This past weekend my husband, son and I went for a hike through a state park near the town where I was raised. We took a trail I remember taking often when I was young and single, had a lot more time on my hands, and needed to feel grounded and connected. As we walked, I remembered that I also often thought of the things I now have on these solo hikes—would I have them? How would I get from here to there? It seemed, at times, an enormous chasm to cross, but cross it I did. I like to do things like that, stand in an old haunting ground and recall how life has progressed. It reminds me that dreams do come to pass. Not always on our timeline, not always as we designed them, but they do.
Well, nature is good for a bit of contemplating, and ever since I was young I felt more comfortable around trees than city buildings. I didn’t always know what that meant: How to make a life around such a way of being, how to find work around such a way of feeling. Didn’t you have to live in a city to get a great job? Weren’t all the single guys in bars in Manhattan? How were you going to find someone in the woods on a nature walk? And so for years, and through many jobs, I worked in the big city, even lived there for a bit, all the while feeling slightly uncomfortable in my skin and not exactly sure why, because wasn’t I doing what I was supposed to?
My late father didn’t care for the city at all, much less so than me. When we went to Southern Italy, he would spend the entire time, even if it was a month, sitting in the tiny hamlet where he was born and raised, surrounded by his parents, siblings and cousins, and by the slow, nearly ancient pace of nature. If my siblings and I convinced our cousins to take us to, say, Naples, he would try to discourage us, and then, seeing we were adamant, would admonish us not to get out of the car, not to talk to anyone, to watch our wallets, and so on. By the time we left for our outing we were petrified.
He felt more comfortable in the country, where things were quieter and slower, and I assume I inherited this streak from him. He was the type to sit out on the covered porch and watch thunderstorms. He wanted to retire to a farm in upstate New York, going back to his childhood, in a sense, with sheep and birds and chickens running around the yard. When we bought our house upstate, of course I thought of him, and how pleased he would’ve been to spend time up there in our company. We are very ancestral that way, absorbing traits both in our blood and in the time we spend around people. I know that he must’ve absorbed this trait from someone before him. We’re a long line of people who just feel better with trees around, some soil to dig into, some fresh food to cook with, some sun and silence surrounding us.
Researchers love to study things that are obvious (Vegetables are good for you! Seven to eight hours of sleep improves health!) and our need for nature to feel well is one of those things, like this article from The American Psychological Association.) I’m being a bit snyde, of course, because to me the benefits of time in nature have always been obvious, even if I didn’t always know what to do with that or how to actualize it. As someone who’s highly sensitive, which means not only that I feel and see things very deeply, but that the noises of the modern world, the pace, the incessant cacophony, are often difficult for me to handle, time in nature is not a pleasure, but a necessity. It’s only now, at this semi-late stage in life, that I’m really giving myself permission to accept this is how I am and design my life around that accordingly, instead of trying to stuff myself into a mold that doesn’t suit me and makes me sick, physically and spiritually.
Some of my favorite books are set in pastoral settings, where the world may be pulling the protagonists to leave their homes (homes on the farm, on the plains, in nature) for the lure of success and modernity, but the natural world remains a great comfort, even if just in memory: Willa Cather’s My Antonia; Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping; Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine. No matter how much city living and wealth we may rack up, it can be the simple pleasures of grass and sky, family and table, that really make life peaceful and soul-filling.
I’ve read many studies that find that the modern Western woman, often living alone in a major city, is more depressed and anxious today than she would have been at any other time in history. Considering our penchant to describe liberation as a holy grail, and considering that we assumed once the oppression of women in the past was eradicated we would be saved, it’s a strange development, don’t you think? Why isn’t your high-powered job satisfying you like they said it would? Why aren’t you happy in your little apartment, independent as it makes you?
We are not meant to be seperate from community, and we aren’t meant to be separate from nature. One thing we can do to pull up the brake and feel connected is make simple herbal tinctures from the very flowers and weeds around our home. Just picking these things from the ground gives us a sense of peace. Carving out the time to make some beauty by hand brings a simple joy, and knowing we’re creating a home concoction that has so many health benefits for our families and us can make us feel as wise and sturdy as our ancestors.
Tinctures, the ones you may already be buying prepared for you, are so very easy to make yourself. You simply need the herb or flower you want to use, and some kind of liquid extraction that will draw out the medicinal benefits, such as high proof alcohol or vegetable glycerin. Place them together in a jar, leave them for about a month, strain, and that’s it! You have both ancestral tradition and beauty by hand in one little bottle, and after the long winter, it’s a great ritual to welcome in spring.
Those little yellow weeds that we’ve been taught need to be pulled from our lawns every spring are actually some of the most powerful flowers you can get your hands on. Dandelion flowers, leaves, and especially the roots, are amazingly beneficial as detoxifying and purifying agents. Think of how abundantly dandelion grows, even in the most polluted areas, granting it a resistance to toxins that, in turn, can be bestowed to us when we consume them. Dandelion helps to cleanse the lymphatic system and the liver of toxins and is used to treat skin conditions and stimulate digestion. It’s a little wonder flower that we’ve somehow been trained to see as an enemy. Let’s revisit that thought, just as we like to reassess so many others here at The Tradition of Living Beautifully.
I recently made a new batch of dandelion extract and thought I’d walk you through the simple process.
Dandelion Tincture
Simply head out to your yard and look for dandelions. You want to make sure you’re a safe distance from any road, where waste will be more prominent. Look for flowers that are in a good state—bright yellow, nice and bushy, and ideally look for flowers still set into their leaves. Be sure you’re harvesting from an area that isn’t sprayed or contaminated.
Pick a mix of flowers, leaves and roots. An easy way to do this is to use a simple hand shovel, slid it gently under the leaves, careful not to damage the roots, and lift, unearthing the whole plant.
You can seperate the roots from the rest of the plant, or leave them attached, but either way you’ll want to rinse the roots clean of dirt. You’ll strain the tincture later on, getting rid of the dirt, but the less dirt you begin with, the better. The flowers and leaves will blacken and wilt if you wash them, so just shake them out.
Chop the roots, leaves and flowers. Chopping them releases the benefits inside for better extraction.
Place it all in a clean jar with a tight fitting lid about 3/4 of the way full.
Fill the jar to an inch of the top with a high proof grain alcohol, like Everclear. If you don’t want to use alcohol, you can also use vegetable glycerin, which is easily ordered from Amazon. Be sure to order one that is food grade. Make sure all of the roots, leaves and flowers are submerged in the liquid, or you risk spoiling.
Seal the jar. Place it in a cool, dark place for one month. I like to label the jars with the day I created them, so I can easily remember when they’re ready later on.
After a month, simply open the jar, pass the liquid through a fine mesh strainer or cheesecloth (the cheesecloth will remove more of the dirt), and store the tincture in an amber glass jar, which helps to keep out uv rays that can damage the medicinal properties.
Backyard Medicine gives the following recommended dosage for dandelion tincture:
For overall health: 1/2 teaspoon in water, twice daily
For acute skin issues: 10 drops in water, frequently throughout the day
For liver issues: 1 teaspoon in water, three times a day
*I’m not a doctor. And this is not medical advice. Always consult your doctor before taking any medicines or treatments, including herbs and flowers.*
Happy spring!
xoxo,
Dolores