HERBS + WOODS + SMOKE + WATER
The Same Memory Flows through All Fountains
The subject of folk traditions is a great place to draw things back through a contemporary lens. Folk traditions are living, breathing entities. By virtue of what they are, and to whom they belong (the people! [1]), they are fluid and adaptable knowledge systems. They carry valuable information across generations, but that doesn't mean they're encapsulated in amber. Everything evolves and changes over time. Folk traditions embody the capacity to change within each culture in which they are found, or the cultures they become grafted into. And these traditions, let alone ritual or ceremony, don’t need to be elaborate. We have much different lives now than our relatives in the past, and few of us are connected to the land through the hunt or the plow. But in some ways, this also increases our options for the ways we can engage in these ceremonies. Maybe we commemorate the cycles of the land where we live by observing and witnessing their ebb and flow, whether those are more traditional seasons or other significant bioregional events. Maybe it’s a celebration once or twice a year during our favorite festival season. Or it could just be a small daily offering or prayer in the morning, afternoon, or evening to reflect in gratitude for our blessings. It can be anything, big or small.
To me, this speaks to a larger action, one that could even be radical in its success to bring us closer to our surrounding, living world. In his 1942 essay, Water and Dreams, An Essay On the Imagination of Matter, Gaston Bachelard speaks of his embodied childhood in Champagne, France. Within this passage, there’s something I find useful for the contemporary reader living in a city who seeks connectivity to land, and cycles or seasons. The quote that jumped out at me was this one:
“But the region we call home is less expanse than matter; it is granite or soil, wind or dryness, water or light. It is in it that we materialize our reveries, through it that our dream seizes upon its true substance. From it we solicit our fundamental color. Dreaming by the river, I dedicated my imagination to water, to clear, green water, the water that makes the meadows green. I cannot sit beside a stream without falling into a profound reverie, without picturing my youthful happiness...It does not have to be the stream at home, water from home. The nameless waters know all of my secrets. The same memory flows from all fountains.”
This profound sentiment feels aligned with, or evokes, some of the largest questions many of us settlers (identified as white) and other diaspora are asking in regards to our relationship to the land, and a sense of belonging. To me, it begins with the work of perceiving and knowing the land where we live and its inhabitants, human and beyond human, seen and unseen. The idea of mutual knowing sparks wonder about the living memory of the land itself and its inherent power to perceive and know us in return. Does the earth and the soil of this land recognize us, in the way the water that touches all parts of the earth remembers us [2]? And if so, how does that deepen the importance of our debt to the injustices of the land that we and our ancestors have wrought; so that we may, at the very least, slow down (given we may never reverse in our lifetimes) the harm we’ve done to sustain, nurture, and foster what we have? How does contemplating the possibility of a sustainable future create a sense of urgency to reestablish the relationships that are inseparable, interdependent parts of a whole? Our questions may not lead us to concrete or complete answers, but it’s my hope that they motivate us to take action [3].
Practically speaking, we now know that many herbs and woods commonplace in the forest, field, and garden are digestive aids, antispasmodic, and curative to many physiological ailments; and that they often have antimicrobial and antibacterial as well as antifungal and insecticidal properties [4]. While none of the information or practices in this project are intended to address issues of health or medication, let alone replace qualified medical care (please see your doctors and follow their advice and/or prescriptions for any illness requiring medical attention), what is interesting for our educational curiosity is seeing the patterns appear of the ways in which plants support community, good health, sustenance, protection, and blessing time and time again across all folk traditions throughout the world.
What’s good for the field is good for the hearth. This is as true today as ever. What’s magical is practical, and once we see the patterns that connect what’s worked in the past to what works for the present, the interconnectedness is the very thing that continues to fascinate and enchant us; and make our lives all the richer for it.
The subject of folk traditions is a great place to draw things back through a contemporary lens. Folk traditions are living, breathing entities. By virtue of what they are, and to whom they belong (the people! [1]), they are fluid and adaptable knowledge systems. They carry valuable information across generations, but that doesn't mean they're encapsulated in amber. Everything evolves and changes over time. Folk traditions embody the capacity to change within each culture in which they are found, or the cultures they become grafted into. And these traditions, let alone ritual or ceremony, don’t need to be elaborate. We have much different lives now than our relatives in the past, and few of us are connected to the land through the hunt or the plow. But in some ways, this also increases our options for the ways we can engage in these ceremonies. Maybe we commemorate the cycles of the land where we live by observing and witnessing their ebb and flow, whether those are more traditional seasons or other significant bioregional events. Maybe it’s a celebration once or twice a year during our favorite festival season. Or it could just be a small daily offering or prayer in the morning, afternoon, or evening to reflect in gratitude for our blessings. It can be anything, big or small.
To me, this speaks to a larger action, one that could even be radical in its success to bring us closer to our surrounding, living world. In his 1942 essay, Water and Dreams, An Essay On the Imagination of Matter, Gaston Bachelard speaks of his embodied childhood in Champagne, France. Within this passage, there’s something I find useful for the contemporary reader living in a city who seeks connectivity to land, and cycles or seasons. The quote that jumped out at me was this one:
“But the region we call home is less expanse than matter; it is granite or soil, wind or dryness, water or light. It is in it that we materialize our reveries, through it that our dream seizes upon its true substance. From it we solicit our fundamental color. Dreaming by the river, I dedicated my imagination to water, to clear, green water, the water that makes the meadows green. I cannot sit beside a stream without falling into a profound reverie, without picturing my youthful happiness...It does not have to be the stream at home, water from home. The nameless waters know all of my secrets. The same memory flows from all fountains.”
This profound sentiment feels aligned with, or evokes, some of the largest questions many of us settlers (identified as white) and other diaspora are asking in regards to our relationship to the land, and a sense of belonging. To me, it begins with the work of perceiving and knowing the land where we live and its inhabitants, human and beyond human, seen and unseen. The idea of mutual knowing sparks wonder about the living memory of the land itself and its inherent power to perceive and know us in return. Does the earth and the soil of this land recognize us, in the way the water that touches all parts of the earth remembers us [2]? And if so, how does that deepen the importance of our debt to the injustices of the land that we and our ancestors have wrought; so that we may, at the very least, slow down (given we may never reverse in our lifetimes) the harm we’ve done to sustain, nurture, and foster what we have? How does contemplating the possibility of a sustainable future create a sense of urgency to reestablish the relationships that are inseparable, interdependent parts of a whole? Our questions may not lead us to concrete or complete answers, but it’s my hope that they motivate us to take action [3].
Practically speaking, we now know that many herbs and woods commonplace in the forest, field, and garden are digestive aids, antispasmodic, and curative to many physiological ailments; and that they often have antimicrobial and antibacterial as well as antifungal and insecticidal properties [4]. While none of the information or practices in this project are intended to address issues of health or medication, let alone replace qualified medical care (please see your doctors and follow their advice and/or prescriptions for any illness requiring medical attention), what is interesting for our educational curiosity is seeing the patterns appear of the ways in which plants support community, good health, sustenance, protection, and blessing time and time again across all folk traditions throughout the world.
What’s good for the field is good for the hearth. This is as true today as ever. What’s magical is practical, and once we see the patterns that connect what’s worked in the past to what works for the present, the interconnectedness is the very thing that continues to fascinate and enchant us; and make our lives all the richer for it.
1 ] This idea is one that I've always held, and in fact the etymology of "folk" literally means various things such as: the people, common people, populace, nation, or tribe; but I found it most beautifully articulated and held by Finnish and Palestinian folk herbalist, writer Milla Prince of Northsea Apothecary during a lecture in which she cited her own manifesto about what folklore is, does, and means in our work.
2 ] I want to be really clear that this isn't a romantic notion of acceptance for us identified as white to latch onto. To be recognized and remembered is not the same as being welcomed or accepted. Not all places are for us, not all places want or trust us. Our sense of belonging is something we may have to accept as being perpetually in limbo without resolution. We have many amends to make and injustices to correct in order to right centuries of wrongs inflicted by colonial, capitalist, white supremacist patriarchy.
3 ] Some proposed actions to take: Support Black-owned farms and food sovereignty movements across North America. Learn whose land you live on, the histories of your local treaty agreements, and support the Indigenous people of that land. Here in Seattle, you can pay rent to Real Rent Duwamish; or anyone in the country can send money and support to Sogorea Te' Land Trust. If you live in North or South America, Pacific Islands, Australia, or New Zealand (and increasingly other parts of the world) you can learn more about the Indigenous tribes and nations on Nativeland.ca which also leads to some valuable resources. Lastly, support Indigenous-led climate action and Land Back movements which uphold Indigenous sovereignty and self-determination, as well as culturally held knowledge of homelands, as drivers of action towards a better, more sustainable future for all.
4 ] As a general statement I don’t have a specific citation for it, but this information will come up repeatedly in various monographs included in this guide.
2 ] I want to be really clear that this isn't a romantic notion of acceptance for us identified as white to latch onto. To be recognized and remembered is not the same as being welcomed or accepted. Not all places are for us, not all places want or trust us. Our sense of belonging is something we may have to accept as being perpetually in limbo without resolution. We have many amends to make and injustices to correct in order to right centuries of wrongs inflicted by colonial, capitalist, white supremacist patriarchy.
3 ] Some proposed actions to take: Support Black-owned farms and food sovereignty movements across North America. Learn whose land you live on, the histories of your local treaty agreements, and support the Indigenous people of that land. Here in Seattle, you can pay rent to Real Rent Duwamish; or anyone in the country can send money and support to Sogorea Te' Land Trust. If you live in North or South America, Pacific Islands, Australia, or New Zealand (and increasingly other parts of the world) you can learn more about the Indigenous tribes and nations on Nativeland.ca which also leads to some valuable resources. Lastly, support Indigenous-led climate action and Land Back movements which uphold Indigenous sovereignty and self-determination, as well as culturally held knowledge of homelands, as drivers of action towards a better, more sustainable future for all.
4 ] As a general statement I don’t have a specific citation for it, but this information will come up repeatedly in various monographs included in this guide.
This piece is adapted from a series of courses taught in 2019 and 2020. Acknowledgements and transparency of resources may be found on the home page for this project.