YouAlberta
I get overwhelmed sometimes.
If I'm being honest, it’s a lot more than sometimes. Since this is a predictable situation I find myself in, I try out new strategies to help address it.
Mindfulness practices can be hard for me to do. I feel awkward counting 5 things I can see, and sometimes the counting itself contributes to the overwhelm — I’m looking at too many things, processing too much input.
does not overwhelm me. So I’ve been keeping an eye out for fireweed. It’s a beautiful flower native to Alberta — a pioneer species, often one of the first plants able to grow in disturbed ecosystems, like post-wildfire forests.
It has a stem reaching up to nine feet tall, with long, narrow leaves and bright magenta flowers. After flowering, the small stems dry and burst open, letting the seeds disperse in the wind. It’s resilient and bold, and the bees love it. It also has a long history as medicine and food for Indigenous Peoples of this land.
When I find fireweed, I can feel my heartbeat. I’m more aware of my breathing, and I realize how fast my mind is racing. Focusing on the plant helps slow my mind to a manageable pace. It gives me something manageable to focus on. When I spend time with some fireweed, I can ground myself. I can focus on something simple — like a leaf. I can notice how it moves in the wind, how it looks at different stages of growth and if I can identify any pests’ work.
It feels lovely to be able to identify a particular flower — like greeting a friend. I often struggle to keep track of time in the summer as my schedule is less consistent than during the fall or winter semester, but paying attention to fireweed helps me keep track of time. I can anchor my sense of time to the growth I can measure in this other organism.
This kind of mindfulness helps remind myself that I’m a part of an ecosystem. I’m not an isolated individual; I’m someone in relation to countless living and non-living things. My behaviour is affected by and affects my environment. It’s a simple concept, I know, but unexpectedly difficult to remember when wrapped up in my own head.
In June, I had to look hard for fireweed — the flowers hadn’t bloomed yet, so I spent time attuning my eyes to identify the distinctive leaves amidst all the varying shades of green in the Mill Creek Ravine.
I’d pause during dog walks and take a deep breath and scan my surroundings. When I found fireweed, I’d make note of where, and visit the same plant as the season progressed. This added a small dopamine burst to my routine, which helped me to regulate and face my day.
Once the fireweed bloomed, I was able to identify it much faster — finding fireweed became part of my routine while taking transit. The shade of magenta signalled joy. July was filled with moments of joy in my routine as I discovered unexpected fireweed — along the Whitemud Freeway, in forgotten piles of leaves from last season, in alleyways. I’m amazed by this plant’s resilience — the obscure places it manages to grow don’t seem very conducive for life, but fireweed is able to make it work. I can work with that.
In late July and early August, the blossoms begin to die (going from a bright magenta to a darker purple shade), and the seed pods (previously the flower stems) begin to mature. It took me an embarrassingly long time to Google how to collect the seeds — friends of mine had requested some so that they could grow this native plant in their backyards.
Once I did Google how to collect the seeds, I eagerly waited for them to be ready. The anticipation and subsequent seed collection has brought so much unexpected joy — I’ve loved watching the bees visit the fireweed in my yard, so collecting seeds to plant has me excited for the potential that they hold. The seeds blow away in the wind, and store best in paper bags. I have yet to find a decent collection method, but I’m not worried about it — the many seeds that escape my grasp are carried far by the wind, to find somewhere else to grow.
I’m grateful for the time I’ve spent with this flower, and remembering how to take care of myself.
Sometimes self-care is straightforward, sometimes it’s finding fireweed.