09/29/2025
There are some days where foraging together is medicine itself, and yesterday was one of them. We gathered on Bainbridge, baskets in hand, laughter tangled with grief, and the red berries of hawthorn heavy on the branch.
Hawthorn has long been a guardian of thresholds — in Celtic lore, it marks the meeting place of worlds, where the veil can be crossed and the spirits keep watch. Growing in hedgerows, she is the fence and the gate, the boundary and the passage, keeper of the wild edges where foxes slip by and magic lingers.
As medicine, hawthorn is for the heart. She strengthens and softens, tones and protects, tending to the physical rhythms of blood and vessel, and the tender places of grief, courage, and love. There is something profoundly grounding about gathering her berries together right now — a reminder that tending the heart is a communal act as much as a personal one.