Last summer changed the way I see the world around me.
What started as long wanderings along hedgerows, riverbanks, and overgrown field edges became something deeper - a kind of conversation with the plants themselves.
Growing up, I always knew the woods and fields were full of life, but now I saw them as a living library. Each stem, leaf, and flower had a story to tell, and I was finally slowing down enough to listen.
Four plants in particular became my companions: mugwort, yarrow, tansy, and goldenrod - herbs easy to identify and rich in tradition. These plants don’t shout for attention, but once you notice them, they feel almost timeless, like old friends you’ve just remembered.
Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris) was the first that drew me in. Tall and wild‑looking, with silvery undersides that catch the light at dusk.
Mugwort has been woven into folk traditions across Europe for centuries. In Slavic culture, women once carried it for protection, healing dreams, and as a digestive aid. It was even put under pillows to bring vivid dreams or aid intuition.
I harvested it with respect, dried and weaved in smudging wands that smell warm and slightly spicy when lit and help to clear the air and energy around you.
Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) was everywhere that summer - its ferny leaves and clusters of tiny white flowers unfolding like fireworks in the grass.
Yarrow - sometimes calls the warrior plant - was sacred to many ancient peoples, including Slavic and Celtic communities, who saw it as a protector in battle and a healer of wounds.
Its compounds have been studied for anti‑inflammatory and antimicrobial properties. I gathered yarrow with a sense of wonder, weaving its stems into my smudging bundles as well, remembering how it was carried in pockets on journeys for courage and clarity.
Tansy (Tanacetum vulgare) with its bright yellow button flowers made me pause every time. I remebered playing with the plats flowers as a child, adding to my mud kitched deserts!
Historically, tansy was used in Europe to repel insects or as a bitter digestive aid; it even appears in old Slavic tales as a protector against misfortune.
Its scent is bold and peppery, and when woven into smudge sticks it adds a strong, earthy kick.
But tansy is not something to ingest without expertise - in larger amounts it can be toxic - so I only ever use it externally.
Goldenrod (Solidago virgaurea) was the late‑summer highlight. Where the grass seemed golden already, goldenrod stems stood taller.
Goldenrod was valued in folk herbalism across Eastern Europe for easing seasonal discomforts and supporting warmth within the body.
Modern research hints at its anti‑inflammatory qualities, and simply walking by a patch of goldenrod fills you with a kind of quiet joy.
I paired it with yarrow and mugwort in smudge wands, and each time I smell that blend I’m transported back to warm evenings and golden light.
Last summer wasn't about 'how‑to' on picking herbs or making medicine - there are plenty of resources for that - and this entry it’s definitely not an invitation to taste anything unless you’ve learned to identify it correctly.
What last summer taught me was curiosity and care: slowing down to notice the curve of a leaf, the way sunlight warms a stem, the thread of scent that ties the wild world to memory and myth.
Herbalism isn’t just about plant chemistry or utility; it’s about the stories plants carry - in old Slavic protective rites, in the quiet medicine of a meadow, in the colour and texture we pass by every day without seeing.
Each plant is a teacher if we are willing to pay attention, and the wild wisdom of the herbs is waiting for anyone curious enough to look.