Embodied Knowledge in the Weeds

With a digging fork, a dog, and a toddler, it’s spring and I’m haruffing and puffing my way down nearly 300 feet of dye bed rooting up dandelion in an attempt to “waste naught want naught”. Working hard against the compact soil, I’m having some full-body recognition of things I would have done differently for the dye plants and space. I would have cultivated, mulched, covered, cut back seed heads before they dispersed, harvested roots in the fall, etc etc etc. If I had less distractions and more freedom in this moment, I would have saved back the dandelion flower heads and buds for other tasty affairs, but alas, it was just about the root for me. And while I in no way got through that entire 300 ft, I did walk away with a crate of dandelion root still attached to its aerial parts to be processed and plenty of thoughts about the state of things.

Aside from the exorbitant weeds, I was taking witness to the chaos of my unsystematic approach to being gifted such an expanse of space. And my self-talk was not so shiny. Partly, looking at the life of a plant bed in early spring will typically not be very clarifying of what’s to come as far as bounty feels. It’s easy to cling to the mess of what it looks like and not see ahead to the vibrant multiplicity of summer. Now that we are in summer and I’ve already picked my first flush of dyers chamomile while many of the transplants are growing taller than the weeds, I’m feeling both relaxed and eager to keep my wits about me this time around. I ride the train of improvement pretty hard sometimes; I’ll start seeing all the ways I could have done better. Other people will see this as being regretful. And sure, there’s some regret, but it’s mostly about how I might make better choices next time that are aligned with the outcome I want. It’s the way I’m designed. I love improving systems and my self in the process.

After I exhaled a great deal of “this should be better” onto myself. I also gave myself some grace. Last year, I was in my first full year of motherhood. I was grateful enough just to have harvested the amount of plant material as I had AND even hosted a small class. I didn’t get to play with fermenting the indigo we grew, but I did dry back and powder a bunch to play with later. Oh yeah, and I dyed flags with the material we grew for our wedding that made hundreds of feet of flag banners (as well as 5 ties for the wedding party). I have ample amounts of plant materials to play with this year as I grow the next bulk.

Grace has been a theme word for me this year. I’m offering this word up whenever things get tough. I offer it to myself. I offer it to others, loved ones, strangers. It feels like an exhale and a loosening and a lightening. We all have our burdens, our habits, our labors that we carry, that tangle up between us when no one is paying close enough attention. When we give grace, we give each other that attention, that recognition and witnessing that detangles the moment.

So I offer myself this grace as I slag my way up the weedy mess of a bed and laugh at myself. I’m embodying the learning of how to grow these specific plants, how to harvest and dry them, how to make dyes and prepare the textiles. I’m learning all of this and simultaneously offering up what I learn in my classes with others. I’m learning how to be more kind to everything. I’m learning about learning and how essential it is that we literally embody the work.

We can think about things all we want, but until we actually try them on, embody them, they are just “ideas”, not true knowledge. If there is something you want to understand better, to learn, to know, get out there and just try. Do the work. Get into the process. The process is where the magic is. I’d argue that the process is the MOST important part of anything. In food we care about the growing practices. In relationships we care about how people show up in the moment. In play it’s about skill and gamesmanship, not about who wins. In art, I’ve come to feel that it’s the consciousness with which an artist channels while they work or perform that captivates us in the end.

In all things on earth, we should care about HOW it’s done. The final product is imbued with the process. It’s a type of magic that the capitalist mainstream culture will either have you forget or use as a strategy for your patronage. I’m not saying it’s wrong (the latter at least). I use it for my own small business because I truly believe that where and how things are sourced make up the magic of the final product and I love what I do. We vote with our dollar and I believe it should be spent as wisely as we are able. We all live in capitalism. The more we look it in the eye, the more power we have over ourselves in the mess. When we embody the knowledge of how our attention is aimed, is lured, we gain more control and have more choice. I think this also means we get more of our time back which is our most precious resource.

And I feel like I have to recommend that anyone who enjoys the medicine of dandelion root dig up, clean, and dry their own stock of dandelion for a year. It’s such a common herb that unless you’ve processed it yourself, you may not realize the work that goes into it. If your soil is nice and loamy it should be pretty easy. In Colorado, you should save such work after the soil has been primed by the rain or a sprinkler. And while typically harvesting roots is a fall endeavor, if you are weeding a space and it’s spring, don’t hold yourself back if the root isn’t mushy.

I harvest a full crate of dandelions. After processing down to the root, rinsing, and drying, I’ve got a quart jar of medicine to use. It’s a lot of work for a bit of material and an immense amount of embodied knowledge. This jar of root not only cultivated my capabilities but the contents are even more sacred to me because I did the work myself for my family.

Get into your process. Embody the learning. Enjoy it all along the way or at least laugh about the hard moments once you’re able.