Wildcrafting (v): the act of responsibly gathering plants and fungi from nature for food, medicine, fiber, etc.
Wildcrafting is one of my greatest joys, and the root of my work as an herbalist and wise woman. Connecting with the plants in their natural habitats ensures a reverence for each leaf and root that I use. More than vocation, more than pleasure, wildcrafting is about crafting a deep and endless relationship with the wild.
Crumbling dried yarrow onto a cut finger, my pain is lessened by the memory of pulling my car over to the side of a country road and wading into the knee high “weeds” to reach the tallest of the gorgeous white blossoms. I’d crouched down to observe the dozens of busy pollinators, tiny wild bees and ants, watching as they wove their way among the spiders and mites and beetles. Lulled almost to trance by the loud droning of the insect kingdom, I couldn’t bear to disrupt their lovely home, picking instead some other, less populated but equally lovely plants, which I hung to dry in my car, then took home and garbled with my apprentices. whose dried petals have now already staunched my bleeding finger.
Handing a jar of salve to a grateful customer who depends on it for her eczema, I know the exact cedar tree from which I made the salve. It was a tree I grew up with, and in my mind’s eye I am once again eight years old and resting my smooth, child’s hands against the shaggy, red bark, marveling at the texture and scent of the wood. After decades of standing sentinel to countless bonfires and outdoor meals, our beloved red cedar finally came down last year to make room for a new septic system.
Honoring it with ceremony and prayer, my family spent weeks stripping branches, bark, needles, and berries from trunk, which now waits to be turned into a sauna, perhaps, or other addition to the family home. The straightest branches are curing outside, saved for the Abenaki friend who came to offer ceremony when the tree was felled. He is planning on bringing them to a youth group, to teach the teenage men how to make traditional flutes. Silky and golden without their bark, the smaller twigs are burned as incense or used in ceremonial art. The smaller twigs, are used as incense and in art. Come winter, the tiny nettle seeds in my tea fill me with energy and bring me back to the late summer day I spent baking under the hot sun in my father’s thirty year old long-sleeve shirt and work gloves, carefully clipping each stalk to avoid their tiny stings.
These and hundreds of other similar moments of reverence and joy are what make my life as a wild-crafter so blessed.
Wildcrafting imbues every tea and tincture I make with a love of Nature and the understanding that we are all sacred and connected. It enforces responsible stewardship and safeguards against greed, as I will not gather a plant that does not wish to be gathered, nor will I overharvest or gather something scarce, no matter how much I might want to. While I appreciate the bags of organically grown dried herbs that I buy at the farmers’ markets or order from Mountain Rose, gathering most of my apothecary’s plants from the wild gives me a richer understanding of their gifts, as well as the energy that it takes to grow and flourish, to break free of the cold spring soil and sprout into the warming air. It reminds me of the seasons’ changes in all of our lives; the kindness of warm days and gentle breezes, and the adverse weather that both bends and strengthens us, knocking us down or hardening us off. For all of our differences, we are none of us separate, and seeing the individuality and cohesion of field and forest reminds me of the need to treat all of creation with compassion and respect.
