to kill him, so things are going well in that department.

Chickens; Well, things are not so good in the chicken department. After I moved them all to their larger area I had two more escape and get killed by the ever watchful Akitas. I'm down to three now, one of the White Rocks and two of the New Hampshires. And to make matters worse, two of them are roosters, and are learning to crow. So now I'll have to eat one of them, and get more chickens. And still they are not old enough to lay eggs. Bummer.

Other; I found a great email list that discusses Sally Fallon's "Nourishing Traditions" book, called "discussingnt@yahoogroups.com. I'd purchased the book when I was in herb school and tried several of the recipes, dabbled in kombucha, got good at whole grain sourdough bread, and loved making yogurt and kefir, which have become regular staples in my diet. But I slipped gradually, going back to storebought (tho still organic) yogurt and kefir, and abandoning my last kombucha scobi on my counter. I stopped making bread when the weather warmed. This non-air conditioned house gets so very warm with the oven on and I found too that my body actually does better on a semi-grain-free diet then even the whole and fermented grains, so I'll leave that for now.

But that email list has gotten me recharged and wanting to get back into fermentation projects, so I started last week. I made yogurt and kefir, using them in my morning smoothies, and today I started a batch of beet kvass. I had a couple of organic beets that I peeled and chopped, and I have a couple of cups of kefir on the counter now straining the whey from it to add to the beet jar. I'll also end up with a bit of soft cheese from the strained kefir. I love beets, and hope that my body will love the kvass more. I'll crank up the kettle in a bit to make a batch of kombucha too, maybe my shroom is still alive.

My garden is doing well. I lost my winter squash plants as seedlings for some reason, but the peppers, tomatoes, summer squash and Jerusalem Artichokes are all doing well. I'm eating squash almost daily now. The herb gardens are fine too, except for my Skullcap. My Mugwort and Wormwood have grown so tall they completely shaded out my Skullcap and those plants are tiny and likely won't produce. I'll have to relocate my artemesias and let them have more room to expand, and replace them with smaller herbs that will get along better with my Skullcap.

My Comfrey is doing TOO well. Silly me decided to transplant it from one garden to another last fall. Every teeny tiny root I cut as I dug it up turned into a thriving huge comfrey plant that shoved out my Oregano, Thyme, Basil and even a Rosemary bush. So I figure I'll have to cardboard it this fall and hope it doesn't come back in that spot. The ones I transplanted did well and like their new spot, so I just have to get rid of the extra. My compost pile is loving the extra green stuff I feed it weekly, chopping down the growth and adding it to the pile.

With the almost normal rain fall this year the mountain is green and happy. The herbs flourish, and all around me I see blooms of Black Cohosh, Solomon's Seal and Plume, Elder, Queen Anne's Lace, and many many more. This fall I expect a good harvest of many herbs I've been supporting for years by planting extra seeds, moving plants threatened by development, and just talking to them. It's nice to see that I've had a positive impact on many of the rare and endangered herbs, as their population has doubled and even tripled where I added my own bit of help.

Gotta run now.....kvass calls.

Whippoorwill sighting!

2008-05-15T07:36:00.002-04:00

I had a rare treat this morning. It was just before dawn, around 5:30am. I was outside with the new Bear puppy waiting for him to potty in the front yard. I always go out with him and the weenies when it's darkish, in case there's a stray bear or coyote lurking about hoping for a tasty treat. This morning I was enjoying a cup of tea while I waited, and listening to the Whippoorwill calling from somewhere in the back yard. I love his song, and am fortunate that he and his mate return each year to nest nearby. He got quiet, and I knew he was moving to another spot to take up his song again.

To my complete surprise he flew right across the path in front of me and landed on a log not ten feet away. In the light from the porch I could make out every detail of this elusive bird, even the white stripe around his throat glowed. I stood very still so he wouldn't get spooked. He knew I was there, and Bear was only fifteen feet or so away. For some reason he didn't pounce. He too froze like me, seeming to know what a special moment the three of us shared. Whippoorwill stayed where he was for maybe thirty seconds, then flew up and away to land in an unseen tree along the drive and once again take up his sweet song.

What a blessing, and a reminder of how close to this land I have grown in my twelve years here. I will carry that memory in my heart and enjoy his daily song even more.

ChickensMay08

2008-05-13T16:08:00.004-04:00

The chickens seem to be doing well. Two weeks and counting and I’ve managed to keep all of them alive. They have most of their feathers now, and look a bit moth eaten in a few places where pin feathers are still coming in. They’ve grown a great deal, and have started eating a wild bird seed mix and herbs from my garden in addition to their commercial chick starter. And they catch and eat every bug and fly they can. I found some recipes on an Organic Chicken list I joined (OrganicChickens@yahoogroups.com , nice list) and will be purchasing whole grains later this week to add to their diet.

Here's a couple of pics of the chickens.

I moved them outside a week ago, into a chicken tractor made from an old Akita crate, with one of the converted dog houses as a chicken house. All that is set up inside a dog kennel, so I can have double fencing between them and my curious dachshunds and Akitas. They love being outside. I put their heating pad inside the chicken house under their perch for extra warmth and it came in handy last week when the weather took a turn and got cold and rainy again. I put a tarp over the crate so their area stays dry. The first two nights I closed the door, but after that I’ve just left it open and they seem fine. Next week I’ll turn them out into the large dog kennel their tractor is inside, and give them a week or two there before moving them down to the pasture to their permanent home.

I got them a dog of their very own too! He’s a Great Pyrenees mix puppy I call Bear, and he likes them. Right now he stays inside their big kennel whenever I’m away. He showed mild curiosity toward them the first day, and now ignores them. He sleeps lying up against their cage and they peck at his fur. He’s quite different from the dachshunds and the Akitas, who wouldn’t hesitate to eat them. Hopefully I’ll be able to leave him with them as they mature and he’ll be protective.

Chickens!

2008-04-28T10:41:00.004-04:00

I got chickens yesterday! I went to the flea market in Morganton and found a woman selling all kinds of baby chicks. She gave me a quick rundown on the colorful breeds, and I settled on White Rocks and New Hampshires, only because those babies were three weeks old and stood a better chance of survival with a novice like me.

I'd taken two of my old "Ruff Hause" dog houses to my brother's last week and got him to convert them to little chicken houses based on a design I found online from Mother Earth News. He did a fine job, making a ramp for each one out of some scrap beadboard he had, putting in a divider to make nesting boxes in the rear of each, and a perch in the "livingroom" for nighttime roosting. Adorable.

But my little babies are too young to deal with the cool nights we have here, and by the time I got them home I'd decided they needed to stay in the house for a week or so, at least until this cool rainy spell passes and we have sunny days again. This posed a problem, as I have cats, and I was pretty sure my dogs wouldn't think they were anything other than fresh meat. After all, raw chicken is one of their primary protein sources. This was dinner on the hoof! The cats I decided to leave locked in the sunroom. They are in there every night when Shine comes in anyway, as she thinks they are tasty too. They'll be ok for a few days.

Having bred and showed dogs for years I have quite the collection of crates in various sizes and designs. I set up a "weenie crate" that usually serves as travel crate for one of my dachshunds when I go to visit friends. I added a heated mat that doesn't get over 100 degrees and covered that with pine shavings. A small waterer, bowl for food, and a perch across the front completed it nicely. Then I covered it with a blanket to hold in heat and keep it dark at night.

To protect my new babies from the dogs I stuck that crate inside an Akita sized one by the front door. So they had their own little bedroom inside a protective crate. It worked! Both Akitas and dachshunds checked them out, summoned by the cheeping, and were unable to get to them to sample them. Shine was the most interested, having a very high prey drive evident since puppyhood. Bella climbed up on my back as I lay on the floor watching them and peered over my shoulder from her vantage point. Rusty gave a sniff and wandered off, as did Diva. Babies and I slept well, and this morning I was delighted to see they'd already learned how to use their perch, and had eaten all their food.

I cleaned and filled bowls, scattered additional seed around in the pine bedding for foraging practice, and added some grit to help their digestion. They have a light on during the day and as I type this I can hear them cheeping busily away as they forage and peck.

This is going to be fun I think. I still want some Guineas for fly and bug control in the yard, but will have to wait until I find some locally. The babies will go outside next week into a chicken tractor with one of my new chicken houses inside. I'll post more pics when I make that move.

Sounds of Spring

2008-04-21T17:10:00.001-04:00

We all know of the visual signs of spring; the Green Man steps softly across the land, leaving his footprints in the form of tender new growth. We celebrate each new sighting of old friends and new.

I was reminded this week of sounds of spring, and I remembered how each is unique and as welcomed as those green sightings. I think the earliest sound is that of the peepers, the tiny frogs amongst the trees around the pond below me. Like the white blooms of the Bloodroot, they suddenly appear one evening as the sun begins to set behind the ridge to my west. They come like the Chinook comes to the great north.

I am reminded of my Akita dog Scooter. We shared spring sounds every year, me standing on my porch and him sitting on his favorite rock at the edge of my yard overlooking the pond below. He’d lift his great head and taste the breeze, then turn and give me that smile, knowing I too am in awe of the moment. The peeper sounds always came on a warm spring day after several preceding days of sun had warmed the mud and allowed the blood to stir within the little creatures that depended on that warmth to give them new life. As one they’d awaken and start to celebrate. The warm breeze would caress me and my sweet dog as it carried the sounds to our ears and the scents to his questing nose. I celebrate without him this year, but his memory awakens with the sounds we used to share.

More sounds appear as the days continue to warm. Soft gentle rain falling on new green growth and trickling into the downspout right outside my bedroom window, earth shaking thunder booming from the storms that echo across the blue ridges and rattle my windows. Mother Nature doing her spring cleaning, the creek singing joyfully as it flows noisily across boulders and the roots of ancient hemlocks.

The Eastern Phoebe that makes her nest under the eaves on the south side of my house every year calls noisily for her mate, her Fee Bee song among the first sounds my ears register in the early morning. The chickadees and house wrens add their high pitched cheeping to the crickets’ dance. I hear the hum of bees poking their heads into early blossoms of Ground Ivy and Cherry as they do their tireless work of gathering nectar and pollen.

And quite suddenly one evening the Whippoorwill calls. I am reminded of my childhood summers spent on my grandparents’ farm. I loved to walk up the long driveway with my aging grandfather and his pack of dogs to get the mail. We’d walk at sunset, after the heat of the day and watch the dogs chase rabbits while we were serenaded by the song of a Whippoorwill down by the creek. This year is no different. I start from my chair and sneak quietly to the window when I hear him. He starts down by the creek, calling sometimes a hundred times before he flies silently to a fresh spot to begin again. His call lasts for many minutes as he makes his songful way up and across the ridge to disappear from my hearing as he appears in someone elses’. I saw him one year, a soft gray brown shadow sitting on the stump of an old pine in the back yard. He flew when he sensed my presence and I felt fortunate to see him, as many never get that chance to spot the minstrel ghost of the forest.

Soon the call of the Barred Owls that make their nest high in an old grandmother hemlock down on the spring branch will punctuate the night as they too rejoice in the arrival of another spring, and they will lay their eggs and hatch their young and teach them to hunt among the trees. Sometimes a Great Horned owl calls too, but they are more rare.

I wait for the day the Broadwing hawks return and keen their thin cry high in the air as they circle, hunting for mice to feed their broods. I find myself missing the call of the great Redtail I have always loved, but the forest here is too thick for them and they stick to the tops of the mountain where the view and the hunting is better suited to their great wingspan. The crows caw their secret code to one another and gather in numbers to descend on every hawk they spot, trying to drive them away, their war with the raptors ancient and ongoing.

Spring brings back the Harleys too, awake from their sleeping in safe barns and garages to once again sail around the curves and add their own special thunder to the mountains. I smile as I anticipate the rumbling of my own sweet Pearl when I roll her out for a first spring ride. We always go to Grandfather Mountain on that first journey I like to call a Medicine Ride, riding along his aged back beneath the thunderheads that seem to be always present there.

I close my eyes and let my ears bring in the sounds of spring on Grassy mountain and my heart smiles.

Medicine Walk 4/10/08

2008-04-14T12:13:00.012-04:00

Spring has come to the mountain, and she is waking up. Another warm sunny day finds me eager to walk my trail, hoping to see more plants peeking up. The dogs and I head out, me armed with camera and walking stick, they with their noses. The recent rains have encouraged new growth, making me hunger for sightings of old and dear green friends, and I am not to be disappointed.

We come to the place of the Fairy Wands, and I stop, straining my eyes to see the first shoots. I am rewarded to see many new young rosettes poking up through the thick mulch of last year’s fallen leaves. The Fairy Wands are back, and I stop to gently caress one on the bank beside the road. My camera captures the new growth and I move on, heading up now toward the old logging road.

More ferns unfurl their stalks, reaching up toward the sunlight that shines through the trees unhindered by new growth. Partridge Berry vines cascade down a cut in the bank, glossy round leaves looking like green rosary beads against a background of red clay, mosses gently cushioning the graceful foliage. I like to imagine miniature people living in caves here, their homes lined with moss made beds.

Sassafras is beginning to send out her first blossoms, and I stop to smell the green citrusy scent, and I gather a few for tomorrow’s tea. The Rhododendrons are adding fat buds to dark green leathery leaves and soon the forest will be decorated with the amazing white flowers with pink accents.

I stop near the crest and wait while the dogs hunt, Bella’s eager yipping indicating a rabbit nearby, and she is joined by Rusty and my younger Akita Mintaka, who goes along as backup. I love to watch them. I see their wildness, something that can never be bred out of even the most domestic of dogs. They rejoice in the freedom of this mountain retreat we have found, and their happiness fills my own heart.

We continue and come to a place where construction has begun on a new homesite, the raw earth red and crumbling, trees crying spring sap from bare stumps that will never again sport green leaves and branches or provide homes for the multitude of wild things that inhabit this place. I am sad that development continues, but also hopeful that these new people will have the same appreciation of this place that I have.

We hurry by that place and as I walk I spot a tiny patch of white against the still brown background, low to the ground. I step from the trail and am elated to see the first spring blossom of Bloodroot. I take a picture and come back to the trail, knowing that when one blooms, they all do, and that I will soon see many as I approach the watershed. Sure enough I see more and more, hundreds of them now, some single, some in clumps, flowing down the mountain following the path of the recent rains. They look like little snow balls among the browns and greens. I take a few more shots, trying to capture the magic of this little endangered herb that has such a history of use. The leaves are still small, wrapping the single stalk, waiting another few days to unfurl their bear paw shape.

The dogs gather around me, curious to know what I have found, and then wander away when they see Mom is overly excited about nothing but a plant. Their goals differ, wanting warm furry scents in contrast to my need for green. They again busy themselves checking out holes in the bank or those small hollows that seem to be in every other tree. More homes for the Little People I smile to myself.

I spot a small dot of lavender and I move to take a picture of a violet, but it’s not violet. Toothwort! I’d forgotten how this lovely graceful plant blooms along with the Bloodroot, thin straight stem supporting a cluster of bell shaped flowers. I see several of them, growing among the leaf litter and one sticking right out of the otherwise bare and muddy bank.

I reach the crest where the road splits and I stop for my morning prayers. As I look around gratitude flows in my veins, my spirits lifting in response to the awakening mountain. The trees are beginning to sprout tender green leaves now, and I see the red blossoms of maples contrasting with the pale green yellow Sassafras flowers. The honeysuckle vines are climbing already, green split leaves that will soon turn to the more rounded and familiar ones. I remember the heady scent and know that soon enough they will bloom.

I look upward, across to Linville Mountain and I see that she too has green growth, the far away foliage lending color to the formerly drab winter coat. Soon that mountain and my own will be a solid mass of green when viewed from the highway, punctuated by the rock cliffs and outcropping and the dots of homes at the ends of roads that look like veins amongst the green.

Then I see the violets. They are everywhere now, decorating the forest floor with blooms ranging from pure dark purple to a pale lavender to various stripes and dots. So many! The green heart shaped leaves grow in small clumps now, looking like little bouquets of happiness. I bend low and try to catch the fleeting scent, and am rewarded with a hint of fragrance. I take many pictures here.

We reach the road again and I stop to munch on Chickweed, happy and green and lush growth loving the cool wet spring we are having. I see the tiny star shaped white flowers. I munch a few of them too. Dandelions are now out in full force and I know I will be digging up a few to add to my supper, and I’ll be gathering flowers before they can turn into the fluffy seed heads to make massage oil. I toy with the idea of making wine or mead this year as well. A large
rosette of Mullein sports drops from the morning dew like jewelry, and I see the first Robin’s Plantain with its many petaled lavender colored flower.

I pause before we reach the yard, taking in the beauty of the dogwoods, now in almost full bloom, the white cross shaped blossoms on branches just now beginning to sprout green leaves. Sparrows and finches dart out of my boxwoods as I stop to admire yet another variety of purple striped violet. I grab a few young Plantain leaves and enjoy their flavor too. Soon everything will be green and summer will be here.

My new garden bed still sleeps under a thick cover of straw and leaf litter. I will plant the first week of May, having learned hard lessons my first few years here about late freezes and spring snows. This year I will have squashes, winter and summer, sweet potatoes, peppers, beans and tomatoes here.

Heading to the back yard I check my herb gardens. In my small culinary garden I see garden sage, oregano, thyme, and chives, which winter over, providing me with fresh tastes through the cold months. Comfrey leaves peek through the straw here and I sigh at my foolishness of the year before when I transplanted it to the other medicinal garden closer to the house. Each root left in the earth is now a new plant, and I figure I’ll have Comfrey for the whole neighborhood.

I see tiny new leaves of Yarrow as I approach my medicinal garden. I love this plant, as she is one of my allies and teaches me. Here Comfrey grows in earnest, a long row of leaves already large enough to harvest and eat or make medicine or soap. Motherwort that stayed green all winter is growing tall now along the back next to my climbing rose bush and my clematis vines that share the trellis attached to the house below my bedroom window. Rosemary treats me to her fragrance as I brush by. Echinacea leaves poke up in rosettes beside the Feverfew, and the silvery green foliage of Wormwood stands beside the Tansy. In the front row I see the first leaves of Skullcap coming back, and I stop to caress the Mugwort. I taste a fresh new leaf from Lemon Balm and smile at the lemony flavor. I will have good tea this year.

I turn then and head to the back of the property to my circle, hoping to see the Lady Slippers coming up. Too soon. I long for the sight of the delicate pink moccasin shaped blooms of this rare orchid. My feet sink into the deep carpet of moss here under the Hemlocks that surround my Green Man and I stop to admire him and
thank him for his presence. I rake a few of last year’s leaves from around the collection of crystals and stones that I have slowly added each year around the Man standing guard at the east side of my circle.

Wandering down to the pasture I check the apple trees I planted a few years ago. They were tiny twigs when they arrived, dwarfs with five varieties grafted to each tree. They are taller than I now, but have no blooms. I sigh. Green leaves already coming out. Maybe next year they’ll bear. My Cherry bushes are fully leafed, the multitude of blossoms from a couple of weeks ago now gone. I hope there were enough bees out to pollinate so I can have my first crop of cherries this year. My Wisteria is up, sending out new tendrils to climb my fence and the suckers from the old Chestnut stump.

I peer over the split rail fence between the pasture and the lower part of my land that borders the creek, trying to spot the first shoots of the Black Cohosh that grows profusely there. Nothing yet, but I smile at the Bloodroot that happily blooms.

I return to the house through new growth of Blackberry canes and wonder if I should eliminate some of them. The ground is dotted with more and more new green growth, much that I cannot identify.

I pause to hug dogs who are now all muddy from a quick trip to the pond to hunt frogs and head into the house. My walk has recharged me and readied me for another day’s work at computer and kitchen.

Tomorrow we will go again, and we will see new things.

Plant Spirit Journeys; Poke

2008-04-01T15:21:00.002-04:00

Sonny was sick with cancer, and Sonny was going to die, soon. All the Vets said so. The form of cancer he had was aggressive, and no chemotherapy was even offered. No hope, just surgical removal of the offending kidney and a death sentence, a precious few months at best.

I was devastated and paralyzed with fear. Cancer had touched my life before, as it has so many others, and I’d watched as my grandfather, friends, and even my husband suffered and died under that curse.

As an herbalist and a hard headed woman I couldn’t simply accept that. I thought of all the possible things I could try, and suddenly Poke came to mind. I had harvested a root last fall and tinctured it, long before I had any idea that I would be using it against such a powerful entity as cancer. I needed to know more; could this plant help? What dose should I give? Was it dangerous? Could it make him sicker or even kill him? To gain the answers I knew I needed to journey into that realm where everything is the same, yet everything is different. Colors brighter, sounds clearer and more easily understood, and the plants and animals, well, they’re different too, and they use this special and sacred place to speak to us, if we dare to ask.

And so I sat with a poke seed in my hand and the bottle of tincture in the other, and waited for the door to the otherworld to open and take me down among the spirits of animals, stones, flowing waters, and plants. My body remained still and in trance on the futon while my own spirit, freed of my earthly body and limiting beliefs soon found the way.

I walked, along the banks of a rushing creek tangled with huge boulders, greeting familiar spirits I’d conversed with before, eyes ever watchful for whatever form the one I was seeking might take. Most of my visions involve women, old women, old wise women, and this time was to be no different. Very soon I came upon a grove of Poke weed, tall and stately, huge green leaves shading magenta stalks, dark ripe berries hanging in clusters almost breaking the stalks with their juicy weight. Among the wrist thick stalks I found a smallish tree stump and sat to wait for her to appear in the green faery light that filtered through her leaves.

Quite suddenly she was beside me, and I studied her as the silence between us remained. She was old, that ageless kind of old, skin like paper, hands cracked and lined with deep veins much like a dried and fallen leaf. She sat stooped as if by years of arthritic changes, joints enlarged, fingers claw like. Her clothes were hard to distinguish from the green and magenta and purple and red clay. She seemed to materialize from these things with no beginning to her form, no end to that of her camouflage. Her face was deeply lined, hair long and tangled and gray with none of the silver highlights mine possessed, and she looked at me with ancient eyes, in which I saw a multitude of things; wisdom, knowledge, patience, compassion, and yet underneath I felt a sense of her power, deep, moving, undeniable, even dangerous. I hesitated. She waited.

When I finally spoke I greeted her as respectfully as I knew how, telling her who I was, sensing she already knew both my name and my reason for the visit, yet feeling I should go ahead with the formal statement anyway, out of courtesy. She nodded and waited, letting me sit in my confusion and shyness, while I sensed she got a tiny bit of enjoyment out of my feeling intimidated. Finally I blurted it out; my Sonny has cancer, and they sent him home, and I don’t know what to do.

She looked at me, still waiting.

Can you help us? I asked finally. She looked confused for a minute, and I pointed to where I could see Sonny with his sister Shine nearby. She turned back to me then and spoke, nodding. Her voice as dry as her skin, but with that same power I’d sensed earlier she simply said; “We love Sonny. We love to watch him play.” I knew then we’d connected. One thing Sonny was known for was his playful puppy like attitude, his joy of life, and the games he played continually with Shine in their fenced in area, heavily populated by Poke herself.

I sat for awhile with Granny Poke, telling her his story, and the frustration and helplessness I felt. She never said another word out loud, all our communication was internal and unspoken, but when I finally rose to leave I knew what dose to use, and for how long, and I knew that it would have a powerful effect on his health. I got no promises of a cure, nor did I ask for one. I would be content to simply have my dog as healthy and free of pain and suffering as possible, and I knew she’d give us that for as long as she could.

I knew I’d earned myself an ally, a very powerful teacher and mentor, and that my journey with her was beginning here with this one dog, this one question answered.

I gave Sonny that poke tincture. He got strong again. He thrived. His blood and lab results returned to normal values. He lived for another two years and nine months, well past the time given him by the experts, and a long full life of almost twelve years for an Akita. He played among the Poke stalks with his beloved sister in summer, sleeping with her in their shade. He sported stains from the berries on his thick coat. I like to think that Poke marked him with her own tattoo.

As for me. I felt no loss when Sonny did die. I felt victorious instead. I had become empowered by a plant spirit. I got answers when there were none. I got miracles when there were none to be had. I had an ally, a very powerful one who is always there for me whenever I ask. I walk my herb walk trail with children and tourists and I tattoo my own face with her juice in celebration of her warrior spirit. The children laugh, the adults no doubt resolve to get away from this strange lady, and Poke smiles at us all.

Medicine Walk 03/12/08

2008-03-12T12:49:00.004-04:00

The morning sun is bright as I gather my small pack of dogs and my walking stick and head out to hike along our favorite trail. The slight breeze is warm and hints of a spring not far off. As we stroll along the graveled red clay road I watch for the first early plants along the banks.

We pass the place where the Fairy Wand grows and I pause, but they still sleep. Climbing now I watch my older Akita, closely. At twelve Shine is old, her limbs weak and sometimes she stumbles in the steep places. Today she drags her hind feet slightly, but as she turns, feeling my gaze upon her, she smiles, eyes bright with joy and I know she is fine. Bella, one of my dachshunds, yips excitedly and I know she has found a rabbit trail. Off she goes followed by my blind dachshund Rusty. He follows the sound of the tinkling bell on her collar and her footsteps rustling through the dry leaves of last fall. He inspires me daily with his positive attitude and his delight in being out in the awakening world.

I continue the climb to the upper trail, this path an old logging road, paved only by leaves and mosses and the occasional downed limb. The round leaves of Golden Ragwort dot the trail, but her yellow blossoms are yet to come. The dogs catch up and for a few minutes we walk together, still climbing, and Shine begins to fall behind. I am looking still for new signs of life while they do the same with their noses. At the crest I stop to sit on a pine log while I wait for Shine to catch up. I spot the first tiny dark green leaves of Partridge Berry, peeking out from under the carpet of leaves my feet have disturbed. A single leaf from Mistletoe lies there too and I glance up to find the tree it came from. A woodpecker beats a fast rhythm on another dead pine above us, seeking the bugs that hide there. I can’t spot him but I know he is a Downy, as they are plentiful here, and his drumming lacks the depth and volume of the great Pileated that shares this territory.

Shine reaches us and I give her a few minutes to sniff the hiding places of mice and to check the scent left along the deer trail that crosses here. The sun warms our little spot and I take off my denim overshirt before rising to continue.

We eventually reach the intersection of two trails, this one continues and the other heads down steeply to my small house. I stop here to make my morning prayers, greeting the sun, the earth, and the spirits of this place I am fortunate to live in. I pray for friends, family, my fur children and for my own education that I might continue to grow and serve this small community I have come to love so much and to call Home. Leaving a small amount of tobacco in gratitude I open my eyes again to my immediate surroundings.

Looking down I spot what might be the first leaves of Plantain, but am not sure. They are so small and I left my glasses at home. My eyes rise and across the way, to the east, I see Linville Mountain rising up to the clouds, the steep rocky outcrops visible even here. My own mountain, called Grassy, looms behind me, rising to the tiny resort town of Little Switzerland and the Blue Ridge Parkway.

The trees surrounding me are poplars, oaks, hickories, and maples, all gray still, waiting a few more weeks to send out their tender leaves. Punctuated between them I see the green of small hollies, the White and Yellow pines, and my beloved but dying Hemlocks. Along the leaf littered ground are unfurling ferns, with patches of moss between them. I hear the sounds of a few hardy birds. Chickadees and titmice cheep their tiny conversations, a crow caws to his friends about us, and the drumming of the woodpecker we met earlier fades into the soft background. I watch the joyful dachshunds, still on their endless and mostly fruitless hunt for mice and other small creatures.
When I am ready to continue I assess Shine’s condition, knowing it is she who will decide which trail we take. She is tired, and she looks down toward the house, so that is the way we go.

I pause by the path the water follows after the storms and look longingly for the first blooms of Bloodroot, knowing even as I look it will be weeks before I see them. The red clay is crumbling here in fresh piles where my neighbor, who owns this trail we walk has been widening the road with his backhoe. While I love him I am glad he is not here today, his noisy machine would destroy the magic and mood of our walk.

As we reach the last turn I hear the breezes rustling through the dead leaves still clinging to the Beech trees, whispering like tiny people, their secrets unknown to me. I freeze suddenly, spotting a bright patch of purple and I lean down to see the first blooms of a Violet. There are several here, poking their heads out from under more leaves, the blossoms striped with white, the heart shaped leaves glossy. I smile and think of my mother. Violets were her favorite flower, and I always think of her when I see them and remember the many varieties she’d dig up on trips and bring home to color her yard with.

We turn and at last reach the graveled road that leads home. Along the side are familiar faces. Chickweed greets us, a special friend of Rusty’s. I see Mullein that has overwintered and will soon be shooting up her tall spike and decorating it with yellow flowers. I thank her for the tea I made this past winter from her fuzzy leaves. Honeysuckle peeks out, ready to begin her spring climb up the trees lining the road. My cherry bushes are ready to bloom, and I hope the warm weather holds so I can harvest my first crop this year.

We reach the yard and the dogs head as one to the water bucket to quench their thirst. I pause in the front yard, studying the ground and sure enough I see tiny leaves, veins running lengthwise and I know that it was Plantain I saw up top. This part of my yard is a patch of the wonderful weed I’ve allowed to take over, ignoring the comments of friends that grass would look pretty here. I peek under the boxwoods for violets but they are still sleeping in the deep shade. In front the Periwinkles that cover the north side where the yard is steep are already blooming, sweet star-shaped blue highlights against a dark green background.

As I step onto the porch I once again offer a short prayer of gratitude for the gifts this morning has brought, and my smile is bright and my step light as I hear the creek answer before I close the door and return to my chores inside the house.

Herbal Allies; Nettle

2008-02-28T13:10:00.000-05:00

Herbal Allies; Nettles

I love nettles, Urtica dioica and other nettles. Although one would believe her to be an unfriendly plant, reaching out to sting anyone who walks too close and brushes up against her foliage, she is actually quite helpful and beneficial. There’s even a silver lining to that sting.

My first adventures with nettle came when I purchased a book; “Healing Wise” by Susun Weed some years ago. Reading it, I found myself drawn to nettles and oats, and promptly purchased quantities of each and ventured into the new (to me) world of herbal infusions. I can’t say my first experience was positive. I guess the closest I can come to describing that taste was “pond water”. But I persevered and very soon found myself loving the fresh green taste of the dark emerald liquid. My body liked it too; my energy improved, my skin cleared, my mild allergy symptoms improved, and my kidneys, prone to gravel, formed fewer stones. I guess I can say that nettles marked the beginning of my journey into the green things. People starting out with the infusion would do well to stick with only a cup or so a day, until their body gets used to it, as more than a few have reported headaches when they drink more than that. After one has grown accustomed to the herb, as much as a quart a day can be consumed without headaches.

I’ve not found Stinging nettle (Urtica dioica) growing on my property, but her cousin, Wood Nettle (Laportea canadensis) grows profusely along the creek that runs by my house. She stings too, and tastes almost as good, so I use her. On a trip to my brother’s in Hot Springs I found the path along his creek literally covered with Wood nettle. This nettle grows very tall, and a walk along that path in shorts is a painful adventure at best. Fortunately the area is also covered with Jewelweed, so I can soothe my stings immediately. I’ve harvested them there, eaten them steamed, and made tincture from the leaf and root.

But my most profound experience has come from using stinging nettle seeds. I made friends with nettle seeds several years ago when one of my dogs developed renal cancer, and subsequently renal failure. While poking around for something to help him I found David Winston uses them for renal failure, and I found an article about how effective the seed tincture is here; http://www.herbological.com/images/downloads/Urtica%20semen%20CH.pdf

Armed with that bit of information I purchased a supply of the dried seed from Jean’s Greens www.jeansgreens.com and made myself a standard tincture using 100 proof vodka. I’m a fan and follower of Matt Wood’s “drop dose” technique so I started dosing Sonny with three drops a day. The results were pretty much immediate, and miraculous. Over a period of two months or so, his renal values came right back into normal limits, and I was able to put him back on his regular diet instead of the phosphorus-restricting one I’d had him on. Until the day of his death almost three years later his kidney values remained normal.

My Veterinarian soon began to use this wondrous stuff on her other patients, and more often than not, improvement, and sometimes reversal of disease was seen. Since then I’ve heard of and read many similar accounts.

More recently I’ve been led to using nettle seed as an adaptogen. In an ongoing discussion on the Herbwifery forum http://herbwifery.org/forum/ Kiva Rose mentioned how the seeds gave her increased energy, using just a tiny pinch of the dried ones daily. I tried it, and sure enough, I had scads more energy. Now we’re talking focused energy here, the kind that won’t let me sit down for very long, the kind that makes me get up and look for projects to do, and to complete them. I turned several friends on to them, and most report an increase in energy almost immediately. It makes sense, as this is an herb known to support the adrenals, and many of us suffer from “adrenal burnout” due to daily stressors, environment, poor diet, and health problems.

I’ve used the root tincture of stinging nettle in a formula for BPH and prostatitis in male dogs, and I understand it is equally effective with the males of my species. It combines well with saw palmetto and licorice root for this purpose, and for dogs I add some Chaste tree berry to help calm those urges that contribute to the condition.

And now for that silver lining in the sting I mentioned earlier. Urtication is a time proven technique that can lessen the severity of arthritic pain and inflammation in joints. The brave (or the masochistic) will take a bunch of the tops of stinging nettle and flog the offending joint, to produce the characteristic sting from the formic acid. The subsequent irritation brings additional blood to the area and helps reduce the inflammation in the joint. I haven’t personally tried this approach, so I can’t add my own experiences to it.

So the next time you get stung by a nettle, turn and thank her, and consider that she might just be trying to tell you something.

A lifelong dance with SAD

2008-02-25T12:29:00.004-05:00

Here I am in the middle of February and I’m not SAD.

SAD stands for Seasonal Affective Disorder, and the acronym fits. When the days become short and the nights long, some people react by becoming depressed. I have been this way most of my life, feeling the need to hibernate in winter, to withdraw from social contact, even becoming overwhelmingly SAD to the point of hospitalization.

I was first diagnosed in the late 80’s, after my therapist returned from a lecture on the topic. It was a “new” disease then, unheard of in the US. I remember he was elated that he’d finally identified the cause of my depression. We went back over my files together and sure enough, I peaked in summer, and was down in winter. Of course he had no treatment offers other than the usual antidepressants I’d been on and off of for years. But I had other ideas. I had a diagnosis. I was empowered by it.

I’m a pretty simplistic thinker. This SAD stuff was simply sunlight deficiency and interrupted circadian rhythms. The first thing I did was quit my job of fourteen years. I was required to work rotating shift work, the worst kind. I knew my biological clock was completely confused, my circadian rhythms out of sync. How could they not be, with me working and sleeping all kinds of odd hours? Soon after leaving my employment I got myself off the antidepressants I’d been forced to depend on for all those years. I wasn’t cured, but I was better, much better. I was on the path to healing myself.

A few years later I read an article on SAD. Treatments had evolved. Light boxes were available now, but I didn’t get one. Who needs light from a box when there’s this big old ball of light right outside? I kept increasing my sun exposure. It helped minimally. Then I found another article that made mention of sunlight and SAD that proposed a theory. This theory linked SAD with wearing glasses and contact lenses, which block the beneficial light rays needed by the body to keep that biological clock ticking properly.

Another light bulb went on in my head. I started wearing glasses when I was about 9 years old, and I can remember my depression beginning around the same time. I began sitting in the sun for fifteen minutes a day during the winter with my glasses off. I’d face the sun, eyes closed, and let my eyelids soak up those bright rays, turning my head slowly back and forth as the article suggested. It became a ritual, and later a part of my daily prayers. Following this idea I had Lasik surgery, so I no longer needed glasses to see except for reading. I improved still more. I felt just about normal now, with a mild tendency to be anti-social in winter, but not hibernating or depressed. Cloudy days still effected me, especially if there were several in a row. I’d want to sleep in, and tended to be lazy.

Then I enrolled in herb school. The very first thing they taught me was that diet is the single most important factor in health, and that the proper balance of nutrients from quality sources can heal disease without medicine. I learned about another form of SAD, the Standard American diet, and how detrimental it is to health. How interesting that these two acronyms are connected! I learned about the importance of Omega 3’s. I added flax seed and fish oil caps to my diet, eliminated most of the “white stuff” and made sure I ate colorful fruits and vegetables from organic sources. I experimented with fermented foods and baked my own bread from whole grains. I cut down on red meats and sought out organic sources, and added more fish to my diet. I added organic dairy products too.

When we talked about seaweeds and their effect on the thyroid I added them too. Now I’m the first to admit I don’t like seaweeds. I grew up along the banks of a tidal river and seaweed always reminds me of low tide. Not a good smell or taste. But my body temperature was low, about 97.8, and I knew my thyroid was probably sub clinically low. So I hid my daily dose of Fucus in my morning smoothie.

Months pass. I start noticing differences. I have more energy, more vitality. I look for things to do instead of being a couch potato. I lose weight. My thoughts are clear and my desire to learn continues to grow. I start seeking out social contacts right in the middle of winter, something I’d never done before, and I enjoy meeting new people and making new friends. My friends had gotten used to my lack of communication in the winter months. It was just a part of my personality they learned to put up with.

I am no longer depressed, even on cloudy days. I am consistently happy, energetic, creative, and whole. I have come a long way, one small step at a time, toward health, both physical and mental. I look in the mirror and I see that my gray hair is turning dark again. That’s a bit of a bummer. I started going gray at the age of thirty-five, and now in my mid-fifties am almost totally silver. I like to believe that each of those gray hairs is a badge of honor, earned through a lifetime of hardships and woes, and a symbol of my crone hood. But that darkening hair is yet another sign of my body’s good health, so I accept it with only a small amount of grudge.

And suddenly I realize. Here I am in the middle of February and I’m not SAD.

My Healing Journey

2007-12-09T10:58:00.000-05:00

My Healing Journey

I used to think that healing was a physical thing, a recovery from some illness or injury that can be seen, measured, defined, identified, and therefore treated. Disease was “bad” and health was “good”. Over time I learned that disease is a sign, an indicator of imbalance and unhappiness or stagnation in my life. I learned that healing is an ongoing process, a communication between the universe and me; my body, my emotions, and my spirit. If I am sick, it is because of an imbalance, and it is up to me to identify that imbalance and to formulate a plan to bring things back to right, to wholeness. Sometimes I can do this by myself. Sometimes I turn to my plant or other spiritual allies, and sometimes, when I am blinded or overcome with confusion, I need to turn to a Healer; for his or her advice and clarity of vision.

Life, health, is a spiral. Healing isn’t about making that bone knit, or making that fever break, or even about making my digestive system function normally. It is about balance. My balance. Finding my place in the universe and fitting myself into my own little niche that no one else will fit into. Healing is about happiness, about joyfulness and playfulness and being alive and enjoying every minute of it, regardless of how my physical body feels or functions.

I can be healed and still have disease in my body. I can be perfectly healthy yet still need healing. Healing is about living. Healing is solely my responsibility. No one else can make me sick; no one else can make me well again. It is up to me to continually examine my current state of being, and to strive for happiness and fulfillment.

As a healer my role is much the same. I can heal no one, just as another can never hope to heal me. I am a seer; I look for and find the happiness and wholeness inside a person and show it to them, encouraging them to see it and to strive toward that which makes them happy and fulfilled. I am a cheerleader, encouraging the hopeless to hope. I am a magician, empowering my potions with my own magic and my own desires, increasing their powers until they are no longer simply plant material in a bottle, but a potent combination of the powers of a plant spirit mingled and joined and working with my own.

My medicine works with the mind and spirit of those who come to me seeking the path to wholeness. My visions aid in opening their eyes, showing them the path. I am the go between, matching people and their desires to plants that can help them attain their goals of physical and mental and spiritual health and happiness. My medicine stimulates their body and mind to change the present and to heal themselves.

In return I am given happiness. I am fulfilled. When my medicine works and I see someone heal I know that I have made the right connection. I have shown them what they needed to see, and they in turn have taken that vision and the wisdom from it and have healed themselves.

My small part in this grand process is what makes me tick. I file away the knowledge that helped someone in hope that it may again be what someone needs. I add to it the daily teachings from the local plants, my fellow students of life, and my teachers. The spiral continues. As I grow, my capacity to help grows, and more and complicated people come to walk with me on this journey of life. I help them. They teach me. We all grow. We all heal.