Traditions in Western Herbalism Conference

Another amazing year at the Traditions in Western Herbalism Conference. Here's a few stories/ highlights: excerpts from my journal, and a write-up for Plant Healer magazine.
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We arrived just as it got dark, and the sliver of Moon set over the horizon of waving coniferous tree tops, in the little valley that we made home, for the next few nights of the 2015 TWHC. Mating elk sang their love songs into the night. I could hear them walking ever closer to my little bed under the oak tree, where acorns regularly fell above and around me, where I and the acorns lay under a canopy of stars, that blessed reminder of who we are and where we are in the Universe, with the bright white dash of Milky Way magic strewn across the middle of the deliciously dark night sky.

We rose early the next morning, to set up our tables, and give and receive one warm loving hug after another. TWHC feels like a family reunion. I got to embrace, reconnect with, meet, and enjoy the presence of herbalists from all over the country, from a diversity of backgrounds. And, classes hadn’t even started yet.

I’ve been thinking about TWHC for the whole year. Each time I feel tired or lackluster in my struggles as a “new” herbalist, I think about TWHC, and get reinspired. Even though it’s only four days, I made lasting friendships and professional contacts that I regularly reconnect with throughout the year to ask questions, share experiences, and stay connected with, as I grow and help spread our mycelial herbal network of friends and connections wherever I travel, teach, learn, and explore.

Time flew too quickly. This is manifest in the faces of the children. I helped with the new Children’s Camp by teaching a little, but mostly by hanging out with the kids around the gathering. The students from last year remembered me, and I, them. Their families also feel like families, and their moms feel lovingly protective, caring, and somewhat mom-like towards me, too. I accompanied the kids upstairs to look for Rebecca the ghost, ogling the dark landscape from the high vantage point, and then danced with them late into the night. It’s wonderful to see them grow up. I hope to return year after year, and thus be part of their lives. “I don’t want to be an herbalist when I grow up,” said one of the pre-teens in my classes, “my mom’s always talking about herbs, and I’m a little over it.” She stills knows plants though, already confident with her basic plant families. We had fun creating our own plant language, changing the plural form of “petal” from “corolla” into “pet-us,” then “pet-me.” Perhaps it’s an inside joke. It makes my heart sing, these little moments.

TWHC brings together wonderful herbalists from all over the USA, including some of my favorite teachers, role models, inspirations, and beloved people. We shouted at each other above the loud music and laughter on the masquerade ball night, smiling through masks and colorful costumes, bodies grooving to unfamiliar music. The second nights’ dance party had most of us dancing, jumping up and down to the powerful music and clackety drums, soaring flute and vocals, and twanging guitars pulsing through our bloodstream, under the hundred twinkly small white lights, under the old wooden roof beams, under the big Sky Island sky. I danced with the kids, my young friends and students, at the front of the hall, twirling each other and laughing, experimenting with all the different ways to express the music, laughing harder as 7song brought all of us together into a big circle, which eventually snaked around and pulled everyone in the room into a giant circle, which twisted and turned around and into itself, eventually interploding back into a packed room of dancing bodies and uplifted spirits.

(From my journal):

At one moment, looked up while dancing: glittering lights above, an undulating wave of ecstatically dancing herbalist bodies: plant lovers, misfits, oddballs, outsiders. My kids jumping around in front, and I with them. Tears came to my eyes, my body grooving in synchronistic harmony with the music and those around me, feeling completely alive and harmonious in that moment, my heart soaring from every pounding beat my feet sunk into the wooden floor upon sacred Earth, every wild and untamed twirl of my young lithe body getting older, housing this ancient spirit that feels so glad, and so right to be here in this moment, celebrating with a crowd of beautiful, courageous, wild creatures, dancing deep into the night.

I took classes from as many different teachers as possible, to taste different teaching styles, possibilities, and herbal approaches. If I didn’t get a chance to take a class with a teacher, then I made a point to hangout with them.

I notice that most of the teachers were self-taught: highly self motivated, curious, and intelligent people. I’m preparing to embark on Chinese medicine graduate school studies, and question my expensive new journey, especially in the face of all of these skilled practitioners who taught themselves so much, primarily through the practice of living the medicine: starting schools, clinical practices, and apothecaries.

I sidled late into Guido’s class, for my final class of a packed weekend of amazing classes with some of the strongest and most beautiful voices in western herbalism, at the end of this conference. He was mid-story, weaving a story-spell about how the Silvanis helped a young man and the Moon princess live together. He went on to describe various plants of the Alps that are also used in western herbalism, such as Alder, Linden, Nettles, and Elder. His way of combining magic and mythology, science and clinical gems, inspires and excites both the part of me which is still a kid and just wants to hear stories, as well as the “teacher” part of me which is leading classes for both adults and kids. I hope to build such brilliant bridges as these, too.

I found myself drawing little Sylvanis on my plane ride “home,” back to an unknown future: how to continue with my work as an herbalist. Continue onwards to Chinese medicine school, or not. How to best walk in this world. I outlined my hands, filling them with dancing Sylvanis from Guido’s Dolomite Alps stories. Little magical men with red capes who appear out of nowhere in the Alps, and guide people on how to use plants, or gets them in trouble. Like Coyote, but with red capes. And, trees from Juliet’s tree class, Rosaceae family plants from Kiva’s class, inspiration from Sean and Asia’s class, the faces of my friends, children, people and plant herbal family, and more.

I love walking by myself, crunching the red and gold leaves beneath my feet in the frosty late autumn air, geese honking above, turmoiled questions and colorful inspirations swirling within my chest, released with each outbreath. I’m grateful for opportunities to ignite myself in the fires of community, setting fire to my latent passions and budding possibilities and impossibilities. “Where to from here,” becomes less of a question, and “How can I make THIS opportunity NOW and HERE the BEST it can possibility be,” rises, instead.

Small hand in large hand, large hand in wrinkled hand, hand by hand, a roomful of people dance around, under the sky stars in an old room, weaving together a fibrous fabric of time. We are creating our own mythology as the gods of our own lives.

(From my journal): 

After TWHC, I feel powerful, inspired and unwilling to compromise me for my dreams... a mutual movement of me reaching for the world and vice versa, not a solo one way dance.

The elk are mating right now. We got serenaded each morning and night with their haunting songs, plaintive love cries that echoed across the cliffs and canyons, and the sounds of their footsteps, the chattering squirrels, and the falling acorns of autumn. Night sky: bright stars, Milky Way, dramatic sunsets and sunrises, a thin crescent moon that grew to a quarter moon by the time the Gathering ended. Sleeping on the ground warmly ensconced in two sleeping bags, bare face smiling up to a ceiling of stars and fattening moon, wind, elk, squirrel, and acorn songs to sleep, and days filled with herbal speak: inspiration, wisdom, experience, possibility--- didn’t make any photos while here. Fully present and engaged, four days lost to the world, fully present in the world. Now, at the end, flying on to my next adventurous journey--- I realize this is what it feels like to be fully alive. And, I want this (!) in my life.

NCNM Personal Statement

There's a 1000 word limit that I had to stay within. Sometimes when I get inspired, I just write and write. I cut a lot out to meet the word limit; there is so much more to say. There is always more to say. And, when it comes down to it, the story means nothing (even though it sometimes feels like everything. And it does provide a basis for everything else, in the mythology of my life, and the world that I've woven around myself in my head, and therefore also in reality.)

I left the Academy for Five Element Acupuncture (AFEA). It was a complex multi-layered decision that I still feel deeply conflicted about: sad, angry, somewhat helpless... and, necessary. And now, onwards.

I just sent in my application for the National College of Natural Medicine (NCNM) in Portland, OR. I don't have many friends or connections in the Portland area, and am looking for connections and support, especially around finding affordable housing, preferably an "alternative" housing situation where I can do worktrade in exchange for a place to make a nest, make beautiful, and rest at night. NCNM will be an intense education; a "real" Chinese medicine education that includes the study of classical Chinese, translating ancient texts, as well as engaging full-time in school, work, clinic, personal practice, memorization, experiencing, and so much more.

I applied for, and hope to embark on, the Doctors of Science in Oriental Medicine (DSOM) program, beginning January 2016. It will be more than double the cost of education at AFEA. The total should add up to around $130,000 for just tuition alone. After considering my options, this one still feels like the best one. Daunting, yes.

I want to share one of my application essays with you. And, I want to ask for your assistance for school finances, again. You can donate via my Jiling Botanicals business page here, or you can just send me a check (preferable, so I don't get money deducted from using a credit card). Any help is appreciated--- I'm asking for at least $5 from each person, if possible. If not, then send me your prayers; I'll need it!

There are four essays required for the application to NCNM. I should hear if I get accepted or not within a week or two. I expect an easy acceptance, but who knows.

Writing all four of the essays brought me to tears. Making this commitment is truly life-changing for myself and all those I come into contact with. It feels like a decision that is larger than just my life, not just affecting my future clients and students, but also wrapped into the fabric of my very being, and all of my ancestors. It feels deeply personal, and through its depth of connection with my heart and being, touches humanity.

Thanks for reading!

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Personal Statement

Jiling Lin, 10/ 2015

We lit candles, placing them into lanterns, then paraded around the empty streets with our colorful florally painted paper lanterns swinging from ropes, suspended on chopsticks that we delicately held in our small hands, as we tried not to run too fast, or jump too high with excitement. I loved singing the old Chinese songs, eating moon cake, and staring at the moon during the Moon Festival, lighting our incense sticks and wafting their magical perfume up towards the sky, with muttered prayers flying up with the smoke, to reach the ears and nostrils of our ancestors. I grew up in a white neighborhood, getting stereotypical Asian-sounds thrown at me like bullets from across the playground. I wore red often, feeling a connection with a land across the ocean where my parents and ancestors came from, where I spent the first year of my life, where I didn’t get to return to much at all again, until after I grew up, after experiencing the blessings and difficulties of being a first generation Taiwanese-American in a new land but still feeling a curiosity, affinity, and pride, for where I felt like I really came from.

I studied Native American traditions, western herbalism, Thai massage, Yoga, esoteric spiritual new-agey traditions from all over, and more. Nothing really connected, until I met a man nicknamed “Tofu” through a series of coincidences, who sees patients for free in his humble mountain abode of the YangMingShan Mountains that lie to the north of the capitol of Taiwan, Taipei, where my parents were born and raised, where the pre-birth of my birth arose from the Earth, where my grandparents fled when the Communists took over China, where I went and lived for three years after three years of travel around the USA as an adult after graduating from UCLA, where I re-fell in love with something ancient, refound my bones, resculpted myself, and then returned to the USA with something that I didn’t have before: a vision.

I just started teaching my own western herbal classes last July, after completing 1.5 years of formal intensive education at two different herb schools. Teaching has been invaluable for solidifying all that I learned in school, while continually challenging all I think I know and don’t know, constantly humbling me, while slowly and gently increasing my confidence. Embarking on this Chinese medicine school journeys feels like starting all over again, but also like returning home, back to something so very familiar, tucked into the folds of my childhood dreams, of falling asleep to the sound of my grandma counting her prayer beads, knocking on her wooden fish, and singing all the old Buddhist chants in a high-pitched, nasal, single-toned sing-song voice, led from her heart; falling asleep to the smell of complex Chinese herbal formulas stewing in old clay pots, then waking to the babbling of a community of elders and children, a true community moving around me.

He placed a needle in my hand. “Start with yourself,” he said. He showed me where my He Gu (LI 4) is, and how to needle it. It took me a while to actually dredge up the courage to needle myself. Then, I did it. The simultaneous pain and exciting electricity shot from the point of needled contact up the meridian line, and electrified, ecstatified my entire system. “Sing the body electric,” said Whitman. I felt it.

Where to, from here?

I started traveling intensively after graduating from college, eventually landing myself at the bottom of a cliff after a failed mountain summit deep in the Sierra Nevadas, after free-falling forty feet, and rolling 400 feet to what luckily was not a death, but was instead a rebirth: two broken wrists, a fractured chin, a cracked skull, and half my face torn off. Many stitches and surgery later, I returned to the world physically, emotionally, and spiritually shattered and changed. Impossible to return to my job as a “mere” photojournalist, I turned to the road, to a life of infinite possibilities and possible impossibilities, where nothing was clear, until after walking with the unclarity for a long enough distance, I eventually stomped out a clear enough path to notice the way I was walking, the patterns therein: wilderness, creativity, and spirituality. Body, mind, and spirit. Healing the entire person, the entire being.

It starts simultaneously inside and outside, and there are no clear answers. Every process is a journey, a process. I start with myself.

I experience dull chronic pain in my wrist, which is exacerbated by stress, coldness, and dampness. Coagulated scar tissue sits at the area of surgery, right along my Pericardium meridian. I experience numbness and tingling in my fingers, among various other symptoms that arose after my transformative mountain experience. Part of my travels was learning how to feel better, how to heal fully, how to embrace life again, after being so painfully close to death. I learned that the best, most powerful medicine that one can embrace is that which one feels an affinity with. I feel passionate about old traditions, paths that carry weight via time, experience, story, and lived lives. I love the tales of those who came before, especially if they are finely wrapped in magic and mythology, these nonliteral metaphorical tales that fire my blood and reinforce all the ways in which I’m woven into this world, via my heartstrings, inspired connection of Earth, plant, body, and life medicine. Story, connection, and Earth healed me back into life. Now, for more questions: how can I continue to walk my path in such a way as to continue helping others on their own healing paths? Herbalist, adventurer, educator, and bridger between the worlds of Taiwanese and American, seen and unseen, old and new, microcosm within macrocosm--- here, I stand at the brink of Classical Chinese medicine studies at NCNM, knocking on the door, with an open heart and mind.

Two Coyotes summer camps

I spent July working as a lead and co-lead mentor for Two Coyotes Wilderness School summer camps in Newtown, CT. It’s been an intensely exhausting, fulfilling, fun, and challenging month. My heart feels like it’s been broken, repaired, expanded, composted, and reseeded infinite times each day, of camp. Here’s a few stories/ highlights from each week.

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Forts and Shelters week

"I love photographing leaves," I told my student today. He's one of those kids that gets passionate about all the things I love. He calls me over, "Jiling! Jiling!" each time he sees a beautiful mushroom. The forest has lots of them, right now. I showed him how to make basic cordage, then he came up with his own technique for making it, and started experimenting on plants I'd never tried making cordage with, before. Yesterday, he found a rope in the woods, used knots that I'd shown him earlier in the day, and made himself a bracelet. He brought in a show and tell item this morning, which was more rope, tied intricately into a "Chinese staircase," which he proudly shared with the class, and we used as a talking object. He collects beautiful, complexly patterned, colorful leaves as we walk down the path. "What will you do with all those leaves?" I ask him. "I don't know," he answers. We discuss a few possibilities. He's fascinated by the possibility of pressing leaves and flowers, and has a sharp eye for beauty, composition, and subtle details that form such. This is just one of the 13 kids that me and my assistant work with this week. All of them are special, with unique gifts, quirks, and stories that accompany each of them. My first week of camp winds down in just two days. Today was the middle of the week. I'm already thinking about how to tie this bundle into a beautiful bow, at the end of the week. I feel exhausted at the end of each day, but also somewhat enamored with my young and enthusiastic gaggle of small fairy-like humans that have endless energy, expansive imaginations, and loving hearts, with just the right dash of trouble to keep me dancing on my toes.

On the last day of class, we hiked straight up to our shelter area, to finish our shelters. Our group had split into three different groups: the cool-boys group, the girls’ group, and the focused-boys group. The cool-boys’ leader loved telling everyone what to do, but didn’t do much work himself. The members of his group eventually joined the focused-boys group. The girls’ group tried making an experimental structure, which toppled over, so they went and joined the focused-boys group. The focused-boys group had an unofficial leader, who worked as hard as the rest of his group, who all worked together. While walking up towards our camp area, which we named Coyote Cliffs, I stopped the group. “It’s our last day of camp today,” I said, “and we need to finish at least one of our shelters. A big rain is coming.” My assistant and I were prepared to dump a bucket of water onto one of the shelters. The students discussed what to do about the divergent groups: lack of shelters, lack of group organization, etc. This led to a discussion about leadership. “A leader is the person who’s in charge,” said the leader of the disintegrated cool-boys group, who spoke first. We went around the circle, sharing our thoughts. The focused-boys group leader, now the unofficial leader of most of the group, spoke last, “A leader does what everybody else does,” he said, “but everyone respects them, because they respect everyone else. They help you when you need it, and don’t tell you what to do.” The group decided to work together on the focused-boys’ mostly-finished shelter. They worked until lunch, when us instructors transformed into coyotes, and they all crawled into the little shelter. We dumped water on the shelter, which went through the roof (still not enough leaves), while the students, all piled together into one well-constructed-yet-not-well-constructed-enough-but-well-loved little debris hut shelter, screamed and laughed as one voice.

Feather, Fur, and Fin week

Some students bring me humbly to my knees in gentle, beautiful, and magical ways. Others make me wonder why I do this work at all, as I question not only my skill as an instructor, but also my abilities of navigating the world as a human being. The week started off this way. I led the kids on a lost-proofing/ navigational wander on the first day of class, which took us to less traveled regions of the land with no trails or buildings. One of my gripes with our camp location is that it’s an old farm, which is somewhat cluttered with buildings and roads. It’s still beautiful, but not nearly as wild as I’d prefer. So, I was excited and delighted to go far uphill and explore the periphery of the forest, past all of the other areas we’ve ever been, perhaps where no group has gone, before. This was lost on our rather disorganized group. A clump of boys were rude to my face, and more than half of the group complained the whole way up and down gorgeous hillsides covered with twisting plants of all shades of green, and all manner of dramatic rock formations. By the end of the week, I gave them a 15 minute fire challenge. “Do you want to light this with hand-drill, bow-drill, flint-and-steel, or matches?” The group voted on bow-drill, and got straight to work. Students split themselves into groups: gatherers of tinder, smaller sticks, larger sticks, and the bow-drill crew. I stayed with the bow-drill crew, in the center of the circle, right next to the fire pit. The “challenging” boys stuck with me, for bow-drill. We took turns partnering up, sometimes even two people applying downward pressure hand-hold above the primary bowing person, while two other people, on opposite sides of the primary bow-er, drew the bow back and forth, and everyone else clustered around in a tight circle, singing. It was quite a project. We ended up spending about an hour and 15 minutes drawing the bow back and forth in different squeaking configurations, the whole group singing rotating fire songs, and collaborating in creative ways to create a fire, which finally manifested as a fat coal that burst the tinder bundle into flame, with a perfect fire to create delicious bread-on-a-stick flour experiments after lunch, then wild edibles pizza for the final day challenge.

Advanced Survival week

“How many matches do you want? Stick your fingers on your head.” I tallied up all the wriggling upraised fingers, then made an average: three. They chose to make a three match fire. I gave them fifteen minutes to do it. At the ten minute mark, they all clustered back around the fire circle, demanding their matches. One, two, three. Three different people tried, and all three of them failed for different reasons: the first was too eager to shove the match into the tinder bundle, and stifled the flame. The wind blew out the second flame, as soon as it was lit. The third lit the bundle, then blew it out again, with his over-eager breath. The group decided that they wanted three more matches. They would do whatever it took. They elected yesterday’s champion fire-maker for the task. “If he can’t do it, then no one can.” He however, also failed: a strong wind blew out his first match, and he stifled his second. Confidence can sometimes be faulty. “Let me try,” came an uncertain voice from the back of the group. This student was also with me last week, helping me carry everything from lunches to tarps up and down the steep hills that characterize our camp location. Other students objected, wanting to give yesterday’s champion a final chance. “No,” I replied, “Let’s try someone new.” The new challenger immediately broke his match, as he swiped it across the box. A clamor rose from the group, the fresh failure close to tears at the center of the circle, broken match in hand. “It’s not over,” I spoke slowly and quietly, using my deep voice that I save for rituals and other serious affairs, “hold the match at the base. Strike firmly, and remove your fingers when the flame comes. Protect the flame, but don’t stifle it. Let it feed for a moment, then gently give it to the tinder bundle.” We placed the tinder bundle into the fire tipi structure, and the student, broken match, broken spirits, and all, successfully lit the match, protected the flame, delivered it to the tinder bundle, and gently blew that fire, the heart and hearth of our camp, into flame.

Scout Tracker week

"This is the best day of my life," said my students, stuffing their faces with wine berries as we pawed, bear-like, through the prickly bushes. I got to explain compound leaves, leaflets, serrated margins, lobes vs teeth, glandular hairs, and other basic botanical nomenclature while we explored with our hands and mouths just what it means to be fully alive and on the land, in the height of summer.

“Thank you so much for helping me carry the hot tea down the mountain,” I praised a student. “It’s no big deal,” the student replied, “nobody else would do it. I like doing what nobody else wants to do.” I asked him why. “Well, then I get to experience what nobody else really experiences.”

Every so often, a student completely blows me away. Their sometimes surprising truth of expression and innocent open-mindedness inspire me to constantly re-approach the world with new ideas, reinventing myself, and re-sparking my imagination. To see the world through the eyes of a child as a well-traveled (and still traveling) adult is a precious, albeit oftentimes challenging, gift.

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Working summer camp is like running a circus. Pros include sharing topics I’m passionate about in beautiful outdoor settings. Cons include general exhaustion derived from being “on” and high energy for most of the day, while managing complex yet childish interpersonal relationship issues. I don’t know if I will do this again, in the future. I want to work with adults in a more focused manner, centering around botanical medicine, embodied creativity, deep nature connection, and earth-centered spirituality. Children are an integral piece of the picture of my life, but I’m not so sure about summer camp. I’m honing my skills as an herbalist, acupuncturist, and Chinese medicine practitioner for the next three years of my life. What’s next? What’s possible?

I look around the closing circle in the final moments of the last day of camp, allowing my eyes to rest on each individual, memorizing the faces of all of my students, the other instructors, the forest, this circle. I inhale this moment into my consciousness. I want to--- and will--- always remember this feeling of being simultaneously full and empty, my heart a richly aching and pulsating rhythm in my chest. I’ve given so much that I feel totally drained. I feel completely full, for the same reason: I gave all I could. It’s like creating herbal medicine, or a piece of art: I give all I can while creating it. I surrender the rest to the great mystery: chance, fate, life, whatever you want to call it. I call it magic. And for all of this magic and more, I am so very grateful.

Montana Herb Gathering reflections

I've come to realize that it's not what classes I take, but how I take them. It's not where I go, but how I experience it. It's not life that sculpts me, but rather I who sculpt my life. It's not the notes that make the music, but rather the space between the notes. The quality of relationships created between classes, rather than the amount of information accrued in classes. The inspiration from classes, rather than the information.

True, I don't get complete control of the matter. But, "how" is often more powerful than "what."

I taught an adult course at an herbal gathering for the first time, at the Montana Herb Gathering, this summer. It was a quick course, on basic flower and leaf anatomy, and how to key out a plant using a local flora. I over-prepared for class, talked as quickly as I could, breathed deeply, let go, and watched my students learn, explore, and enjoy botany. I loved it.

The gathering took place at Canyon Lake Ferry, at the Montana Learning Center: a small cluster of cabins set against a stunning backdrop of lake and sky. Most people camped, while others stayed in cabins. There was a small herb fair vendor area, between the cabins (where classes took place) and camping. I camped on the edge of a peninsula cliff, sleeping and waking to the sounds of water, birdsong, and crickets, admiring the mist creeping across the moonlit waters by night, sunlit ripples by day.

A comfortable camaraderie was cultivated at this gathering: we ate meals together, with ample time for milling around, meeting new friends, celebrating with old friends, and swapping plant and life stories of all sorts. This year's gathering was smaller and more quiet than in previous years. This being my first time here at the Montana Herb Gathering, I appreciated the coziness and intimacy of having less people. The classes ranged from scientific to energetic, and everything in between. The general participant demographic also ranged from experienced herbalists to first-timers, with a range of ages, some families, and a general peacefulness and joyousness.

I enjoyed most of the classes that I went to, but was easily distracted. Around 4 classes took place simultaneously within each 1.5 hour period. Most of them sounded interesting, so I would jump around from class to class to see different teaching styles, and get a general potpourri of all the different classes.

I start Chinese medicine studies this autumn, so was particularly interested in Miles Coleman's classes, and how he approaches western herbs with Chinese medicine philosophies. My most memorable class though, was simple yet profound, and not information packed at all. In fact, quite the opposite. Sarah Bunting is a young woman like me, and also somewhat fresh to teaching at gatherings. She led a plant meditation class, reading us a story about "Night Singing Bear" that she received from Usnea, before we went off on our solo plant meditation explorations. Sarah's Usnea-inspired story and profound yet playful approach to this work is deeply inspiring, a reminder for why and how I hope to continue walking on and exploring this plant-based path. 

Highlights of my time at the Montana Herb Gathering occur around and between classes, usually in the evenings. I went swimming everyday out to the closest island in the lake, the exhilaratingly cold water stimulating, waking, rejuvenating, and delighting my senses, the blue sky a blessing to my eyes, every breeze and splash of waters into my face and eyes a kiss from the divine. Henbane (Hyoscyamus niger) grew in abundance around the water. I brought both of my classes (adults' botany class, and kids' plant-based arts class) down to the waters' edge, where we discussed, keyed out, drew, and immersed ourselves in plants. I visited the Henbane every morning and night, watching it grow, smelling it, rattling its seed heads, and sticking my face into its sticky witchy leaves and flowers. People made a bonfire in the firepit at the waters' edge, every night. I came down to the water on the first night, planning for a quiet date with Henbane, but instead surprised to find a group of people chatting around the fire. I socialized a little, then slunk out of the circle, down to the water. I drifted into a Henbane haze, a waking dream that wove my understanding of my place in all this, even deeper into the fabric of my being. Evening song circles by the firelight, Henbane, and water filled me with joy.

At dinner one night, I interviewed organizer Jim Nymeyer about his work with herbs, people, and Chinese medicine. Two other Chinese medicine people came and joined in the discussion, which became a miniature class. I ended the evening learning a taiji practice for cultivating my inner awareness, balancing my organ systems, and grounding my energy before and after working with clients.

The final evening of the gathering, the kids put on a hilarious and adorable play about how the fairies saved the plants and pollinators from GMO's and Round-Up, which basically meant that they put on colorful elaborate costumes, and chased each other around and around the tree of life (a ribbon-bedecked tree in the center of our circle). I couldn't stop laughing, especially at the "queen of the demons," who was a little boy who attended my kids' class, who kept hinting, "Wait 'til you see my dress," all through my class. He howled louder than all of the other demons, and opened his eyes and mouth so wide that I thought they might pop out. Then, we had a "botanical fashion show," (more light-hearted laughter and celebration). This cultivation of relationship with people and plants is truly a celebration.

The Montana Herb Gathering is currently looking for more people to join their Board of Directors, which recently went through major changes. If you are an herbalist living in that region, then consider joining a group of dedicated herbalists promoting plant-based awareness and education in the state of Montana, and beyond.

http://www.montanaherbgathering.org/Home

Pit Firing: the basics

We just pit fired two groups of Two Coyotes Wilderness School students’ pinch pots, almost fifty pots, in a grand fire a few days ago. It was epic. Here’s a brief description for how we did it. I’m writing this mostly for the students and staff who didn’t get to be there for the firing, but it’s also for any interested individuals, who may wish to try it at home. I am here in Connecticut, where it’s a wet climate. Pots fire differently in the desert areas, where I first witnessed this process. This was my first time somewhat spearheading a pit firing, instead of just participating in anothers’ process. The results were really good! There’s always the danger of pots exploding or breaking during a firing. We only had two cracks, in this firing. It felt like somewhat of a rudimentary firing process. These pots won’t hold water, but can do so for short periods of time. They mostly came out pretty charred, with some beautiful color variances. It’s a learning process. I am glad to dance with the elements in this way, and hope to eventually learn about raku, and other more refined ways of working with primitive clay firing techniques. Making pottery already feels deeply connected with all of the elements. Fully participating in the firing process feels even more elemental and connected. I consider these pots sacred works of beautiful and functional art, and lovingly call them our “dragon phoenix children.”

Preparing the pots

1. Make pot/ clay piece (I will henceforth refer to it as just “pot,” from now on.) We added extra sand to temper our terra cotta clay: about a handful of sand, massaged into about a handful of clay. The presence of more sand in the clay helps to keep it together, during the firing.

2. Let pot fully dry. We let them sit in cars, windows, and full sunlight for almost a month, before the firing process. In the desert, we just let them dry for a few days, before firing. This part depends on where you live. But, the drier, the better. Any presence of air pockets or moisture in the pots can lead to exploding/ broken pots (no thanks!)

The Community

Let people know when and where you’re doing this. Ask for help, and turn it into a party. Many hands make light work, and it’s basically creating a huge bonfire... with baby pots birthing, under it.

Preparing the fire

1. Find a good spot that’s in a safe and clear place, away from the forest, or other accidental flammables.

2. Dig a pit. Make it about 8 inches (two hands) deep, and as wide as you might need it to be, for however many pots you are firing, laid out next to each other.

3. Gather lots of wood. We used a full bag of sawdust for the fine tinder, a pile of newspapers, and a truckload of assorted sized sticks from finger sized to solid lumps of firewood.

4. Prepare water. We had about 40 gallons of water and buckets nearby, for emergency usage.

5. Add a layer of sawdust/ fine tinder to the bottom of your pit, about 1-2 inches deep.

6. Arrange sticks around the edge of the pit, that creates a “support structure nest” for the pots, that more sticks can later be piled atop. These will help protect the sticks (Andy and I came up with this idea, in the moment.) Note that this layer is only for the edge, and not for the center of the pit, as the center is for the pots.

While preparing the fire...

Start pre-heating the pots. You can either just do this in the oven, at around 250 F for 30-60 minutes, or:

1. Build a fire. Crowd the pots around the fire, gently rotating them, so that they are evenly heated.

2. Slowly move the pots in, closer and closer around the fire. Let the fire die down into coals.

3. Place the pots on the coals, when they feel hot enough. You can place coals into the pots, too.

The Fire

Once everything is ready,

1. Place the pots on top of the first sawdust layer, facing downwards.

2. Add another layer of sawdust/ fine tinder on top of the pots, again about 1-2 inches deep.

3. Layer with newspapers.

4. Keep building your fire structure. Add sticks, moving from smaller up to to larger sticks. We started off building a log frame fire structure (criss crossing sticks), then placed longer sticks around that in a huge teepee fire structure. The end result looked like a massive teepee. We kept a “door” at the bottom to start the fire.

5. Start the fire. We bow-drilled a coal, blew it into flame, then sang songs as we lit the entire thing on fire.

6. Let it burn. It creates a huge fire that burns for almost an hour, then dies down into fat, bright, hot coals.

7. Once the coals stop smoking, cover with dirt. This keeps the heat in, and prevents oxidation. I just learned about this part from experienced potter John Olsen, who makes beautiful painted (with concentrated plant juices) and clean pots (not black and charred). We’ll try this, next time. And, add more pitchy wood at the beginning of firing (about half, to create a hot and smoky fire), for a reduction fire method.

8. Our coals stayed hot for almost 24 hours, uncovered. I slept next to them, and regularly visited them, the next day. Do not disturb the pots. Let them stay in there, slowly doing their thing: heating, cooling, and waiting. Once it feels cool enough...

9. Unearth the pots. Use leather gloves; they may still be hot.

10. Celebrate.

Herbal First Aid- Web Resources

Rainbow Medicine 2014 (A list of most of the medicines brought to the 2014 Rainbow Gathering by Sevensong and the Northeast School of Botanical Medicine, with a brief description of their uses. May be more helpful for someone with a pre-existing understanding of individual medicines, and their uses.)

http://linjiling.blogspot.com/2014/07/rainbow-medicine-2014.html

7song’s handouts (go to the “First Aid” section, for related handouts. These are my primary references/ resources. These are also list-like, and potentially more helpful for more herbally experienced folks.)

http://7song.com/index?page=Handouts

jim mcdonald’s list of articles

http://herbcraft.org/articleindex.html#First_Aid/Injuries

Books

7song’s currently working on an herbal first aid book, and occasionally conducts an “Herbal First Aid” class series with Learning Herbs:

http://learningherbs.com/

I haven’t read it, but have heard mostly good reviews about Sam Coffman’s books, relating to this topic:

http://www.theherbalmedic.com/

---

(Photo of the Herb Temple that I started setting up in Patagonia, AZ. Preparing for a salve-making workshop. The night before. The red cloth on the table makes me think of the usual red cross symbol that usually signifies first aid, as well as an invitation to bring more to the table. More research, more information, more skill. More intuition to match that, more care, and more importantly than anything else... the willingness to ask more questions, listen more carefully, and just be present with whoever shows up, in whatever ways that they do.) 

Apprenticing with 7song

Apprenticing with 7song meant spending six days a week working with him, for almost nine months. This revolutionized my perspective on herbalism, healthcare, and even life. Even more important than the hard skills gleaned, are the tools of empowered critical thinking, humor, kind generosity, and a truly holistic approach to healthcare that I observed clinically, and otherwise. 7song’s nonconventional teaching style is humorous, direct, engaging, and filled with clinical gems, botanical details, and almost thirty years of hands-on experience in the field, clinic, and classroom. 7song is skilled in all aspects of western clinical herbalism: wild-crafting, medicine making, field botany, clinical work, first aid, and an intimate understanding of how humans work, how plants work, and how the two work together. I now not only feel confident with the above skills, but also feel empowered to continue learning on my own, and inspired to provide accessible herbal healthcare services and education, wherever I go. Below, I share a bit more about my apprenticeship with 7song, which was a transformational year of my life. I hope that this story provides considering apprentices some perspective on what that experience is like, inspires working herbalists to offer apprenticeships in turn, and allows others a bit more insight into who we herbalists are, what we do, and the backdrop behind what has come to be a huge part of my life.

~

I found him on Facebook. A friend posted an intriguing photo from 7song. It was a beautiful moth on his “moth wall,” which is just a lamp against a white wall that bugs flock to at night, and he photographs, visiting often to observe different insects. I loved this simple image enough that I visited 7song’s personal page, looked through more of his photos, was further intrigued, checked out his webpage, then was blown away by the depth and abundance of herbal information there. “I want to apprentice with 7song one day,” I whispered to myself as sort of a passing thought, that I never dreamed would one day be a life-changing reality.

Fast forward... after studying traditional healing modalities around southeast Asia for three years, I started exploring options for returning back to the USA. I remembered 7song, and got in touch. Talking on the phone, across the ocean, even with the choppy reception, I could tell that I liked him immediately. I did some more research, then formally accepted what I’d already decided on, three years ago: I’m apprenticing with 7song.

“We are healthcare providers first, herbalists second,” said 7song on the first day of class. He would continue emphasizing this point, throughout the apprenticeship. He spoke about it in class, as a way to cultivate open-mindedness in our approach to integrative healthcare. More importantly, I watched this in action, observing 7song in the clinic. We utilize plant medicines in our healing protocols, but are not dogmatically attached to just this form of healthcare. 7song revolutionized the way that I consider and approach botanical medicine, healing arts, and life itself.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” 7song knocked on my door within a few days of my moving to the Ithaca region. I moved there to apprentice with him, which meant working with him intensively six days a week, for almost nine months. I had just landed back in the USA, and we hadn’t officially started the apprenticeship yet. While walking on that cold spring morning, just getting to know each other, we came across a steep embankment of ice. I started walking around it, to avoid slipping. To my surprise, 7song laid his bag at the bottom of the ice slide, ran to the top, and went sliding down, laughing. Whenever times got tough during the year, I would remember that moment, and smile.

7song is courageously nonconventional, and refreshingly “real.” He curses, speaks his mind, and is sarcastic, skeptical, playful, smart, wise, kind, generous, straightforward, sometimes rude, and certainly not for everyone. I love him. 7song’s almost thirty years of hands-on experience in the field, clinic, and classroom is apparent in his skillful teaching. He’s skilled in all aspects of western clinical herbalism: wild-crafting, medicine making, field botany, clinical work, first aid, and an intimate understanding of how humans work, how plants work, and how the two work together. He is constantly questioning, researching, re-evaluating, modifying, and growing. He’s an open-minded skeptic who takes nothing at face value. Everything is up for questioning, and nothing really “works” until actively proven, and consistently works, with continuous observation and querying all along the way. Nothing is ever “set.” 7song is honest about what he knows and doesn’t know. If he doesn’t know the answer to something, then he provides useful pertinent information and queries to continue exploring that direction on your own.

7song has a huge apothecary. It literally became my home, as I spent more time in 7song’s apothecary, classroom, and home than I did in my own sleeping-quarters cabin (a few miles down the road). His apothecary is a converted basement space, with a maze of metal shelving, lined with glass jars filled with diverse wild-crafted plants and medicinal preparations from all over the USA. Most of the medicines are tinctures, though there are also huge bins filled with dried herbs, and a collection of oils, too. Some of the medicines are ancient, back from when he was my age, studying with Micheal Moore, and even before then. There’s a lot of fresh medicine, too.

I loved processing fresh medicines. We went into the field to gather large amounts of plant material, usually making gallons of tinctures at a time, washing the fresh plants in large buckets, chopping them in the sun room, then eventually pressing the tinctures, getting giddy on the scent of alcohol and macerated plant materials, in the cold air of the basement apothecary. We prepared tinctures and other medicines for 7song’s variety of uses: at the Ithaca Free Clinic for clients, selling at the local co-op, and for various sundry uses. At some point, everything was utilized, and we went through large amounts of some medicines. Going through all of the bottles, the succession of years of apprentices becomes apparent, as I start to recognize handwriting, and associate certain handwriting with certain years, and the stories therein. But, before the time of apprentices, there was only 7song’s own handwriting, and sometimes little doodles and notations, that further tracked his history with this medicine, and life way. One could arrange the medicines by year, and get a sense of the abundant amount of traveling that 7song has done in his life, and the diversity of plant knowledge that he’s accumulated through firsthand explorative experience.

The apothecary opens up to the classroom. The classroom is a converted greenhouse, a glass room that we had to cover with ceiling blankets and open all the windows in the summer, to prevent the class from overheating. One of our apprentice projects, before class started, was remodeling the classroom. We ordered a new sofa, made some new pillowcases and curtains, redecorated, and reorganized the space. We continued caretaking this room through the school season, vacuuming before and after class, fluffing pillows, cleaning up after students, preparing demonstrations, and more. The greenhouse was also the perfect place to dry plants quickly, if we weren’t putting them into the dehydrator. The floor was often covered with recently gathered plants laid out to dry, sometimes being bundled together minutes before other students showed up, then spread out again, after the students left in the evening.

7song lives on a beautiful property that has a wildly diverse medicinal garden around the house. 7song has a hands-off approach to his garden. He plants the plants, but they end up mostly taking care of themselves. Apprentices manage a garden a little further from the living space, and plant whatever they like. Before planting season started, 7song fished a big metal can out, from the back of one of his extensive closets. He opened it, revealing one small bag after another of an assortment of seeds: herbs, flowers, foods, and more. “Go for it,” he said. And so, we planted what we wanted, everything grew wild while we were gone for the Rainbow Gathering fieldtrip, and we still had more than enough food and medicine from the wild little garden to feed ourselves while at school, take some foods home, and make medicine, too.

There are always flowers and tea in the classroom. Every morning, regardless of if it was a field day or lecture day, we apprentices brewed three large pots of tea: two different herbal teas that we usually blended on the spot, and a third caffeinated black or green tea. 7song is a skilled artist: he makes music, composes brilliant photographs, and arranges flowers that sing from their vases. 7song’s flower arrangements are like his herbal formulations: he’s done it for long enough that it comes as second nature, and is apparent in the rapidity of arrangement, elegant simplicity, and potency. We had two vases freshly filled with flowers for each week of class, that matched the changing seasons, and oftentimes, botanical information being shared.

The Community Herbal Intensive classes are three days a week, from Monday through Wednesday, May to November. The first part of the program focuses on herbal first aid, to prepare for the Rainbow Gathering at the end of June and into the beginning of July, which is a two week field trip, and the highlight of many students’ experiences. After that, we covered a body system each week: Mondays are anatomy and physiology, Tuesdays are botany field days, and Wednesdays are pathologies and materia medica. We keyed out plants and went on plant walks for field days, visiting different ecosystems, and becoming confident in both field plant identification and medicine making. Mondays and Wednesdays were mostly lecture days, with students piled into the sun room on couches that line the walls, 7song sitting in the center in his rolly chair in the center of the room, with his desk, skeleton, two vases of flowers, and yummy teas.

Apprentices attend all of the Community Herbal Intensive classes, and some of the Weekend Program classes. Weekend classes are three days a month, and are condensed versions of the Intensive program.

Apprentices worked all morning during class days, except for the Tuesday field days, as those were full day ventures. We help prepare lunch and dinner for 7song and each other, make tea for the students, clean up the classroom before and after class, empty the outhouses, process plants for medicine, tend the garden, prepare tinctures to sell at the co-op, and so much more.

Us three apprentices rotated between who accompanied 7song to the Ithaca Free Clinic on Thursdays. During clinic days, two apprentices sat on one side of the small room, while 7song and the client sat on the other side of the room. We took notes, listened, and observed while 7song conducted the client intake and consultation, formulated on the spot, then gave us the formula to fill. Apprentices filled formulas silently and efficiently while 7song continued with the consultation. After the consult, clients went home with their formula, and clear directions for taking it, and when to return. Initial consultations are one hour long, while subsequent consultations are half an hour long. The free clinic is an inspiring model. It’s completely free, with a diversity of healthcare practitioners operating together under the same roof: an herbalist, an MD, two nurses, two massage therapists, an acupuncturist, and a psychologist. One of the directors often brought in delicious food from her restaurant. In between clients and after work, we would crowd around the little table in the back room feasting, and exchanging jokes, stories, and knowledge. If anyone received a client who needed something that someone else could better provide, or if they had questions, then they would refer them to someone else, in the same building. I felt honored to witness, and be part of, an integrative holistic healthcare practice that is effective, accessible, and a generous gift to the community.

Besides the Rainbow Gathering, there are two other field trips during the school year. Apprentices help prepare for these trips, managing some logistics, clean up, student care, and other duties during the trip. Field trips felt like a respite from our usual long hours in the apothecary, and working before and after classes. We visited beautiful areas to learn more about the plants of different ecosystems, meet other herbalists, wildcraft, botanize, and create medicines in the field. Field trips were often luxurious days spent in nature, roaming around with fellow plant aficionados, and late nights around a campfire processing plants, telling stories, laughing, and living with delight. But, there were also long hours of driving around searching for a good area to wildcraft, some days of inclement weather, and the accompanying fatigue. We learned about the realities of wildcrafting, through this process.

Apprentices manage their own room and board, but attend all Community Herbal Intensive classes without an additional fee. Some people wonder if this is just a worktrade arrangement. It’s not. There’s no time to work another job, so apprentices need to have enough financial savings to provide for themselves, for the year. And, apprentices work a lot. Apprentices are an integral working part of 7song’s life. I had some monetary savings that I used, lived frugally, and still created space in my life for personal and social needs, though I didn’t get to know my fellow students as much as I would have liked. After working full mornings, I just felt like taking space during class breaks, instead of socializing. Regardless of how busy we were, almost every week, 7song took us apprentices on a little trip. Sometimes, it was partnered with a gathering expedition. But usually, it was just a walk in the woods where we’d talk, look at plants, and just relax, and enjoy each other’s company, in a non-work atmosphere.

The hands-on aspect of being an apprentice is invaluable experience. I witnessed the ups and downs of being a full-time herbal teacher, clinician, school director, wildcrafter, medicine maker, writer, and more. I observed a skilled clinician in practice with about 500 cases, learned a bit about selling products, filling orders, preparing for classes and events, and more. I learned a lot about myself, healthcare, herbalism, and the natural world.

There’s a certain degree of personal agency that is surrendered during the apprenticeship. After studying for three years in Asia, I was used to the respect that students afford their teachers. Sometimes, teachers have their students do years of mundane labor, before sharing any “real information.” There’s certainly a fair share of mundane labor, as well as more formal training, in this apprenticeship. 7song’s a strong character, and can be difficult to get along with, with clear personal preferences, rules, and needs. But, he’s a clear communicator, and cares. One of his first questions that he asked me, during our initial interview, was, “What do you think you will hate most about me?” Some teachers can be overly idealistic, glazing over the darker, yet real, parts of life. 7song is honest about all of these things, and about himself as well. That can be uncomfortable for some. He directly warned hat he can be difficult to get along with during our interview, and asked some potentially uncomfortable questions about race, gender, and other touchy subjects. So, I entered the apprenticeship prepared to work hard and learn a lot with a tough guy. His classes tend to attract punks and other “fringe” folks, as he is open to the counter culture, and carries a bit of a bad-ass reputation, himself. All three of us apprentices agreed that 7song’s hardcore, but not as tough or difficult to get along with as he made himself sound, in the interview. But, for a person who doesn’t fit 7song’s somewhat specific temperament, I can see how it would be really difficult for both parties concerned.

I lived close to 7song and didn’t have a car (a big no no, for future considering apprentices), so we often carpooled, especially during clinic days. We live slightly out of town, whereas the clinic is in the town of Ithaca. I treasured driving home after a full clinic work day with 7song. “I’ve been talking with people about their health all day,” 7song would say, “let’s talk about something else.” So we got to joke around, and discuss everything from pointless trivia to childhood stories, and more. 7song has the eyes of a skilled wildcrafter and naturalist, one who knows the land, notices small details, and is always looking, and seeing. Even while driving quickly, he noticed animals and plants that I didn’t notice. We would sometimes take detours to his favorite spots to search for peregrines here, scout for certain plants there, etc. He found a fox den down the road from his home. In the spring, he drove there everyday to watch the fox kits grow up, and play. “Grab what you need; let’s go,” he would sometimes announce out of the blue. The first time we visited the foxes was one of those days, where we had just finished our morning meeting, was preparing to kick our day into gear, then got called out for a surprise trip. We sat in the car on the side of the road, ogling the fox kits, while 7song made photo after photo, with his camera that’s always around his neck.

I really appreciate getting to know 7song beyond a teacher, more fully as a person, and dear friend. In some ways, I feel like the apprenticeship isn’t over. With all of the seeds planted during the apprenticeship, I feel both a responsibility and deep desire to continue nourishing those seeds within myself, while sharing that information and inspiration with my community, and further. We still keep in touch. I write down lists of questions, and we go through them, every few weeks. I consider 7song one of the rocks in my life, someone that I could actually go to for anything from personal to professional support. I sometimes feel like he sees something in me that I can’t see clearly yet, and is a cheerleader who dresses all in black and will never actually cheer, but will always be there, answer questions with more questions, and make sarcastic jokes that make me laugh and laugh, and think for myself.

On the last day of class, 7song said to us, “Yesterday, you were my students. Today, you are now my peers. One day, I hope you will be my teachers.”

California to Connecticut, spring 2015 road trip

“Where are you from?”

“Well...”

“Okay, most recently.”

“Bethany...”

I don’t know when or where the “most recent” bout of travels began or ended. After a while, everything blends together, blanket statements are impossible, and I don’t even know who, where, when, or what, let alone why or how. It just happens.

I like to plan. I brooded over returning to Connecticut to work with Two Coyotes Wilderness School (among other things) for a few years. I started brooding more seriously after finishing 1.5 years of formal herb school training, and meeting the empty abyss afterwards of, “What now?” I started looking at maps and getting in contact with people a few months ago. Now, I’m here.

Perhaps I “started” in New Mexico, for this journey. I over-wintered in the Gila wilderness, caught a ride to California with a neighbor at the first sign of spring, drove around California visiting friends, hiking, and interviewing Chinese Medicine graduate schools and acupuncturists, caught a different ride to...

Well, let’s begin the story here.

I caught a ride with herbalist Aaron to Wintercount, a wilderness skills gathering that takes place in the Sonoran desert every spring. At what point does one go from “plant geek” to “herbalist”? Aaron has been attending herbal gatherings and studying plants part-time for longer than I, but never went through formal training. He helps his friends and family with simple herbal protocols and remedies, and is what I’d call an “unofficial herbalist”: no credentials, but walks the talk. We carried on a conversation that I’ve been having with many herbalists: students fresh out of school, seasoned clinical herbalists, product makers, etc. How do we make a living doing what we love, while positively contributing to the world... and making a living, too?

There’s no easy answer. Herbalism is gaining interest in the USA, but there’s still huge public misconceptions about what we do, and who we are. We don’t really know, ourselves. Some herbalists make and sell products, some see clients, some grow and sell plants, some teach, some write, some wildcraft for restaurants and herb suppliers... the list goes on. I’m currently doing a smattering of all of the above, except for growing and selling (which I’d like to do, too). Most herbalists work another side job, which is sometimes related, but oftentimes not. Being a “working herbalist” becomes the other part-time job.

I tried working “just jobs” part-time while in school, and then while beginning my practice... and frankly, it’s a depressing way of life that I refuse. So, what now?

I’m considering complementary traditional healing modalities, to partner with my existing herbal skills. Possibilities include massage therapy, psychology, and perhaps most seriously: Chinese medicine. I informally studied Chinese medicine while in Taiwan: weekly acupuncture folk classes, and observing and assisting at a variety of clinics. I love the ancient poetry of the medicine, feel deep cultural ties with this tradition, and know its power and potential. I don’t want to go into debt.

Chinese medicine schools

Chinese medicine studies at most schools in the USA are at least a four year commitment, and cost around $50,000 to $100,000 in tuition and fees. I would be studying something I’m genuinely interested in, complements my existing western herbalism understandings and practices, and is a powerful healing modality that can help many people with everything some physical to psycho-spiritual imbalances. Is it worth it?

I visited six Chinese medicine schools during my three week sojourn through California, my home state, and the state with the “highest standards” of Chinese medicine education. USA acupuncturists must pass a series of board exams from the NCCAOM. California has its own test, and its own set of rules.

I interviewed a variety of schools, students, and practitioners. I started taking pre-requisite Western science courses online. I’m on my way. And, I’m still questioning the whole thing.

I sat in on as many herbal classes as I could, while visiting different Chinese medicine campuses. My favorite teachers were animated, visibly passionate about plants, and shared useful clinical stories relating to Chinese herbalism. I enjoyed the Herbs II class at the Acupuncture and Integrative Medicine College in Berkeley. The teacher talked animatedly about each plant, while showing a Powerpoint image, and passing a dried sample around the class. She grows some medicine plants, and uses some of them in her personal practice, as well. Her students create food with Chinese medicinal herbs, and share it with the class for a weekly potluck, with recipes shared both online and in class. I love the hands-on approach!

I visited a formulations class at Five Branches University in Santa Cruz. The teacher varied between talking about formulas, glancing at and discussing over notes, and sharing clinical stories. He started off his career as a western herbalist, and then decided to study Chinese medicine, to explore a more ancient and comprehensive medicinal tradition, and a more “solid” career. I particularly enjoyed walking with him during break, discussing plants, clinic, healing, and life, while smelling the ocean, seeing the waves, and feeling the sea- breeze. What a beautiful sea-side location, that school.

Another formulations class, at the Southern California University of Health Sciences (SCU) in Los Angeles, had a teacher from China with a strong accent, who hails from a strong lineage of Chinese medicine herbal pharmacists. Her class was similar to the Five Branches University formulations class: a loosely followed Powerpoint, list of plants and formulas that needed to be covered rather quickly, and some clinical gems. I love Chinese and am grateful to know the language already. It will make learning Chinese herb names and formulas much easier. But, I also appreciate knowing the scientific (usually Latin) names of plants, their families, botany, identification, growth, habitat, collection, etc. I appreciate being a western herbalist, and the hands- on relationship- based approach that that entails. I loved learning about plants in all the ways that I have, usually in the field, muddy, dirty, and happy. In a sterile classroom environment, I’m unsure just how much I can learn. I think all this, as I visit school after school, sit in on class after class, combating fatigue and boredom, for a topic that I am truly interested in, but having trouble finding a fitting way to learn, that matches my spirit: hands-on, in-nature, and... wild.

I just sat in on another formulations class at what should be my final school that I visit, at the Southwest Acupuncture College (SWAC), in Santa Fe. I also visited their herbal clinic. The intake style is similar to the herbal intake that I learned with both 7song and at the Colorado School: clinicians ask lots of questions, and the client answers them. They used tongue and pulse diagnosis, along with taking blood pressure as part of intake. I observed them filling the formula. There’s something joyous and satisfying, even just watching people bustling around, handling herbs, measuring weights, powders flying into the air. SWAC was the most beautiful campus that I’ve visited thus far: old Asian art bedecking the walls, a koi pond with soothing running water as you enter the building, natural light, spacious rooms and halls that are still cozy, small classes, and what feels like personable staff. If I could find an off-grid or for-trade type living situation around Santa Fe for four years, I’d seriously consider coming to this school. The formulations teacher also came from China, with an even stronger accent than the SCU teacher, and even more animated than all of the other teachers I’ve visited. Her words tumbled over each other, sometimes accidentally sneaking in a word or two of colloquial Chinese, much to my surprised delight.

The Chinese medicine schools that I’ve visited seem to pride themselves on the diversity of their faculty, especially if there are people who hail from Asian countries such as Taiwan, China, Korea, and Japan. I found an abundance of schools around the Los Angeles area run by people from Asia, offering the entire course in English, Chinese, or Korean. These schools, besides being multi-lingual and attracting more overseas students, also tend to have cheaper tuition, are more informal, and seem to be located in areas with a heavy Asian population, which tend to be more urban, and crowded. I visited one of these schools, the Alhambra Medical University (AMU). I sat in on a tuina class. Of the seven schools, this was the only class that I joined, that was taught in Chinese. My friends who study in China and Taiwan say that most of the Chinese medicine curriculum is actually just colloquial Chinese (which I am comfortable with), with Chinese medical terminology thrown in. Much to my surprise, I understood most of what the tuina teacher said. Listening to a class taught in Chinese felt strangely familiar, and comforting. The Chinese medicine schools filled with Asian students in Los Angeles have an abundance of Asian students who were typically younger, more serious, more awkward, and seemingly less experienced with life. Older students also come from abroad, to find a better life here. Studying Chinese medicine in Taiwan or China is a more selective, competitive, and time-intensive program. Studying it here in the USA can be more expensive, perhaps more diluted, and allow for more potential prestige, and flexibility within the practice, afterwards. During tuina class, the younger students were awkward about touching each other, and exposing skin. The teacher reminded me of various other strong women I’ve met, especially in the mountains of Taiwan: she speaks loudly, moves big, and holds an aura of almost bombastic confidence, for someone with such a small, graceful, and beautiful frame.

I particularly enjoy speaking with the Chinese-speaking teachers in English, broken and choppy, then asking, a little under my breath, “Can you speak Mandarin?” The sense of relief that comes over their faces is almost comical, except that it feels like home. Visiting AMU and SCU, in that sense, felt like coming home. But, the more Chinese- filled schools also tend to be more Western sciences oriented, which is daunting, and frankly, a little nauseating...

Wintercount

I last came to Wintercount in 2008. I was in a phase of my life where I only lived outdoors. I had just overwintered in Boulder, CO camping in a poorly constructed freezing debris hut shelter, that was barely large enough to sit up in. I got sick close to spring, moved indoors into town, got depressed, and was freshly on the road again, relieved to be out of town and in the sun, in Arizona. Some things have changed, some have not. Returning to Wintercount seven years later, this year I was delighted to see many fresh faces, but even more ecstatic to see old friends. My favorite teacher from 2008 was still my favorite teacher, this year: David Holladay. I went to every activity that he led: a navigational walk, and a teen survival overnight.

We started the navigational walk before dawn, around 5 AM. Dave wanted to get to our starting location, so that we could walk, while the sun rose. We all piled into a truck, and rumbled off, about 10 miles away, on the other side of the mountains surrounding camp, to begin our day-long journey. I won’t go into specifics about the walk, because there’s too much to encapsulate. Nothing really “happened,” and so everything happened. (Come for a walk with me, and maybe you’ll understand. Maybe you understand already. Yes, you do.) Our walk culminated atop the ridge, overlooking camp. The group dispersed at this point, as the way down was overtly visible from such a vantage point. I walked the last few miles back with Dave. I admire how he can take the simplest activity, and make it profound. I asked him how he plans for classes. “I don’t do anything,” he said. He creates a skeleton outline of the class, knocking out some logistical details, then allows for a dance to organically ensue, between what arises, and how he responds. Dancers include the landscape, participants, and himself as the “leader.” “People come to me, thinking I know everything,” he laughs, “then they are surprised when I tell them I don’t know anything at all.”

I was “adult support” for the teen survival overnight, but felt like a participant. We all gathered at the campfire an hour after dinner, then set off into the dark with nothing, besides the clothes on our backs, and the shoes on (some of) our feet. Dave introduced some rules and safety protocols, then we walked. Arriving at the location that Dave had scouted out beforehand, we stopped. “Okay, you know what to do,” said Dave. The teens got to work. Within a few hours, they had selected a camp for the girls, and two boys’ camps, along a dry sandy wash. Students were allowed to bring a primitive fire tool, but only if they had made it earlier that day, with material gathered from the land that same day. The girls had teamed up, and procured a hand-drill set, and tinder bundle. The boys brought a flint stone from the knapping pit, to strike on another rock. It took a while, but eventually the girls got a fire, tag-teaming the hand drill. The teens carried a coal to each of the other fires, and the wash came to life. The teens went and gathered firewood and bedding, while we “instructors” laid down in a cuddle line to just watch, keep each other warm... and fall asleep. Near midnight, we separated the girls’ and boys’ groups, with clear instructions to not go visiting each other through the night. Starting to get cold, we instructors went and gathered firewood, and started a fire with a coal from the other fire, at the end of the line of fires, down the wash. We gathered fluffy aromatic chaparral boughs to sleep on, to provide insulation from the cold early spring Earth. Most groups slept huddled around the fire, though there was a group of girls who found a clump of trees, created a windbreak out of sticks, and slept in a cuddle line. They stayed the warmest, and slept the most comfortably. The rest of us varied between coldness, and the excitement of sleeping around a fire with “nothing,” and created from “nothing,” sharing stories until the sun, literally, came out. We stood facing the sun, silent to the dawn chorus of birds, faces and bodies arced towards the sun, arms open. I cried during the sunrise, and cried again, when we gathered all of the teens back together, and I saw their bright eyes, that reflected the light of the sun, and the line of five fires in the wash that night, created through teamwork, self sufficiency, and a growing understanding of how to live with the Earth, creating something out of nothing through teamwork. It cultivated a deepened sense of self knowing, and empowerment. And, cold and hunger. We sprinted back to camp, laughing and howling, to warm ourselves by the large campfire in camp center, to the clapping and cheering of parents, and others who were awake early enough to see us racing across the desert landscape, barefoot and triumphant across the cold Earth, breath and smiles clearly visible against the frosty morning sky, back into the center of our community.

Gila Wilderness, NM

(Now, I’m writing again a week after landing in Connecticut. There’s too many stories to encapsulate in one essay. For the sake of time, rather, the lack thereof, I will write more briefly about the rest of this journey, focusing on highlights from my time in each community that I passed through.)

Julie conducts long distance herbalist consults from the comfort of her beautiful cabin home, tucked into a hillside, and backed up against the Gila Wilderness. I found my winter house-sitting gig through her, and was her neighbor for a month. Julie works intensively with as many as four consults a day, all backed up to each other, sometimes several days in a row, then takes a few days off for herself. She sculpts her own schedule, and seems to have a nice balance between personal time and work time. Work is fulfilling and necessary: she guides people with chronic conditions, such as Lyme or cancers, to ways of restoring balance and health on all levels. Julie has a magical way about her, and seems to notice, well, everything. I appreciate that, and admire her ability to live the life of her dreams, be of service to the global community, and create beauty all around her.

Isabel was another neighbor in the Gila. She’s the community matriarch, the woman who knows everyone in the community, and how everyone’s doing. During my house-sitting stint, I would receive frequent check-in phone-calls from Isabel, and eventually we drove together all the way to California, and back again. Like many other retirees in the area, Isabel came from the medical field, and lived in another state for most of her adult life, before retiring here. Unlike most other folks, Isabel grew up here, with her dad working in the mine.

I hitchhiked up to the wild hot springs, just a few miles away, but a whole hour’s journey, due to the curvaceous mountain roads. An ex-miner picked me up. Here, it’s common to bump into people of the mining community, or affiliated with it. It’s the biggest job around, and pays well, compared to the other barely existent local job possibilities. “If you’re in the mining community long enough,” said the ex-miner, “Then eventually you’ll meet a casualty. Or, you’ll be the casualty.” He was present when a few co-workers literally caught on fire, from something that came down the chute in the copper mine, incorrectly. His eyes hollowed out a little bit when he spoke of this, “And so I stopped working there. But, you got to eat. And, I have a family to take care of.” I wonder if it’s really worth it, and what other options are out there for these people, and the ecological ramifications of mining, and so much more.

The retired community is interesting. People seemingly do whatever they want, whenever they want, with no time constraints, and minimal financial constraints. Many worked long jobs with differing degrees of satisfaction for most of their lives, with the accompanying exhaustion. I wonder if it’s actually necessary to wait until retirement to live the life of one’s dreams. I wonder if an unfulfilling overworked life is actually worth it, to “earn” old age, rest, and retirement.

The focus of this trip was people. For my spring cross country road trip, I hoped to find a good balance between meeting new friends, visiting old friends, exploring beautiful wild places known and unknown, and wild-crafting. Little did I know that I started my journey during a snowstorm, spring comes late this year, and most of my trip would be spent riding through storms, with my eyes peeled on the road, and heart racing. Thus, I only camped once on this trip: my final night in the Gila, curled around a campfire, singing and praying. The river had flooded, so that the hot-springs that I had hoped to visit were covered over by fresh rain and snow melt. Walking through the freezing cold rivers, my fire was imperative. I wrapped myself around my fire, and tended it through the night, listening to owls and coyotes, and wind moving through trees. I felt myself spiraling deeper and deeper in love with this land.

I’m seeking Home. I ask questions about the cost of living, quality of life, job opportunities, etc everywhere I go to know, compare, and weigh options. Visiting homesteaders (my dream), I ask people how they started their homesteads logistically and otherwise. This fire my imagination: hard work, and skills developed through community, self-sufficiency, and straight up courage and perseverance.

Black Mountains, NM

Andy is homesteading a property that he grew up on... and he’s doing it mostly solo. There’s goats, chickens, dogs, gardens, buildings, and so many different projects. He envisions more herbal classes and gatherings here in the future, and is renovating buildings to create living spaces for work-traders, and people to stay during events. It’s inspiring to see how much he can do on his own, but it also further underlines that I do not want to do this alone.

Albuquerque, NM

An unplanned stop, as the night was running late, and I needed a last minute place to sleep for the night, as road conditions were terrifying. I called around for leads, and found Ben and Stacy via another friend, Marvin, who paralleled my cross country trip at the same time. Both engineers, Ben and Stacy live a life that seems so different from the world I’m immersed in, and reminds me of Taiwan city life: day jobs, night lives, and a balancing dance that emerges from therein.

Santa Fe, NM

Sarah, Axel, and baby Seven live on the edge of town. She finishes Chinese medicine schooling in a few month, and dreams of creating a roving free clinic, traveling the world in a little converted bus. We spent hours investigating the intersections between dreams and realities, logistics and possibilities.

United World Community College Hot Springs (Las Vegas, NM)

Sarah mentioned a few nearby hot springs. None of them were on my route. While beginning my journey towards Texas, I felt reluctant to leave NM, and decided on a last minute whim, right before turning south, to go north instead, and take an hour long detour up to Las Vegas, NM. This hot springs sits next to a river, next to train tracks, across the river from United World Community College. It was the most exposed hot springs that I’ve yet been to, with many people, lots of trash, and small hot springs scattered across an area, all of them lined by concrete. Lithium hot springs, every part of my body that touched the water quickly became dry, while feeling exceedingly comfortable and relaxed. I started alone in my own concrete tub, that was large enough for me to extend all of my limbs fully out in each direction, and still have some space to move around, starfish like, avoiding cigarette butts on the periphery of my tub, mixed into melting snow, and mud. Eventually, an older man and woman joined my tub. Both hitchhiked around the country during their younger days, and we regaled tales back and forth across the human sized concrete tub in the middle of the semi-developed roadside hot-springs, electrical lines whirring to the music of the melting river, red rock mountains ringing us, cliff-side, the community college across the waters.

Palo Duro State Park, TX

I slept in my car that night, shivering under my old down sleeping bag, and smiling to the sounds of coyotes yipping in the surrounding sagebrush. The cliffs are red, orange, and majestic, reminding me of the Gila Wilderness.

Clinton, AR

I spent a few nights with Sean and Jackie of the Dirty Farmers’ Cooperative. After driving all night through terrifying snow and ice in barely visible conditions, I landed at their home, shaken and exhausted. “Welcome home,” said Jackie, giving me a big hug. Grassroots entrepreneurs and community builders, they started a by-donation cafe that not only feeds people regardless of how much they can pay, but also unites the community everyday at lunch. They seek to source their food from local farmers, and also organize a weekly farmers’ market that connects local farmers, craftspeople, and community. Sean built the cabin that they live in with his parents, who live a few minutes walk away. They built it in 5 months, with under $10,000 of materials fees. It’s a beautiful property, that backs up against national forest (my dream). Besides their idealistic visions and hard work, Sean and Jackie also impress me with their ability, as a couple, to work together, live together, and be beautiful, more-than functional, and filled with heart.

Dcoda is a recent addition to Sean and Jackie’s land. She lives in a modified shed at the entrance to the land. She spent 10 years living mostly off grid in an area of national forest, just south of where we were, and was still integrating back into society. We spent many hours discussing potential collaborations.

Competition, MO

Meeting Jamie and Jeffrey reminded me that living a life of my dreams is not only possible, but is imperative for a full life. And, that dream has intricate twists and turns that sometimes don’t reveal themselves, until one begins the journey. Expect the unexpected. No matter the fullness of ones’ life and how much it resembles the dream, life is still life, and challenges are to be expected. Expect perfect imperfection, and be prepared to dance, thusly, with it all.

After working a diversity of jobs, living in different places, and dating different people, Jamie and Jeffrey found each other, this land, and created fulfilling work that satisfies their needs, while lovingly weaving themselves into the inner matrix of their community, thus tying them into the global whole of a back-to-the-land movement that shudders as it breathes, in its monstrosity, its depth, its necessity in these times, and the triumphs and challenges that come with the territory.

These two triumph through and over adversity. They started off homesteading in upstate New York, which got to be prohibitively expensive... and cold. They packed their lives into their trailer, and found their way down to Missouri. They’ve been homesteading here, ever since. They started off living in the trailer, while preparing the rest of the 30 acre property: with diverse forest, streams, fields, hills, and springs. The landscape was full of potential, but covered in brambles, and with no living structures or farmable land on it. They lived in the trailer for two years, outfitting the small space with an outhouse, woodstove, and external roof. During that time, they cleared many brambles, started a garden, and built the house that they now live in, a south-facing home set into the hillside, a beautiful, well-insulated, cozy, and lovingly built and lived in hobbit home.

Their land backs up against state land. It’s a magical property that fits their dreams, and they are further sculpting into being. They host farm volunteers (WWOOFers) and community events, that brings people together, shares their process with the community, and also garners them support with their various processes: building cabins, tending gardens, etc.

Jamie is mostly a self taught herbalist. She went through no formal training, but somehow got on the path, got hooked, and is now growing herbs, and turning them into luscious body products, which she sells at various festivals through the summer and autumn season. She also conducts plant walks and classes, and is a vibrant well spring of information, inspiration, and exuberant first hand experience.

St. Louis, IL

Friends of friends introduced me to him. He’s one of a healthy handful of foreigners who go to Taiwan, are deeply interested in the culture, spend a number of years there teaching English and immersing themselves in various elements of the traditional culture, then return to the USA. He returned to the USA to study Chinese medicine, and has now been in practice for longer than I’ve been alive, and exudes a peace and groundedness, with eyes that see, and questions that deepen, while opening, safely. With less than an hour to talk, I felt such space to share, and realized that I feel so much heartache around my search for further schooling, and the frustrations woven, therein. “Slow down,” said Michael, navigating between my jumbled and emotional words, “Breathe.” He caught up to me right before I drove away, handing me a book about constitutional analysis, from a Chinese medicine perspective, with Chinese medicinal plants, written by a Chinese man, in Chinese. Earlier, we’d discussed the book a little bit. He’d slipped it into my hands, “Try reading it.” I brokenly edged my way around the medicinal terms, but easily read through more simple colloquial words... and was surprised at how many characters I recognized and gained a general meaning from, even if I didn’t know the exact word, or meaning. “I think you should brush up on your medical Chinese,” said Michael, gifting me the book with a smile and nod. I was speechless.

Little actions create huge ripples.

You never know when you might change someone’s life.

Mulberry, IL

Rebekah grows plants, creates and sells herbal products, and teaches classes. She’s also a homeschool mother of three, homesteading family land with huge acreage that includes forest, fields, waterways, a pond, and more. We played music until late into the night, hands clapping against clay udus that she sculpted, instruments that came to her in dreams, and now gift the hands of many herbalists, and other plant lovers, Earth people. I watched her and her husband locking eyes, rhythms, and melodies during our little jam session. “If you can jam like that with someone,” he said afterwards, “then that’s Love.” We wove our way through the golden plant skeletons and muddy spring-time blessings the next morning, discussing death and life, dreams and possibilities. “I want this place to be for everyone,” said Rebekah, sharing her vision for the land, and her role in helping birth that into reality. Her basement studio is filled with her artwork, with a kiln, paintings, clay works, and a staggering amount of peace and joy, a certain intensity, sculpted into the air.

One day, I want to create art again, in a grounded fashion.

I love sculpting clay, too. And, gardens. And...?

I love this moment too, of climbing back into the car, albeit reluctantly, and with exhaustion. I’m grateful for the singsong strength of my engine purring, the solidity of rubber against road, this little metal house on wheels that encases me and all of my current belongings, zooming across the country, 1500 miles over lands that I know and don’t know, encountering people and places that hold up a mirror, sending back reflections brilliant, mind-shattering, and heart-opening, and send me reeling back into myself, to explode outward again in various threads of song, that weave a basket of understanding.

Inspiration.

Questions.

I spent too long reluctantly leaving New Mexico then slowly enjoying my way through AR and MO. I started speeding after IL, and the rest of the trip passed by in a blur.

The sun just rose over a frosty landscape, with woodpeckers and the morning chorus gently chirping the sun into being. My window is perfectly located, where I can watch the sunrise every morning. It’s good to stop driving, and to see the same people over and over again, day in and day out. I’m developing more solid and stable relationships, some new, some old. I’ve been here before, and it’s good to be back.

Meeting the rooted homesteaders along my trip greatly impacted my thoughts, as I sped down one windy icy road after another, lost in thought, foot poised between gas pedal, brakes, and gear shifter. Do I need graduate school? Do I want graduate school? Where do I want to live? How do I want to sculpt my life, dreams, and being? Where do I go from here?

This sun has risen and fallen on so many other questioning faces.

We kneeled on the icy and muddy earth. I rolled my tears onto my fingers, and gently mingled them with the sap, still bubbling over, like blood, from the inner bark of the 100-200 year old maple who, freshly cut, still stood, sentry like in its awkward new stumpliness, in front of the barn where so many children gather every week, to play games, sing songs, and share gratitude, then howl off into the distance, to explore all the possibilities of being wild, innocent, and free, in a complicated world.

Some things are still very simple.

I fold my bed back into the closet. I brew my morning tea, and sip and write, watching the sunrise, eyes closed to take in the sun, against hooded lids, feeling that ancient heat bathing my body, through the window.

A red tailed hawk loves sitting in the tree across from my window viewpoint. I watched its silhouette, right before the sunrise, as it soared up to the top branches, shaking its tail feathers, head pointed in the direction of the sun.

I breathe.