Wildcrafting is messy. It is not guaranteed. It's often inconvenient.

It's also beautiful and primal. It connects us deeply to our ancestors. It reminds us of the buzzing life that exists beyond our daily focus.

Sometimes the plants say no.

I set out for burdock root this weekend, one of my favorites that really loves to grow in disturbed places that aren't safe to harvest from- like roadsides and the edges of sprayed parks. I was lucky enough to venture out to a friend's private land and after a bit of searching, we found some vibrant first-year plants.

Everything seemed okay. I was amused by how entangled the first root seemed to be with the surrounding tree roots. I quickly discovered, though, that it had grown through a pile of buried bricks, and was just not interested in leaving. I thanked the plant, fixed the soil, and moved on to another plant.

This one seemed easier until, despite my gentlest efforts to coax it free, the root broke about 10 inches down.

Because burdock won't regrow from pieces of root, I hate leaving parts in the soil where I know they'll rot. It feels disrespectful. However, I tried to dig down deeper and hit... more bricks.

It was time to give thanks and move on.

We did end up finding some healthy plants elsewhere, but those, too, were reluctant. Burdock gave me just enough to make about a quart of tincture, which was really all I needed. And that's fine.

The afternoon's gifts also included a 70-degree clear autumn day spent in the country with a friend, an unexpected teasel root harvest, and a reminder that it's not all about me and my needs.

As I scrub these roots, I wonder how it was when humans understood the volatility of nature- when our food wasn't guaranteed in stock on a shelf somewhere. When we had to get creative with what the Earth had offered us that day.

I could have just purchased dried burdock and had it shipped to me, a guaranteed pound.

But these roots contain reminders: the dirt under my fingernails and caked on my boots from those moments of connection with another living being; the lessons of humility and kinship.

And, sadly, the understanding that our wild places grow less and less and finding safe plants to harvest is becoming very difficult.

We have to give to take.

As my friend helped me free the hilariously interwoven burrs that had entangled themselves all over my clothes, we were spreading seeds. I made sure to open a few more intentionally and spread them around the areas I visited. I always leave an offering, too, and make sure to clean up well when I leave.

If you're local to Erie, PA and want to dive into the world of responsible foraging and wildcrafting, I'm gathering a group for spring. Please contact me at kristy@verityherbsandwellness if this is you.