Since returning from my business *slash* vaca *slash* harvest trip, I've been busier than a cat covering . . . tootsie rolls. I'm putting my house (aka studio) in order for the impending move to the garage space. Things are in a holding pattern with outside studio space, but the idea is still out there gathering steam from the universe. I loosely rolled the white and blue sage into large bundles which are sitting on a drying rack. I will have to turn them every day to ensure neither gets damp inside. It's going to be a warm few days so I'm confident the bundles will dry nicely with little leaf loss. I did the same with the sweet myrtle branches, but being a bit fuzzier than the sages, it took a bit of teasing to get that to bundle. The myrtle bundle looks like me on a bad hair day, with wild hairs sticking out every which way.
I got to filter and bottle the beautiful golden-orange bergamot tincture I made I think back in February. Or late January. Can't remember now. It looks and smells gorgeous.
The leftover bergamot peel from this tincture is drying so I can jar it up and use it for incense. There's still a significant amount of scent left in the spent peels, and there's no point wasting a gram. I'm looking around for more things to finish up and I'm avoiding the HP closet -- that's a Pandora's box for which days are required to sort.
I also watched a few videos online about how to properly harvest wild plants for a variety of uses, and one video in particular intrigued me. It was set in the basement of a large Native American goods' store and the shelves in the basement had rolls and rolls (big rolls, at least 12 inches in diameter) of different types of sages that were drying. It felt right, all those bundles, and I began to imagine the apothecary and thurifercorum appearing the same way -- waist-level shelves with jars filled with finished incense, and upper shelves filled with bundles of raw incense materials and bottles of tinctures and infusions. It is this dream in my heart that keeps me moving forward with my studio plans.
I also spoke too soon about the allergy issue. Since the gardener mowed, I've been sneezing like mad. Apparently, knocking on wood is just an old stupid superstition after all.