Herb Ladies

THERE is a certain type of older woman. She is not very noticeable in a crowd and typically has not done anything much of worldly importance, but she is someone whom I’ve always admired. She usually has gray hair (rarely dyed hair) and something about her matronly face that is distinctive. There’s a visible peace about her — a peace and nobility that is rare in this frazzled world. She is an aristocrat of the earth. After many years of working in the garden, she has acquired a knowledgeable intimacy with plants and a confident dominion over them that together suggest an overall wisdom about life, as if she herself is rooted in place. But then who could be lost or alienated with so many friends — friends who disappear in the winter (except for the few brought inside) and then always, without fail, return in the spring. There is never a spring without them, never a May in which they cannot be counted on to assert their remarkable individuality and mute tenderness. Everything else may change. Other friends die and never return. Other friends move away. But these always return, often different plants, it’s true, but always the same nevertheless. Their loyalty is positively shocking. (more…)


