Over the years I worked at finding, identifying, collecting and using the plants mentioned in the Vermillionville Healer’s Guide until I came to a critical mass of knowledge. I am not a traditional gardener, but I am surrounded by natives.
In 2009 my Beau Chene students brought me manglier in Dollar Store bags and expounded on its bitterness (Manglier: It's nasty). I recognized it as the most plentiful plant in my field and began using it as they directed. I dug up a Mamou plant (coral bean) from our camp in the Chicot woods. If the people on La Tasse de Cafe Radio Program spoke of a remedy or plant, I spent time looking for it in my own yard and then used it as they did. Neighbor Chat-tigre spoke of the flasiro (fleur de sureau) being good for fever. Tante Kathleen gave me a pamphlet on Spanish moss and wax myrtle and using the methods listed there I made tarabi cordage and pucks of bayberry wax. Mentors like Bill Fontenot and defunct Richard Guidry gave me seed, advised me and warned me about certain plants and their toxicity. Their sternness was part of my learning the boundaries and the acceptable behaviors surrounding this work. I became familiar with the plants, their French and Mobilian Choctaw names and the old names of the maladies they treated. I was taught the prayers in this time by my family and Mr. Verbis Soileau of Point Blue. I used myself as a subject for any experimentation (Big Bill called me the herbal adventurer). I still didn’t think of myself as someone who knew about plants, but what did know was, like the prayers, in French.
It was in the nearing of this critical mass of plant familiarity that I set out to find a few elusive plants, namely herb à vers (womseed), herbe à malo (lizard’s tail) and the fragrant rabbit tobacco. I would set an intention, drive around the prairie or walk the swamp and let my eyes scan. I knew the other plants so well that I was able to zoom in on the unfamiliar ones, and it was this way that I found them all within 1/2 mile of my house.
It took three attempts to find the rabbit tobacco again, but when I set my eyes to scanning, I recognized an unfamiliar plant, a pale stranger on the edge of the western tree line. The smell wasn't as strong as it is when in bloom, but after a few days of comparing and identification I was sure it was pseudoghaphalium obtousifolium, fragrant rabbit tobacco. There were three separate plants at the western edge. It was September 2022 and I promised this plant I would protect and keep her safe and let her grow. I cleared the overgrowth from around her in a fit and she was thankful that after so many years, someone was paying attention.
That very day I began carrying this plant around with me. I kept dried bundles in my journals and often picked a little before I went anywhere. I used it instinctively as an amulet and protector. The day I began to announce the French morning show "Bonjour Louisiane" on 88.7 FM KRVS I had it with me. In that time, I had also paired it with the copal resin that I had harvested from the sweet gum trees. Together the copal resin and the fragrant rabbit tobacco protected me from some terrible predicaments.
The more I shared it with people, some were incredulous and some told me it was only found in north Louisiana. Some told me I had purple cudweed (patte de chat), and they were right, I had purple/pennsylvania cudweed by the thousands on the property, but the fragrant rabbit tobacco was only there by the dozens and had a completely different smell, texture and growing season. I noticed the similarities, but there were stark differences also namely that purple cudweed does not smell pleasant or at all. They were, however, cousins, and has similar healing properties.
I had identified it confidently by smell and through other resources, plant identification apps, as well as other people who started coming to the land to see her. I had begun searching out possible French names and native uses, but because of the maple smell, there was no question of what it was. I sat with my little patch daily. I was content that it was my medicine.
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