By Rachel Clark

In my limited time as an herbalist, I’ve learned that there is no one way to be an herbalist, and with that, there is no single path to learning about the plants. For some, this is a great comfort—getting to know the plants comes in all shapes and forms just like the herbalists and the plants themselves. For others, the lack of a clear path to knowledge and truth is incredibly overwhelming. As I go through my days as an herbalist, tending to clients, learning to grow medicine, and trying to make a living from this work, I too can feel overwhelmed by the fact that there is so much to learn. There is so much I don’t know.

So, I write to answer this question as much for you as for myself. How do we learn about, and I’d add, learn from the plants? Learning about the plants can feel like bushwhacking through nettles and thistle in a dark, pathless woods. Walking in circles thinking, “Haven’t I been here before? Surely I’ve learned this lesson by now?” Navigating the labyrinth to plant-understanding can feel discouraging and confusing at times, but it is exactly that same pathless woods that will teach you what you need to know. Learning about the plants can simultaneously feel like laying in a flower-filled meadow, sunshine on bare skin with your toes in a cool brook. It can feel like you’ve been told a long-lost secret, whispered gently on the breeze, just for you to hear. Slowly, and then suddenly all at once the plants become friends and allies. They can offer support when you don’t have it, encouragement when you need it, and comfort when things feel overwhelming. But herbal study itself can feel overwhelming.

This sense of overwhelm is mirrored in the interactions I have, but it is also colored with a sense of longing and hope that learning about the plants might make things just a little bit better. When people first find out that I am a practicing herbalist, they’ll often tell me how much they’d love to learn about plants but don’t have time. At the farmers’ market, where I’m lucky enough to get to sell and share my medicine, people will regale me with stories of their own forays into herbalism. Clients, concerned by potential herb-drug interactions, tell me how grateful they are that I’m here to do that research for them. The r/herbalism subreddit is full of daily questions about how to learn, what herbs to start with, which books to trust, which schools are reputable and what’s safe.

Herbalism is part of a 5,000+ year old tradition of healthcare and healing lead by herbal rockstars like Galen, Samuel Thompson, Atreya, Hippocrates, Hildegard von Bingen, Ibn Sina, and the Ancient Chinese masters. And yet, this way of healing is met with intense skepticism. Herbalism has long been associated with the occult and with witches. It has been pushed to the margins, practiced only by the marginalized and the unnamed. The fear of “the other” inevitably leads to a fear of the plants. Herbal studies are underfunded, under researched, and many times misrepresented in the media and in the alternative wellness space. I’ve been called a snake-oil salesman—jokingly, but it stung just the same. This criticism, however hurtful, is also valid when influencers tout coffee-enemas for gut issues, Cannabis is marketed as a practical and side-effect free cure-all, and there is a new parasite cleanse being promoted every time I log onto Instagram. Medical claims are tossed around in an astoundingly casual way with nothing to back them up.

So, as an herbalist, no matter how long you’ve been practicing, how do you sort it all? How can we learn about plants in a way that’s true, factual, safe, and respectful? Across herbal traditions, learning is often broken into a three, four, or sometimes five-part system of knowledge. These systems typically include earthly elements, cardinal directions, body type or constitution, different body systems, tissue or fluid type, and sometimes temperament, color associations, and personality traits or archetypes. Whether studying Ayurveda, Traditional Chinese Medicine, Green Witch herbalism, Vitalism, Wise Woman Tradition, Indigenous traditions, Unani-Tibb, or a combination, these patterns recur. You also see recurring themes of lifestyle practices, nutrition, and spirituality as a foundation in herbal healing. These patterns always relate the microcosm of the individual to the macrocosm of the earth and even the cosmos. The interconnectedness of all things and the nuance of both sickness and health are foundational to our herbal understanding. There is rarely a black and white answer to herbal questions.

When I was in herb school, “It depends,” was the answer to so many questions, and it drove me crazy. Now, I find myself answering questions the same. It depends. What does it depend on? Well, that depends, too. The answer to almost every herbal question depends on the answer to other questions. It depends on the person taking the herbs, what herbs, when, and in what form. It depends on their constitution, pharmaceuticals they’re taking, where they live, what they eat, and their activity levels. It depends on the practitioner and what tradition they have been trained in. Is valerian (Valeriana officinalis) good for sleep? It depends. Is St. John’s wort safe (Hypericum perforatum)? It depends.

Herbalism is full of contradictions. Bitter herbs are classified as cooling in TCM but thought to be warming and moving in Greek traditions. Even some plants themselves are contradictory in their actions. How can yarrow (Achillea millefolium) be both cooling and warm, a known styptic but also used to move blood and support menstruation? Lavender (Lavandula angustifolia) is calming and relaxing the queen of sleep, but also useful for focus and attention. Again, we find ourselves in the quagmire. Some traditions associate the East with water, while others associate the West. If you’re in the Northern Hemisphere, the south is associated with fire, summer, and action. If you live in the South, the north is associated with the same.

For me, my practice is based in a combination of Western-European and American traditions, with Vitalism as the foundation and a pinch of Wise Woman Tradition to top it off. For everything I do, I try to incorporate a five-fold system of knowing based on five elements and five directions. Air in the east is correlated with intellect, science, and book knowledge. Fire in the south is associated with action, personal experience, and hands on learning. Water in the west is connected to intuition and emotion. Earth in the north teaches us through safety, security, and ancestral knowledge. Sprit sits at the at the center where we learn through the collective, through spirit and the divine. This is by no means exhaustive or conclusive. This way of understanding is how I’ve come to organize and learn based on my personal experience and the teachers who’ve shared their knowledge.

How do we untangle it all? We don’t. Allow yourself to get lost in the spiral but be sure to stop along the way to learn in different ways. Rely on science and studies, but don’t discount the wives-tales. Learn by doing and learn by watching. Listen to logic while also allowing your intuition to have a voice. This untangling can be a life-long practice if you are lucky. Herbalism is always changing, getting updated with research, and with remembering knowledge long forgotten.

I first learned about herbs from my mother, who taught me how to make chamomile (Matricaria chamomilla) tea for sleep and how to prepare bags of black tea to help tend to sunburns. She also taught me about rose (Rosa spp.), who is both a fierce protector, a soft shoulder to cry on, and a way to connect to our ancestors. I’ve experimented in my kitchen creating some truly horrible concoctions, and I’ve also made formulas that, without a doubt, work. I’ve studied under Paul Bergner who taught me clinical assessment, how to research, and that it’s okay to be a bit weird, even in the eyes of other herbalists. Lisa Ganora, a brilliant phytochemist and herbalist, taught me that science and magic can coexist and that howling at the moon or talking to a tree are sometimes the most direct way of learning. I have learned from my clients, who’ve taught me vulnerability and communication. I have learned by making some big mistakes and then working to correct them, albeit with mixed results. I have also learned from the plants themselves who’ve taught me that resilience, perseverance, and tenacity are not mutually exclusive from softness, gentleness, and generosity.

In a time when it’s hard to know what is fact and what is fake, what is genuine versus what is generated, it can be even harder to trust these fluctuating and boundary-less ways of knowing. Maia Toll, herbalist and author, writes of what she calls “the second song.” The first song is science, logic, and research—clear directions on which herb goes with which disease. The second is harder to teach and harder to understand. It is the alchemy of spirit, tradition, synchronicity, and a bit of magic that, together with the first song, creates the harmonies of healing. To learn about the plants, we must learn from all angles and directions to eventually find solid ground. Upon this ground we can then share, teach, and continue to learn.

Herbalism is a life-long practice if you let it be, and for me that is part of what makes it so magical. There will always be something new to learn or relearn. A new study or new teacher may help you see a long-time plant ally in a whole new light. It is both science and art, learnable through logic and intuition, innovation and tradition, structure and play. So, more so than anything I’ve said so far, I know that to learn about plants you must do two things. You must continue to learn and practice as long as you live, and you must listen to the plants themselves. Get a good book, get some herbs, find a teacher, learn a tradition, and start playing.

Rachel Clark is a clinical herbalist, medicine maker, and freelance writer based in the Pacific Northwest. You can learn more about her work and read her latest writing at spokaneherbalist.com