vii: Botanica Fabula
Evergreen Periwinkle: a fairy story Amanda Edmiston Periwinkles (Vinca minor and major) have a creeping habit. They crept into a Swiss story I'd been given to share in The Very Curious Herbal podcast recently, making a subtle, unexpected appearance in a story which opened with a Larch tree (Larix decidua). As I was adapting some of the details, omitting as mindfully as I could those elements we may no longer want to reinforce, as the story left my lips, as I told, I couldn't help thinking how interesting it was that the story had been told to me just when I was looking for a Periwinkle story to share with you. The tale was brought to me by a lovely Swiss woman, Virginia, who came to one of my workshops a few years ago. Virginia is an activist and storyteller who I'd got in touch with when I was researching Larch. The Larch is a rather magical, phoenix-like tree, which I often use subtly, as a presence or a flower remedy to enhance creative confidence. It’s not native to Scotland, so here its folklore is a bit thin on the ground, whereas in its native Switzerland it occupies a rich and valuable place in legend. I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised at Periwinkle's appearance in the story. Again, it's a plant that features in Swiss folklore— used in decorative bunches to dispel evil spirits and bring good luck —which, in many ways, is the role of the child in the story I'm about to share. The story begins with a fairy woman who lives deep within the roots of a Larch tree, a transitional tree with the power to renew itself every year. The fairy, like the tree, seemed to regain her strength every Spring, even though she was immortal, like the evergreen Periwinkle creeping around the edges of the forest floor where the tree grew. This fairy loved the beautiful mountains, the blue skies, the fresh air and the flourishing, verdant land around her, but she longed for company and would hide on the edges of the village, watching the people, listening to the children play and wishing she had a child of her own. Although she was beautiful, there was something about her that stirred up mistrust in the villagers. ‘Too different’, they thought. There was something unexpected, something a little unusual that set her apart, and intolerant voices sent her away. She took, instead, to sitting and watching from her Larch tree home, from a distance— sad and even lonelier now, but unable to leave as she had nowhere else to go. Every day, there passed a young man who made a living harvesting from the forest; cutting the fast-growing Birch for firewood, watching to see which trees he could take for timber; always ensuring, as good woodsfolk always have, that he left the trees he knew needed to grow. The fairy did not realise it, but the young man was a little in love with her and was stricken by the 39 thought she might be sad and lonely. He had noticed her tears when ignorant folk had mocked her and sent her away and, eventually, he found the courage to speak to her and ask how she was. The two got chatting and spent many hours in the woods, sharing a passion for plants, exchanging their views and knowledge of the way things grew, sitting watching the sun set as day closed and,
