by Patrice Green

A few months ago, I wrote about the desert phenomenon known as the Superbloom, happening in Death Valley this year. I’d hoped that my obsession about the Superbloom would leave me once I’d written about it, but the thought of working with these plants and meditating with them while making flower essences, just wouldn’t leave me.  I felt called to go there, but struggled with finding a way to make it happen. Finally my dear friend Julie said something so obvious I was stunned that it hadn’t occurred to me: “Why don’t you hire a guide?”

It seems now in retrospect that as soon as I gave myself permission to ask for help with this, everything fell into place.  Within moments of initiating a search I’d found Death Valley Jim, who actually turned out to be the perfect guide for this trip.  I asked Julie if she would join me.  Jim was available on our projected dates, flights were arranged, and accommodations booked. 

It turns out the fastest way to Death Valley is through Vegas.  I remain most likely the only human to travel through Las Vegas, and perhaps the state of Nevada, without gambling.  My gamble was on the trip itself, and I left that table a clear winner. Over a two day period, Julie and I made ten flower essences, I took over eight hundred photos (I’m a bit of a shutterbug), and we made a new friend in our guide.  Most importantly, for me this was a true journey of the soul.

The desert and its plants offer lessons on resilience, patience, and endurance. The lessons of the Superbloom plants in particular speak of the additional importance of timing -- waiting for the right circumstances –- before blooming.  It has taken years and catastrophic flash flooding for the seeds of these plants to be shaken loose from their rest deep within the soil. Yet, despite the seeming devastation of some of the flood areas, beauty shines forth. There is a reason why people speak of the desert as being a place of purification: the silence, vastness and solitude all encourage introspection. The sun burns away every ounce of moisture from the very rocks themselves, leaving behind a particular allure scored into the stones through trial and tribulation.  The lessons in the desert in springtime, particularly in a superbloom year, include the wisdom that through the most difficult hardships, beauty is visible for those who choose to seek it, and so too, is joy. 

The plants were eager to work with us.  Over the two days we spent in meditation with these flowers, the message was repeated loudly and often: “We’re so glad you came! We’re so happy someone noticed us! We’re so thrilled to share what we’ve learned!” To say that it was a remarkable experience would be a very great understatement of truth.

Our guide, Death Valley Jim, is an amazing guy. He’s authored several books on the Mojave and has spent the better part of the past decade exploring the desert. He has two websites; the one I found him on focuses on his tours.  I didn’t even know he had another site until he asked me if I’d looked at his wildflower guide, found on his main site. He was intrigued by what we wanted to do, and we were all in agreement that we could do this while honoring Jim’s “leave no trace” philosophy.  The flower essences made during this trip were all done without harm to the plants, much in the same way one would make a flower essence of Pink Lady’s Slipper or any other endangered plant, so the plants will re-seed.  Jim was great about finding us out-of-the-way places where the flowers were still in bloom.  His help in identifying the plants themselves was invaluable. 

The flowers we saw this spring have endured much in order to bloom. They teach of resilience and determination, being in the moment and deep healing. They teach of joy in simply being, of the hidden strength of the most seemingly fragile and delicate among us and the importance of proper timing and patience.  They offer lessons of letting go and paring down the non-essential, encouraging the elimination of distractions that clutter our lives so that we can simply be, and simply breathe.  

There were also lessons of community and independence.  Within each of the ten plants ran a deep sense of joy in simply being alive and in bloom.  I am truly grateful to the plants, to Julie Yalowchuk Gray of Jules Jewels for joining me, and our new friend and guide, Death Valley Jim, for making this pipedream a reality. For anyone reading this who may experience a similar kind of calling, when an idea takes hold and just won’t shake loose, I encourage you to step into it, ask for help and open to the possibilities that exist when stepping out of your comfort zone. The gifts are truly worth the effort.

Sources: 
1 Death Valley and Mojave Desert tours: www.deathvalleyjim.com
2 Hummingbird totem reference: http://www.linsdomain.com/totems/pages/hummingbird.htm ​​

Tommy and Madelon also told us that the plants which we saw daily or which lived in our yards were usually there because we needed them most, and that it would be a good idea to work closely with whichever of them called to us.  I went on a tear  - or maybe a mission - to make flower essences, oils, tinctures and teas with every plant willing to work with me on the property.  The result is that I have a lot of flower essences, and have learned so much from those plants, for which I am deeply humbled and grateful. I have forged bonds that go deeper than the root systems of the very plants themselves. 

Now I have left them.  Their care is no longer in my hands.  I do not know if the new owners will look at the profusion of violets and celandine as weeds or the powerful plant allies they are.  I fear that they will poison the "invasives" so that they will have a beautiful lawn.  Will they rip out the solomon seal? What about the yarrow, queen anne's lace and the st. john's wort?  I worry about my plant friends that I've left behind.  I cannot even begin to think about my beloved double mock orange shrub without crying.  That's the deepest wrench of all.  

Here's what I'm trying to say, kids: when you open yourself up to the plant spirits, you can't go through the world the way you did before.  In the way that becoming a parent suddenly makes every news story about children more personal, because it could be your child, so too does the bond you are forging with the plants connect you to something else. When you become an herbalist, you are connected to something older, deeper, and wiser than that which we think we understand about life and how things work. Your definition of friends and family changes and expands.  You are far more in tune with the true interconnection of life.  Plants give us so very much - their blossoms, leaves, stems, their very roots - and ask for so little in return.  They give us the oxygen we breathe and we in turn give them the carbon dioxide they need to survive as well.  We are inextricably interconnected in a way the average person doesn't think about, but to an herbalist, that connection is profound. 

Leaving these plants behind, which had given me so much, is a deeply painful loss which took me by surprise.  The night before the closing, I went to all the plants that were visible to say a private goodbye and to thank them for their love, lessons and support.  When I got to the dogwood in our backyard, I couldn't help myself. I threw my arms around it and wept. Together we had fought hard to keep that tree from dying and it was thriving beautifully. I hope the new owners will use the phone number of the lovely man who helped save our tree so that it can continue to blossom and thrive.

My new home has two apple trees and a beautiful willow tree.  I am eagerly awaiting this growing season to see who else lives here.  This is the part about renewal and new beginnings: there will be new relationships to forge and when I leave here, I'm sure there will be another painful parting.  I hope I will be better prepared for it this time.  Herbalism is not for the faint of heart, kids. You've been warned.

by Patrice Green

This is a different kind of blog post than my usual entry, but this topic has so fired my imagination that I had to write about it.  There is current speculation that the annual spring bloom in Death Valley this year has the potential to become a “superbloom.”  Yes, flowers do bloom in the desert, but superblooms are rare occurrences, perhaps happening once in a decade. During a superbloom the seeds that have lain dormant, sometimes for many years, have the perfect conditions and bloom simultaneously and for an extended period of time, with the plants often getting quite large.  For a superbloom to occur, there needs to be enough sunlight and warmth, the absence of drying winds, and enough rainfall spaced at regular intervals throughout the winter and spring.  El Nino conditions are required to keep the plants growing.  There is a terrific article on the subject here.

As an herbalist I’m constantly amazed by the power, resilience and beauty of the plants we work and live with on a regular basis.  As a flower essence practitioner, I know that plants will communicate with those willing to receive their messages and teachings.  These teachings are different than the lessons learned when taking a tea or a tincture.  I often liken it to a different facet of the plant’s personality.  Herbs taken internally will work on your physical body as much as your emotions.  Flower essences, however, well - those teachings in my experience are much deeper, going directly into the psyche and spirit.  Flower essences work energetically and do so quite quickly, generally speaking. So, given that background, you surely can see where I’m going with this. 

The temperatures in Death Valley drop below 100 in mid October until rising again to triple digits in the middle of April. The temperature range this past several days has been as low as 42 in the mountains and as high as 86 at Furnace Creek. This is considered chilly winter weather here in the hottest spot on the planet. The record temperature at Furnace Creek was 134°F on July 10, 1913.  January 8th of that same year the temperature was recorded at 15 degrees. That’s quite a spread in seven months. Imagine some version of that being repeated for many, many years until finally the perfect conditions for transformation arrive, allowing the dormant seeds to crack, sprout and seemingly suddenly appear in full bloom.

What do these specific plant spirits have to teach us mere mortals? What does it take to survive, and ultimately thrive in that environment? What knowledge is gained from living in such adverse conditions?  After a superbloom the seeds of the plants return to their dormant state and await the next perfect storm to bloom again. What lessons lie within that time frame?  What inspiration and lessons are here for those of us dealing with a challenging cycle of life experiences?

Even the most seemingly fragile creatures have hidden resources that allow them to survive and even thrive in harsh environments. 

It is illegal to harvest plants in Death Valley because it would disrupt the re-seeding process, however flower essences are often made without harm to the plant, so it is possible to make essences from superbloom plants.  You may not see me for a while, as I might need to take a trip out west.  I hear our desert friends calling to me!...

by Patrice Green

One of the most beautiful spring flowers is the endangered Pink Lady's Slipper, Cypripedium acaule, also known as Mocassin Flower.  If you come upon one (or several) as you amble through the woods this time of year, count yourself blessed!  

These beautiful flowers are in the orchid family.  One of the reasons they are so rare is that they are slow growing and need very specific fungi to help the seedlings survive, specifically one from the Rhizoctonia genus. Most seeds have internal food supplies; but not so for the Pink Lady's Slipper.  These orchid seeds require the assistance of the Rhizoctonia fungus to break open the seed.  The fungus attaches to the seed, and then passes on food and nutrients.  Once the plant reaches an age where it starts producing most of its own nutrients, the fungus then extracts nutrients from the orchid roots. A Pink Lady's Slipper plant can live twenty years or more.

by Debra Bluth

On the brink of the spring equinox in the Northeast, we’re hovering at a thaw.  It’s cold, there’s still lots of snow, the ground is hard.  It’s not easy to imagine the roots of the plants under there, gathering energy in the darkness in order to push their way through to the light, but they’re there.   They know what to do and they do it, unfailingly, every Spring.  Soon enough, we’ll see the green world peeking through, exquisitely ordinary and miraculous all at once.