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In the mid-1600s, English merchant ships dropped anchor in the waters of Massachusetts Bay. Travellers and cargo were brought safely to harbour, landing in New England for a new life. After spending months penned at sea, the people and livestock were beyond joyous to finally touch solid ground. 

The horizon of a new world laid before them, a blue sky of opportunity, which also proved true for an inconspicuous stow away.

This weekend, the USA celebrated 250 years of its independence with a notable level of grandiosity, I want to take the time to reflect on the story of a small and humble plant with a deep and beautiful teaching.

As muddy boots, cart wheels, and sacks of grain came ashore at the landings of the new English colony, the Native Americans watched a seismic change force itself onto their way of life.

Attuned to the natural world, they saw animals and plants as persons. They named them through poetry, like blanket flower or sweetgrass. But with the influx of foreigners their environment was also changing, and the humans weren’t the only ones to arrive.

The indigenous people started noticing a non-native incomer amongst their flora. A lowly plant, small in stature, which was thriving on compacted and trampled ground (the ground which native plants didn’t like to grow on). It sprung up around trodden footpaths, dirt tracks, and cattle yards.  

Settlers would travel far and wide and the plant followed them faithfully. Wherever they went, a broadleaf plantain grew. 

Poetically, it was named, White Man’s Footsteps (Plantago Major).

Its seeds are tiny and gel-like when wet. They cling to boots, hooves, straw, sacks, and wheels. The seeds' stickiness meant that through the very act of walking it kept being planted. 

But some of its seeding was also deliberate. Romans would establish it on the roadside as a medicinal plant. Anglo-Saxons honoured it as one of their nine sacred herbs. Even Shakespeare mentions it as a treatment for wounds in Romeo and Juliet and Love’s Labours Lost.

The Native Americans soon learnt that this small and over-looked plant had a rich potency for healing cuts and settling stomachs. It is also edible, its greens are rich in vitamins. But beyond its physical attributes, it was appreciated for never spreading beyond the edge of the path. They were grateful because it gives a lot and takes very little. 

Over many generations, the plantain became woven into indigenous medicine and therefore, Native American culture. It was counted as belonging and given recognition alongside traditional plants. Essentially, it became naturalised. 

Freely the plant gave, and freely it received. 

In our culture of transaction, we sense a strangeness and distance to the Indigenous culture of reciprocity. But in it lies deep and ancient wisdom.

Although White Man’s Footsteps arrived in difficult circumstances, the bad start didn't restrict what it became. The plant’s depth of character shone beyond what could have defined it.

Visually, the plantain is the opposite of a foxglove or sunflower. It is small and not tall, humble and not showy, it matters without being grandiose. And in its quietness, it carries integrity and impact. 

It knows when enough is enough, how to coexist, and how to thrive without taking over. If only others could heed that lesson.

The word place describes a dimension where land, meaning, and connection intersect. It applies to wherever people and the land are in relationship. Here in the UK, I have a great affinity to the West Country, amongst these rolling green hills are where my ancestors are buried and where my future is yet to arrive. 

If we ever find ourselves in someone else’s place, the plantain gives us a powerful lesson in how to be welcome; through giving more than we take.

As we walk along the path ahead, we may need to heal a wound, and we can find assistance from a helper, if know where to look.

We are also reminded to be that helper, and give wherever we leave footsteps.

Warmly, 

Rob

PS, this weeks letter was deeply inspired by the work of Robin Kimmerer and her book ‘Braiding Sweetgrass’, it’s well worth a read.

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