It’s a brittle cold Sunday morning, and I’m in my studio. The concrete floor feels like a block of ice. But an orange glow spills in through the windows.

I go to a shelf and grab a jar. It’s filled with chamomile flowers that I grew from seed in our garden last season. Through the thick glass, I can see their shriveled forms. When I pop the jar open, I’m struck in the face with a scent so powerful and so sweet, I’m instantly transported back to late summer, I’m barefoot in the garden again, and the chamomile patch is blowing up. Every day there are dozens of new flowers to harvest. Between two fingers, I snap off the blossoms – the ones with bright yellow centers and white, radiant petals.

Chamomile is one of those generous plants that grows more as you harvest it. The more flowers you need, the more it makes.

Today I need chamomile. It’s mid-January, and I can feel its energy washing over me. The nature of chamomile is one of optimism. Yes, I can sense its messages of hope and abundance. It’s known to be protective, restorative, and softening. It also symbolizes friendship, which could be the reason I reach for it today.

I’m making something for a friend.

I grab a handful of chamomile, add it to a jar. Next I add a handful of dried calendula blossoms and lavender flowers – both grown in my garden as well. I’ll infuse these botanicals into extra virgin coconut oil. There are several methods for making infused oils, but today I’m going to apply some gentle heat. It just feels right. I’ll use the infused oil to make a body cream for a pregnant friend of mine to use on her body, which is stretching to its limits and a bit beyond, finding its new shape needed for the new life force arriving.

It’s 10am now, and the sun hovers just above the horizon.

I make a new playlist. Call it Sundaze. Listen to it as the room fills with warm, honeyed light and the pollen-heavy scents of summer flowers.

My only goal for 2025 is to make at least one thing everyday that I’m not getting paid for. It doesn’t have to be anything brilliant. This isn’t for the sake of more productivity. I realized that if I want to live a more creative life, I need to build the discipline and receptivity it requires. I need to play more, find what I love and follow ideas with “a loyalty as complete as the loyalty of water to the force of gravity” (Mary Oliver in Of Power and Time).

As a writer, my allegiance is to language, to the next kernel of the next word. But lately I’ve been struggling to write. Write, erase, write, erase. That’s been my cycle. The thing is, there is something I need to say. I just don’t know what it is yet. So as I wait and listen, I’ve making all sorts of other things. I’ve been drawing, creating logos and brand elements, experimenting with plant-dyed textiles, sewing old worn-out clothes into new creations, making homemade pasta of all shapes and forms, and today, I’m working with the plants to make some jars of body cream.

I’ve also set up a new mini Wyld shop in case I want to offer things from time to time again.

What a lovely winter morning to simply be and breathe in so much possibility.

Perhaps it’s time to write my Ode to Chamomile post! I’ve sung my praises to so many plants now – 

Violets
Calendula
Roses
Yarrow
Elder
Sea Buckthorn
Dandelion

– but never to Chamomile, whose history goes back to time of Hippocrates. It’s literally one of the most ancient medicinal flowers known to our species.

Soothing and protective, calming and nurturing, Chamomile is like a botanical embodiment of the Mother archetype. It’s also a reminder to rest. You can feel this anytime you drink a cup of chamomile tea. It doesn’t demand that you rest, just gently suggests it.

I’m feeling that now.

The morning sunlight has burned through me like a log of tinder. I want nothing more than to curl up like a cat in the sunny windowsill. But the kids are ready for a sledding adventure, so the rest will have to wait.

Happy sundazing, my friend.

xx

Beth