As science broke down plants into the parts of them ‘active’, or companies focused on introducing ‘new’ wonder herbs (one treatment use usually masking in forgetfulness others), there was something that fell away, was veiled. It wasn’t that the information wasn’t valid, but that it was touted as the only route to understanding and clear seeing.
One that missed that unnameable blend that nature creates in a plant, thats not measureable, a kind of essence....
Sam had watched her aunt when she came across a plant she didn’t know. There was a recognition and respect with which she approached it, a sitting with. Deep breathing, so slow as to be almost imperceptible...like the pulsing of the plants own inhalation, exhalation. Carbon dioxide in, oxygen out. Recieving...giving....recieving....giving. Each life form echoeing the other. Some observers might see nothing going on, but it was a simple ritual ancestors had practiced back in time.
Perhaps there were physical similarities to plants she knew, a shared hereditary that could give clues as to its strengths, never assuming over familiarity with a potential new friend. A small piece in the mouth and chewed, spat out immediately if its taste was unpleasant. No one said you had to eat a whole lot to get to know a plant! If it passed this somewhat intuitive test agreeably, she held it in her mouth and felt for burning, tingling, other sensations, any change in taste. If none , then she swallowed. Waited and feeling overnight for effects. Then with a little more, repeating the same. If no ill effects were noticed, over time, it was considered edible. But if there were noticeable effects, they would be explored carefully, they could be clues to medicine contained within.
Nowadays it would be sent off for testing, active ingredients explored and nutritional percentages analysed. If it proved ‘valuable’ they might be isolated and then manufactured as pharmaceutical drugs, whilst emphasising the danger of utilising the plant for common folks without degrees...odd paradox. It was the taking away and then reselling it back to people that seemed dodgey. Surely once medicinal properties are identified, one of the range of processing in tradition for so long could access it, and if it was poisonous you can bet it’d be remembered!
What a way to gather plant knowledge, through experiential learning. There were enough manuscripts gathered now that could be cross referenced if needed too.
All this was jumbling around in her mind, along with her bowels, as the bus shook along the dirt road. She was on her way to visit said aunt for a couple of weeks, annual pilgrimage. Same time every year. Get away from concrete and computers. Fear encouraging news reports on violence and impending doom. She was headed for the perfect antidote. Auntie Clarissa wasn’t your average grey haired pucker cheeked robust smiling eyes stereotype, she was all that plus a kick on her like a mule! You just knew the kettle’d be on the boil in preparation for your arrival accompanied by an opinionated rave on her latest project. Simple pleasures thats what I need she thought, enough with appointments and timetable living...
She gazed out at the passing world hazily with the odd percussive bump...
“This is your stop me dear”, the bus drivers voice woke her from internal ramblings. She gathered her bags and jumped up, “thanks”, “Nice to see you around again luv”. She bouced down the steps and almost right into the series of individually crafted mailboxes that marked journeys end, and the lanes. One an old dairy tin, one an old bent shovel, one aged but elegantly carpented...
She checked the box and got set for heading up the lane, that cup of tea seeming elementally desireable as the bus kicked back dust into her vision. Hang on, there was something in the box. A small parcel, oddly enough in Clarissas own handwriting, addressed to Sam. Thats odd , still I guess she’ll reveal all, in her wise way. It was heavy in her hands, and her curiosity was barely able to be kept at bay to not bust it open then and there. Full of surprises as usual she thought absent mindedly. At that point she had no idea how right she was...
It wasn’t unusual for Clarissa not to be around when you arrived, she might be off wildcrafting or just meandering about soaking in the day. Sam sat down, the kettle was on the pot belly stove which wasntt lit, she probably got distracted half way through, the fire was laid ready to light. Sam looked at the parcel she held. It was brown paper bound in string, with enough sticky tape to stop an army, so being one mere woman she found a knife and cut it open. Inside was a leather pouch, soft to the touch with wear. Inside it was a set of playing cards and a note. No, they weren’t a deck to play poker with she realised as she shuffled through them, they were some kind of divination or tarot deck. The drawings were mostly in earthern tones, pencil with watercolour washes layered over. The imagery was detailed, figures seemed to blur boundaries with plants and animals interlaced with labyrinthine patterns, like Eshers art they warped and confused seeing. The note...sure enough in aunties script, more scribble actually, but she read on...
“Got called away, someones trying to shut down Ednas medicine making, says its unhygienic and unsafe, danger to public health, never heard anything more ridiculous in my life! She’s so house proud its virtually an obsession. Anyway love, might take a week or so to sort this out, so make yourself at home and Ill see you when Im looking at you.The sheer arrogance of so called regulators, the things these people do to ones nerves. ”
Sam could almost see her shaking her head, and smiled. “Oh yes the cards I found in a rare cleanup, they belonged to your mother, never really fancied them myself. Anyways, enjoy them, but don’t get too serious eh?”
No Clarissa, and yes Im happy to water all your multitudinous slightly limp plants. They are engaging, she thought gazing at the card as her vision traced a vine like sworl of lines, morphing into a vortex, and almost trance inducing, as they became a waterfall and then a river. A leaping salmon that had such eyes she felt guilty as she thought with her belly, fresh fish.....mmmm. But the card was so engrossing it took her a time to connect with her inner ravaging hunger and put it down, one upturned the others in the bag. Transfiguration, she thought absentmindedly as she bent to light the fire and looked around her....odd word.....
The house was brimming with natural chaos, “Seems they got the wrong woman with Edna” she thought. Cuttings at various stages, potted up plants, piles of paper with illustrations and notes, books, vases of unusual flowers, and a vine that had wedged a way through a crack and was firmly making its way towards the study. Although there really wasn’t any distinction between ‘the study’ and the rest of the small cottage. The sofa had a doona on it for handy napping and there were bookshelves in every room. To give credit where due her medicine area was scrupulously organised. With a book at the end of the shelves listing what was in stock, or needed topping up. Sam knew Clarissa rarely treated anyone, her main relationship was with the plants and the tinctures, dried herbs, flower essences, infused oils and god knows what else, were a side tangent that possibly Edna had some of. Hence her aunt was partly responsible for her troubles. Edna had been a chemist in the 1930’s during the great depression, after which she turned and applied her knowledge and skills to what she called peoples medicine she and Clarissa became firm friends. One trained by science, the other by growing and wildcrafting.
Sam headed for the fridge. To her delight there was a variety of tempting smelling cheeses, some smoked trout and bread. Any tomatoes Clar? Perfect. She prepared her snack, deciding after to go harvest some parsley, mint, chickweed and see what else was up in the garden. The garden was a continuum of the houses energys, the two blending into each other, and then finally into the forest....
The relationship between us and plants has been as long as we have existed. Our ancestors were probably algae, or ate them as they developed limbs and animalian conciousness in primordial slime, she thought, returning to the card and noticing something she hadn’t before. A hemlock plant dappled with purple on its stem not unlike the colouration on the fishes skin. How did I miss that. I must be tired. Garden later, cat nap first. Sofas ready and able to provide. It felt good to be here, the to do lists she had left behind seemed a million miles away as she slipped into sleep.
She dreamed of a man with a troutskin cloak, dappled in greens, blues and purples. A man with wild eyes and a feel of the shaman about him, who spoke languid as water. Touched u are, like your grandmother, and he reached out a hand and placed it on hers, cold and damp it was, theres danger and you know it. Thats why your here innit, before they come, to save the ol ways from em. She raised her eyes to his and they had no pupils, round and dark like pools, watch yourself they come in forms to deceive, he whispered in a burbling and bubbling. Then was gone like a vision, and she awake as morning. Jesus that fish must have been off she thought scrabbling for distance, her conscious mind alerted and shaking off sleep....
She lay back down and tried to think of boring mundanity but her new fishy friend was not so easily dismissed from her. Whhheeeww she exhaled and reached absent mindedly over to the nearest pile of paperology for distraction. In her hand she held an image of hemlock, an old one like those medieval herbals. Woodcuts that were originally botanically accurate, drawn by monks mostly, then deadly member of the carrot family.
I don’t even have a phone number for Edna. People knew everything about everyone round here, for all her eccentricities they left Clary alone but surely the word would have got out if anything untoward had happened? Like what, a trout man driving her away? I need to go for a walk.....
