Wild Determination, or Me and the Plantitas

I often joke that I’ve never known what I was doing, but somehow I did it, and it turned out pretty well. For example, I took the GREs and applied to Ph.D. programs without any tutoring or guidance, but somehow got in. When I moved back to Austin to start my private practice, I randomly started looking for offices and networking with therapists, and my practice grew relatively quickly. In retrospect, my internal experience felt like an impostor shooting in the dark, but my cumulative, seemingly unconnected actions—along with some wild determination—somehow came together in an intuitive way. And, of course, my spirit guides have always been watching out for me.

This is exactly what happened when I decided to grow a garden.

Bouquet of rue, bee balm, oregano and mint

A little over six years ago, one of my guides sent me a dream in which I was collecting herbs and placing each of them into different containers. As someone who had never gardened, I woke up surprised by the message. I had always enjoyed being in nature and usually kept a few houseplants around, but I had never contemplated growing my own garden. At the time, I was living in an apartment, limited to the small plants that could fit on my patio.

Several months after that dream, and after connecting with a few indigenous ancestors, I realized that the shamanic path of curanderismo was an integral part of my spiritual development. It was then that I understood the importance of creating relationships with plantitas and hierbas, and of strengthening my connection to the land and Madre Tierra in general.

Two years later, I bought and moved into a house that I loved—but it had a very small backyard. Regardless, I was determined to grow an herb garden, even with the limited space. Again, I had no idea what I was doing, only an intuitive knowing that if I created a garden, it would grow for me.

I sought guidance from my friend Vanessa (of middlenighttea.com-check her out for herbal consults), who had been cultivating her own garden for years. She encouraged me to start with sprouts in pots and eventually move the larger plants into planters on the ground. She even shared some herbs with me—bee balm, mugwort, and yarrow—for which I am eternally grateful, as these yerbas have affected my life in profound ways.

Vanessa was the only person I consulted. This may sound completely ridiculous, but I created my garden without reading gardening books or researching which plants grow best together. It sounds silly now, but I genuinely didn’t think to do it. Of course, as the plantitas grew, I read about them and learned their medicinal and spiritual properties. But the final product was ultimately shaped by intuition and perseverance (a euphemism for my occasional stubborn hardheadedness).

Once the sprouts had grown and clearly rooted in their pots, I started constructing the planters and laying out my gardening plan. I entered a hyper-focused, semi-impulsive mode, gathering all the materials I would need—soil, sticks, and mulch for the planters.

Yours truly. I feel so happy and at peace in my garden. My mind instantly quiets.

I wanted my garden to exist as a wild place of exploration, curiosity, and relationship, so I shied away from creating anything too structured or detailed. In three separate containers, I planted rosemary, mugwort, lemon balm, yarrow, yierba buena, basil, chamomile, and lavender. The fourth planter contained rue (ruda), Mexican oregano (both sourced from a Latino HEB—y’all know which ones I’m talking about), and bee balm.

I learned about the plantitas—and myself—along the way. Basil (albahaca) loved its spot and was bold in taking up space and creating an alliance with me. At one point, it grew almost to the size of a tree, towering over me until it finally succumbed to a bad freeze (don’t worry—it’s back to its massive self). I learned that lavender and basil were very different and not the best companions. Chamomile fared better, but it was difficult to keep up with basil’s tremendous growth and need for moisture.

Rue, oregano, and bee balm all thrive together, even though I later read that planting rue and oregano together isn’t recommended. Bee balm and oregano share similar aromatic qualities and love bright sun, so I like to think this triad works because of their separate but intertwined relationships.

After three years in this house—and three years of connecting with and tending to my hierbitas—they are fully in bloom, strong in their stems and burning with color and vibrancy.

A couple of friends have commented that I have a “green thumb,” but I really don’t think I do, and I’m not underestimating myself when I say that. The dream my guide sent felt like a version of Kevin Costner’s experience in Field of Dreams—if he built the baseball field, they would come. It felt the same way with my plantitas: if I poured energy, love, and determination into building relationships with them, they would grow.

Monarda starting to bloom!

The plants grew and showed me which medicines I needed in my own life, and which my clients may need as well. They softly whisper or wave their leaves at me to grab my attention, then share their wisdom. Even before I created Xochimetzli, they deepened their roots and showed me how to respectfully and lovingly use them in spiritual cleansings and baths, and teas and tinctures. Every day, I talk to them, touch them gently, harvest kindly, and tend to them with care and water. I regard them as living, breathing ancestors.

My garden began as a dream, but it became a relationship—one that continues to teach me about intuition, reciprocity, patience, and trust. Initially, I thought I was learning how to grow a garden, but in many ways, the plantitas have been the true maestras, teaching me that growth doesn’t happen in isolation—it happens together, and in communion with the land. They teach me that we are all one—that the power of their essence is connected to the power of my own spirit, and that together, our combined energy can become a burst of beautiful healing and magic.