Plantain: A Parable

I’ve always admired the parable as a teaching device. It’s a storytelling form that uses the mundane, relatable stuff of daily life to communicate truth and invite the audience into wisdom. Nature speaks in parables all around us, and anyone who wishes to learn wisdom is invited to listen.

I currently work part-time on the perennial crew of an organic farm, so I have many opportunities to listen and receive teaching. A few weeks ago, as I was thinning a thriving patch of plantain to make room for the false indigo plants growing in the same area, I considered the plants at my fingertips and felt Nature's gentle instruction again.

Plantain is a common plant found throughout Europe, Central Asia, and North America. Both the narrow-leaf and broadleaf varieties of plantain are sturdy and grow low to the ground. Because plantain often grows plentifully in distressed areas where the soil has been disturbed and many other plants can no longer thrive, Native Americans gave it the nickname “Englishman’s foot” or “white man’s footprint.” It became a common sight around white colonial settlements in North America.

Let the lore behind that name sink in for a minute. Sit with it. The legacy of the white man has been an invasive and disruptive one, destroying the eco-systems and bio-diversity of the land itself, not to mention the native inhabitants of the place.

I am embodied as a white woman. I was born into the colonial legacy. It was my ancestors who invaded, displaced others, trampled the land, and plundered its richness for personal profit. Perhaps it is worth saying that many of the European settlers were refugees and survivors in their own right, in need of shelter and compassion, and the trauma they spread was a mirror of the trauma they carried in their own bodies.* Many, however, were not. Many were wealthy opportunists. And they used their power and resources to exploit human, animal, and plant life wherever they went. Their footprint on the earth has been cruel. And yet, in response, the Earth has offered plantain as a healing presence. Plantain can survive repeated trampling and is able to grow in compacted ground, where it serves to gently loosen the soil again and also to prevent erosion. In addition to that, it is a medicinal herb for treating bites, stings, rashes, wounds, sore feet, coughs, and inflammation. Where humans have brought harm, Earth has provided plantain–white man’s footprint–as a sort of antidote of kindness.

Pondering all this, I kneel on the soil still weeding plantain. I uproot the plants reverently. Every part of this plant is edible: roots, leaves, seeds. Every part of it a gift to those who have disrespected and disregarded the very place that shelters them–as though the plant seeks to atone for and heal the evils brought about by its namesake.

I held the plants in my hands and felt such a mass of feelings. I have been both the trampler and the trampled. Both the entitled, unaware consumer and the disregarded, used commodity. Both the colonizing white man and the soil. The web of kinships is complex. I felt grief. I felt responsible to own the part I have played in destructive attitudes and behaviors and to learn and grow. I felt awe at seeing how the Earth tends her own children in spite of themselves. I felt grateful humility in the face of Nature’s generosity: the forgiveness and kindness she offers. Most deeply of all, I felt longing to become the plantain: the medicine. To be the humble, sturdy herb–to thrive anyways, to grow in and bring life back to the soil, and to offer life, even to those who may not recognize the gift or know how to fully receive it.

Where do you find yourself in this parable? How do you show up in the story? What role(s) do you currently play? Do you like what you see?

If you find yourself in the position of the user, the consumer, the trampler:

May you recognize, own, and grieve the destructiveness of your ways.
May you find the humility and diligence to walk the long road of unlearning.
May you be granted enough suffering of your own to learn to listen, to embody compassion, and to make reparation wherever you are able.

If you have been the land…

May you be granted justice by the Universe
May you lean into your own goodness: you are the earth: wise, nurturing, alive.
May you rest, trusting your self-regenerating power and finding everything you need for your healing.