Centuries ago, healers were the wise women of the village, the healers and midwives who could halt a fever with a poultice or hasten the setting of bones by concocting medicinal tea. The lore of growing and gathering healing herbs has been passed down for hundreds of years. A learned healer knows which phases of the moon are best for planting seeds, how to plan your garden by the stars, and how to create spells for health and harmony. In the grand tradition, I learned at the knee of my aunt Edith, a very wise woman who would take me for walks through the woods and show me the uses and meanings of every flower, weed, and tree. From her, I learned that lovely Queen Anne’s lace is, in fact, wild carrot; that pokeberries make the finest blood-red inks; and which meadow greens and shade-loving mushrooms are safe for a noonday salad. I was in awe during our tromps through the woods, walking mule upon mile to map every acre and spy every specimen.
Nature was our cathedral, our classroom, and our calendar. Every spring, we could mark April I by the blossoming of a solitary clump of delicate Dutchman’s breeches amid a raft of rarest wildflowers. I thought Aunt Edith was teaching me about plants and trees, only to discover years later that she had shown me the sanctity of life and passed on a legacy I now treasure and pass on to you.
...
