I was standing in a June meadow twenty years ago surrounded by plants I could name.
Meadowsweet. Red clover. Self-heal. Ribwort plantain. Ox-eye daisy.
I knew their uses, their seasons, their Latin binomials. I’d been studying for years. And I felt completely alone.
Not physically, there were people nearby, cars on the road. But separated. Like I was looking at the meadow through glass.
I knew the plants. But I didn’t feel known by them.
This is what nobody tells you when you start learning to forage.
You begin because you want to belong. To reconnect, to find your way back to something real.
So you learn the names. Study the books. Go on courses.
And somewhere along the way, the labels become the barrier.
You’re so busy identifying and confirming, “five petals, opposite leaves, that’s definitely…” that you never actually meet the plant.
You end up further from belonging than when you started, because now you know just enough to think you understand, but not enough to feel anything.
Knowing more isn’t the way back.
Knowing differently is.