The greening of things

How our bodies respond to the seasons

Apothecary News: I’ve received some interest in exploring Slavic herbal traditions, so I’ve created a newsletter called The Crossroads (more about why it is called that on its About page) just for those folks who would like to go on this journey with me. We’ll be sharing historical, cultural and folkloric tidbits in an easily digestible format.

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I love the space of time when you can hear the earth waking up. Not just in the movements of the animals, but the soil as well. Today I was planting some strawflowers into the row beds and heard the subtle undercurrent of “popping” in the air. It could be from the Scotch pine nearby, releasing its seeds from the cones, or the perennial sprouts unfurling its new growth. 

{ first collection of strawflowers in the soil }

For the first time this year the air smelled green. It’s interesting to think about how certain colors have scents. The green of spring is the sensual musk of intimacy and fertility. It enlivens the senses and serenades us out of our homes and into the garden or the woods. Time slips languidly through our fingers as that scent of green keeps us transfixed in the churning and the mulching and the planting.

We know that flowers evolved certain characteristics specifically to attract pollinators so that they may reproduce. Brightly colored blooms, alluring aromas, just the right shape of petal to accommodate a specific pollinator, all conspire to attract. Sometimes I wonder if the animal kingdom is the only group of species the flowers evolved to collaborate with.

Are we not just as susceptible to their charms? It’s why we dedicate whole gardens to them. Breeders all over the world specialize in creating the most brilliant blossoms. We paint their likeness and write songs and poems about them. We give them to our loved ones and invite them to all of our most important days on earth: births, weddings, funerals. Their names become our names: Rose, Lily, Iris, Jasmine, Violet, Holly. 

There is a certain unexplainable magic and reverence we attribute to them. Perhaps it’s because of how they make us feel. The fresh scent of lilacs in spring immediately lifts the spirit and brings back nostalgic memories. There is a levity that flowers bring to the psyche.

But wasn’t that their plan all along? Sometimes I think they know exactly what kind of effect they have on us. They have us wrapped around their little leaves. We’ve spread their seeds far and wide because of how they’ve achieved to attract us. It’s brilliant. It’s downright genius actually.

{ the front patch of woodland garden }

It’s not just the flowered folk either that have whispered their whims to our subconscious. The whole earth nearly sings its glory in this season of greening. Who are we to resist? Who would want to?

It’s times like these that remind us that we are not immune to the energetic language of the earth. Some part of us still knows the songs. And oh how free we feel when we give into that knowing. On days that we can afford to let time dissolve away in the garden, nothing could feel more right. 

We are like a guitar when some strings fall flat or a little too sharp, creating a disharmony that hurts the ears. But when we tune the guitar, matching the sounds of the string to the universal sound of harmony, magic is made. It is like that with our bodies too. Sometimes we fall a little flat, feeling unmotivated or disheartened. Sometimes we come up a little sharp, unsure of how to unwind or roll with the punches. When we go to the earth though, our sharps and our flats get smoothed out by the scents and the sounds and the essence of true connection. That is the beauty of living seasonally. We are constantly being re-tuned to our natural rhythms.

So when someone says flowers are frivolous, or taking time to lay in the grass is lazy, you know the truth. This is important work. How can we go out into the world to do our service if our body is clanging against itself? With spring at our threshold, may we embrace all of the excess sensations that matka ziemia (moist mother earth) offers. May we know in our bones that this is what it means to be truly alive, skin against soil.

On this full moon, I hope you have a moment to go out tonight and simply be.

Much love,

Val

P.S. If things look a bit different on these past couple of newsletters it’s because I’ve switched to a new platform. I’ve been feeling more and more distant from social media, so I’ve decided to start putting my energy into spaces that feel more inspired. One of these spaces is the newsletter! I love how intimate newsletters feel, plus I can actually fit a complete thought here (unlike in a social media caption). So I may be popping into your inbox a bit more than once a month with current garden happenings and plant musings, if that’s ok!