In her post below, Autumn fondly remembers her grandmother. My new herbal is dedicated to my own dear Grandmother Mack who knew the names of every tree and wildflower, beyond what I can summon, and would be proud of my efforts. 

Finally, after abundant research, writing, and seemingly endless revising, Plants for a Medieval Herb Garden in the British Isles is available in kindle at Amazon. Daughter Elise did the gorgeous cover and is working on getting this into print, but with over 100 images in the herbal, that will take some doing.

I initially embarked on this undertaking last year for the workshop I gave focused on herbs and medicinal plants of the British Isles. Participants were so enthusiastic, as have been many who follow my blog, that I was inspired to go all out and turn this project into a much longer work. No small effort, but I enjoyed the process and learned a lot along the way. I’m always learning because this is such a vast trove of material to delve into. I’ve also had fun choosing images to illustrate this book. Some are photographs of our garden taken by Elise, many are royalty free images I purchased, and a few are in public domain. I hope you enjoy Plants for a Medieval Herb Garden in the British Isles. A lot of these plants were brought to America with the early colonists and are widespread here now. Others are well and truly British and Scottish.

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Book Description:  An illustrated collection of plants that could have been grown in a Medieval Herb or Physic Garden in the British Isles. The major focus of this work is England and Scotland, but also touches on Ireland and Wales. Information is given as to the historic medicinal uses of these plants and the rich lore surrounding them. Journey back to the days when herbs figured into every facet of life, offering relief from the ills of this realm and protection from evil in all its guises.~

I probably should have given Shakespeare top billing, but he didn't have as much to say in this particular piece. :)

First, a heads up that my award-winning nonfiction book, Shenandoah Watercolors, is free at Amazon Monday May 14th–Wednesday May 16th.  

Written in a month by month journal style, Shenandoah Watercolors follows a year in my life on our farm in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.

Excerpt from May: (And this is where William S. comes into my post)

“The quality of mercy is not strained,

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven,

Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed;

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes…”

~William Shakespeare

                                               

The heavy rain has given way to a misting drizzle, but streams of water pour down from the hills and make new ponds and creeks. It’s chilly with that raw wet feel. This spring is awash in moisture and amazing after last summer’s searing drought. I’m struck by the intense beauty around me, and I thought I was already seeing it, but it’s so much more somehow. The grass seems to shimmer, yet there’s no sun out today, and the meadow is so richly green it’s like seeing heaven.

Our barnyard geese are enraptured, as much as geese can be, with all the grass. If there’s a lovelier place to revel in spring than the Shenandoah Valley and the mountains, I don’t know it. Narnia, maybe.

I’ve been thinking about my favorite places. The pool I like best lies in the woods near a place called Rip Rap Hollow in the Blue Ridge Mountains. A splendid falls cascades up above, but I like the pool far more. We always meant to go back, but never have. The cold water ripped through me like liquid ice and is as clear as melted crystal.

I could see the rocks on the bottom, some slick with moss, others brown-gold in the light where the sun broke through the leafy canopy overhead. Trout hid beneath big rounded stones or ones that formed a cleft, but the men tickled them out to flash over the flat rocks strewn across the bottom like a path. Drifts of hay-scented fern rose around the edges of the pool, warming the air with the fragrance of new-mown hay, and made the shady places a rich green.

Now, that’s a good place to go in my mind when I’m troubled. The problem with cities is that people don’t learn what really matters. Don’t really feel or know the rhythms of the earth. When we are separated from that vital center place, we grow lost. Sadly, most people will never know what they are lost from, or where they can be found.~

***FREE kindle at Amazon. Also available in print with lovely photographs taken by my talented family.

"This is perhaps the most beautifully written memoir I've ever read. Its lovely and languid descriptions of the picturesque valley, the farm and gardens are equaled only by the charming and funny descriptions of the antics (and conversations!) of the farm animals. What a joy this is to read..." Amazon Reviewer C. G. King

Written in a month by month journal style, Shenandoah Watercolors features rural life in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.  I  enrolled the book in the kindle lending program where you can read it for free at this Amazon link. *This perk is for Amazon Prime members.  


Shenandoah Watercolors is a 2012 finalist in the nonfiction category of the EPIC Ebook Awards, ‘Kind of a big deal’ in the publishing world.  Winners to be announced in March.  My American romance Red Bird’s Song is a finalist in the historical romance category.  Fingers crossed for a win!


Back to Shenandoah Watercolors:


“This is perhaps the most beautifully written memoir I’ve ever read. Its lovely and languid descriptions of the picturesque valley, the farm and gardens are equaled only by the charming and funny descriptions of the antics (and conversations!) of the farm animals. What a joy this is to read.”
~Amazon Reviewer C. G.  King

January Excerpt from Shenandoah Watercolors:

“The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil.” ~ Gerard Manley Hopkins

Pale streaks of mauve feather the western sky above the frozen pond and the golden glow of the sun illuminates the ice as it sinks below the ridges.
The hardcore group of hockey players who’ve been here for hours still whack the puck around the smooth space cleared of snow and a lone couple circle together in one corner, reluctant to leave.

The frigid twilight breeze rustles the dry leaves that cling to the bare branches of the maple and I caught my breath as I trotted Mia past the wintry scene of skaters, timeless in its way. It seems as though the ice will last on and on, but we rarely have more than a week when the pond is frozen hard enough for skating. Weather in the Shenandoah Valley swings back and forth between north and south as though it can’t quite decide which we are.
Considering that my brother John said it was twenty degrees below zero in Vermont, I’d say we qualify as the South, just on the Northern fringes. Our sentiments are decidedly Southern.

Unlike the dedicated skaters, I scurried back inside. If it weren’t for the need to exercise my plump little dog and idle self I’d just lie on the couch like a slug. I’m well into my winter hibernation mode. Every fall I swear this lethargy won’t overcome me, but inevitably it does. Ernest Miggleton remains immune. He’s one pesky kitten since we took the tree down and climbs into the cabinets, raids the trash, steals Elise’s new fuzzy socks, her fluffy dog toy, and annoys the heck out of the big kitties. But all this sport pales in comparison to the daily assaults he launched on that enticing pine, resplendent with baubles hung just for his amusement.

Elise pointed out how seriously bored Ernest was yesterday as he perched eagerly beside her printer waiting for it to whir and buzz magically to life. She’d just finished printing a paper for ninth grade English lit and he was enthralled. Every time she gathered him up he wriggled to get back into position, not wanting to miss anything. So she printed another page, but that only feeds his fetish.

We’re endeavoring to find the little fellow a hobby. He has expressed interest in bird watching, the nurture of mice, and collecting kewl stuff.~

*Our latest kitten rescue is our Siamese mix, Pavel, picture by daughter Elise. *Snow covered Nandina berries photograph by my mom Pat Churchman. *Sunset over the frozen lake I bought from istock because I don’t have a good one on hand and out pond isn’t currently frozen. *Actually, as of this morning it is.

*My brother John Churchman is an amazing photographer gaining much long overdo recognition.  For his scenic, artistic images visit: Brickhouse Studios