#67: Sweet Magnetic Energy
Lay me down among the lavender, if you please.
Prone bodies lay on the floor of the dark room, waiting.
The only sounds blowing through the draped saris that served as curtains are ethereal wind chimes, and the quiet footfalls of one lithe figure, weaving in and out of the corpses posed.
I feel her nearing me, standing by my side, slowly and silently crouching by my right cheekbone.
Silence - then, the pad of a warm index finger is gently pressed to the centre of my forehead. Oil smeared between my brows, my closed third eye.
Her footfalls recede, and I too recede, fall deeper into another realm, cradled by wind chimes and lavender.
Is it merely a perfumed placebo effect - I.e., I expect to be relaxed by a whiff of lavender, and therefore, I am by the comforting combination of astringent floral?1
I’m skeptical of claims of any herb or potion without citations to bolster them; it appears in my cursory search that there are supports out there, but I’ll need more time to review and consider the strength of their arguments. (Yet another reason for libraries to be funded, and funded well.)
Regardless, lavender is my favourite floral.
My garden now boasts eight lavender shrubs - four a side, flanking the main raised beds where my vegetables strain to perform this summer amidst biblical rain, oppressive humidity, and few sunny days. The two bushes at the front were the first planted two years ago, and so are the most wild and full of the prize. The others were planted last year, and are only just beginning to yield treasure.
Unlike other flowers in my garden - the daffodils, the daisies, the climbing vines of clematis - the lavender are harvested. I snip the tender velvet buds at the joint where their shoot meets leaves, and place them in my “basket”. Two weeks ago, this was my floppy straw sun hat. On Sunday past, it was a cappuccino mug.
Inside, on my dining room table, I begin arranging the cuttings by size in small bundles before tying them off with twine and hanging them upside down to dry.
When my sister stopped by Monday night, she peeked into my office, and felt it looks rather “witchy”, small bundles of purple hanging upside down along the window and up high to encourage air flow. It’s a slow process, but I’m in no rush. If I really wanted them quickly dried, I’d put them in my laundry room with the dehumidifier. It would be more fitting there, too - the name lavender comes from the Latin root lavare, which means "to wash.”
What will I use them for? It’s still undecided; I still have an empty pill bottle full of last year’s bounty, and I don’t have the steam distillation set-up needed to extract the oils from the plant proper (because it’s been years since I’ve done any kind of chemistry work, and I don’t need a visit from the authorities upon shipment of flasks and Bunsen burners).
Maybe I’ll make sachets for closets, or gift some to a soap-making friend in exchange for a few bars. Or crumble a few dried buds between my fingers for a small burst of calm.
There’s other smells I love, too: good, freshly ground coffee; smells from a warm kitchen, both savoury and sweet; crisp, early autumn air. Lavender is more clean and bright than these other scents, but what I’ve noticed is that they all share a common theme that pulls me in: They make me feel cozy, calm grounded.
At home.
Lavender also has the added benefit of scaring off moths while being attractive to pollinators. Moths freak me out, so this is an additional win.
How did I miss this? We love lavender here too, it engulfs the south side of our house.
Gorgeous, Bryn! 😊