"Portrait of an Artist as the Daughter of an Artist"

I have always loved plants.  It is funny that my name happens to be Chicory. Psychologists have studied the connection between a person’s name and their chosen career.  While I am not a professional botanist I enjoy both growing and drawing them. Let me state from the outset, that while plants are clearly essential to our survival,  I do not delude myself into believing that they are simply pretty flowers or willing leaves waiting to be picked.

Growing up in Cleveland, my best friend Jennifer and I would spend hours in the ravine that backed her yard. I cannot remember who it was that taught me to identify the plants growing down there.  It could have been my mother who loved to garden.  I remember our plot resplendent with vegetables in the community garden.  It could have been my Uncle Blake. He was a fan of Lord of the Rings, and went on his own quests hitchhiking around the US. He told me and my sister tales of gathering plants along the way. It could have been Jennifer’s mother, who was like a second mother to me. She was a nurse who rode a motorcycle and read tarot cards. We would leave the house and head down into the forest, which provided us opportunities for adventure and imaginary battles.

In the ravine there were a variety of plants, some of which we would gather.  There was sassafras,  with funny mitten-like shaped leaves and a wonderful smell. At a certain point during our time in Cleveland my parents brewed beer in addition they would make us rootbeer. Rootbeer’s flavor originated from the roots of the sassafras tree. There was catnip.  We would pick it, bring it back to our cats, and watch them transformed by the scent. There were various other mints as well. One of my other favorites was a Jack-in-the-pulpit, which we never picked, but it was always a magical character.  To me, it  appeared almost like a person. This plant is able to change its sex going back and forth between male and female. 

Some plants are of course toxic and they all try to work to their own ends. Many plants are natural forms of birth control. Red clover growing in fields is believed to cause infertility in sheep, no doubt this is a way that plants protect themselves. Pharmaceutical companies journey down to our rainforests hoping to patent and monetize the secrets of plants. Many animals seem to have knowledge of  medicinal plants which they ingest to heal themselves.

My mother gave me a copy of Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. My mother apologized for its corner which had been  gently nibbled by one of her rabbits. The nibbling rabbit seemed in keeping with this book’s character.  Robin Wall Kimmerer, a member of the Potawatomi Nation challenges us to respect and listen to plants. In her native language, plants are never referred to as it. I read this book and took it to heart, but I must apologize to the plants for continuing to refer to them as it, in English we still lack the correct pronouns.  While I was teaching virtually during COVID I had more time to spend in my garden. I began mounting orchids and staghorn ferns to pieces of driftwood I gathered from the Mississippi. I started talking to my plants and for the first time ever my orchid decided to bloom again.