More Bella Vita, Please

Sam in the evening hallway

It’s the last day of March (how’d that happen?) and I thought I’d drop in to offer you, beloved reader, belated-ish vernal blessings, and some random expressions. Random ‘cause coherency is just too damned hard for me these days. You too, right?

Anyway…

March opened with a grateful roasting of the last Tromboncino squash (Cucurbita moschata) of the 2025 harvest season. I love this Italian heirloom for its generous flexibility. I harvest them young/immature throughout their growing season to enjoy as a summer squash, while others get sliced, chopped, etc. and dehydrated, and at least two are left on the vines to mature into a winter squash for winter storage. This simple act conjured appreciation, gratitude, and culinary joy which culminated into sweet Medicine, simple distracting Medicine that I needed given the world events that were unfolding in the moment.

A couple days later the full moon presented, and I was ripe and ready with a host of gratitudes to honor, as I do every month, in and with the reflective glow of Luna. Gratitudes held and offered in that delicious squash. Gratitudes of Medicine for me, for my loved ones, and - at the risk of sounding tilted - for the greater world. And, not least, never least, gratitudes for Gaia.

The month was sprinkled with moments of escapism (you too, right?), as well as true delights. There was a sweet visit from a friend (and their spouse) not seen since before COVID, a virtual reunion with another friend - complete with plans to manifest future IRL time, shared time with yet another beloved peppered throughout the month, an acceleration of seed starting, actively engaging more bella vita, garden wandering and early bed prepping, fruit tree trimming, baby chicks, the first of the allium harvests, open windows, and a Friday the 13th was tucked in there - our anniversary - which was on a Friday back in the day, and I dig when that mash-up happens. Thankfulnesses, one and all.

Today I give attention to a dear friend who would have been 67, so I plan to sip some tea, get a little high, and raise a glass to her badass spirit this evening. I miss her so hard some days. I also offer attention to a living friend who turns 65 today; a long-time friend who is ghosting me… again. Since November, and I’ve been gently reaching out. I’ve been living with this on-n-off relationship for decades, long before I had a name for it. I’ve never, not once, known the whys of the silent times. And it’s not like I haven’t asked. Yet, I’ve consistently kept the door open over the decades for when they eventually return. This time feels heavy, tiresome, a tad baneful, and I wonder what to do with these Feels. There’s a new moon coming up, and in the dark moon days that proceed it, I give attention to things I wish to release. This relationship, or rather my investment in it (so to speak) is - methinks - ready to go. After a birthday wish I’ll close the door, but leave it unlocked, as is my habit with such wayward connections. 

Today my distractions from the-world-that-needles will be revisiting many of those mentioned gratitudes, among others, as I move through my trifling woes, such as they are.

And I will nurture more bella vita in my day today, and in the days to follow. I invite you to do the same. For you, for your loved ones, for our shared life, for Gaia.

Peace.

hedge stuff - my liminal Medicine

This is Sam. Sam's a cat.

Hail ‘n’ welcome to February, the longest month of the year.

That’s my relationship with this month, and that’s hedge stuff. Given the year-long verve of January, that also flew by in a flash (hedge stuff), I’m wondering how many years February will take before delivering March (also hedge stuff).

The full moon of this day is in Leo, and I pull the IV of swords (hedge stuff), so I’m feeling a bit conflicted and comforted by this (more hedge stuff). As linear time rolls from one month to the next, I engage ritual that gives attention to my personal hedge work, to the liminality of/in life as I perceive it. I conjure my list of cognitive dissonances (as I say) that express the hedge for me; so-called opposites. This monthly observance has been mighty Medicine to me for years, and I draw on the wisdom and warnings that are offered from that work in the hedge.

Today the temps might get up to 21℉ which, given the temps of the past week, might feel like a bit of heatwave (hedge stuff).

I’ll be starting Rose Milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) seeds today, a lovely reminder of how the seasons and “garden” work are not linear as some seem to insist. My experience knows that planting ‘n’ harvesting hold space and place year ‘round. So today I deliver these seeds to a small flat of soil, place the flat in the unheated greenhouse, and fully tuck it in a blanket of snow; below, above, and all around. Over the coming weeks (a month+) these seeds will experience “cold stratification” which the Rose Milkweed require in order to sprout (hedge stuff).

If you live where winter cold ‘n’ snow are happening and have poppy seeds, now is a nice, easy time to “plant” them. I toss them atop the snow where they experience that “cold stratification” that poppies also need, and as the snow thaws those beloved seeds descend toward the earth where they’ll eventually sprout and take root (hedge stuff, again).

Lots of hedge stuff for me today, and with it I recall the closing line of Desiderata, “With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.” (hedge stuff, indeed).

Peace.

Change

 

This past week I’ve been sinking into the Medicine (and privilege) of my daily living. Appreciating the small things of home and hearth are Good Medicine for me, especially when occurrences outside my sphere of influence are profuse and expansive, some rooted in recognizable reality, some seemingly performative, some intentional distractions, and some just fucking, horrific mysteries.

I sink, sink, sink into my personal patterns and rituals to regulate my inner life (and nervous system), to ground myself, and to create space to consider life events (mine and… ours) in a way that might offer some sense, some heart, some comfort.

That’s where I’ve been this past week. My pre-dawn ritual of journaling ol’ school with book ‘n’ pens has been extra-heavy in doodling, which is a salve to that regulating I mention in the last paragraph. This morning I penned some words that landed. Know what I mean?

I wrote: it’s hard to jot the words - the feels - sometimes… maybe because - at present - the feels are in constant motion.

This simple realization is ripe with personal perspective that I recognize in the present (for sure), and in the past 10 years or so, and in my youth. Since I was a kid I’ve consistently been willing to learn, re-learn, evolve. I recall my mom saying to me, right around the time I moved from teens to twenties, “You’ve changed.” If memory serves, I responded with something like, “Yes, I’m growing. Isn’t that great?” She was not amused.

There’s this disquieting social norm I’ve heard my whole life; that change is hard. And it’s most often expressed with resentment, anger even. Change can be hard, for sure, but it’s necessary to life. It is life. Right?

I’ve shared a shit-ton of time with and in Nature since childhood. Heck, I’m a Gaia devotee. And one unwavering gem of wisdom that repeats, and repeats, is that change is life. It’s likely why I’ve expressed, for decades, that change is my most constant companion.

So right now, it’s not the whirlwind of change that’s unnerving me, it’s the whirlwind of feelings that aren’t able to land, ground, take root.

It’s unsettling. And while it feels familiar, it feels like new territory for me. I’m changing. I’m growing. Hope you are too.

Peace.

This world

Sharing my daily activities feels so, so frivolous, to say the least. These feelings are pre-existing. I felt them before I conjured my recent attempt to write and share again. I've been feeling them for several years. And these leaden feels sink, sink, sink so deep as I witness these days we share in real time.

Remember to breathe. 

Today, that's all I got.

Peace. 

Time

Today I made time.

Time for a leisurely morning, which is typical.

Time to activate a levain for tomorrow’s dough. Or maybe tonight’s dough.

Time for a meaningful astrological reading with the inspired Lydia.

Time to make the weekly-ish quart of yogurt.

Time to prep a loaf of bread with the remaining batch of this week’s sourdough to bake after lunch. This will be enJOYed for dinner with the split pea soup that’s already made... made with stock from a piece of homemade smoked pancetta that was drying too fast (for reasons that plum evade me). Soup enriched with home-canned pork. Both porky goodnesses from our beloved Farmer Kelley of Howling Flats Farm. Soup that was inspired by a friend’s request, a quart of which will be delivered to him tomorrow.

Time to pull out the seed box.

Time mixed in to tidy here ‘n’ there.

Time to read, time to journal, and - now - time to couch it with some knitting and motion picture bingeing.

This may seem like a lot to some folks, and documenting like this accentuates a perceived grandness, and that can be magical motivation, as well as a pat on the back - the documenting, that is. Try it. *nods* But most of these are routine activities that are second nature to me, so their manifesting is simple, and as leisurely as my morning.

And speaking of time, “new year” blessings to you. As I shared with some folks earlier today… may 2026 overflow with so many blessings for you, for all you love, for all they love, ad infinitum.

Peace.

Good Medicine, Then and Now...

Twenty-four years ago, on this day, I published my first blog entry. At some point along the way I started to publish a daily entry called "What I Made Today." Some days my daily makings were quite grand. Other times I simply made it through the day. This old pattern of daily makings, with the many nuanced variations, continue to this day. I just don't publish them. They're often part of my daily journaling, which is a blend of words and visual expressions (like the one you see here).

This practice offers me a way to record and explore the ordinary and, dare I say, extraordinary aspects of my daily life. It offers a way to flesh out potential meaning and value (or the lack of).

It's Good Medicine.

And I enjoyed sharing that Medicine.

I consider this - the Medicine bit - and wonder why I don't revive the practice of sharing it. I've attempted such revivals, in various forms, yet none have taken root. And again, I wonder why. 

So that's where I am: Wondering. It's a familiar place. Very familiar. It's what I do. I wonder. 

I reflect on this blogiversary day, and the history/Medicine therein. I consider the numerology of the coming year (another familiar/daily practice). I mull over the collective verve of the impending calendar-flip to 2026. I vex at how such sharing might feel in this current world, a world so very different from the one of 24 years ago.

I don't know what this all means. I don't know if any attempts at revival will take root. I don't know much. That's a fact. But I do know when the Big Mystery (as I say) tugs at me, it's good to listen, and best to respond.

We shall see. We shall see...

Peace.

The Hedge of Summer Autumn

 

I've been incubating this summer, in a mostly solitary manner. But today, today...

Autumn arrives this afternoon on the patch of earth to which we steward, tend, and love so deeply. This patch of earth - and every stretch of her - is beloved kin; kin to which I am devoted.

The backyard farming tasks that sustain this patch of earth, and us - all of us - are ramping up now; a ramping up that (historically) continues to accelerate deep into October, winding down in November, and dwindling into the winter months, though never stopping, even after the snow falls .

The last few days of kitchen witchery have been focused on canning soups; “stuffed” cabbage soup, “stuffed” pepper soup, and harvest vegetable soup. Today’s focus will be on the green beans, along with other harvest-to-kitchen-to-pantry efforts. Then there will be time in the gardens where summer squashes await attention, along with eggplant, tomatoes, peppers, tomatillos, broccoli tops, basils, and more. And these harvests will inspire more kitchen magick.

I love every season, especially the one I'm in at the moment I'm in it. Know what I mean? I feel that love beyond my roots this morning. And with this, I feel a part of me stirring, as if awakening from a long, deep, dream-sleep. It feels good and right on this hedge-day that holds summer and autumn together in the heart me, in the heart of this patch of earth, in the heart of life-harvests, in the heart of Gaia, in the heart this world that we share.

Make a moment to pause, breathe, to take in the goodness, the gladness, the gratitude. Take it in. All the way in. Today. And every day.

Peace.

Leaning on Spring's Sill to Summer

This morning marked our first pea harvest. I sat on the deck, in the shade of the red umbrella, shucking these darlings, then blanched them. This beloved ritual yielded two pints for the freezer, plus some extra for nibbling. They’re so good.

This morning also marked the garlic scape harvest. The lesser-ripe, tender scapes went into making Maneuljjong Muchim (Spicy Garlic Scapes), an new annual ritual that started about two years ago when I discovered the recipe. It’s sitting in the fridge to macerate ‘til supper time. This seasonal dish is so freakin’ good, and it’s only here during the garlic scape season. I’ll be savoring it like a delicious madness to hold in my brain and heart ‘til - gods willing - next year this time. And those lesser-ripe scapes will be blended into a simple pesto to preserve them in the fridge for future kitchen witchery. Our annual garlic scape pesto rarely lasts long because we use it in all the things.

Yesterday, I finally got some pinto and red beans canned. This has been on my list since the chilly days of early spring. Eight pints of pinto beans canned with onion, garlic, bay leaf, fresh oregano, and fresh epazote (though one jar is in the fridge, ‘cause it failed to seal)… and nine pints of red beans with bay leaf. This morning I washed the jars, scribbled the labels, and will label them all before setting them on the basement pantry shelves.

These efforts feel good because I’ve been struggling with merging will, motivation, and physical ‘n’ mental energy to get things done. Yet here I am, leaning on spring’s sill, sipping iced tea, gazing into summer that arrives tomorrow evening. I offer big gratitude to the waning vernal season, as it, along with beloved Gaia, supported me gently in getting most every vernal seed and seedling into the earth. And when summer arrives with the solstice, I know I’ll be entering the "official" hurry-up-and-wait-season of daily, yet gentle harvesting, preserving and assorted kitchen witchery. Summer's fire ensures that my will, motivation, and energy meld in that gentle way that early summer dictates; harvests happen on Gaia’s schedule, not mine, so I offer thanks for these recent vernal preparations as I look forward to the season of hurry-up-and-wait.

Peace. 

Beloved Medicine

Yesterday was a hard day. It was a heavy day made of granite formed of all things troublesome. Or so it felt. Mental and emotional energies where in overload as I processed a sadness born the night before. I puttered as I considered so many considerations. I plugged in occasional distractions hoping they'd offer some relief to the tenseness in my chest, maybe unwind the twist in my gut, and offer some comfort to the tenderness of my being. I journaled in word and in art (of course I did). Shoulder rolls and intentional breath work peppered the day. As did tears. An after-dinner gumdrop coaxed me to relax into the evening, and eventually to sleep.

Today's a new beginning and a fresh start. That's what we tell ourselves, right? Yes, indeedy-do. And yet, what's that belly-tug, and those disquieting whispers?

I'm hoping that it's inspiration, be it gestating, forming, or fully formed. That would be swell. Today is a Friday, and for me it is a day for love. Venerdi, dies Veneris, the day of Venus, of Aphrodite. Friday, the day of Freya. The day of The Cure. Love, damnit. And inspiration.

I have a sense that all that sadness and potential grief that I ingested, digested, absorbed, and assimilated since Wednesday is preparing for phase one of elimination today. I hope so. Phase one, because some details of life can be hard to digest in the first swallow. Heck, I've had troubles that have taken me months, years even, to breakdown into meaningful bits that I can sort into the Work bins or Now, Later, and NeverThankYouVeryMuch... and then, move on, at least for today. This current collection of troublesome particles, varied in size, shape, roughness and smoothness, feel like a collection of those longer-term troubles that linger. And linger. They linger because they need the kind of attention that requires re-ingestion, re-digestion and re-absorption, re-assimilation, as well as be subjected to additional rounds of re-elimination. Not to mention potential repeats.

That's where I am. So I'll start my day with collecting all those troublesome bits, placing them in a box made of heart and mind to put on the shelf with other such boxes, to go through on another day (most likely several). Today is for love, and I'll be doing my best to make room for all things love, loving, and lovely, as I do every Friday. Maybe, just maybe, I'll peek into that box in the bright light of day to see if any tender glimmers catch on any of those bits. That could be nice. That could be a sweet and loving inspiration, and a spark that might ignite the magick and Medicine I need today. Tomorrow. And so on.

With that, may whatever troubles you hold be faced with bold candidness, big love, and a well-tuned digestive system that keeps the sustenance you need, and that releases the shit.

And may your never lose your sense of humor, for it is beloved Medicine.

🕊

More Annie

 

Today is Annie's birthday. No wonder she was so persistent in my thoughts yesterday. If she were still alive (as we say) she would be caught up to me with those five months between our ages, and we'd be celebrating her 66th birthday. There will be at least one shot of whiskey in my future today. Irish, if I've got it, that much is clear in the ol' crystal ball of my third eye. Annie loved life. And her life was remarkably blessed, despite the illness that nibbled at her toward the so-called end. She loved life, and she did not fear death. I mean, hey, she talked to dead people.

Yeah, she loved life. She loved corn chowder, too. In those lingering days of hers, whenever I'd make a batch, especially when the corn was in season, I'd bring her a pint carton of the stuff, even when her appetite was fading. Now, whenever I make corn chowder, she's with me. When I'm enjoying a bowl of corn chowder, I think of Annie, in unison with thoughts of my mom, who would so often say, "We'll offer this up to So-and-so," while sitting down to enjoy a meal. Enjoying food on behalf of and for the dead was a regular mom thing. So now, whenever I have a bowl of corn chowder, I offer it to Annie. It's a sweet little ritual rooted in the familial, one that shows up more frequently as my years and mileage tally.

I made other dishes, too. After all, I'm part kitchen witch. I remember making polenta for her once. It wasn't my best effort. I felt bad about that, even though her appetite was quite unpredictable by then, and I'm confident she didn't eat much of it. As already noted, I made other things, too. It was always a good reason to visit. Not that I needed one.

When COVID descended my visits diminished, side by side with her appetite. I neither wanted to be responsible for bringing the pandemic to her, nor bringing it home to my spouse. I was so cautious then. Still am. I may have already been sending her occasional cards at the time, simple love notes, but I know that gesture picked up after COVID landed. All the love notes were my own, handmade, artful expressions, and each offered a personal message within the fold. I have them somewhere, and *knock wood* I'm gonna look for them today. Not long after her passing her widower mailed them to me, tied together with a ribbon, along with a gift of tumbled crystals that are resident in one of my Tarot boxes. No wonder I think of her so often, there are carbon-based reminders all around me. Those crystals, the bedside lamps mentioned yesterday, pieces of jewelry that I rarely wear anymore, wicker baskets, aloe plants born of the single, giant cutting she gave me when she was still feeling pretty good. The salt 'n' pepper shakers that belonged to her grandmother, Rose, that say on them, "Rose's Kitchen." I don't use them, but I love them, for multiple reasons. And, of course, there's her books, and other assorted physical reminders. Not to mention her carbonless spirit.

Those salt 'n' pepper shakers conjure the countless, often intense conversations that we had about her grandmother, Rose, and my mother, Rita. They were, we concluded, some sort of spiritual sisters, especially in their less desirable behaviors. In their kinder behaviors, too. But it was in their less benevolent habits that we'd harvest the most meaningful, if not harsh, and sometimes cruel wisdom. And laughter. Lot's of laughter. I'm convinced that wisdom - true wisdom - is always accompanied by humor. If you think you've gleaned some wisdom, but it doesn't inspire a chuckle or more, think again. It ain't wisdom. Of this, I am confident. And I might not possess this confidence, dare I say wisdom, without those exchanges with Sweet Annie.

Ah, Sweet Annie. That's what I called her. I remember that spring before she died. I had purchased some Artemisia annua seeds, Sweet Annie, and started them in the late winter months. I was able to plant them in the earth before her passing. After years of unsuccessful attempts to get this plant to grow somewhere on "our" little acre, I was hoping this would be it, despite the plant's non-native invasive reputation. It was a well-established self-seeding annual in her earthly realm, and she had even given be rootlings over the years that just never took up residence for me. But those seedlings that I started... I planted them in a garden section, rather than a wild section, in the hopes to tend them into flourishing. It was May, the lusty month, that those precious roots took to the earth. I told Annie that they would be a living reminder of her after she left. She died later that month, and those seedlings prospered that year, and returned the next. I was hopeful, and delighted. And then... they followed their namesake into the Big Mystery. I still grow Sweet Annie on occasion just so I can nurture relationship with the plant, as well as replenish her spot on my apothecary shelves, and to continue a rooted relationship with Annie's spirit. I mean, hey, whenever I catch the fragrance of Sweet Annie, there she is. Again. Like the plant, Annie was big Medicine, often too much for some. Possibly many. And just right for me.

It's morning as I write these words, and I'm still sipping coffee. I smile with the memory of Annie saying she drank coffee as an excuse to drink cream. Her coffee mug typically held a 50/50 ratio. As one who drinks her coffee black (as it should be), I'd lovingly scold her by saying, "That's so wrong." And, yep, you guessed it, we'd laugh, clinking our yin yang mugs.

In my world, Annie's still alive. Methinks I'll dab a touch of Sweet Annie extract onto my pulse points today, conjure a batch of corn chowder to share with her at suppertime. And I look forward to raising a glass to her, with her, as well.

PS Here's a wee Sweet Annie contribution made by Sweet Annie to an old, shared blog.

🕊

A World-to-Fool Honor to Annie

 

This morning I got totally distracted by thoughts of my friend Annie. The thoughts were so persistent that I said to myself, "Fuck. These aren't thoughts, you Fool. This is Annie."

And before you judge me for engaging in negative self-talk (or whatever the kids are calling it these days) I offer you a glimpse into my relationship with the Fool. I adore the Fool. The big zero, the blank slate, the blind frolic, the porter of obtuse wisdom. "The empty fool who knows what he doesn't know," as Annie used to say. The one who - in the end - says, "Fuck it. Let's do this thing." And, ironically perhaps, because as the Tarot card conventionally considered the start of The Heroes Journey, it’s the card that Annie placed at the goal line, the "end" point... that is, when it came to writing. In terms of Tarot, she considered her stories as starting with The World and ending with The Fool. Heck, she taught writing workshops using this model. The process was organic for her, a process that came to her conscious awareness after writing for years.

Annie was a natural storyteller, and a published author. I remember sitting at her dining table, bathed in natural light, sipping tea, tossing cards, talking magic and relationships. She'd start talking and I'd sink in, ready to be mesmerized by her words that laced together in ways that caught me like a fish in a net, trapped in a delight (or doom, or something in-between) that I knew was forthcoming. She spoke in storyteller language. She spoke like a writer, I suppose. I wouldn't know. I'm not a writer. Yet that doesn't keep me from writing. And Annie encouraged me to write. "You should write, Rose." Words that continue to echo all these years later.

I feel her with me. I do, I do. She's with me in my new-found daily ritual of writing 1000-words-a-day. I can't help but smile when I recall my attendance at one of the informal writing workshops held at her home. And by one, I mean one-and-only. If memory serves me, there were four of us in attendance. Five, if you count Annie. She required us to bring a 1000 word sample of our work (image that: 1000 words). The others in attendance, all writers in their own way, brought snippets of story in progress. I brought an adaptation of a meditation I had written, a journey of sorts, open-ended as such meditations tend to lean. She gave us a writing exercise, and set to reading our words. She read like the wind. But more on that later. Maybe. When she was finished devouring our words, she called us back together. One by one she offered input (as well as blue pencil edits), candid and honest, as was Annie's nature. I was intrigued as I witnessed her speaking tempered praise and critical truths to each in attendance, waiting in a shaggy ball of anxiety for my turn. My turn went something like this, "The words are strung together nicely, poetic, but there's no story. You need a story. Take this and keep writing until the story emerges. It's in there, just keep writing. When you discover it, write that story." I don't remember how I felt in that moment, but I do remember the moment. It's a multi-faceted gem of a moment.

I kept writing meditations, because I enjoyed it, and was able to leverage them in my healing practice, and that was good enough for me. Somewhere in this story of words, such as it is, I started a blog. On December 29, 2004 I engaged a daily practice to convey something of meaning, or folly (thank you very much, Fool!) for me, not for an audience. Perhaps this was my way to honor Annie's "You should write, Rose" prodding. For a good while I wrote every day for that blog, sometimes a hand full of words, sometimes more. Times came where daily writing faded, followed again by an insurgence of daily inspiration, and so on in that rinse 'n' repeat kinda way. But now, since the last quarter moon in Capricorn, I've been writing every day, most every one a minimum of 1000 words. This little tangent being the second one I'm sharing. I hear that word, "sharing," and I hear the harmony of Annie's correction, "Publishing. If you're making it public, it's published." She's right. She usually was. Still is, it seems.

And I smile at my memory of her unfettered honesty. That's probably a major factor in why she was such a good storyteller. Stephen King mentions honesty, on repeat, in his masterpiece, On Writing. These mentions of honesty give me encouragement to write, whether the words are for me or for you, because I possess a capacity for honesty that I know is real, partly because so many of my spoken truths have lost me "friends" and other assorted relationships over many decades. A bittersweet realization. Well, in some cases. Truth is, I'd take my own candidness over the majority of those relationships any day.

This brings me back to Annie, as she was one of those rare people I felt safe to express myself sans filter. I could say anything to her. Even knowing that her judgement was at the ready, I was - likewise - ready to speak my truths with her. She was one of those rare people that I could share the meanest, most vile, frightening and absurd parts of me. And more. Sometimes we'd agree, sometimes not, but again - if memory serves - we always ended up laughing.

Laughter. Maybe it's laughter I need to seek. To take the elevator down to those deep, dark mines of creation. Annie used to say that uncovering story and their characters was like going down into a mine, blind and uncomfortable in an entrenched darkness that is - or was, for her - the belly of creation. I recall a time sitting and sipping, this time in her writing corner, talking about this, her process of creative excavation. I conjure that memory in an active way, like the magic that it is, to this moment. I invite myself to the deep-dark, pick in hand, to explore for deposits of poetry 'n' story, laughter or not, and whatever else may be discovered within those dark walls of potential expression.

Yeah. She's here. Right here with me... write here with me? *snort* And so, too, another thousand+ words to practice the mining, and the potential journeys from The World to The Fool.

---

PS   If you’d like to discover more about this Annie of which I speak, I invite you to visit her goodreads page, or engage your search engine using Anne (or Annie) Kelleher, writer.

🕊

Unsustainable Addictions

A slice out of my daily journal… and a good reminder.

This morning we had a power outage. I was reading in bed in the delicious quiet of pre-dawn when darkness pitched in that blinding way when a light goes out in full darkness. Pin that metaphor. At first I thought the bedside lightbulb might have failed. Alas, no, for that delicious ‘n’ nourishing morning quiet was no more. It was shattered in the merciless hum of our collective fossil fuel addiction.

Apparently, most everyone around me and their neighbors are on some kind of vital life support that requires uninterrupted electric flow through their abodes lest they die of their thoughtless and greedy addiction to privilege.

Yeah. That’s how I feel.

All these oil and gas powered generators around me kick on the instant - the fucking instant - that the power goes out. Heck, they kick on the instant there's a flicker of a power surge. And it’s loud. I can hear it through the walls and closed windows of our little hut. It’s beyond maddening.

I remember a time, not all that long ago, when we’d loose power - as they say - and I could step outdoors to be with the quietest whispers and the very breath of Nature. I'd pause in the wonder of it all to witness the sacred theatre of trees swaying in a breeze, grass dancing, birdsong, rain on the air, and the infinite other expressions of Gaia weaving stories and harmonizing voices in a way that only Nature can convey. It’s magick. Pure, beloved magick and Medicine from the very heart of Gaia. Now, that is no more. And it is a loss that I've been mourning for years. A loss I can't quite get past.

And why should I?

This facet of our fossil fuel addiction (and it’s related addiction to privilege) rapes and ruins what used to be a welcomed and beloved quiet stillness ‘n’ beauty of the power outage. Now, the beloved song and poetry of Nature is no more. It's been replaced by a rage-filled grief born of these ugly and unsustainable addictions.

That is all.

For now.

🕊

What I know... and what I don't...

 

I know it's Friday, the first Venerdi of spring. The wind is whipping around out there in the pre-dawn hours. There's a chill in the house - our little hut, as I tend to call it - inspiring me to pull my wool shawl up and around shoulders and neck. I do this and I consider the fire that needs to be started for the warmth that will carry us through the day. I think of the trays of pea seedlings outside, hardening off, and feel glad that we covered them last night before relaxing into the evening. I'm reminded that they'll have their roots in the earth soon enough, and that peas are badass, tough as fuck, and are likely just fine our there in the dark of this March morning chill. I count my blessings, and feel mighty glad to be surrounded by the foundation, walls, and roof of our humble abode.

I know this little-shit cat, sweet and silky Sam, is sitting on the bed within petting distance. It's the first time he's curled up so close to me. The past two years, plus some, that we've know one another, he's stayed to the foot of the bed. This is special, this closeness, and I'll carry that magick into the day with me. Yes, I will. In the meantime, I'll pause from this keyboard to reach out and pet him for no other reason than he's so damned silky. And, yeah, I love him beyond reason.

I know I have list of reminders and ToDos for the day, but I haven't looked at that yet. I'm doing my best to express one thousand words before I commence any former morning routines. I'm doing this in the hopes of creating a new morning ritual. It's behavior modification, but I'm calling it morning ritual. That's sexier. Or something. I know that.

I know this morning. I know this moment. That's what I know.

I know some stuff. After all, one would expect to know a thing or two about a thing or two after sixty-six years of living.

All that said, I don't know much. I know that. I know that because for decades I've been of the mind to learn something new every day, and I do my best to invite that verve into my world every single day. There's so much I don't know. Some of it, beautiful, some of it not so much. When I look around the world these days, I find myself beyond grateful that there are things I don't know... experiences I've not had. So grateful. It’s a privilege. You know what I'm talking about.

This thread of thinking, which could easily stitch its way to mind 'n heart numbing depression, reminds me to do something good and decent for someone today. It also reminds me to do something good and decent for myself, so I reach out to stroke that silky fur of that little-shit cat, Sam. It's a stroke of love.

I don't know when these winds will pause. I don't know that it matters. For me, anyway, tucked under the bed covers, shawl wrapped around me, sipping hot coffee. I mean, hey, I'm comfortable. And tucked in this comfort, I consider those that lack the foundation, walls, and roof that offer me protection, comfort, contentment. I mean, everyone deserves protection, comfort, and contentment. Right? And a whole lot more to my way of thinking.

It's the stuff I don't know that seems to needle me. You know, the stuff I don't know, but know about. When I consider the moment, I consider the present world in which I live, the one we share. From my view, it has grown increasingly cruel throughout my lifetime, despite liberal views of declared improvement. I look at it all and consider it nothing but window dressing. I look at actions taken by leaders over the decades and see them - despite any sincere intentions of compassion that may have been a part of their creation - as the performance pieces that they are. Oh, don't get me going.

This thread of thinking, which could easily stitch its way to mind 'n heart numbing depression, reminds me to do something good and decent for someone today. I will. That's a promise. It also reminds me to do something good and decent for myself, so I reach out to stroke that silky, silky fur of that little-shit cat, Sam, who's sitting closer to me than he ever has in our shared existence. It's a stroke of love... protection, comfort, and contentment. And a whole lot more.

I see the light growing outside through the vertical voids of the bamboo blinds. I know the day is breaking. And with that, I know all the pieces are there for me to put together as I am able, and - if I'm lucky - as I choose.

I sit with the pieces of the day scattered around me. Beautiful bits and shards from which to create this new day. I'll do my best to choose carefully, and use discernment to take care not to cut myself, or anyone else with those sharp bits. I see them as tools of creation, these shards of daybreak. I can employ them to etch the other bits into something fresh and new, or use them to cut and create the facets of this new day, all the while doing my best to do no harm.

The gods know the world needs that. No harm.

I know a bit or two. Sure. And yeah, I sit here watching the light increase through the windows knowing that I'll have to rise from this warm and comforting place to start the next phase of the day. I'm grateful for these days. I'm grateful that spring has arrived. I'm grateful for these early morning hours that afford me this bizarre luxury to make these silly 1000 word rituals.

So now I look at these words, nonsensical though they may be, and see potential in them for more 1000 word rituals. I read through them again and figure hey, what the fuck, I think I'll share these words with you.

For whatever they may be worth. Or not.

🕊

Meet and Dance with Inula helenium – Elecampane

spring elecampane

Inula helenium – Elecampane

Family: Asteraceae

Inula helenium is native to Europe and Asia, where it has a long history of medicinal use in European and Ayurvedic traditions. It has made itself at home, gently so, throughout parts of "North America," seemingly preferring damp areas with dappled sunlight.

Nicholas Culpepper says, “'It groweth in moist grounds and shadowy places oftener than in the dry and open borders of field and lanes and other waste places...”

It’s a mighty herbaceous perennial plant, with large leaves and a thick stem. It grows to about 3-6 feet tall, though some on the little acre we care for have reached over 6 feet. The large leaves are toothed, with the lower ones stalked and the higher leaves embracing the stem. They’re lance-shaped, toothed, velvety green on the upper sides and lighter on the underside due to heavier fuzz, and they grow up to 12 inches or so long at the base of the main stem, growing shorter as they travel up the stem.

Each plant produces several flower heads, each giving life to 50 to 100 yellow ray flowers, and 100 to 250 disc flowers, blooming from June through September, depending on the region. "Mine" tend to begin blooming mid-to-late July.

The root is thick with many branches. It’s fragrant with a sweet, camphor-like aroma (which I LoVe). The character of the root is mucilaginous and bitter.

Other species of this genus engaged medicinally are I. japonica, I. britannica, and others. I'm only familiar with I. helenium.

Harvest: Root (2-5 years old) ideally in autumn. Flowers and leaves, collected summer to autumn.

Taste: The roots express bitter, pungent, and a complex, aromatic flavor that is pleasant to some, acrid and distasteful to others. Henriette Kress describes it this way, “The taste is cool: first it's aromatic and you wonder why this herb isn't used more than it is. About half a minute later, the bitterness hits. Whoa ... and about half a minute after that, you notice that your sense of taste is gone. No worries, you'll be able to taste things normally in half an hour or so.”

Humors: Warm and dry.

Actions: Anthelmintic, anti-asthmatic, anti-tussive, antimicrobial, anti-parasitic, carminative, diaphoretic, digestive, diuretic, emetic (in large doses), emmenagogue, expectorant, hepatic, stimulant (gentle) stomachic, vulnerary.

Constituents: Lactones, mucilage, pectin, polysaccharides (inulin), resins, sterols, volatile oils.

Contraindications: During pregnancy and breastfeeding. Large dosing can cause nausea, vomiting, gastric spasms or diarrhea.

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Ways we might engage this botanical:

Elecampane root is probably best known for offering support to the respiratory system, specifically for wet, stuck, phlegm-y symptoms, but Lesley Tierra reminds us (westerners) that “it has also been used for cholecystitis, gallstones, intestinal worms, rheumatic complaints, genitourinary problems, and consumption (tuberculosis) as well as skin diseases (humans and animals engaged internally and externally) and venomous bites. It has been applied externally for sciatica and other neuralgic complaints as well.” She goes on to add that, “Ayurvedic medicine uses the same two species of elecampane root (Inula helenium and I. racemosa; pushkaramula), not only to clear the lungs but also as a lung rejuvenative tonic since it promotes the longevity of lung tissue.”

In western, TCM and Ayurvedic traditions, elecampane is used for treating many respiratory challenges including bronchitis, pharyngitis, asthma, pleurisy, wet cough, dyspepsia, rheumatism, pain, cramps, cystitis, skin eruptions, and animal bites.

When the flowers are used in TCM, they are steamed and dried, and in contemporary practice they are fried or baked with honey, which adds a humectant quality to balance the dryness of elecampane’s medicine that is honored for expectorating phlegm and calming cough. Lesley Tierra explains that, “The Chinese use mobilizing and dispersing elecampane flowers to direct energy downward and clear thin or lacquer-like phlegm from the lungs and stomach. They stop coughs, soften hardened phlegm, break up clumped accumulations, dissipate pathogenic fluids, and open areas of stagnation. They treat cough from phlegm and fluids clogging the lungs and thin mucus in the lungs, stomach, or diaphragm causing bronchitis, coughing, asthma, wheezing, shortness of breath, pleurisy, vomiting, hiccough, belching, burping, epigastric obstruction, food stagnation, flank pain, or palpitations with anxiety. The flowers are particularly good for nausea after chemotherapy and may be useful for upper respiratory allergies.” The leaves are also engaged for their diuretic actions. While the species used in TCM are not I. helenium, I am inspired to use the flowers and leaves in this way at some point in my botanical journey.

Most of my experience so far is with the tinctured root, and mostly for dealing with stubborn, juicy coughs. Though I do like it as an aromatic bitter (for digestion, and heart health), alone and blended with other bitters.

My first human mentor, Mark McDermott, used the root tincture in treating pneumonia, and other stubborn lung infections, dosing it 30-90 drops in an ounce water, every 4 hours up to four days. He also found it excellent for children with a hacking night cough, when blended with Glycyrrhiza glabra (up to 30 drops every 4 hours for up to 4 days).

Drop to small doses have been helpful to me (and others) for lingering bronchial congestion and cough.

David Hoffman describes its respiratory actions this way, “The mucilage has a relaxing effect; while the essential oils bring about stimulation, so the herb both soothes irritation and promotes expectoration.” He suggests a 1-2 ml. tincture dose, three times a day, or an 8-hour water infusion of 1t herb to 8oz. water, heated and served hot three times a day.

A tea of the root, or infused honey, served nice and hot, can sooth a cough, as well as help with a stuck fever by stimulating a nice sweat.

Mark also used it for kidney infections, blended with Barosma betulina.

Use the flowers (or any part of the plant), fresh or dried in spiritual bathing, especially when grief needs attention.

This plant also has a history of being engaged energetically to nurture psychic abilities, as well as enhance communication skills. It is, like so many (all?) plants to be protective as well.

Julia Graves makes note of the yellow flower, like so many yellow flowers, as having an affinity with the solar plexus. She also mentions their large leaves in quoting Matt Wood, “large leaves stand for surface area and gas exchange or breathing, hence the lungs and the skin: Burdock, Elecampane, Comfrey, Mullein.”

Henriette Kress notes, “It's also been used for elfshot. That's where all your energy runs out of the holes made by the arrows of elves. And if the elf queen pulls you into her dance, you can stop only once you're completely exhausted. These days, the ones that pull you into the dance are your work and boss, which make you stress and hurry until you're burned out. Take some elecampane, it helps you quit the dance.”

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Dance with Inula helenium – Elecampane

If you are able, grow this lovely plant so you can experience their noble presence as well as their root and other parts fresh, as well as dried.

Make a cool water infusion with the fresh root.

Elecampane Root Infused Honey

Clean and chop a fresh root into bite sized pieces, fill a jar, and cover with local honey. Label this and put it away in a high shelf out of direct light and simply send it healing LoVe until it calls to you. The infused honey is great stirred into hot water, or tea to treat a stuck, damp cough or fever, or as an occasional digestive aid, or in any other fitting way. The root itself, can be used like a sore-throat lozenge, nibbled like a candy, as is – straight out the honey jar, or dehydrated.

Rosalee de la Forêt’s Elecampane Cough Syrup

1/4 cup dried elecampane root (25 grams)

1/4 cup dried and chopped rose hips (35 grams)

1 pint water

1/2 cup to 1 cup local, raw honey

Simmer the elecampane root, rosehips and water for 25 minutes, covered. Strain off the herbs.

Measure the liquid to determine how much honey to add. (If you add an equal amount of honey to the water, the syrup should keep for a very long time*.)

Tip: Add the honey while the mixture is still warm. If necessary, very gently warm the liquid until the honey fully combines. The less heat you add the better to preserve the raw qualities of the honey.

Store it in the fridge.

To use: This syrup is ideal for congested coughs and sore throats. Adults can use 1 teaspoon every 30 minutes.

*If you prefer things less sweet, then adding less honey is fine. Keep it stored in the fridge and use quickly.

I usually make a decoction and then measure everything to create a simple syrup, alone or blended with other herbs.

I really like the fresh root infused in apple cider vinegar, sweetened as a shrub or oxymel, for serving cool and well diluted for enjoyment, or used as is a nice tart cough syrup.

Elecampane root has a long history of being used for making candies, liqueurs and blended with fruits to make cordials, as well as in soft drinks,

The complex flavor can inspire creativity in the kitchen, as additions to beverages, icings, in baking, and more. So use your imagination!

Other Applications and Inspirations

• Tea/Infused water/ales and other fermented beverages

• Infused vinegar

• Infused oil, balms, ointments, lotions, soaps

• Steam

• Bathing/washing

• Bath salts

• Poultices/compresses

• Pillow (or mattress) mix

• Herbal Beads

• Spiritual healing

resources:

• Scott Cunningham, Magical Herbalism

• Rosalee de la Forêt, herbalremediesadvice.org

• Julia Graves, The Language of Plants

• Maude Grieve, A Modern Herbal

• David Hoffman, Medical Herbalism

• Henriette Kress, Practical Herbs, and henriettes-herb.com

• Michael and Lesley Tierra, East West School, planetherbs.com

• Wikipedia for the botany bits

• Personal notes from multiple sources

• Personal experience

spring elecampane among the jewel weed

🕊

Meet 'n' Dance with the Ocimum species - Holy Basil

holy basil water - July, 1999

Ocimum spp. - O. tenuiflorum / O. sanctum / O. gratissimum – Holy Basil

Family: Lamiaceae

The lovely aromatic Ocimum species, often referred to as tulsi, as well as holy basil, is considered native to India where it has been cultivated and engaged for spiritual and medicinal value for centuries, and where it is honored as an elixir of life. It grows throughout western and southeast Asia, Central and South America, as well as Puerto Rico where, in its native range, it’s a perennial. It can easily be grown in my realm of the world - southern "New England" - as a garden annual, which sometimes reseeds itself.

Botanically it’s referred to as an erect, many-branched herbaceous subshrub that grows to about two feet tall with furry stems and spiraling leaves. The deliciously fragrant leaves are small (about 2”) and ovate green (Lakshmi) or purple (Krishna) and slightly toothed. The purplish flowers cluster in close whorls of elongated racemes. Holy basil prefers rich, moist soil, full sun to partial shade. 

It’s been a common medicinal for thousands of years in Ayurveda tradition, as well as a highly valued herb in the spiritual practice if Hinduism. The common name tulsi is Sanskrit for “the incomparable one,” or “beyond compare,” often relating to goddess Lakshmi.

Harvest: Aerial parts – typically before bloom, or at bud, but (ideally) before full flowering. Harvest the leaves any time from spring to killing frost, the plant appreciates trimming and offers more branches and leaves in gratitude.

Taste: Sweet and bitter, and pungent, astringent.

Humors/ Energetics: Drying, warming and cooling, stimulating and relaxing. I call its nature deliciously nuanced; like us.

Actions: Adaptogenic, alterative, analgesic, anthelminthic, anticancer, (mild) anticoagulant, antidepressant, antimicrobial, antioxidant, anxiolytic, astringent, cardiovascular tonic, demulcent, (aromatic) digestive, expectorant, hepaprotective, immunomodulant, (relaxing) nervine, neuroprotective, radioprotective, (all around) tonic.

Chakra Association: Root and Heart and Crown - for its centering, grounding and uplifting qualities. You’re mileage may vary.

Constituents: Flavonoids, mucilage, tannins, triterpenes, ursolic acid, volatile oils, and more. Vitamins A and C, and more.

Contraindications: It’s suggested that it be avoided during Pregnancy, as well as by couples striving to conceive, as there’s anti-fertility potential. Those talking ℞ blood thinners may want to temper their intake due to mild anticoagulant actions, or work with a practitioner to adjust their ℞ dosage. Likewise, those talking ℞ insulin may need to temper their intake and adjust their ℞ dosage.

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Ways we engage this botanical:

When I first sat down to document my experience with this herb—which I had been engaging and growing for decades—I felt challenged when I realized I had pretty much been engaging it mostly as tea and in tea blends. I had made the occasional vinegar infusion and subsequent oxymels and shrubs, which were clearly enjoyed. At the time of the first draft of this document, there wasn’t a bottle of any variation to be found in my little hut, or on any apothecary shelf. I’d used it fresh, in summertime food and beverages, in fermenting, but mostly to dry for tea. I thought, surely I must have a tincture, for it’s my habit to make and experience herbals in their many manifestations. Alas, no such bottle on the apothecary shelves. So, at that time I realized that my experience with this botanical, while frequent, was limited. Since then, I’ve done my best to expand my relationship with this sacred botanical. ::nods::

From my first sip, at a long-ago Northeast Women’s Herbal Conference, I loved the flavor as a hot water infusion (tisane/tea) and heard the voices of my Rooted Ancestors tell me, “Just drink it, it’s Good for you.” And, well, I usually heed the messages from those voices, and in this case I did so without challenging them. I learned that I had a lot to learn about this chummy ally that I barely knew (from a left-brain perspective), and here’s what I’ve learned about this sweet, powerful and sacred herb over the years and in my research that has shined a light on the expansion of my experience, and thereby some wisdom and knowledge.

Here goes:

With respect to the mind, it enhances concentration, to which I can attest by my afternoon cravings for it when I’m on a time-sensitive mission (or just desire a gentle pick-me-up). As I consider this, I reflect on the years of my menopausal journey, which sometimes included (extreme moments of) brain fog… and I realize the timeframe of my discovery of and delight in holy basil fit perfectly with this particular life journey. Fascinating. Serendipitous. Anyway…

Matt Wood also ties it to being supportive with dull or diminished mental function, as well as memory lapse and loss. Todd Caldecott says it stimulates the mind and the senses, and counters the symptoms of dementia. My sense is that it plays a role in nurturing a harmonized mental state, and based on my experience may be helpful in treating a range of mental challenges. Matt Wood makes mention of holy basil in helping with depression, addiction (be it alcohol, drugs, food and the like), grief, and PTSD, as well as head injuries, concussion, stroke and when cerebral circulation is impaired. Holy basil’s capacity to center and ground while calming the heart and mind seem so fitting for many disharmonies of the mind.

David Winston says, “Has long been used in Ayurvedic medicine for the mind and nervous system. It lifts the spirits while increasing clarity of thought and dispelling depression. Traditionally it is used for cloudy thinking caused by drug use. It is also antiviral, a carminative, an adaptogen, and a galactogogue.”

Holy basil has a history of playing a role in balancing and stabilizing blood sugar levels in people with diabetes. There’s conventional research that validates this, as does Matt Wood when he mentions it in regulating spiking blood sugar levels with hypoglycemia and diabetes mellitus.

Holy basil also gets classified as a cardiovascular herb offering benefits to heart health, in managing heart disease, and in lowering high cholesterol (for those for whom cholesterol levels are a concern). Between its adaptogenic actions (which we’ll get to), gentle blood thinning and circulatory actions, it offers its virtues as a respectable cardiac tonic. But, hey, I feel it opens the heart holistically to a spectrum of healing and wellness (similar to comments on the mind).

Like many aromatic herbs of the Lamiaceae, we engage it to get stagnant or weak digestion moving, stimulate the appetite, relieve bloating and gas, calm nausea, and it’s noted for relieving heartburn as well.

As a relaxing nervine, David Winston describes its action as able to move stuck energy in the energetic nervous system, lifting mood, heart, and allowing one to feel open and connected with others. This may be one reason why it lands in so many of my tea blends. That, and it tastes Good.

Holy basil has a long history in Ayurvedic Medicine for supporting the respiratory system, and is used for treating colds, coughs and asthma. Plus, its immunomodulating actions, along with its antimicrobial actions, can help to prevent as well as treat colds and flu, and an array of other dis-eases.

Rosalee de la Forêt mentions studies that show it to act as a COX 2 inhibitor which suggests holy basil is useful in calming pain and cooling inflammation.

Holy basil has also been sited as beneficial for the prevention and treatment of cancers.

There’s so much more… in Matt Wood’s, The Earthwise Herbal Repertory alone, it’s mentioned for treating allergies that affect the nose and sinus, specifically for animal dander and mold… for helping to pass kidney stones that are accompanied by extreme pain, red urine with brick-dust sediment… for symptoms of PMS, menopause, for treating yeast infections, to support lactation and enhancing libido… for its adaptogenic support to the endocrine system… for drug detox and flushing heavy metals… to treat fevers with little or no sweat… and to soothe insect bites.

The modest holy basil offers mighty potential for holistic wellness. Indeed.

And last, but oh so not least, holy basil is a notorious adaptogen, capable of supporting the body in non-specific ways, managing and harmonizing holistic sources and manifestations of stress with a graceful, well acknowledged, yet (from my perspective) mysterious track record. It helps our physiological bodies adapt to a myriad of stresses… to nurture and maintain holistic homeostasis. Which leads me back to the voices of the Rooted Ancestors, “Just drink it, it’s Good for you.”

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Dance with the Ocimum spp. – Holy Basil

This humble little botanical offers so much potential, be it culinary or medicinal. Here’s a few ideas to get your creative juices flowing…

In Soups and Stews

Fresh plant matter added to simmering dishes is a nice way to leverage the Medicine and flavor of this plant. Add some as a garnish to stir in at serving time too.

I’ve used dry plant matter to make an infusion to add to vegetable and meat stocks as well.

In Vegetable and Meat Dishes

Holy basil seems most often to be referred to as kaphrao/ka-prao, and there are countless recipes using it in Thai cuisine, paired with vegetables, eggs, meat and seafood. So, if you cook (and I hope you do), go crazy!

As a Garnish for Sweet and Savory Dishes

Top rice, vegetable and meat (and other) dishes with the fresh plant matter, chopped to your liking. Likewise with fruit salads and other desert offerings.

In Ferments – Sweet and Savory

During my kombucha brewing days, I'd add the holy basil to some of the secondary fermentations, which was delightful. Toward the end of our “growing season” I sometimes harvest many of the tender frost sensitive plants to combine with a brine to ferment until I get back to it. When I do (get back to it) I whirl it in the blender to make a most AWEsome sauce. To this day I include holy basil in at least one version of a fermented (and/or vinegar) harvest sauce.

In Blended Beverages

Aside from the typical cup of tea, add it fresh to summer time blended beverages (spirited and not), and don’t forget to garnish your glass.

Holy Basil Water

Like many of the mint family, I love to add a bit of fresh plant matter, gently massaged, into a pitcher of water to keep in the refrigerator during the summer. The flavor and fragrance are delightful, and the sipping experience is simply centering and grounding.

Herbal Power

Powder your dried leaves to add to your culinary green powders, to add fragrance, flavor and botanical LoVe. I used to add holy basil powder to my dog’s food.

I’ve used the powder to make an “instant tea” often blended with other powdered herbs.

Pest Repellant

Holy basil has been used for centuries to deter pests from infesting stored grains. I haven’t tried this yet with holy basil, as my Go To for this is bay leaf (for grains, sure, and around my dried herbs, in closets, folded in woolens and linens). It’s always Good to have options. And this inspires me to wonder about a spray for mayflies, mosquitoes and (maybe?) ticks.

Last but not least…

This may sound crazy, especially to dedicated coffee drinkers, but sip some holy basil tea in lieu of coffee for caffeine-free pick-me-up. Seriously. I know folks who have used holy basil tea to wean themselves from their coffee addiction.

And some Familiar Dances:

• tea / tisane

• tincture

• syrup

• hard candy / infused honey

• infused vinegar to use as food

• oxymel or shrub

• added to homemade fermented beverages, soft and spirited

• water infusion for baths, bathing, washes

• infused oil

• beads, for prayer and adornment

• Medicine smoke

• spiritual baths and healing ceremonies

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resources:

• Matthew Wood, The Earthwise Herbal Repertory & The Earthwise Herbal

• Todd Caldecott, Food as Medicine

• Rosalee de la Foret, herbalremediesadvice.org

• David Winston & Steven Maimes, Adaptogens: Herbs for Strength, Stamina and Stress Relief, and this: Holy Moly! Holy Basil!

• Wikipedia, for botany bits

• Personal notes from multiple sources

• Personal experience

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🕊