As I tend to my herbs - pruning them, drying the flowers and leaves, using them in recipes and salads - memories of the fictional character Peg Bowen of Avonlea linger in my mind.
Peg was an herbalist but the townspeople thought she was a witch.
Didn't the pioneers, the native people, and the ancients know the healing and medicinal properties of plants and roots?
Sure they did.
I know a little bit, just a very little bit.
I remember Peg and Archie Gillis butting heads over and over. He called her a witch. She played to his prejudice for fun, "A curse on you, Archie Gillis!" He'd blanch, tuck tail, and hurry away from her and her curse.
How something preciously harmless can be misconstrued as menacing is a sad telling of the ignorance we all possess in one form or another.
If it's witchy to adore the calming scent of lavender, or the pungent taste of basil, to be soothed by camomile tea, or induced to eat hearty from rosemary's aroma in a stew then call me a witch.
I won't curse you.
I promise.
It's encouraging to witness the return of herbalism, not that it ever really went away. It's gaining favor with a wider slice of the population, with those of us who are leery - read scared to death - of all the fine print/side effects of modern medicine.
Perhaps if we can overcome our preconceived notions about God's natural remedies as we re-evaluate our dependance on the drug industry we may not only become healthier, wealthier, and wiser, but we might live more balanced lives for treating nature with nature as much as we are able.
Funny how certain aromas conjure up vivid mental images of days gone by.
