I know a man named Wesley. Wesley retired 20 years ago, dedicating his life to loving and caring for his land. It used to be a dump site. When previous owners deemed it too steep to be cleared for a corn field, they planted tin cans and tires instead. But Wesley cleaned it up and turned it into a forest garden full of surprises and delights. Like a patch of lady's slippers under a grove of evergreens. A primrose patch that you can only get to by crossing the ravine on an old wooden bridge. A splash of yellow/red/orange/pink day lilies poking though an odd patch of sunlight on an otherwise wooded slope. A miniature bog full of venus fly traps and pitcher plants on the edge of the woods. You smile when you meet Wesley and his land. There is a goodness about them. Wesley has had a profound effect on the land. And the land has had a profound effect on Wesley.
Seven years ago I moved to this small acreage surrounded by woods and bottom land fields. I promised myself that I would get to know the land and its plants and herbs. Take good care of it. Make a garden. Use the medicinal herbs. I've done a little over the years.
This year I want to spend more time on the land. Get to know the plants and herbs. Bring them into the my kitchen and really get acquainted. Plant an herb garden in the sunny part of the yard. Re-introduce native woodland herbs to the fringe woods. Take care of the land. Sink in. Get my hands dirty. I want to be just like Wesley.
