Wednesday, August 6, 2014

The Chicory Dances...

 Why do we call ourselves Brother Chicory?

We get that question a lot.  Here is an brief look at our love for Chicory.

It begins with location, timing, and beauty.  Our appreciation for the flower, the plant and the root lies in it's total being.  By nature, it grows in mostly abandoned places (quite stubbornly).  Roadsides, hillsides, sunny, rocky slopes... against the odds, this little flower springs up everywhere unlikely making abandoned places beautiful and bringing character to monoculture-manicure attempts.  We relate with it somehow.  Not only does it begin to flower at the very end of spring (after the most popular time of growth), but it blooms in full glory in the full-trying-heat of the sun.  It lives where most will not.  Withstands what most will not.  And nourishes in ways that most can not.  From medicinal uses (which I won't get into), edible uses, coffee-substitute usage, beautiful vibrant purples and even whites and pinks sometimes, and the subtle perfume, to cattle fodder, the plant is a true treasure beneath our fast moving wheels of society.  It will be there.  It will thrive.

We love to see our Brother Chicory.  In relation, it is near us, beneath us, among us when allowed to grow.  We have relationship with it.  We honor it with the title Brother.  We assume it's identity and hope to embody the spirit and character which it represents.

The Chicory dances openly to the song of the cicada, that blistering song which chases humanity indoors.