HAWBUSH HERBALISM
SESSION III REFLECTIONS
Herbs Covered
Yarrow (Achillea millefolium)
Bay (Laurus nobilis)
Blackcurrant (Ribes nigrum)
Sage (Salvia officinalis)
Smoke beamed through the trees as we gathered to meet our herbal ally of the week, YARROW. Parasol mushrooms dotted the grass nearby. We walked the gardens, foraged from the Medicine Garden, and listened to what the season was saying, stems thinning, petals crisping, berries heavy on the branch.
The Medicine Garden became our shared classroom: a living apothecary where we heard stories of Yarrow, heard, held, smelt, and re-membered teachings of the plants.
Focus
Yarrow’s spirit: Protection, tenderness, clarity, courage, balance.
Practice: Rub, smell, engage with the living plant; let relationship reveal it’s medicine.
Tea blend shared: Yarrow, Bay, Lemon Balm.
Inner landscape exploration: tuning in and sharing with each other.
Ritual: Worry / Wish leafs, Yarrow Balm Making.
Reflection: What are you protecting? What are you ready to release?
Harvesting Practice
Listen to this voice note from our session on the Honourable Harvest.
Out in the garden, we practiced the Honourable Harvest, taking only what we needed, no more than a third, and asking permission before picking.
Sometimes the “no” arrives as resistance in the stem, a thorn in the finger, or a sudden bird cry overhead.
As Deb said — “we leave enough for our more-than-human kin.”
Collecting from the garden became not extraction, but conversation. A reciprocal act that asks us to notice the sovereignty of every living being.
This week, Yarrow guided us toward complexity and complicity with all of being, reminding us that the work of healing is never solitary.
The Honourable Harvest is offered by Robin Wall Kimmerer in her book Braiding Sweetgrass.
Hear them here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEm7gbIax0o
Yarrow
Yarrow has long been known as Soldier’s Woundwort, used to move blood, improve circulation, clear stagnancy, and aid the body’s natural release through sweat. Vikings mixed it with cork fat to seal wounds. Roman soldiers carried it for courage.
Listen to this voice note from our session on Plant Signatures.
The Doctrine of Signatures
We began by exploring the idea that plants hold physical clues to their purpose in their expression, otherwise know as the Doctrine of Signatures. For example a walnut for the brain, tomato for the heart, berries for blood.
When we rubbed Yarrow’s leaves between our fingers the oils of Yarrow woke up, noticing the plant express themselves through another sense when interacted with, changing through contact.
Relationship itself is the medicine.
When we approach what grows with tenderness, it opens.
Doctrine of signatures for yarrow
Plant appearance:
The feathery, finely divided leaves of Yarrow are likened to a network of blood vessels.
Medicinal properties:
Following the doctrine of signatures, this visual resemblance is thought to mean the plant can help with wounds and bleeding.
Sensory experience:
When we rubbed Yarrow’s leaves between our fingers the oils of Yarrow woke up, noticing the plant express themselves through another sense when interacted with, changing through contact, reminding us relationship itself is the medicine.
Historical use:
This belief is supported by historical accounts where yarrow was used to staunch bleeding, earning it names like "soldier's woundwort" and "sanguinary". The Greek hero Achilles was famously said to have used it to heal his soldiers' wounds.
When we rubbed Yarrow’s leaves between our fingers the oils of Yarrow woke up, noticing the plant express themselves through another sense when interacted with, changing through contact.
Relationship itself is the medicine.
Messages of the Season
This was a quieter, heavier circle, reflective, honest where everyone arrived carrying something of the season inside them.
Cecilia shared that her recent diagnosis is putting life into perspective, “a bit like the smoke through the sun rays through the trees — there’s clarity. I’m coming to terms with it like the seasons changing.”
Jo spoke of wanting to hibernate, to curl up and rest, preparing herself for spring.
Odette felt too busy, saying autumn had come to tell her to “question down a bit.”
Deb shared that she’s listening to her body, taking lessons from the underworld and natural world, moving into a quieter, more peaceful season.
Caz said she felt balanced — not calm, but intentional in her busyness — using energy only where needed, a kind of stock-taking before the darker months.
Gemma shared her wish to spend as much time as possible in nature’s company.
Each voice echoed something of the turning Earth — an invitation to rest, balance, and reflect.
Myth, Memory & Meaning
Jo, a member of our small community, shared the story of Achilles, dipped into the Yarrow vat for protection as a baby, held by the heal, the one place he remained vulnerable.
We spoke of Druidic and Roman connections and uses; Yarrow as a herb for warriors, healers, and those needing courage.
Yarrow’s older name, Milfoil, means a thousand leaves, a plant of multiplicity and community, mirrored in the clusters of tiny flowers that together create something whole.
Listen to the voice recording
on Milfoil & the Achilles Heel.
Balm-Making
In the community garden, Claire melted beeswax, yarrow oil, and bought a collection of essential oils we each chose.
Each person made their own Yarrow Balm, blending intuition with scent. As we stirred, we spoke softly of protection, of the body’s language for boundary and care.
Each balm became a small vessel of reciprocity, a physical reminder of the NATURE OF COMMUNITY and of Yarrow’s gentle strength.
In Circle
We reflected on the poem “My Worries Have Worries” by Laura Villareal — a tender meditation on tending to our anxieties like gardens.
Our conversation wove into music by Angie McMahon, her song reminding us of the natural rise and fall of life:
“dark, light again,
high, low again.”
We spoke of balance, of how shadow makes the light visible.
Someone said,
“we wouldn’t see the shafts of sunlight without shade.”
We wrote to release what we needed to let go of, to name what was sitting on our chests.
Then, as a collective, we harvested bay leaves to write and burned our worries our worries away.
My Worries Have Worries
Laura Villareal
so I built little matchstick houses
with large ceilings, a garden for them to grow
tomatoes, cilantro, & carrots
their worry babies will eat
but they chew on the henbit of me anyway
both my past & future entwined into disasters
I tell them I worry about their health
that they’re not eating properly
I mother them
the way I do anyone I love
they ask if I love myself
I tug the sleeves of my sweater
begin thatching a leaking roof
water their garden
at night
I can hear them
dancing around a bonfire
all I’ve built burned
down, a soot snowfall
tomorrow they’ll wait for me
& I’ll reconstruct their home
anyone would do the same
