a letter to my grandmother
at the start of my formal herbalist training through the florida school of holistic living, i went to go visit my grandmother. she had recently been diagnosed with dementia and i wanted to hear from her about some of her traditions around pregnancy, birth, and herbalism. while i was there, she asked me about my classes and i got to share all about my herbalism training and what i hoped to do with it.
up until this point, i was learning about herbs so that i could serve my clients with herbal products, but during this visit my grandmother shared something with me that changed my whole mindset about my herbalism training.
she told me that her grandmother, my great great grandmother abuela mocha, was their community herbalist. my grandmother told me that when people were sick they would come to abuela mocha and she would go into her yard and gather the herbs that would support the person. my grandmother told me that abuela mocha would go to the dairy towards the end of the day and purchase the milk that was left and give it out to the people in her community who didn’t have any.
abuela mocha was a healer and an herbalist and those things are my birthright.
after this visit, my training became about learning more about myself, and connecting with the people and the practices of those who came before me. and yes, i can use all that i’m learning for the people i serve, but the way i serve them means so much more to me now.
as part of my final project i was asked to express how i would use the wisdom and knowledge i had learned through the school in my life in some kind of creative way. my grandmother had died a year or so earlier and i knew i wanted to tell her how i was using this practice to honor her and the rest of my ancestors. my herbalism practice is a gift from them, and this letter is my gift to them.
a letter to my grandmother
written by tamara niedermann
listen to me read “a letter to my grandmother” aloud.
i heard that we are the seeds of our grandmothers’ dreams.
is that true?
did you dream of me?
did you always know me? the 39th bloom in a garden of 43.
while you brushed out my hair, and told me stories, were you pruning me?
when you made farina for breakfast or rubbed vicks on my chest, was that you watering me?
while you were still making me laugh until i cried,
when you could still fry tostones and tell if the pollo guisado needed more salt just by smelling the pot,
was that your sun, feeding my heart and soul?
all that time, were you tending me? i didn’t know.
i wish i had known.
if i am a seed
of one of your dreams
how do i grow now that you’re gone?
how do i ensure i’m your dreams made flesh?
i walk the world with reverence for the creator and her creation and i partner with them to love people fully.
i see people as you always did, sacred and holy. deeply worthy exactly as they are.
i am the seed of one of your dreams
and so i wash the feet of divinity.
i anoint their growing belly with jasmine and rose as i sit in awe of their power and beauty.
i make tea for god and listen while she weeps.
she weeps for the the death of what was and joy that’s coming.
we share strength when theirs is gone, and they trust i won’t let them fall.
when they ask me to make magic, i show them my jars.
when they ask me to make magic, i tell them they already are magic.
i draw baths
i braid hair
i make soup
i rub backs
i tend to my community. i water them. i feed them.
because that was your dream.
your dreams were mama luz’ dreams and your dreams were tia minerva’s dreams and your dreams are my dreams
because your dreams were love.
your dreams were love and i am a seed grown from one of your dreams and so i love my community well.
