Mother • Educator • Feather Reader

“I am not an herbalist” I discouragingly think to myself while stirring my dandelion tea. “I do not have mass collections of rare and exotic herbs from around the world,” I reply to myself. An herbalist knows each plant by its Latin name and what chemicals inside each plant have reactions to the human body. They have painstakingly collected specimens and stored them in jars lined up by the dozens. I have a few teas, sure. But my plantain salve has too much wax and set too hard to use. It sits in a jar beneath my kitchen sink next to Clorox spray, awaiting a day I have more product to mix it with and make it usable. I do not know fleabanes' Latin name, for I am not an herbalist. I just know that it’s an aster and can be brewed into a tea just like chamomile. I am not an herbalist, I don't grow turmeric in my yard. I buy it at the store, ground into a powder. I put some of it in my breads and soups to help with inflammation. An herbalist? No. I am not an herbalist.
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