This post originated as a short essay on my experience with Thyme (Thymus vulgaris) that was prepared for an herbalism course that I’m taking. I’ve decided (with some trepidation) to share these posts periodically, though out of the order in which they were written, to offer a window into my personal relationship with a variety of plants. Please take them for what they are (i.e. we all have our own unique experience with and connection to the world), and accept them in the spirit of love with which they are shared.

Acknowledging my rattling voice and a burning chest, I poured hot water over the thyme in my cup, covered it, and left it to steep as I took heavy steps towards the comfort of my couch. Sinking down into the deep gray cushions, I allowed my head to slowly fall back and eyes drift shut as I waited.

Part of me knew it was too late for the herb to work its magic, but I was still hopeful that it would at least take the edge off of knowing that I was about to plunge into illness, and maybe, if I was lucky, make a dent in whatever had infiltrated my body.

After a 20-minute respite, barely hearing the little boy exploits being enacted around me, I made my way back to the kitchen and uncovered my infusion. As it rested there on the smooth butcher-block countertop, I leaned my face forward with dark pieces of my newly grown out mop framing my view, and inhaled deeply.

Heated thyme offers up one of those scent memories of childhood meals. A kitchen smell. It was my first “favorite herb” and holds a special place in my life: grounding, solid, and warm. A “comfort herb.” So, too, the fresh herb lends memories of some of my first meals – the meals that taught me that preparing food offered a unique meditation. Holding a sprig of thyme and sliding my fingers down the dry roughness, savoring the essence that emerged as the tiny leaves dropped into my bowl. Lifting a bunch in front of my face and breathing in before tossing the lot into a pot of soup, and later weeding out the softened stems.

The tea was still hot as it burned through the roughness in my throat, leaving moments of relief in its wake. I felt the warmth in my chest; a dry heat juxtaposed with its water medium.

Sleep was dreamless and deep, in the way that only comes when the body is fighting mercilessly against microscopic invaders.

By the next day, the roots of illness had sunk in and a fever started. Cups and cups full of thyme and ginger infusions, elderberry tincture, and oil of oregano occupied my day. My body was in such pain – stabbing everywhere, but concentrated in my back. I could barely walk. The tea was my familiar in this unfamiliar state. I’ll admit that I, in my pride, was a little shocked and strangely offended that I couldn’t beat it back at all. I was bulldozed. Of course, I should have acknowledged that eventually the stress, insomnia, too much wine, and overdone workouts to cope with it all would catch up with me, but with sophomoric pretention, I assumed I’d merely continue on, gradually more run down, with the usual ebbs and flows of vitality. Over the next five weeks, battling more illnesses than I’ve had in the last decade combined, thyme was my steady comfort. Hot infusions, again and again.

A winter habit was formed. Forced to stop by my very own body. Pause inspired reflection, rituals reborn. Spicy heat of thyme nurturing from within. The rhythm of knitting nurturing from without. Simplicity. Grounding. Building.

The post On Thyme and Stopping appeared first on The Nurtured Way | Traditional Wisdom and Sustainable Living in Philadelphia, PA.

I hear you chuckling to yourself. Yes, indeed, knitting is a microcosm of my personal macrocosm.

Anyhow, the universe had me on her list that day because while there were plenty of sewing patterns, none of the few knitting patterns online were what I was looking for. The goal was something simple, woolen, and that didn’t require purchasing anything. I got irritated after attempting a variety of search terms. This was EXACTLY what I wanted, and it should be so straightforward. Why did no one have a simple, non-frumpy kidney warmer pattern in the vastness of the worldwide web? Feeling defeated, I went to the closet and inventoried my yarn and needles. I pulled out the Brooklyn Tweed Shelter that I’d been saving forever, ran my fingers over its soft lightness with longing, and made a decision. Find your gauge, measure your body, and just make the darned thing! It’s nothing terribly advanced. Just cast-on, knit and purl. What’s the worst thing that could happen, for crying out loud? Deep breath. When I eventually cast-on, I felt strangely liberated, and the creativity began to flow… Go figure!

It’s funny. I used to be the same way with cooking, relying heavily on recipes beyond the point when I needed them for the basics. Finally, one day, I  realized that I had all the tools I needed to shift from simply following directions to a place of imaginative experimentation, and make that next leap into learning by pure experience, with recipes popping into the picture for inspiration as desired. It changed my world for the better. The weight of the recipe was lifted, and to this day, I still love cooking and playing in the kitchen, even though it is a “required chore.”

By the same token, I’ve been steadily gathering wisdom about healing with food, herbs, and holistic lifestyle choices for years. It is what lights me up inside, and until recently, left me feeling constantly guilty because, “How can I be so passionate about this work, in a way that I have never been about my ‘real’ job?” When I left that “real” job and made the move to pursue holistic healing full time, I was filled with joy and hope the likes of which my soul had not felt for decades. Shortly thereafter, I started to realize that, “This is finally IT!” Yet, “How on earth do I structure ‘it’ to not only contribute to the world, but also make a living without it transforming into a form of punishment?” So what did I do? I turned around and picked a fight with someone whom I love and respect. (I know, trust me, looking back I am as utterly confused by this progression as you are!) I was convinced that I needed a pattern; an exact recipe for this leg of the journey. I was also terrified of missing the boat on what I’d discovered, and like a preschooler, felt compelled to fight for it. The crazy thing was, it wasn’t going anywhere. I’m not sure why I felt such an urge to aggressively prove my worthiness and literally fight for something that I love, even though it was sitting right there in my lap, asking to be embraced, but I did. Fortunately, my dear mentor wasn’t about to accept my shenanigans, and promptly knocked some sense into me and managed to help coax out the root of it.

Constantly worrying about “messing it up” is paralyzing. It induces anxiety and, like a chemical reaction, converts the joyful into the stressful. Worry is destructive.

I made a small error in my knitting project (which I hate doing by the way – I usually get so angry with myself and spend hours ripping it out, even if it’s not a big deal), and had to make a choice to just move past it and accept it as part of the process or go back and fix it. Yup, you guessed it, the same holds true on this next journey. Perfection is impossible. When those bumps in the road come along, one can choose to either just keep going, or take a few steps back and fix it. Not all bumps are created equal, and they are an inevitable part of life. Either course adds to the arsenal of experience that shapes people and practitioners.

There is no pattern for what I have embarked on. The paths outlined in textbooks are a general guide to be rolled around in the mind, but I’ve come to accept that I am fundamentally stubborn as heck about doing things my own way. I have a deep need to shape things that I do into my own, for that creative process is a part of what feeds my spirit and serves to keep my passion kindled and the result authentic.

At the root of my soul, I know that “The Way” will emerge organically through the marriage of my stash of wisdom, tools consistently acquired through ongoing study and life, the guidance of mentors, and the creativity that flows when I release fear and simply let go and let be.

Like the elusive Haramaki, it will be simple, yet strong, soft, and warm, with a touch of elegance, and made with love, and all must come from within.

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Before I begin: I don’t profess to speak for anyone but myself here, despite the use of the collective “we” in some cases.

Moving on!

We, students of the art of holistic care, are in a constant state of growth. Whether we are brand new, a few yeas old, or boasting decades in the field, we all continue to grow and learn as we interact with our clients, the greater community, and with other practitioners as clients ourselves. The following is an example of how the work of a practitioner might translate into everyday life, and offer an opportunity for reflection. (Yes, it’s a true story, and yes, this is what it made me reflect upon…)

I have plenty of relatable tales, but for some reason, this experience stuck out, so I’m going to share it while I describe its bearing on a set of skills that a holistic practitioner utilizes in a clinical setting.

See, it sounds boring when poop’s not thrown in!

The other day, I stopped at the grocery store for a sponge or something equally trivial. As I checked out, they offered me a small plastic bag. I rarely take bags, but I knew we were running low, and I like to have extras on hand for gathering muddy clothes and collecting kitty litter. I left with my bag in hand and set off towards home, having a good think and enjoying the beautiful weather.

A few blocks later, I noticed a man walking ahead of me with his dog. The dog paused and did his business, and suddenly the man was exuding anxiety verging on panic. I scanned the situation and noticed that his eyes were darting around and he was patting his pockets. I knew immediately that he was not prepared to pick up his dog’s poo, AND he knew that I had spotted him.

I caught his eye, removed my parcel from the bag, and offered up the plastic receptacle with a smile. His relief was tangible. “He never goes twice on one walk!” he exclaimed. “No worries,” I replied. Crisis averted. Gratitude all around. He was offered a solution, and I was not only overjoyed that the debatable bag went to good use, but that no one would have to skirt dog poo the next day.

Clinical experience, you say?

Ok, here it goes:

1. First off, I can’t fail to mention the importance of acquiring tools: A practitioner is continually aware of that spare “bag,” herbs, diets, bodywork, etc., and seeks a constantly expanding knowledge of options and resources to add to her/his collection. We don’t want to be pack rats about it – it must remain organized, and our own tools kept separate from others who possess tools that we do not – but having as much mastery and awareness as possible of the many tools available to clients is something that will always enrich the process. This isn’t technically clinical, but it certainly holds weight.
2. The art of sensitivity, or, picking up on unspoken needs: The energy of humanity surrounds us every day. Some are naturally more attuned to this than others, and the best practitioners that I’ve worked with and observed have found and connected to this energy in their own subtle yet profound ways. It allows them to take into account more than what is said or written by the client. It’s the “reading in between the lines” that allows them to get a full picture of a person’s unique needs.
3. Care without judgment, or, empathy: In the case of the dog man, I recognized his struggle. If he had walked away, I would have been sympathetic to his situation, and acknowledged without judgment that he was in a predicament and that it was simply the decision he made in the moment. We can never know a client’s whole experience. Yet, clients come to holistic practitioners when they are ready to, at least on some level, “think outside the box.” This brings with it a level of vulnerability that often requires a delicate dance. The challenge is being willing to interact, to move, to respond, and also to gracefully back away in honor of the shared goal of creating beauty.
4. Generosity: We spend much of our time acquiring tools and techniques from the world around us. It’s a bevy of resources for seeking people. Holistic practitioners support mind, body, and spirit. Our role is to connect, assess, nurture and share.
5. Positivity: We trust the process. Ego is displaced. We practice non-attachment. We “hand over the bag” with a smile and a nod of encouragement. A follow-up is often a part of the process, but in holistic care, the client must also take responsibility and act – and we believe that they will! We have a carefully thought out approach, but then we must trust our clients to take the next step, and we must have faith in what we profess – that the body has the innate ability to heal. We are nurturers. We are guides. If we do not believe it to be true from within our very core, then we cannot expect the same from the souls who reach out to us.

And that, my friends, is the poop analogy.

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Enter, “Herb School” – aka Community Herbalist Training…

For me, this first weekend of classes was too many things to fully describe, but I’ll do my best to capture its essence.

In broad terms, it fed our spirits, minds, and bodies; each piece carefully crafted to offer both challenge and nourishment.

Upon our arrival, we were challenged to share a piece of our journey that led us to the class and make an offering of a part of our personalities or gifts that will serve to enrich the group throughout the year. (I say “challenged” not in a competitive sense, but on a personal level. Speaking to a group of unfamiliar faces about what amounts to your “warp and woof” takes a certain amount of chutzpah from even the most outgoing soul.) In doing this, we were all nourished by seeing the web that connects us with our classmates, and taking the first step towards becoming a unified group.

We spent time in the garden, challenged to release barriers and open ourselves to the energy that comes from nature; to touch, smell, and analyze, and then to dig a little deeper and be aware of our own intuition, ultimately able to verbalize our observations. The pieces about energy and intuition might sound a little “out there” to some, but take a moment to remember a time when you sat on the earth, visited the ocean, or walked through the woods. Surely you felt different than when you are planted  in your home or at your desk, no? That’s the crux of all of that energy and intuition talk.

Back in the classroom, we were challenged to commit to our studies in a way that is completely holistic, for we cannot realize our potential as herbal practitioners without exploring plants and ourselves from every possible angle, nor without setting a clear intention for our studies. We must seek to utilize all senses, so that the vast amount of book learning can be woven together with the experiential. It’s the learning by doing that nourishes both the practitioner and the practice.

Of course we talked, cooked, listened, questioned, and went over book lists and course requirements…

However, what I walked away with was the spirit of the journey that I’ve just embarked upon, and the energy that comes from working hard for that which fuels your spirit and burns bright in your belly, and THAT is an exciting thing.

The post Welcome to Herb School appeared first on The Nurtured Way | Traditional Wisdom and Sustainable Living in Philadelphia, PA.

A good, real, unrestrained, hearty laugh is a sort of glorified internal massage, performed rapidly and automatically.  It manipulates and revitalizes corners and unexplored crannies of the system that are unresponsive to most other exercise methods.  ~Author unknown, from an editorial in New-York Tribune, quoted in Quotations for Special Occasions by Maud van Buren

Here, I will reflect on two cases of laughter in doula land: laughter of a client and laughter of a doula.

In the first instance, I just have to say that not only was I truly impressed when a mama of mine embraced a fit of giggles for contraction after contraction during early labor, I LOVED it. It did such wonders for progress, the energy in the room, and reminded me to make a conscious effort to LAUGH in the midst of challenging situations. Laughter makes good chemicals, people!

On the flip side, we doulas encounter some funny situations as we serve, and I just wanted to share one because it recently had me laughing and considering possible thought bubbles for the person with whom I was interacting.

Let’s just say there is nothing like walking into a major hospital through the emergency entrance at 3am to meet up with a laboring client, and when you let the security guard know that you need to go to labor and delivery he looks at you quizzically, first trying to figure out if your’re ok and wondering how you’re maintaining your composure, then stares at you, assessing your belly under your winter coat, then oh my goodness is the baby in your big bag there (??), and finally, OH you’re the support person… Let me call upstairs. Note: I did tell him I was the doula and meeting someone, but those details were lost on him as he reacted promptly to the words “labor & delivery.”

Labor, birth, parenthood (and LIFE) are full of stresses and hurdles, but let’s try to take a moment every day and find something to LAUGH about. It’s good medicine!

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I leave behind me both my failures and accomplishments. What I do today will create a new and better future, filled with inner joy.

-J. Donald Walters, Affirmations for Self Healing

I debated whether or not to write this post.

However, writing helps me to process things, and often takes some of the sting out of challenging situations. This practice of chronicling my experiences is a part of who I am, and facilitates my journey towards self discovery, path finding, refinement, etc., and I hope that perhaps someone out there will find encouragement or comfort here.

As a doula (in a city that is home to many amazing and qualified doulas), I struggle profoundly with “birth interviews.” This said, I am making a valiant attempt to convince myself that the fact that I do struggle is not a “failure” on my part as a person. I’ve gone down that road before.

I’m an introvert, sure. I’ll be the first to admit it. What does that mean, exactly? I’ll stick with the “pro’s” and focus on the “doula side of things” here… It means that I have the capacity to deeply connect with individuals. I commit. I “live it” with my families, and will support them, no matter what. I will call-in every resource and drain myself to the last drop to make sure that a mother has an experience that leaves her spiritually whole, even if it means that I have nothing left. (For a more detailed post about introverts, I’ve always liked this one over at the Atlantic.)

Oversensitive. That’s been my life long descriptor. I prefer the more accurate, “energy absorber,” that a mentor once threw my way.

The flip side? In an interview, I’m still there 100%, but I’m under a microscope. There is a constant dialogue in my head. I’m acutely aware of every look, every emotion, every wave of energy from the family who is evaluating me. I know I’m not alone in feeling that interviews are uniquely stressful and exhausting. When I’m not in “tip top shape” going in (chances are high that I won’t be – I’m a working mom with two little ones, after all), they have the potential to turn me into an approximation of myself; a weirdly “overcompensated” or “insecure” version of who I am. I lose some of my ability to be articulate. I exude nervous energy. Granted, I never present myself “horribly” – in fact, I know that I usually do “just fine” – but I also know that it’s most often not “it” and that I’ve misrepresented myself personally and as a birth worker in the process.

The inevitable result is that I am rarely chosen to support the families I interview with.

Rejection hurts.

Getting past it takes serious effort, especially after the time spent investing in learning and preparing and traveling and connecting, followed by the time afterwards that is spent rehashing the entire experience, analyzing my words, my energy, my movements, and then the waiting, hoping that I’m being more critical of myself than what is truly warranted. Doula work is not work where you can say “it’s not personal.” It’s always “personal” – from that very first interaction.

Part of me loves being on an “on call” list – I am anonymous until I arrive at the birth – and that is when I’m at my absolute best – I tune-in, focus, and serve. Unfortunately, that situation only exists as a volunteer!

I’m sure that I’ll never perfect the art form of “the birth interview,” though I’ll always do my best and strive to be better. I’m also fairly certain that I’ll never completely shake that need to be chosen and respected, nor the feeling that I am a failure and somehow inferior when I hear that I’m “not the one” for whatever reason.

I don’t deny that every family should choose a doula who best meets their needs, and I’m not sure of another way to make a truly informed decision apart from some type of interview process. I’m also not sure if families often realize the impact that an interview has on their initial interaction when a doula knows or suspects that she is merely one of many.

I suppose my hope is simply that eventually, through my ongoing work and my writing, families will come to know me apart from that singular interview, to be able to surmise the person I am as part of a birth team, so that they can make their first analysis before we ever meet. I’m not truly “me” when I’m on the proverbial table.

I’ve also noted that, for some reason, the same intensity doesn’t exist when it comes to discussing postpartum or placenta encapsulation services. I’ll wager a guess that it’s because those events, even if in the future, feel more settled for everyone; a time after that pivotal moment between mother and baby has been realized, of a more gradual transition, calm, nurturing, nourishing, and healing. As easy as it is to apply some of those words to birth support, the reality is that it never lacks a distinct and very separate intensity.

In writing all this, I wonder if I’ve just stumbled upon some clarity. I truly love supporting families in birth when it’s the right situation, and I trust that we will always find each other. Nevertheless, a persistent undercurrent continues to draw me to postpartum and placenta work, first and foremost. Perhaps this turmoil is simply a catalyst  in pushing me towards some much needed focus.

*If, for some reason, my post makes you feel angry or hateful, please refrain from commenting and move on. Thanks!

The post Birth Interviews. Introspection. appeared first on The Nurtured Way | Traditional Wisdom and Sustainable Living in Philadelphia, PA.

My response forced me to reflect on what “the subject of Santa” has come to be in our own home, and I’ve decided to post it here since it reads rather like a blog post and may be on the minds of other parents of young children during this season. Happy Holidays!

Hi all,

I originally came to this topic from a similar place as the original poster mentions. My adult ideals threatened to overshadow the small but strong and persistent little people that were emerging in my life. And to be perfectly honest, we simply did nothing related to Santa. We decorated a bit, and talked to our kids about what we did while we were growing up. We had a tree, enjoyed family and food. But then around two years into this whole parenting adventure, we began to experience Christmas from the perspective of our kids. At this stage (ages almost 3 and 4.5), they want SO badly to believe in magic and in Santa. For them, it’s not about “the stuff” or having a big old guy watching every move you make. (Twigs and coal would be pretty much the best gift ever in their eyes!) It’s not about lying to our kids.

I still have inner conflict sometimes (mainly when I have to answer tricky questions!), but it has become a fantasy for all of us that enriches our family. Like so many stories of our youthful imaginations, the world of make believe is their reality and it gives them SUCH joy. I simply do not have the heart nor see the reason to crush it for them. They made the decision for us (Santa – and the Easter Bunny and the tooth fairy – for them are figures that they have crafted from books and stories and their own imaginations and experiences), and it has reminded me of positive parts of my childhood that were buried deep. We as parents have the power to help set any “expectations” surrounding the holiday season(s).

As with all things in parenting, I truly believe, if you come at it from a place of love, *that* is what sticks over the long term. There is no reason that, ultimately, this time shouldn’t be woven into their sweetest memories. I realized my parents’ role in our holiday traditions when I was ready, and while I was sad, I remember feeling so thankful. I know not everyone had the same experience, but it is what you make of it. Santa doesn’t have to be about consumerism… The winter holidays are a time to be creative and reinvent and establish your own traditions… To remember what it is to possess innocence, and believe.

All this said, every family needs to do what is right for them!

I hope this season is filled with great magic and love for all families here.

Warmly,
Meg

The post On the Subject of Santa appeared first on The Nurtured Way | Traditional Wisdom and Sustainable Living in Philadelphia, PA.

*Adapted from a recipe over at Affairs of Living

A Halloween Party… I dread them. Not because I don’t like the people there, but because it is everyone, together, at the same time. Oh, and I’m not a fan of costumes or sweets either. (Yup, that’s right, I’m quite the party animal!)

Last year, everyone got sick and the boys were too little to care much about the event, so we managed to avoid it. This year was another story since no one was sick (knock on wood!), and both of them simply LOVE dressing up, AND I’m making a concentrated effort to be more socially engaged. Fortunately, this was a school party, and the parents were not supposed to dress up (yes, my huge sigh of relief was audible when I read the email). We did, however, need to bring a treat, so I started hunting for a “grain free vegan” (usually our best bet allergy wise) brownie recipe. While searching, I came across this fudge and thought it sounded just right for the occasion – and no baking required!

 *Yield 18 “cupcakes”

2 15-oz cans cooked black beans, drained and rinsed (or approx 3.5 cups of cooked beans if soaking and cooking yourself )
1/2C ghee (can substitute with coconut oil for a true vegan version)
2T coconut manna
2T sunbutter
1 1/2C cocoa powder
2t vanilla extract
2-4T raw honey (to taste) (vegans can use agave nectar or coconut nectar rather than honey)
2-4T maple syrup (to taste)
sea salt to sprinkle (I’m a fan of the Pink Himalayan Salt)

In a small saucepan over low heat, warm ghee, coconut manna, and sunbutter, stirring until melted and mixed. Add all ingredients except salt to your blender jar or food processor container. (I used my VitaMix, but only because we don’t own a food processor – I love it for most everything else, but the really thick stuff, not so much) Slowly blend until mixed. The mixture will be extremely thick. So thick, in fact, that it inspired the first experience with my VitaMix‘s “emergency shutoff” meant to protect the motor… I feared I’d broken it, so there were a few distinguishable beans in the mix, but not enough to make it taste anything like black beans!

Once mixed, smoosh a dollop into each spot in your lined cupcake tins. Sprinkle with salt, and refrigerate for an hour. I used only 4T of the sweet stuff in total, and it made for some very rich, dark chocolatey, not too sweet cupcakes. I’d opt for “mini” cupcakes next time though – these were too big for my taste!

The post No-Bake Black Bean Fudge Cupcakes appeared first on The Nurtured Way | Traditional Wisdom and Sustainable Living in Philadelphia, PA.

It’s that wonderful time of year again when local squash is abundant. My family loves butternut squash soup, so I’ve already made a few batches this season. Below is my latest rendition.

I made a big pot so we could share (enough to feed two families of four), so feel free to reduce if preferred, though it also freezes well!

Broth

2 chicken legs and thighs (bone in)*+
8C filtered water (to start – add more as needed)
Juice from 1/2 lemon+
2T gelatin (optional – we like Great Lakes Gelatin from pastured happy animals)
Sea Salt to taste+

In a stock pot, place the chicken and cover with water. Add the lemon juice and let sit for 30-60 minutes. Add some salt and turn burner on medium high. Slowly bring to a boil then reduce to a low simmer, skimming off any “scum” or “effluvium” (impurities, alkaloids, and large proteins or “lectins”) that rises to the surface. If using gelatin, I then mix my 2T with filtered water and pour it into the pot. Simmer for as long as possible, but not less than 3 hours (preferably 6). Remove from heat. Take the chicken out and put on a plate to drain and cool. Boiled chicken can be used in any number of ways, so be sure to take it off the bone and save for later! Finally, find a large bowl (or two) and a fine strainer and pour the broth from the pot through the strainer and into the bowl(s).

Note: This part can be done FAR in advance and broth frozen for later soup making. I’ll likely create a separate post just for this broth if I can ever remember to snag some decent images! It’s yummy on its own as well as added to almost any dish…

* Again, we strongly advocate the use of local, pastured meats and poultry whenever possible. When not available, the “inedible bits” from local organic produce make delicious veggie broth.

Soup

3 medium/large butternut squash+
2-3T ghee
3 cloves of garlic (minced)+
2t fresh ginger (grated)
1 large yellow onion (chopped)+
8C (approx – enough to cover ingredients) chicken broth (above) – or other broth of your choice
2-3 sprigs each of fresh oregano and thyme (both traditional respiratory tonics and expectorants)+
Salt to taste

Preheat your oven to 350-400 degrees Fahrenheit (we have a weak oven so tend to have to cook at higher temps). Wash and poke holes in the squash and place on a baking sheet or aluminum foil in the oven. Roast for 90 minutes or so, but please keep an eye on your squash! They will cook at different rates depending on the size and your oven. Remove to cool when a knife slips easily into the long/solid part of the squash (not the bulb as that can be misleading). Once cool, slice the squash in half and scoop out seeds, which you can save to to clean and roast or simply toss in the compost. Then, scoop out the flesh and save in a large bowl.

Heat the ghee on medium, then add the garlic and ginger, cooking for a minute or so, then add the onion, stirring until translucent (several minutes). At this point, I added some broth, then dumped in the squash I had set aside previously. Next, add more broth to cover – enough to easily stir everything around – and toss in the oregano and thyme (to be removed later). Turn up the heat to high and bring the mixture to a boil, then reduce to simmer for 30 minutes to 1 hour to allow all the flavors to meld together. Add salt to taste (or wait until blended if you prefer).

Turn off the heat and let the soup cool a bit. Remove the sprigs of herbs. (It’s fine if some of the leaves have come off – just important to get the stems out) Finally, blend the soup until smooth, using a stick blender or by blending batches in a regular blender. I opted for my Vitamix this go around since my trusty stick blender decided to die. (We’re on the hunt for a new one, so please feel free to offer suggestions in the comments!)

Serve and enjoy!

Nutritional Profile

Bone broth offers many nourishing and healing nutrients. A homemade stock contains easily assimilated minerals, such as calcium, magnesium, phosphorus, silicon, sulphur and other trace minerals. You’ll also find glucosamine and chondroitin for joint health, gelatin for gut health as well as easily assimilated protein, and amino acids.

Butternut squash is also jam packed full of nutritional goodness, with an abundance of vitamin A and B complex vitamins, dietary fiber, and minerals such as iron, zinc, copper, calcium, potassium, and phosphorus.

+ Local (except the lemon) ingredients from our weekly order from Harvest Local Foods

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Since her first cesarean wasn’t due to a pre-existing condition and all had gone very well, her OB was very open to a trial of labor, and supported her choice to attempt a VBAC. She asked if I would consider being her doula, and I was, of course, thrilled to accept!

After an uneventful and active pregnancy, we rolled into the final weeks, fully expecting baby G to arrive slightly early or close to her EDD, even though his big sister arrived 10 days post dates. However, baby G had his own agenda (as all babies do) and decided to enjoy as much time as possible in mama’s belly!

On Tuesday, at 40+6 weeks, Beckie texted me to let me know she’d been having regular contractions 45 minutes apart, then 20, and then 10, so things might be happening. I encouraged her to alternate rest and activity, and to be sure to stay hydrated and nourished, but basically try to ignore the rushes as much as possible. That night things died down enough for her to sleep then were back at around every 10 minutes once morning rolled around. We decided to check in on the baby’s heart rate using my fetoscope and it was strong and steady at 130-140 beats per minute and VERY low down. We also palpated to determine his position and he was resting happily with his back on her left side (LOA), which is optimal for labor. That afternoon, she went in for an acupuncture treatment to stimulate some lovely labor points, and things really intensified for awhile, but by that evening contractions went back to their steady 10 minutes apart, so we decided to try a little aromatherapy and homeopathy to see if we might encourage her body to let things roll ahead. The contractions picked up briefly to 8 minutes apart, but then sleep took over, and back to their favorite pattern in the morning.

Because mama was a VBAC, they had scheduled a c-section for 10 days post dates if she hadn’t gone into labor yet, so Thursday was spent walking and waiting to see if this might be the day. We talked again about relaxing during contractions, positions to open up the hips, and also beginning to give them some attention to see if they might prefer that! The day passed without much change, though she began to lose her mucous plug, which was a good indication that all of these contractions were indeed doing something. Alas, things were still not rolling by 6am when she and her husband headed to the hospital. She requested that they check her before going in for the c-section, and when they did, she was 1-2cm dilated, so after some deliberation, they encouraged her to go home, and see if the weekend might bring-on active labor. That afternoon included another acupuncture treatment, walking, eating, sleeping… Still 10 minutes apart.

The weekend started in much the same way, and still, those contractions held steady. At this point we wanted to see if we could encourage her body to “reboot” and get into a more efficient pattern, so she took some Calcium/Magnesium and went to bed. The rushes didn’t stop completely, but she was able to get a decent night’s sleep, which is never a bad thing, especially so late in pregnancy! Alas, the contractions just continued steadily through the rest of the weekend.

I’ll pause here to say that this is one of the most patient mamas I’ve ever met! It is no easy feat to remain so calm and optimistic at the end of pregnancy, let alone after days and days of prodromal labor, and her ability to do so was inspirational.

At her Monday appointment she was still 1-2cm dilated and her OB encouraged her to try a low dose of pitocin if things weren’t moving by Tuesday to see if that might not do the trick. We chatted about it and since it seemed like this might be the best option based on the events up to this point, we prepared to meet at the hospital the following morning. That evening, we chatted again, and it was as though a well of emotions came bubbling to the surface. As emotions can play a huge role in labor, this was a beautiful release. The next morning, we chatted on the phone and when the resident checked her she was 3-4cm dilated and we were thrilled that things had moved ahead more on their own.

At 10am, they started a Pitocin drip at a very low level (it was agreed that it would be kept very low to avoid increasing the risk of uterine rupture) and I headed over to meet her and her husband and dad who was also there keeping them company. After 2 hours she was at 5cm and at this point they broke her water and things began to pick up, and another two hours later was at 6 cm.  Unfortunately, it was at this juncture that baby decided to flip OP (Occiput Posterior – his back to mama’s back) and we rolled right into some extreme back labor. They turned off the Pitocin at this point and this strong mama did such amazing work! After 4 hours of increasingly intense back labor, and since we had reached a point where she could no longer work with her contractions or get into positions to help baby flip back around, she opted for an epidural to allow for some much needed rest. After a good sleep, the OB checked her and she was still at 6cm and baby was still OP. He recommended a cesarean at this point, but after some discussion, and since baby and mama were both doing well, Beckie decided to try some positioning to see if we might get things moving again, and the doctor turned the Pitocin back on at the lowest dose to increase the strength of the contractions. We used several techniques over the next two hours – a modified side lying release (she was not allowed to have her leg over the side of the bed, so we gently but firmly used a rocking motion of the hips to compensate for the lost gravity), belly lifts and tucks while sitting on the bed in the “buddha position,” and then hands and knees on the bed. We were going to try the rebozo technique of “sifting” at this point, but the nurse came in and scolded us for moving too much and messing up the monitors and wires so we promised to allow her to be still for a bit. When the doc returned, baby had shifted to ROA (which we surmised by the big bump his butt suddenly created on her belly!) and she was at 7 cm. Then 8cm. Then 9cm. It was getting late, so we all decided to get some rest and hoped that when we woke up it would be time to push. 4 hours later, still 9+cm. The OB was getting anxious by this point, so we decided to try one push to see if it would get rid of that final lip around the cervix – and it did! Hello 10cm! Baby was so close! So Beckie pushed for 20 minutes, and at that point, baby G let us know he didn’t like that part based on his heart rate, so it was decided that the safe course of action was to perform a cesarean. As soon as she stopped pushing, he was happy as a clam again, so thankfully there was no emergency. He clearly just didn’t want to come out that way! It is safe to assume that his mama must have the most comfy uterus ever.

George IV joined us earth side happy and healthy, sweet and mellow, at 5:24am on the final day of week 42.

While it was a bittersweet end, we were all so thankful that everyone was safe, and what a joy it was to be a part of this process. When I returned to the hospital to visit the following day, it was sheer bliss to witness this radiant mama, snuggled up with her beautiful boy!

Congratulations Beckie, George III, big sister Lily and welcome little one! It was an honor and a privilege to work with you during this special time. Much love!

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