Rose Hips from the Ancestors

A message from my ancestors.

As I step onto the rickety old bridge that crosses the bern (stream), I hear upon the wind, I hear this is your medicine. Embrace her, get to know her and BE her.

ROSE HIPS

Cool dewy morning,

Blue Sky at noon,

White mist at evening,

And large yellow moon;

Blackberries juicy

For staining of lips;

And scarlet, O scarlet

The Wild Rose Hips!

Gay as a gipsy

All Autumn long,

Here on the hedge-top

This is my song

In a vision beyond this time, 3 months later I had a dream of my Great, great, great Grandmother. Her name is Catherine (Kate) McLean (nee Morison). Born on the Isle of Mull. She is standing on one side and reaches out her hand filled with Rose Hips.

So how do I embrace her?

I sit alongside her listening to what she has to say.

So how do I get to know her?

I ask for an offering of her hips, picked at the right time. I watch to see when she has ripened, when the first frost has brought her essence back into her BEing. I joyfully make some tea, a pot of water simmering on the stove for all to share. I feel a vibrancy within her.

I also carefully step inside her I see the tiny hairs that surround the seeds which tell me to use her gently. I save the seeds for planting along that bern where she resides.

An addition to this story... On a visit to Cape Breton with my family, The place where my ancestors escaped to during the Clearances from Scotland, we visited the McLean cemetery. In this cemetery rose hips were gathered and brought back home. To think that I have medicine that grew amongst my ancestors. A beautiful rose hip glycerite was made. An today I mixed some cacao from Guatemala, some of that rose hip glycerite and turned them into Hearts (Love).