An Herbalist's Entry Into the World of Plants (aka Plant Geek 101)

By Holly Bellebuono

Holly Bellebuono. Credit: Maria Thibodeau/MVGazette

Many years ago, I walked across the long bridge over the Watauga River in Sugar Grove, North Carolina. The rural valley was dotted with farmhouses and barns, and wildflowers blanketed the riverbank.

I turned right at the abandoned yet structurally sound Farthing farmhouse and entered what appeared to be a last remnant of old-growth hemlocks, towering and quiet. Rhododendron grew beneath them like little plump balls of green, and here and there a sheep or a cow lay at the foot of a massive hemlock trunk.

Ahead of me on the lower slope of the mountain sat a little 1950s brick ranch and beyond that the original farmhouse for this holler, or valley, abandoned but used for storage. On the brick ranch’s doorstep a woman appeared: stocky, in her fifties (or sixties?) and sensibly dressed.

I had already discovered that everything about Georgia Gillis was very sensible: her dress, her collection of historical artifacts and photographs from the region, even her approach to livestock and farming — she had turned part of the valley she inherited into a Christmas tree farm.

“Going out again today?” she asked, grinning. “Yes ma’am,” I replied.

Georgia nodded and led me past the long-abandoned farmhouse further up the hill, explaining again that this had been her family’s homestead and that she and all her siblings had grown up here. I peeked in the windows as we walked past: an old iron water pump still presided over the enamel sink; wooden crates sat tucked under old sash windows.

For several years, I’d spent every spare moment following around old-timers into the deep blue forests of Southern Appalachia, and since I’d moved into this beautiful valley and, by chance, had met this guardian lady of the mountainside, I’d shown up regularly on Georgia’s front porch to ask if she was heading up into the hills that day. Invariably she was, and I would have the good fortune to tag along behind her and learn some of her wisdom of folk healing methods.

Georgia raised Scottish Highland cattle, giant soft-brown creatures that intimidated me with their long, curved horns and shaggy coats, but what they really wanted was to be petted. She opened the gate and pushed a massive cow away by its soft nose. “Go on, now,” she ordered. The cow pestered her for attention and she swatted at it, gently but firmly, with a rolled-up newspaper. The massive horned cow ambled away and left us to walk over creeks dotted with wild mint and into the cool of high-altitude beech forests.

In her calm, no-nonsense voice, Georgia taught me many of the wild botanicals she and her ancestors had relied upon as medicine for generations. It was old-hat for her. Normal. Nothing to be aroused by. But to me, the fact that wildflowers and weeds could not only be eaten but could heal was novel. I discovered crimson-colored wake-robin trillium, creamy white bloodroot, and one that baffled me until I realized Georgia’s “bum-gilly” referred to the greasy Balm of Gilead buds of the tulip poplar tree. Plantain, the curse of many a front yard, was one of Georgia’s favorites, and she showed me how to chew the leaf and apply it to a bee sting for instant relief.

Other kind mountain folks generously gave of their time, and over the course of a couple of years I wandered through ancient groves of 500-year-old cherry trees, mountain trails sprinkled with blue larkspur, and protected forests nurturing gorgeous wild orchids. I basked in the delicious pleasures of crisp Solomon’s Seal root pulled from the earth, chickweed straight from a cold spring, dandelion, red clover, wild stinging nettles, fragrant hemlock tips, and juicy (though inedible) poke root.

Of course, I immediately wanted to make things with them. As someone who likes to make things with my hands, my driving desire was to enjoy the riches of Mother Nature through the alluring jewel boxes of glass bottles, jars, tincture dispensers, and cream pots. I’ve always been handy, and have been known to sew clothes, quilt, can and preserve all manners of vegetables and fruits, set yogurt, weave pine needle basketry, carve soapstone, make hummus and sauces, spin pottery, decoupage plates — all to a greater or lesser degree than others.

I believe it’s a gift of my Appalachian heritage; mountain folk generally hailed from Scotland and Ireland and were famously independent and reclusive. Nothing says “Scotch-Irish” like the word “craft.” The Scotch-Irish colonizers of Western North Carolina made nearly everything they needed and were renowned for their craftiness, inventiveness, and creativity.

These cultures value the handcraft arts and the ability to make from nature the tools and treasures of sustenance and fortitude. We can thank our foremothers and fathers for the toys, foods, fibers, paints, clothing, structures, medicines, and other valuables they fashioned from the giving plants of the field and forest. Today this is a science called ethnobotany. Then, it was a way of life.

During my first years as an herbalist, after Georgia left me on my own to chop and mix and pound green plants to my heart’s content, I experimented with making herbal concoctions with the common weeds I found in every meadow. My counters groaned under the weight of countless glass Mason jars of dandelion root vinegar, comfrey ointment, violet elixir, and aromatic herb-based bug repellent.

My medicine cabinet held countless bottles of every imaginable size and shape, but after a season the sticky-note labels would fall off and I would be left wondering what was inside each bottle of strong-smelling colorful liquid. (This was a useful lesson in proper labeling.) My dog Maggie became the benefactor of numerous plantain, peppermint, calendula, rosemary, or St. John’s wort oil applications; every paw received a rubbing and any sign of a scratch or cut was promptly smeared.

Since then, I’ve refined my techniques, learned more about methodology, and have been introduced to countless more plants and their intricacies. I’ve traveled throughout the Appalachian mountains and to England, Scotland, Ireland, Holland, the Pacific Northwest, Costa Rica, the Caribbean, and Hawaii in search of the communities and individuals who’ve taken their passion for plants and fashioned a way of life.

I’ve pulled (and tasted) weeds in gardens from Fairview, North Carolina, to Findhorn Community on the United Kingdom’s North Sea. My formulas reflect not only a basic earned knowledge of pharmacology and chemistry but also a honed sense of intuition, as I’ve learned from each batch and monitored the herbs’ effects on my own body and on those of willing friends and colleagues.

Where would we be if we didn’t share our information with each other? If we didn’t experiment and pass along our observations; try and pass along our understandings. Almost all of our knowledge of plant medicines come to us as gifts from people who went before; our recipes are the result of centuries of herbalists sharing collective wisdom, for which I am profoundly grateful.

Through my herb school, I hope to contribute something useful to our wonderful heritage of herbal knowledge and I am constantly learning from my students and fellow teachers. As you enter the world of herbalism, above all, enjoy the process, love the plants, and share what you learn.
 

Herbalist Holly Bellebuono is an international speaker, award-winning author, and the director of The Bellebuono School of Herbal Medicine, which is based on Martha’s Vineyard Island. Click here to visit Holly’s website to find out more and to enroll in classes. This article was adapted from the Preface of Holly’s book, The Essential Herbal for Natural Health: How to Transform Easy-to-Find Herbs into Healing Remedies for the Whole Family, Roost Books, 2012