This post originated as a short essay on my experience with Thyme (Thymus vulgaris) that was prepared for an herbalism course that I’m taking. I’ve decided (with some trepidation) to share these posts periodically, though out of the order in which they were written, to offer a window into my personal relationship with a variety of plants. Please take them for what they are (i.e. we all have our own unique experience with and connection to the world), and accept them in the spirit of love with which they are shared.

Acknowledging my rattling voice and a burning chest, I poured hot water over the thyme in my cup, covered it, and left it to steep as I took heavy steps towards the comfort of my couch. Sinking down into the deep gray cushions, I allowed my head to slowly fall back and eyes drift shut as I waited.

Part of me knew it was too late for the herb to work its magic, but I was still hopeful that it would at least take the edge off of knowing that I was about to plunge into illness, and maybe, if I was lucky, make a dent in whatever had infiltrated my body.

After a 20-minute respite, barely hearing the little boy exploits being enacted around me, I made my way back to the kitchen and uncovered my infusion. As it rested there on the smooth butcher-block countertop, I leaned my face forward with dark pieces of my newly grown out mop framing my view, and inhaled deeply.

Heated thyme offers up one of those scent memories of childhood meals. A kitchen smell. It was my first “favorite herb” and holds a special place in my life: grounding, solid, and warm. A “comfort herb.” So, too, the fresh herb lends memories of some of my first meals – the meals that taught me that preparing food offered a unique meditation. Holding a sprig of thyme and sliding my fingers down the dry roughness, savoring the essence that emerged as the tiny leaves dropped into my bowl. Lifting a bunch in front of my face and breathing in before tossing the lot into a pot of soup, and later weeding out the softened stems.

The tea was still hot as it burned through the roughness in my throat, leaving moments of relief in its wake. I felt the warmth in my chest; a dry heat juxtaposed with its water medium.

Sleep was dreamless and deep, in the way that only comes when the body is fighting mercilessly against microscopic invaders.

By the next day, the roots of illness had sunk in and a fever started. Cups and cups full of thyme and ginger infusions, elderberry tincture, and oil of oregano occupied my day. My body was in such pain – stabbing everywhere, but concentrated in my back. I could barely walk. The tea was my familiar in this unfamiliar state. I’ll admit that I, in my pride, was a little shocked and strangely offended that I couldn’t beat it back at all. I was bulldozed. Of course, I should have acknowledged that eventually the stress, insomnia, too much wine, and overdone workouts to cope with it all would catch up with me, but with sophomoric pretention, I assumed I’d merely continue on, gradually more run down, with the usual ebbs and flows of vitality. Over the next five weeks, battling more illnesses than I’ve had in the last decade combined, thyme was my steady comfort. Hot infusions, again and again.

A winter habit was formed. Forced to stop by my very own body. Pause inspired reflection, rituals reborn. Spicy heat of thyme nurturing from within. The rhythm of knitting nurturing from without. Simplicity. Grounding. Building.

Yup. Poop.

Before I begin: I don’t profess to speak for anyone but myself here, despite the use of the collective “we” in some cases.

Moving on!

We, students of the art of holistic care, are in a constant state of growth. Whether we are brand new, a few yeas old, or boasting decades in the field, we all continue to grow and learn as we interact with our clients, the greater community, and with other practitioners as clients ourselves. The following is an example of how the work of a practitioner might translate into everyday life, and offer an opportunity for reflection. (Yes, it’s a true story, and yes, this is what it made me reflect upon…)

I have plenty of relatable tales, but for some reason, this experience stuck out, so I’m going to share it while I describe its bearing on a set of skills that a holistic practitioner utilizes in a clinical setting.

See, it sounds boring when poop’s not thrown in!

The other day, I stopped at the grocery store for a sponge or something equally trivial. As I checked out, they offered me a small plastic bag. I rarely take bags, but I knew we were running low, and I like to have extras on hand for gathering muddy clothes and collecting kitty litter. I left with my bag in hand and set off towards home, having a good think and enjoying the beautiful weather.

A few blocks later, I noticed a man walking ahead of me with his dog. The dog paused and did his business, and suddenly the man was exuding anxiety verging on panic. I scanned the situation and noticed that his eyes were darting around and he was patting his pockets. I knew immediately that he was not prepared to pick up his dog’s poo, AND he knew that I had spotted him.

I caught his eye, removed my parcel from the bag, and offered up the plastic receptacle with a smile. His relief was tangible. “He never goes twice on one walk!” he exclaimed. “No worries,” I replied. Crisis averted. Gratitude all around. He was offered a solution, and I was not only overjoyed that the debatable bag went to good use, but that no one would have to skirt dog poo the next day.

Clinical experience, you say?

Ok, here it goes:

1. First off, I can’t fail to mention the importance of acquiring tools: A practitioner is continually aware of that spare “bag,” herbs, diets, bodywork, etc., and seeks a constantly expanding knowledge of options and resources to add to her/his collection. We don’t want to be pack rats about it – it must remain organized, and our own tools kept separate from others who possess tools that we do not – but having as much mastery and awareness as possible of the many tools available to clients is something that will always enrich the process. This isn’t technically clinical, but it certainly holds weight.
2. The art of sensitivity, or, picking up on unspoken needs: The energy of humanity surrounds us every day. Some are naturally more attuned to this than others, and the best practitioners that I’ve worked with and observed have found and connected to this energy in their own subtle yet profound ways. It allows them to take into account more than what is said or written by the client. It’s the “reading in between the lines” that allows them to get a full picture of a person’s unique needs.
3. Care without judgment, or, empathy: In the case of the dog man, I recognized his struggle. If he had walked away, I would have been sympathetic to his situation, and acknowledged without judgment that he was in a predicament and that it was simply the decision he made in the moment. We can never know a client’s whole experience. Yet, clients come to holistic practitioners when they are ready to, at least on some level, “think outside the box.” This brings with it a level of vulnerability that often requires a delicate dance. The challenge is being willing to interact, to move, to respond, and also to gracefully back away in honor of the shared goal of creating beauty.
4. Generosity: We spend much of our time acquiring tools and techniques from the world around us. It’s a bevy of resources for seeking people. Holistic practitioners support mind, body, and spirit. Our role is to connect, assess, nurture and share.
5. Positivity: We trust the process. Ego is displaced. We practice non-attachment. We “hand over the bag” with a smile and a nod of encouragement. A follow-up is often a part of the process, but in holistic care, the client must also take responsibility and act – and we believe that they will! We have a carefully thought out approach, but then we must trust our clients to take the next step, and we must have faith in what we profess – that the body has the innate ability to heal. We are nurturers. We are guides. If we do not believe it to be true from within our very core, then we cannot expect the same from the souls who reach out to us.

And that, my friends, is the poop analogy.

Let’s face it. The weather of late has been downright gloomy. My face had been feeling droopy for a week, but the day came that it was too heavy to muster even a half-smile. My mind was fuzzy, my chest was hollow, and I wanted to sink to the floor and just sleep. I was sure it was the gray day and that I simply hadn’t been getting outside enough. I tried to take a nap. The feelings got worse.

As a side note, in case you haven’t browsed this whole website, our family eats a whole foods diet, rich in protein and vegetables. We cook and eat based on Sally Fallon’s Nourishing Traditions and Dr. Natasha Campbell McBride’s Gut and Psychology Syndrome Diet (GAPS).

My mind started racing, “This has been going on for too many days. Do I need to invest in a sun lamp? Am I sinking into a serious depression? Did I get glutened?”

Here is a rundown of my symptoms:

1) Heavy fatigue, even after a seemingly good night’s sleep (though most are not, with two little ones…)
2) Foggy brained
3) Headaches
4) The blues
5) Grumpy
6) Cold hands and feet (more than usual)

True to form, it took hitting a really bad point to realize, I’m ANEMIC.

Thinking I’d change things up, I had skipped the animal protein portion of our meals for a few days because I was feeling heavy and “meated-out.” The dishes I prepared contained legumes and dark leafy greens (spinach, kale, collard greens, chard), along with an assortment of carrots, broccoli, asparagus and cauliflower. Unfortunately, as I always experience, if I go more than three days without, I start to feel crummy. Assuming that I’m not the only one who experiences the “surprise” of anemia, for whatever reason, I wanted to share. Take time to “check-in” with yourself!

The solution? Unless I have some local pastured liver on hand (we can occasionally get chicken and beef), my “go to remedy” (aka quick fix) is Floravital – the yeast and gluten free version of Floradix. I usually notice a marked difference within an hour.

On the flip side, ‘tis ALSO the season for illness and winter blues (Seasonal Affective Disorder), so it’s certainly worthwhile to up your intake of Vitamins A and D if you haven’t already. What works best for us is Fermented Cod Liver Oil.

Some other food sources of Vitamin A:

• Carrots
• Liver
• Spinach (cooked to make the vitamins more accessible)
• Sweet Potato
• Kale
• Collard Greens

And Vitamin D:

• Wild Salmon
• Mackerel
• Tuna
• Sardines
• Shrimp
• Eggs

And a simple recipe for you liver lovers out there…

Liver and Onions

2C (approx) Bone Broth
1 Large Onion
1-1.5 lb Liver
Salt and pepper to taste

Heat ¼ Cup of broth in a pan and add onions. Continue cooking and stirring as the broth cooks down, adding more broth, a little at a time, until the onions are very soft and starting to get a caramel color. Add the liver and flip when it looks to be about half done. Cook for another minute or two, checking doneness by slicing into a thick part. Best if not overcooked. Season to taste.