On keeping a herbarium

A herbarium is, at its simplest, a collection of pressed plants. But that has never been what it means to me.

When I made The Hidden Herbarium, I wanted it to be more than a place to keep dried flowers. I wanted the most personal, holistic plant book I could imagine – as unique and as yours as possible. A place where the herbarium, the plants, and the stories all live together. Where you press a flower, yes – but beside it you write where you found it, when, how. Alone, or walking with a friend. Sometimes there is a whole story behind a single plant, the way there is behind my field of flax.

Because keeping a herbarium is really a way of learning to know plants deeply. Not from a screen, but with your hands and your feet and your slow attention. And the gathering itself – that is the quiet magic of it.

You walk into the forest, or out across a meadow, with an open mind. Like a small adventure. Listening, looking, awake. You are not rushing anywhere. You are simply there, noticing what the day decides to show you.

I still remember a walk my dearest friend and I took last summer. We live in the city – for now – so one beautiful summer's day we decided, with no plan at all, to take a little plant walk and see what we'd meet. We wandered by the sea, and through the woods. We picked a few berries, some blueberries still unripe. And on the way back we stopped, and walked down a small road we didn't know – and there, suddenly, in front of us, was a field of snow-white meadowsweet. We gathered some, and all winter long I remembered that field every time I drank the tea.

We've just agreed to take a new walk soon. Who knows what plant we'll find this time, and what story it will leave behind.

That is what a herbarium really holds. Not only the plant, but the day it found you. The light, the company, the small adventure of it. Press the flower, and you press the memory too.

So if you keep one – and I hope you will – let it be more than a record. Let it be a living thing. A book that grows slower than a season, and remembers everything.