ix: Botanica Fabula
The taste of memory Amanda Edmiston For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream. Vincent van Gogh
To remember is to hand on— to teach, share, create, treasure. Memories create value in everyday or overlooked items, made priceless by the stories they hold. Those relating love and wisdom facilitate change and carry us onwards, beyond transitional times. They are held in tastes, glimpsed amongst leaves. They bring back what has come before, to teach, share, create, treasure.
had heard as children, gifted us a sense of common ground. I started to see the connecting threads between plants and stories, and spotted that the medicinal and therapeutic nuances of herbs were often hinted at in the stories we remembered. I started to gather the tales and to collect people’s memories of plant-use; I wove the strands together.
As November blows in, its dark evenings beckoning us to light fires and recall happy times, I think of the Ginkgo tree (Ginkgo biloba) and immediately recall the place where my storytelling journey began over ten years ago: Glasgow's Hidden Gardens.
Becoming the group’s resident storyteller took me from volunteer to professional artist. One of the first tales I re-wove from fragments of folklore and the mythologies of the countries my friends came from, was inspired by the idea of travelling to live elsewhere— as many of these families had done —and bringing with you a favourite food to retain a sensory link to the countries of your past.
As a new mum, the multicultural toddler group was my lifeline. In a group of grandparents, parents and children from an array of cultures and backgrounds, a sense of deep connection developed. On dry days we gathered beneath the Ginkgo tree in the centre of the garden. It offered shade on sunny days, a trunk to lean against, a golden carpet of lobed leaves in the Autumn which seemed to beg the children to arrange them in patterns across the lawn. It offered the perfect place to sit and tell stories. Our various uses of plants for food and healing, and the legends and magical tales we
My story takes a girl— Orpita, an Indian name meaning ‘offering’ —on a journey from Bangladesh, riding on the tail of a shooting star. She glimpses the star at the start of Winter, and travels to find a baby she has dreamt of, far away in Scotland. As she travels across the night sky, she begins collecting precious spices and ingredients from her aunties across the world. The ingredients come together as the story progresses, to create a delicious seasonal pie.
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