The Medicine of Places

How special places make you feel better

“We’ll never be this young ever again!” is a joke I like to make every time someone asks me how old I am and I want to gloss over it.

When I look back through old photos (not something I do very often now that they’re all on my phone and not organised into cute little albums like the ones I made as a teenager,) the joke has a tinge of poignancy about it.

Take this photo for example:

This is a picture of me and my herbal friend Sharn. It was taken the very first time we met.

Sharn is from Australia and was house sitting in Cornwall. I had randomly seen a post on Facebook about someone selling herbal percolators and I wanted, nay NEEDED to know everything about what this equipment was and how I could get hold of it. With the goal of obtaining said coveted object, I set up a “business meeting” at the Headland Hotel (more about this place later,) in order to make enquiries.

Not only was this meeting the start of a precious friendship, it also turned out to be the reason I started this Substack. You see Sharn was unlike any herbalist I had ever met. When I asked her why she was selling her percolator, this is what she said:

“There’s enough sick people in the world for all of us to help. We need more herbalists, and I want you to be able to make good medicine for them.”

Not only did I walk away with a percolator that day, I left with a herbal friendship for life. Sharn shared skin care recipes, detailed methods of how to formulate the cleanest, sharpest tinctures I’ve ever tasted, and offered a good dose of common sense when it came to dealing with difficult, clinical cases.

Her generosity of spirit is exactly the sort of attitude I hold as the Gold Standard for my own herbal practice and this Substack newsletter. What’s the point of acquiring knowledge if you’re going to keep all the secrets to yourself?

But there’s another reason this photo holds a special place in my heart. It tells a deeper story about the power of the medicine of places.

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I first came to Newquay 25 years ago to take up the post of Spanish teacher at a local school. It was the Summer holidays of 1999, and the first friend I made when I moved into my new flat was a woman called Kathy who was working at a local hotel.

That hotel was The Headland.

To meet other people (and make a bit of cash while I waited for my new job to start,) I joined her as a waitress in what is now known as “The Terrace Restaurant.”

One particular story I remember from my time there centres around the labyrinthine tunnels that languish underneath the hotel.

At the end of the evening shift, some poor soul would descend down into the tunnels to hand over the tablecloths and tea towels for housekeeping to take care of the next day. Everyone dreaded their turn. With each step further down the tunnel, the groaning and creaking of the Victorian plumbing would mingle with the silent roar of the Atlantic Ocean, whose waves lapped against the cliffs surrounding the building. In short, it was a horrifying experience you wanted to get over with as quickly as humanly possible.

However, the most frightening part of the whole ordeal had to do with the “legend” of the tunnel; a story which was told to all new members of staff, who were made to undertake this terrifying initiation on their first evening shift.

At the end of the tunnel was a light switch which you had to fumble around for. If you wanted to pass through, the ritual required you to call out “Please Mr. Ghost can you turn on the light?” before flicking the switch and praying to all the angels in Heaven that it would come on.

Standing there in the passage, I often wondered what would happen if I flippantly ignored the tall tale and tried to proceed without reciting the mantra.

Of course I never dared.

By now you’re probably wondering what the point of this rather long winded newsletter about percolators and ghosts is getting around to saying.

It’s this:

Certain sites hold a special place in our heart. Just thinking about them gives you a special sort of frisson inside. The memory of them makes you feel better. The place itself is part of the medicine. We all know instinctively on some level, that when we think of our favourite place, it makes us feel calm.

For a long time I’ve been looking for somewhere to hold space for my herbal encounters. A clinical setting (no matter how lush and expensive,) just wasn’t going to cut it. It needed to be somewhere that feels nurturing and safe - a place that when you leave, a little ember of warmth continues to glow.

I think I’ve found that place.

From 10th May I’ll be holding space from Wellness in the Wild, a hidden sanctuary of healing nestled deep in the heart of Porth valley, far away from the hustle and bustle of all the things. Snuggled away in a wild flower garden next to a bubbling spring, it’s not the usual setting for a herbal clinic of modern day terms. However, I like to think it’s more in line with how things were done in the old days, and so it feels perfectly suited for an old school herbalist and medicine woman like me :)

If you’ve been in need of herbal support, but also warm to the idea of a side dose of escapism, my appointment list is now open.

Please be aware that the nature of my new set up means that appointments will be longer and slower, with much more focus around the visit itself being a nurturing and healing experience.

(Yes, you will also go a way with a beautifully crafted prescription tailored entirely around your needs on that day :)

Bookings can now be made on the website, or by direct enquiry.

One last thing to say before I sign off today is a massive thank you to all you lovely subscribers who have been patient beyond belief while I recalibrated.

In an overly hectic year I’ve completed a one year training in Five Elements Acupuncture, completed a Lowland Walk Leader course, and written several ghost stories, one of which I have tentatively submitted to the BBC……

I’ll be sharing much of this learning in the coming months (I’m excited to open up some herbal five elements offerings for paid subscribers,) along with the usual recipes, folk tales and “walk with me” plant identification posts.

I hope you’ll join me as we move through the seasons.

Spring Offer:

A subscription makes a great gift for herbal medicine students, or family members interested in self sufficiency looking for authentic and reliable information on the topic of curating a home medicine cabinet. Through April I’m offering a 20% discount, (that means monthly posts for less than the price of a haircut.) Thank you for helping me to keep herbal medicine alive and well in our communities.