For the Love of Lavender
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Lavender, by stem, oil, scent or taste, is perfect, and I can prove it.
As the mother of a pair of adventurous toddler girls, I have had a first-aid kit packed with ointments, ice packs and bandages from the moment just after they learned to hold their heads up on their own.
But it wasn’t until a trip to the Valley View Lavender Farm in Buhl last summer that lavender oil became an essential component of that kit.
The girls and I were in the cutting garden of the organic farm where $5 gets you a fistful of the sultry scented stems that you select yourself.
Two 2-1/2-year-olds with scissors is fun enough, but add the extra element of leisurely bees drifting heavily from flower to flower, and you have a nature adventure of major proportions.
We had been cautioned about the bees, mind you. But caution, to my daughter Gracie Peterson, is a challenge. So, it was fitting that she would be the one running over to me squealing, “Mommy, look, I got one!” Her more frequently compliant and always ready-to-correct sister, Devon, ran beside her, yelling hysterically, “Gracie! No! You can’t do that!”
The bee, clasped in Gracie’s little fist, agreed with that. Instantly, the joy turned to horror. Gracie dropped the bee and wailed in place.
The man with the hand-held radio, the one who had told us to watch out for the bees in the first place, was there again, calling in for help.
I was thinking, wet aspirin, that’s what my granny used to draw out the stinger. Benadryl? What if, like my boxer Emma, Gracie was allergic to such stings? Her throat would swell, she wouldn’t be able to breathe. “EpiPen®! MEDIC!” my thoughts raced as I plunged her hand into a baby pool filled with ice and drinks usually reserved for guests.
“Yeah, we need some lavender oil at the baby pool,” the man told the radio. Huh?
Up pops another adult, wielding a small vial for the man with the radio. The man dried her tiny, reddened hand and touched a dab of the lavender oil on the injury. In literally a few seconds, she stopped crying. She proclaimed, “It not hurt, momma.”
I love lavender . . . >>>