We learn to visit different gathering locations throughout the year to see how our plants are doing. Sometimes we can help them by a bit of judicious pruning of overhanging branches or the invasion of brambles into a precious patch of wild St John's Wort (Hypericum perforatum), for example. As the harvest season approaches, we will have had to visit our chosen patches several times to make sure that we do not miss the perfect time for harvest. It is only natural that we begin to feel very connected and responsible for the land around us, as well as the plants that grow there.
It can be difficult to find what we need in any given year. Wild medicines have good years and bad years, and sometimes catastrophic events such as harsh hedge trimming or development can destroy a favourite gathering area, along with the plants that grow there. I remember the first time this happened to me. Cramp Bark or Guelder Rose (Viburnum opulus) grows in hedgerows and is not considered particularly rare, but it was not common where I lived in West Dorset – at least, not in a form and location where harvesting of usable stems was possible. Over a period of five or six years I had built up a mental map of all the accessible Cramp Bark trees and shrubs that I could find in my local area. I had four especially favoured locations, and each year I rotated small harvests between them. I began to prune some stems from the bottom of bushes in order to encourage long straight stems to grow up, long stems being much easier to strip bark from. This worked very well, and each year I managed to gather sufficient for my needs, until one year a whole section of one of my favourite Cramp-Bark-containing hedges was brutally and severely cut back, using a hedge flail. I actually cried when I saw the devastation. The beautiful wide grass verge alongside the hedge was muddy, rutted, and churned up. Precious Cramp Bark branches were lying all over the verge and the lane, chopped into tiny pieces, irrevocably mixed with random other species, completely unusable and covered in mud. I knew that the plants would recover in time, but I cried because of the missed opportunity for those plants to offer medicine to the people that need them. I cried because it was such a waste, and, most of all, I cried because as a society we have become so very disconnected and ignorant about the value of the wild plants that surround us.
As well as the bitter disappointments over losing a favourite gathering place, we can also experience the euphoria of coming across a sizeable population of a plant that we need just when it is needed. These unexpected finds are always totally thrilling and magical. A few years ago, I stumbled upon a huge population of Wild Oats (Avena sativa) at the perfect stage for harvesting in an abandoned arable field scheduled for development. I had been searching my area for a couple of weeks, aware that it was coming up to Wild Oat season, but every time I walked the field edges, green lanes, and footpaths in likely locations, there were no Wild Oats to be seen. All of the usual organic arable fields had been ploughed up or put down to pasture. None of the headlands had been left unsprayed. Land had changed hands, and the new management regime discouraged Wild Oats. As my dispensary stock dwindled and my patients’ needs continued to grow, I was beginning to think that I might have to actually buy some in. Salvation came as I was following up a lead from a patient who mentioned a patch of Coltsfoot (Tussilago farfara) next to a footpath along which she often walked. I made a note of the directions, and at the first opportunity I set out to follow them. I can still remember the thrill of rounding a corner and seeing a whole field of Wild Oats waving majestically in the breeze. As it happens, I did not find the Coltsfoot until a couple of weeks later, but I was in Wild Oat heaven for a few days while I harvested and dried enough to last my patients for at least the following two years.
When we grow or gather our own herbs, we have plenty of time, maybe a whole year or several years, to build a relationship with them. It becomes impossible to view them simply as a business input after that. At first, we may not notice that this shift has happened, but then we start to notice that when we open each herb storage container and smell the distinctive fragrance of each herb, we are instantly transported back to the day that it was harvested. We will probably remember the exact location, the weather and the sounds around us. Perhaps we remember the bird song, the sound of cows grazing or even our own singing. I feel that the memory of the harvest is a reminder of our shared bond. In that moment, it is as though the herb offered itself to be an agent of healing, and we agreed to help make that happen.
An unexpected but welcome find of Wild Oats.
I often think that being in the presence of herbal medicines somehow seeps into our psyche and connects us with something ancient – something that is part of our history as human beings if we only open the door to it. I suppose you could call it our collective herbal consciousness. In Tibetan medicine, we are encouraged to view herbal medicines as sacred and precious. To take a substance into our bodies with the intention of making us well is a potent act of self-care. The more we value and respect that substance the more potent the act and the greater the potential for healing. If, as practitioners, we have an attitude of respect towards our medicines and if we value them, then this attitude tends to be transmitted to our patients. A medicine that is valued, appreciated, and respected will be much more effective than one that is not. Admittedly, it is totally possible and desirable to generate respect towards herbs that have been bought in or that have been gifted to us by friends. This is definitely an excellent mind set to cultivate. My point here is that, in sourcing our own herbs direct from the land, we inevitably generate this value and respect without any effort. It flows quite naturally, due to the amount of time, care, and intention that goes into the process of growing and gathering.
My herb store is a repository of memories as well as herbs.
When I first started in practice as a medical herbalist, I had the attitude that I was ‘using’ herbs to help people get better. Over time, I gradually realized that I was thinking more along the lines of that I was ‘working with’ herbs to help people get better. Now I am convinced that I am ‘working for’ the herbs to help them to fulfil their healing destiny and to get them to the patients who need them. I am sure that I am not the only one who thinks in this way.
4
Continuity of supply
Three main factors affect the continuity of supply of herbs. The first is the fact that, by their very nature, they are natural, seasonal products. They are ready to be harvested at a certain time, and at this time enough needs to be harvested to last the entire year. The second, less predictable, factor is that the availability of herbs in a given season can be affected by the climate. There may be wet years, dry years, pest outbreaks, or natural disasters. Each of these will affect the abundance and availability of the herbs that we need. The third is that the supply of herbs through wholesale channels can be affected by changes to the regulatory, trading or legislative landscape or simply through supply and demand. If the demand for a particularly herb falls below a certain threshold, it may not make sense for a supplier to stock it.
As people who work with herbs, we have two main ways of dealing with continuity of supply. One way of tackling it is to treat each herb as a seasonal product that is available only at certain times of the year. This attitude is especially suitable for small artisan businesses producing high-value handmade herbal products. Seasonality can be woven into the story of the business and can become an asset. Limited availability of the products adds a sense of exclusivity, preciousness, and connection with the seasons. Customers understand the need to purchase when things are available, and they do not take year-round availability for granted. However, the ‘when it's gone it's gone’ model is not suitable for therapeutic herbal practices: continuity of supply represents continuity of treatment. Patients doing well on a particular prescription are likely to be disappointed if they are told that no more is available until the herb is ready for harvest the following year.