Chamaenerion angustifolium. 

Familiarity breeds contempt. She’s always been there. Each year she becomes louder, more demanding, and each year, I shut her out. Pull her up and curse her under my breath. But when I tried to grow various herbs in pots and all I got was fireweed, I had to rethink her presence in my life.

Having spent years in battle, I’d resigned myself to accepting her. She had spunk. And, given the consideration, her tendril-like leaves and fuchsia bonnet weren’t ugly. In fact, she was a damn sight better looking than bare earth.

Our relationship started with me harvesting her from our garden. She wasn’t even in the back. No, she was cleverly colonising the borders and had even started to take a punt at the lawn.

Slowly, deliberately, I firmly pulled at the base of her stems, until she gave up the fight and relaxed into my hands. She’s actually quite a shallow weed—much like Yarrow—easy to unearth if needed.

Sitting at the garden table with the sun at my back, I slowly peeled away a leaf, inspecting it carefully on each side before placing it into a bowl. I continued in a rhythmic meditation until my bowl was full and I was left with a mound of naked stems.

Was she happy now? I pondered.

For two days I allowed the leaves to ferment before baking them in a low oven. Apparently, this would deepen the flavours.

I cropped another fist of stems. This bunch would dry on the stem. So I can compare the taste, I thought.

Honestly, I wasn’t impressed. The notes—too high. The taste—too astringent. I came, I smelt, I tasted, and I went. I felt no alignment with this weed. We remained strangers, even if now we were in acceptance of each other’s proximity.

But by now, I know not to ignore my herbal allies when they call for me. And usually, I get a lot from them energetically—but this one… well, she didn’t say much, considering she was so bloody loud in every other way.

Rosebay Willowherb (another of her common names, though I prefer fireweed) has virtues including demulcent, tonic, and astringent properties, with historical use in treating intestinal affections. Modern uses include treatment for seborrheic dermatitis and ulcerative colitis, among others.

And there I wobbled my head and lol’d. Having been diagnosed with UC a few years back, and only recently with seborrheic dermatitis—after suffering for over twenty years—my head did a little high-five for ‘yay herbs’.

And then I went back to ignoring her again.

Every time I opened the door, a few more crusty leaves would drop to the floor. And I’d vacuum them up without a second thought—whilst scratching my ears… like I’ve done for years.

When I know something is good or bad for me, sometimes, just knowing isn’t enough for me to change. I don’t know what it is inside that finally causes me to snap out of inertia and change behaviour.

Often I wonder if it’s when something becomes so unbearable, or the downsides far outweigh the good. When the payoff to do different is rewarding enough.

And it’s in self-reflection here that I started to wonder if I’d become married to my conditions. Why would I be holding onto these afflictions like a scabby old blanket? Did I think I was special? Or did I think, deep down, I didn’t deserve to be well?

Or maybe fireweed just wasn’t tasty enough to endure on a daily basis—stripping the enamel off my teeth with every sip.

A few weeks later I dreamed… guess who?
Yeah, there she was, on my ‘to-do’ list like a herbal calling card.

Fireweed was now basically saying: For fuck’s sake, Lee. I colonised your garden, your seed trays, and now your dreams, you daft bitch. Sort yourself out!

That morning, I made myself a cup of fireweed tea.
Okay okay, I said. I’m listening.

And I gave her the space she’d been demanding from me. I sat down as I do, glass cup in hand, and we walked.

Nothing dark.
All the high notes:
Lemon.
Astringent.
Drying.
Bitter.
Floral.
Green apple.
Fruit… cherry?
Drying my teeth.
Squeak squeak.

Why aren’t we vibing? I thought.

“Never mind we don’t vibe.
Drink your medicine.“

Fireweed wasn’t here to vibe.
She was here as the medicine I so obviously needed but was reluctant to accept. And she, just like me wasn’t about to give up on her opinion that she was right and I should get my big girl pants on and do the work instead of nodding in agreement only half convinced about the way forward.

Sometimes you don’t have to be convinced of the way, you just have to take the information you have on hand and make a judgment call based on facts, not feelings.

The path might be boring and uneventful but necessary nevertheless.

Bottoms up.