How to Grow Your Own Medicine

Have you ever started a project, and then later realized you were the one being worked on?

I once had a patch of gravel and the dream of growing as much food as possible, in the healthiest soil possible. I was so enthusiastic that even the prospect of clearing gravel by hand didn’t deter me.

Sure, picking up gravel is tedious, but I don’t shy away from tedious work. God tends to reveal himself to us in the mundane tasks, and I got in the habit of asking him to teach me things whenever I was faced with them—especially with mind-numbing chores.

The patch of gravel was small, so I thought we could clear it relatively quickly.

I thought wrong. I barely made any progress that summer. Between my new baby, my three-year-old, and work-related travel, I only managed to make the area more hospitable for weeds.

The following two years, work took us away from home the whole growing season. By the time we finally had a spring at home, we also had another new baby. But I tackled the project with renewed determination.

I was studying permaculture, an approach to farming that’s all about doing more with less by taking advantage of natural patterns. Driven as ever, I fixated on the “more” part. After seeing what was possible, I had to make something impressive happen in our yard.

But we lived on a small, heavily shaded lot. The more gravel I removed, the more I doubted anything would grow there after all. The rest of the yard didn’t seem very promising either. We had a raised bed of spindly salads greens, some raspberry bushes our neighbors had mowed over, and a potted basil plant that desperately wanted to be in Italy.

I somehow made it my fault, comparing myself to friends who had thriving vegetable gardens. In our yard, nobody was thriving.

That summer I read a book by James Greene, an experienced herbalist. He said that simply growing herbs is one of the best ways to experience their therapeutic benefits. Even if you don’t make any medicinal preparations, per se, just seeing, smelling, and tasting herbs can greatly improve your health.

I was skeptical yet intrigued. Gradually, we learned to identify and appreciate the plants that were already growing in our yard. We found superfoods and medicines we had dismissed as weeds.

We started having family rock picking parties in the backyard. We took turns identifying the different bugs we found and celebrated every single earthworm. They were our allies in repairing the damaged soil, and we needed all the help we could get.

The summer after that we hauled in dirt to fill the shallow crater where the gravel had been. I started filling the void with perennials other gardeners were dividing or discarding. Even though nothing would set fruit in all that shade, I wanted to grow what would serve a purpose. One friend gave me a clump of oregano, and another gave me straggly mint runners.

The following year, different people gave us thyme, sage, lemon balm, bee balm, and tarragon. We found a clump of catnip while hiking. My husband put in a stone path the day before our daughter was born.

The next year I found a tiny artemisia plant growing out of some cracked pavement. I carefully teased it out, took it home, and planted it. I remembered my dad talking about how my grandmother used to grow it, and sometimes put it in her tea. Even though I never met her, I always feel closer to her just smelling the feathery silver leaves.

Eight years after I started picking in the dirt, I started listing the edible and medicinal plants growing in our yard, just out of curiosity. We had thirty-five different species.

We harvest most of them throughout the season, but they come back every year, stronger and even more lush. And they don’t need weeding.

I was surprised. For once I felt proud of what we’d accomplished in our yard. Most surprising of all, it felt good just to be there. They smell phenomenal, taste amazing, and they’ve spared us countless trips to the doctor.

That’s when I knew my little patch of gravel had healed me.

Just like I asked him to, God had been teaching me while I picked through the dirt. I started this project like an orphan plant, lost. I was impatient, and I compared myself mercilessly to other people. Everyone else seemed to be doing more-faster-better. Everything in our lives seemed to be taking too long.

Looking back, I see the family we’ve made, the woman I’ve become. I recognize my comparisons as the funhouse mirror distortions they were, and how my impatience slowed me down.

I also see how, without knowing it, I was true to myself this whole time. I wanted to grow food, but I needed to grow medicine.

Hannah Kallio is an Israeli who’s at home in France, Italy, and Minnesota. A homemaker who had it all, gave it all away, and lived out of a backpack. She loves one man, 5 kids, and the crazy story God is writing in their lives even more than palm trees, ancient ruins, and deepest dark chocolate. She writes, coaches, speaks, sings, and creates her guts out at hannahkallio.org.