January
The meadow sleeps under snow. The workshop cooks from autumn stores.
The meadow does not work all year — and we do not pretend otherwise. Turn the ring: it shows what blooms now and which batch comes of it.
Pull the ring — season is part of the balance.
The meadow sleeps under snow. The workshop cooks from autumn stores.
The oils are infusing: last summer ripens in the jars.
The birch sap is running — the very first batch of the year.
The nettle has woken: young and at its strongest.
The dandelion has finished: seed parachutes drift over the meadow.
Calendula and rose are in bloom; we cut the first lavender.
Chamomile is flowering. We gather at dawn, in the dew.
Haymaking. St John's wort is at full strength.
Sea buckthorn is ripe: the garden's orange gold.
Rosehips redden; the garden prepares for sleep.
Herbs dry in the attic. We cook and label the jars.
The workshop in the evening: warm, quiet, smelling of lavender.