The Lavender Cure

“Don’t worry,” I replied, trying to ignore the pain spreading up my back.

Now the sun was broiling. High noon. Buds from nearly 300 plants had to be harvested by dark! I’d waited too long—till the last day before the buds would bloom, wanting to get the maximum crop.

Even after three hours, I’d barely made a dent. My back was on fire. These plants! I’d never get to them all. And soon there’d be 700 more ready to cut! This was not the relief I’d prayed for.

For 15 years I’d suffered from fibromyalgia, my neck and lower back constantly inflamed. It was a mysterious, chronic pain in my muscles, aggravated by the slightest pressure. It hurt just to lie down. I couldn’t remember my last full night’s sleep. Tossing, turning and worrying, I was drained before I even got out of bed.

How could I’ve made such a colossal mistake, thinking I could be a lavender farmer? I’d had a good career managing the printing of catalogs. But my job, more and more, required sitting at a computer. The pain was excruciating.

I was desperate to find work that didn’t require sitting for eight hours. I fantasized about being my own boss, setting my own schedule, and started taking business classes.

“What do you love doing?” the instructor asked one night. “Follow your passion.”

Gardening. That had been my answer. My flower beds were my sanctuary, where I prayed and felt closest to God. But how could that be a business?

A few weeks later I was in my garden. The lavender had just bloomed. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with its fragrance. My muscles relaxed, peace sweeping over me. If only I could make this last.

Then it hit me. I could grow lavender! I’d read about people selling soaps and creams made from the oil. I did research and wrote my first business plan, showed David how it came out.

We owned enough land to plant 1,000 bushes on an acre then another 1,000 the next year. In three years the first oil-bearing buds would mature. I’d sell products online and at festivals.

“Go for it,” David said. Thinking about the field, tending the plants after work, got me through the years until I could quit my job. Now my first harvest was happening.

I bent over a bush, grabbing stems with my left hand. With my right I pushed a serrated knife into them. The bushes were covered with purple buds, filled almost to bursting with oil. All those years I’d dreamed of this moment. Hours of planting, watering, pruning.

If I didn’t get these bushes cut, tomorrow when they blossomed, the oil—with the income—would waft away. It was on me. There was no money to hire help. David couldn’t take time off from his job.

The stems were tough and I pushed harder. The blade slipped, nicking my thumb. A ribbon of blood trickled down my hand. This was impossible! I had to be doing something wrong.

Cautiously, I took hold of the stems again and sawed through them. At this pace I’d be lucky to get to a quarter of the plants. I have to speed up! But each time I bent over, needles of pain shot across my back.

I pulled a rubber band around the cut stems and put them on a cart next to me, atop the growing pile I’d bound since morning. Once I was done harvesting, I had to hang each bundle in the barn to dry. But I couldn’t think about that now.

The knots in my muscles twisted tighter. I straightened my back. Would I be able to walk tomorrow? God, I don’t know how much more I can do. I need your help. I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath. Ah, the sweet perfume of lavender…

I took another deep breath and blocked out all but the bush in front of me. With a few quick jerks I slid the knife through the stems and moved to the next plant.

The sun was racing toward the horizon when I reached the end of the row. I’d harvested 100 bushes, less than a third of what needed to be done.

I moved to the next row and in the fading light reached for more stems. I found a slow rhythm, but time was running out. It was getting too dark to see. Finally I had to stop halfway down the row. It was pitch black.

I strained to push the cart piled high with buds to the barn, breathing in the powerful aroma. I’d never worked harder, never put more sweat—and blood—into anything, but I felt like a failure.

One after the other, I tied lavender bundles to wooden frames, which I then hooked to the rafters. Would this day ever end?

It was almost midnight when I collapsed into bed next to David. He was already asleep. He’d worked late too. I was glad not to have to tell him about my day. My body felt pummeled. It was going to be another long sleepless night. I tried not to move. All I wanted was to…

The next thing I knew light was streaming into the bedroom. It couldn’t be morning. I didn’t remember closing my eyes. But I was wide awake. I hadn’t woken once during the night. It was hard to remember ever feeling this…alive!

I swung my feet to the floor. Ugh! A deep, dull ache surged in my back. The harvest! It had nearly killed me. I pushed up from the bed. Strange. Lowered myself down and pushed up again.

I had aches in muscles I didn’t even know I had, but it felt invigorating. It was healthy pain. The inflammation, that constant life-draining pain, was gone!

Could it have been the lavender that helped me, its healing aroma? I went to the kitchen. There was David. Usually I was up way before him. “Hey, sleeping beauty,” he said. “I was hoping you’d wake up before I left for work. Let’s see the crop.”

I hesitated. What would he think when he saw how little lavender I’d harvested? “Are you sure you have time?”

“Are you kidding?” he said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” We walked to the barn, the air thick with humidity. Slowly, I pulled the barn door open. With a rush, the moist air was saturated with the most incredible fragrance. It enveloped me, wrapping me in a warm, soothing blanket of lavender.

I gazed around the barn. Racks full of purple buds covered the rafters. The barn looked like a cathedral of purple. Had I really cut all this? David’s eyes were wide. “I had no idea,” he cried. “I’m so proud of you. You’re a lavender farmer!”

I’d been so focused on my pain, on what I couldn’t do. Now, for the first time, I saw what I had accomplished, not just in that one grueling day, but over three years of daily nurturing.

I’d harvested something far more valuable than lavender. God had long ago drafted a plan for my life. I knew there’d be challenges, but I wasn’t worried. I had a partner who was never going to let me fail or suffer without reward.

Read about lavender’s surprising healing powers.

Patricia Gantz-Pollard

See more from Patricia Gantz-Pollard