Late Bloomers and Broken Trees | Julie Tallard Johnson

On most mornings I get in three rituals, so when I lay my head down at night I feel I have done well in self care. These three rituals attend to mind, body and soul. First, I meditate and hold a conversation with my Great Friend, then I write a bit,… and before morning gets too late I am on my (power) walk to the broken tree. If the morning doesn’t afford me time for all three, I find a way to do my walk before the sun sets.

The broken tree is my “turn around” point on my walk. This fall, late into October, a late blooming Mullein greeted me from across the road from the broken tree. This relationship became significant to me and I will miss her when she finally sends out her last flower and puts all her energy into her roots.

By the way, this is a rare find (for me anyway). I have not seen another late blooming Mullein on my land or on my walks this October. So, she and I share this poem (below), photos (from my cell phone) and (hopefully) encouragement for you to look for that help that is right there, flowering next to you.

Tommie Bass himself said: “Mullein is an old-timer. I don’t think there is any ailment that Mullein wouldn’t give some relief. Everyone should have dried mullein leaves or roots in their medicine cabinet at all times.”

“Late Blooming Mullein”

Across from the broken tree

since late-September

I visit with you, my

late blooming Mullein.

Wild Ice Leaf, Hag’s Taper,

Torches, Quaker’s Rouge, Indian Tobacco,

Our lady’s flannel…

So many names

for one lone

soul.

My golden, greening friend

late arrival,

mirror

to my late bloomings.

Velvet leaves capture morning dew,

holding on

to nurture and shimmer late

into each day.

Celtic and French origins

… your golden flowers of grace

help me turn

back around

home, for now.

Neither of us are native to this place

(although most think so)

Oh my meeting you!

Makes for such rejoicing and grief!

Guardian plant––

following immigrants to the Americas

My guardian, oh Guardian! help me

as I immigrate,

Oh! My guiding light

Towering torch

My friend

My friend.

Guide me

Guard me

from the dark spells of this world.

Guide me

Focus me

Let me not lose my way

on this path I cannot see

ahead of me.

Guide me

Balance me

through life’s contradictions

like you: flowering weed, soft and harsh, elegantly strong.

I gather a golden pedal

still moist and rich with life

for my medicine pouch

I take you with me

out beyond

this familiar turn around.