Phase One: I Become That Person
It started innocently enough. I planted mint. Mint! The gateway herb. You think you're just jazzing up your mojito game and the next thing you know you're installing grow lights in the laundry room and explaining to guests why there's a jar labeled "fermented plantain poultice" on your kitchen counter.
Now I have a patch of calendula so aggressive it's trying to unionize, a lemon balm bush I speak to like it's my therapist, and jars of dried things that either heal inflammation or cause it, depending on whether I remembered to label them.
I didn't set out to become a backyard apothecary. It happened because of Covid-19 and a ridiculous run on hydroxychloroquine caused by Mr. Trump's insistence that it was a secret cure for covid.
In 2020 I was taking a lot of drugs (not the fun kind) including methotrexate, prednisone, buscopan, tamsulosin, meloxicam, golimumab, and hydroxychloroquine, for the treatment of psoriatic arthritis — an autoimmune and autoinflammatory disease.
That got me thinking: if the world's supply chains were to be completely shut down due to war, pandemics, or stupid people, I would be screwed. Cue my descent (or ascent, depending on how much chamomile tea you've had) into the world of homegrown herbs and locally foraged plants, a place where weeds are medicine, mushrooms are magic (but not that kind, I swear, officer), and you start saying things like "mullein really opens up the lungs" with a straight face.
Phase Two: Foraging — Because the Forest is Free
My herbal journey wouldn't be complete without tromping through the woods, looking for mushrooms. Then came the nettles, yarrow, elderberries, bearberry, and other plants. My personal favourite is wild lettuce — a potent analgesic and sedative that puts zopiclone to shame on the nights where nothing works for getting to sleep.
Why Bother?
Here's the kicker: it actually works. My homemade cold and flu tea (basically mullein, bell flower root, nasturtium, black-eyed susan, prairie cone flower, elderberry flower, sweet alyssum, lilac flower, anise hyssop and mallow) knocks out a cold, flu and covid faster and more effectively than any pharmacy's latest lemon-flavored placebo. My insomnia has been lulled into submission by lemon balm, lavender, and chamomile, and when I get a headache, I reach for feverfew — not ibuprofen.
Is it more work? Absolutely. Is it occasionally weird? Of course. Is it empowering to tell your disease to shove it while you chew on a leaf? You bet.
A Few Tips If You're Going Herbal
- Know your plants — Not all green things are your friends. Some want you dead. Use books, apps, and the wisdom of local foragers. (Or take one of my courses.)
- Start slow — Don't drink a gallon of burdock tea on your first day unless your goal is to spend 72 hours in a very intimate relationship with your toilet.
- Label everything — Dried oregano and dried comfrey look very similar, but they don't do the same thing. One is for pizza. The other is for bones. Choose wisely.
- Talk to a professional — Herbalists, naturopaths, and doctors who aren't secretly sponsored by Big Advil can be amazing allies.
Final Thoughts from the Homegrown Hype Girl
Look, I'm not saying traditional medicine doesn't have its place. When I fell off a ladder last fall I did not grab a tincture. I went to the hospital and let the ER do its thing.
And if nothing else, I now have a front yard full of beautiful flowers (and suspiciously medicinal-looking weeds), a spice rack that doubles as a medicine cabinet, and a deep appreciation for every overlooked plant that just wants a chance to heal something.
So here I am, prescription-free (except for chocolate and wine), standing in my slippers, whispering sweet nothings to my echinacea.
It's not weird. It's wellness.