By Jesse Wolf Hardin
The Wild West is thought to have been a dangerous place, and certainly
would have been a lot more so without the help of local healers. In a
region where university trained doctors were far and few between, it
was mostly informally trained women who were the repositories of
practical medical wisdom. They assisted with births and brought grace
to the moment of dying, were called to administer elderflower and
yarrow to feverish children, and tend plow cuts and bullet wounds,
packing them with poultices made from plantain or usnea. Those with
Native American blood or education were known as Medicine Women, while
to the Hispanics of the Southwest they were called Curanderas. Their
methods and cures were a reflection of local culture as well as local
biota and an inspirited landscape, and every region featured its own
pharmacopeia of indigenous plant species. From secret Basque cures to
Apache remedies, local homemade medicines were usually more available
and often more effective than expensive imported pharmaceuticals. In
point of fact, the proliferation of so-called “Patent” medicines, often
with harmful additives as well as wood alcohol, was one factor
explaining why the overall health of men and women on the American
frontier was actually better than that of folks living then in the
large Eastern cities.
Kiva Rose embodies the Medicine Woman Tradition, drawing from the
traditions of the past even as she finds ways to bring natural healing
and herbal wildcrafting to the modern world. Living seven river
crossings from the nearest road, her home serves as a wilderness
teaching center for herbal students from all over the country, gals who
join in plant-identification walks where they’re shown how to select,
harvest and utilize powerful wild herbs like estafiate and oregano de
la sierras.
Known for dressing very nattily and with a taste of the Old West, there
is no part of her wardrobe more treasured – or put to more uses – than
her open crowned SunBody hat. She has used it to transport minnows to
the river, saving them from the sad fate of an evaporating tributary,
and filled it with seeds to tempt chipmunks into her lap. But more
often, it protects Kiva’s fair complexion from a blazing New Mexico sun
until she gets deep into her favorite patches of plants. She then
flips it over as her students smile and watch, her SunBody magically
becoming a finely woven plant basket, soon overflowing with her canyon
home’s herbal bounty.
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