#The Botanist Gin

[alanide-arts]

some MHR shenanigans feat. my hammergirl, Gin

[thewifesposts]

Remember…….

Oh, you mean the time when I was in the posh pub. Even the women were commenting on my ass in those Freddy pants in the toilet.

So, I was standing at the bar in Botanist, there were a group of young, good looking lads standing at the side of me.

You were sat at the table watching. One of the lads asked, “What ya drinking?”

“Rhubarb gin and ginger with ginger!” I reply!

There was quite a queue at the bar. People were pushing forward to get served. I thought I felt him push himself against me, but when I turned around he said, “Oh, sorry” so I thought nothing more of it.

Then he did it again, this time no one was pushing. I felt him hard and throbbing inside his jeans, as he pressed himself against my tight ass, he whispered in my ear, “Let me get this drink.”

I said that was very kind, but my partner was sitting st the table behind. He asked what he was drinking and ordered an extra beer.

I told him that he was probably getting off on the fact that I was getting chatted up!

He whispered into my ear, walked over to your table and complimented you on your gorgeous girl! 😉

We sat at the table and he went back to his mates. We chatted about the possibilities this could bring and could this be the chance?

I made an excuse to go to the toilet to seek him out. He followed me. I told him about our conversation, he grabbed my tight ass and said how could he refuse? He wasn’t too sure about the extra guy, but I assured him they my man would be happy just to watch and then we’d see what happens ....

Sent by my love. She loves the attention but wouldn’t go further. Unless it was a lady. She wrote this for me.

[samheughanswife]

SS Wild Scottish Gin not on the list.

The Botanist Islay Gin

UK Approved(Esquire,Red,HB,GH,Country Living,Prima)The Botanist Islay Gin

£36 AT AMAZON

From the makers of Bruichladdich whisky, The Botanist gin has a sophisticated citrus-forward flavour that pairs well with tonic and ice.

Made with a combination of 22 local Scottish herbs, it tastes like adventuring through the hedgerows of the Scottish Isles — and is the ideal base for a punchy gin martini.

70cl, 46%

BEST MINIMALIST GIN

Height of Arrows Gin

UK Approved(Esquire,Red,HB,GH,Country Living,Prima)Height of Arrows Gin

£40 AT AMAZON

Proving less can be more, Edinburgh-based Height of Arrows has stripped it all back. Juniper is the only botanical you’ll find here, which might sound simple, but means you’re hit with notes of earthy black pepper and zingy citrus.

Perfectly balanced and oh-so-fresh, this is exactly how gin should taste.

70cl, 43%

BEST SCOTTISH GIN

Isle of Harris Gin

UK Approved(Esquire,Red,HB,GH,Country Living,Prima)Isle of Harris Gin

Now 12% Off

£41 AT AMAZON

Infused with sugar sea kelp hand-harvested from the surrounding Scottish shoreline, Isle of Harris pays homage to its Hebridean roots in every sip.

Though the backnote is predominantly savoury, lingering lemon and bitter orange peel bring balance. A mainstay for an unmatched gin martini.

Perhaps if more time was devoted to marketing outside the niche of SS, Sam/Alex SM, creating meaningful marketing campaign outside of the OL fan dependent community Sassenach gin will be a contender.

Free weekends spent strategizing rather than trying to suggest a relationship by strolling through a venue as a mid level influencers bagman may yield a wider audience.

Gin o’clock here

[honeybcj]

bartylus microfic

back to re-uploading some of my microfics, so of course i had to start with one of my favs. forager barty, mixologist regulus, and lots of herbal aphrodisiacs <3

“What the fuck is this?”

Regulus stares down at the plant in front of him, blinking. His lips curl up in mild disgust, brow pinching together in confusion. To his side, Barty scoffs like the answer is obvious.

“It’s Tribulus,” answers Barty, hoisting himself up onto the counter. “Pretty nice, isn’t it?”

Regulus’ gaze shoots towards Barty, nothing but disdain in his eyes. Frankly, Barty looks far too smug right now, and Regulus is two seconds from ripping the plant to shreds and shoving it straight into Barty’s mouth to get him to shut the fuck up.

“Barty, listen,” Regulus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’ve loved your assistance on these trips, I have, but so help me—”

“Oh, come on! It’s something new! Something fun!” Barty exclaims with a toothy grin.

“I asked for fucking tarragon, you shithead,” Regulus hisses, shoving Barty’s shoulder.

It only makes the other man laugh, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. Just another antic that makes Regulus roll his eyes so far to the back of his head that they roll out of skull.

“Well, sweetheart,” Barty says, drumming his fingertips along the countertop, “tarragon isn’t really going to lengthen,” Barty exaggerates with a suggestive eyebrow, “the night the same way as this bad boy right here.”

“Fuck your Trivulus!” Regulus shouts, two seconds from smashing his perfectly respectable bottle of botanist’s gin over Barty’s head.

“Tribulus, love,” Barty sighs dreamily.

“Does it look like I care?” Regulus gives Barty a pointed look.

“I mean—”

“Oh, God,” Regulus groans, burying his face in his hands.

Yes, Regulus is supposed to be experimenting with a new tarragon infused gin with floral melon. He’s got less than two weeks to perfect the cocktail menus for Pandora’s wedding. And yeah, maybe everybody and their brother would be happy with a case of beer and some cheap wine from the shop, but this is Regulus’ thing. He’s going to make it shine.

Pandora doesn’t deserve that. And Regulus sure as hell isn’t going to subject her to that either.

Upon returning to London, Regulus was in desperate need of an intelligent mind to provide him with the most respectable and appreciated of herbs and botanicals. He had been fortunate to work with the best of the best during his time in Paris, Tokyo, and Rio de Janeiro. So when Barty was suggested as the man for the job, of course Regulus immediately sought him out.

That may have been the worst decision he has ever made in his life.

The first couple months were manageable, Barty proving to be extremely knowledgeable and quick in obtaining exactly what Regulus needed. However, all that started to change when Barty started showing up with odd little bits and bobs, stupid grins on his face.

Sure, the first time it was just a little funny, Barty trying to run Regulus’ show or something like that. That was until it became a continuous problem—one that Regulus had to investigate on his own.

Much to his dismay (or so he says), all results pointed in the direction of each and every herb Barty was bringing him happened to be an fucking aphrodisiac.

“Reg?” Barty prods, gently wrapping a hand around Regulus’ wrist.

Regulus inhales sharply, dropping his hands from his face. Exasperated, Regulus asks, “Yes, Barty?”

“Look, I know it’s probably annoying—”

“No shit,” Regulus cuts in, gaze flickering down to where Barty’s hand is still wrapped around his wrist. He’s pretty sure if Barty doesn’t move his hand soon, he will feel Regulus’ pulse skyrocket. And that’s the last thing Regulus needs to be worrying about right now.

Barty licks his lips. “Like I said, it’s annoying, but—I just—you’rereallyfuckinggreatandIwouldliketotakeyouout.”

Regulus blinks, palms going clammy. “You what?”

“Oh!” Barty chuckles nervously, thumb pressing deliciously against Regulus’ pulse point. There’s no turning back now.

Regulus softens, surprisingly, shifting until he’s situated himself between Barty’s parted legs. “Tell me.”

“It was a mistake,” Barty offers, shaking his head, but Regulus can see the slight build up of tension in his shoulders, the desperation in his eyes.

It’s not something Regulus is unfamiliar with. He’s had his fair share of borderline scandalous love affairs and devoted admirers. It all sounds a bit unbecoming for Regulus to recognize this, but it’s just the truth. It’s how he’s lived his life up until this point.

What Regulus also realizes is that he hasn’t been this thrilled by such annoying antics in his life. Okay, maybe it has something to do with the person doing said antics, not the antics themselves, but that’s a whole other can of worms Regulus doesn’t know if he’s ready to open.

Or, maybe he is. He just has to bolster up the courage.

“Look,” Regulus sighs, carding a hand through his loose curls, “you’re not…sly. Or maybe I’m just reading into things here.”

Barty’s gaze is insistent, following each of Regulus’ movements. His hands grip at the edge of the counter, knuckles white and straining. It’s like he wants to touch, but he knows better than to do that.

Barty hums, finally meeting Regulus’ eye. “Probably not.”

“So…the aphrodisiacs?”

“Aphrodisiacs,” Barty confirms with a nod.

“And what was the intent?” Regulus questions with a raised brow.

“Date,” Barty says dumbly, blinking.

“Date as in—”

Barty lets out a strangled noise. “You’re really fucking great, and I would like to take you out. On a date.”

The corner of Regulus’ mouth turns up, all smug, and wraps a hand around the back of Barty’s neck. Christ Almighty, Regulus has no fucking idea what he is doing, but it feels disgustingly natural. Barty’s skin is warm, soft.

And the look on Barty’s face is of pure surprise, eyes wide and upper lip twitching.

Regulus lets another beat of silence pass, taking his time to stroke his thumb down the curve of Barty’s spine. He takes the time in relishing in the feel, watching for the slight changes in Barty’s facial expression. The usually vibrant man, full of wit and piss poor humor. Maybe a little pathetic—very pathetic actually, is stunned, blinking at Regulus like he’s waiting on the whole damn world to change.

And when Regulus does speak, it’s a whisper, soft and almost sweet, “Get me my tarragon, and you can take me on as many dates as you want.”

[fatehbaz]

In the 19th century, British colonists faced several challenges in India, [...] [including] malaria. [...] The imperialists needed an answer to the problem and they found it in quinine. [...] [T]he British promptly embraced quinine, consuming tonnes of it every year by the mid-1800s. [...] Quinine was so bitter that soldiers and officials began mixing the powder with soda and sugar, unwittingly giving birth to “tonic water”. [...] [I]t prompted Winston Churchill to once proclaim, “The gin and tonic has saved more Englishmen’s lives, and minds, than all the doctors in the Empire.” [...] If by some good fortune malaria did not claim them, plague, cholera, dysentery, enteric fever, hepatitis or the unforgiving sun could. Preserving and protecting the body was [...] crucial to the success of the colonial project. As historian EM Collingham aptly summarised in her study, “The British experience of India was intensely physical.”

One way the colonists tried to deal with this challenge was through food and drinks. “The association between food and the maintenance of health was a concern of Anglo-Indian doctors, dieticians and the British authorities throughout the duration of colonial rule [...],” writes Sam Goodman in Unpalatable Truths: Food and Drink as Medicine in Colonial British India. [...]

---

The Medical Gazette, for instance, recommended treating dysentery with a “low diet” comprising thin chicken soup [...]. Botanist-physician George Watt too extolled the virtues of sago. In A Dictionary of the Economic Products of India (1893), he wrote that sago is “easily digestible and wholly destitute of irritating properties” and in demand [...]. For fever, weakness and sundry ailments, beef tea [...] was considered an ideal remedy. And for cholera, The Seamen’s New Medical Guide (1842) prescribed brandy during the worst of the sickness and half a tumbler of mulled wine with toasted bread and castor oil [...]. Ship masters and pantrymen would stock their vessels with foods with known medicinal benefits such as sago, arrowroot, lime juice, desiccated milk and condensed milk (the iconic Anglo Swiss Condensed Milk tins, later known as Milkmaid, enjoyed a permanent spot on British ships).

---

Businessmen too recognised the precarity of life abroad and realised that therein lay a perfect commercial opportunity. By the 19th century, numerous companies had cropped up across Europe, including in England, that would sell food in hermetically sealed tin containers.

One of these was Messrs Brand & Co. Recommended highly in Culinary Jottings for Madras by Colonel Robert Kenney-Herbert, Messrs Brand & Co had several offerings [...]: essence of beef, concentrated beef tea, beef tea jelly, meat lozenges, [...] potted meat, York and game pie, and A1 sauce [...]. Another company, John Moir & Sons, focused mostly on canned soups [...], selling oxtail, turtle, giblet and hare.

---

By the late 19th century such was the popularity of canned foods that rare would be the pantry in a colonial home that didn’t store them along with medical provisions like opium, quinine, chlorodyne and Fowler’s solution (an arsenic compound). [...] As Flora Steele and Grace Gardiner wrote in The Complete Indian Housekeeper and Cook, “A good mistress will remember the breadwinner requires blood-forming nourishment, and the children whose constitutions are being built up day by day, sickly or healthy, according to the food given them; and bear in mind the fact that in India, especially, half the comfort of life depends on clean, wholesome, digestible food.”

To assist the British woman in this ostensible duty, there were a number of cookbooks and housekeeping manuals [...]. The Englishwoman in India, for instance, published in 1864 under the pseudonym A Lady Resident, had a whole section with recipes for “infants and invalids”. These included carrot pap cooked into a congee with arrowroot [...] and toast water (well-toasted bread soaked in water). Steele and Gardiner too had a few recipe recommendations [...], including champagne jelly (“most useful in excessive vomiting”) and the dangerous-sounding Cannibal Broth (beef essence), which they said should be consumed with cream [...] to treat extreme debility and typhoid. [...]

---

One dish born of this encounter was the pish pash. The pish pash is considered an invention of the colonial cook, who adapted the kedgeree – the colonial cousin of khichdi – into a light nursery food. The famous Hobson-Jobson defined it as “a slop of rice soup with small pieces of meat” [...]. None other than Warren Hastings, the first governor-general of Bengal, gave confirmation of its efficacy when in 1784 he wrote to his wife from the sick bed [...]. There are enough records to show that the imperialists counted marh (starch water from cooked rice) and bael (wood apple) sherbet among their go-to remedies and benefited from the medicinal qualities of chiretta water and ajwain-infused water.

---

Text by: Priyadarshini Chatterjee. “How food came to the rescue of the British in India.” Scroll.in (Magazine format). 26 April 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[snotsloth]

Orion D'Oschon

— B A S I C S

Name: Orion D'Oschon

Nicknames: Rion (mostly G'raha), Legs or Specs (mostly Kendra)

Age: 30ish

Nameday: 19th Sun of the 5th Astral Moon

Race: Xaela

Gender: Cis Male

Orientation: Bisexual

Profession: Warrior of Light, Aetherologist, part-time Historian, Botanist

— P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C T S

Hair: Burnt Umber (Very dark reddish brown), kept short except for a section of braids along his right temple. Orion's hair is very thick and dense, giving a matte or velvet effect in the light.

Eyes: Amber with golden limbal rings

Skin: Umber (a bit lighter than his hair but in the same color family)

Tattoos/scars: He's got a pretty big scar running down his left leg from the fight with Zenos in Rhalger's Reach, small surgical scars around his knees from where he had to have reconstructive work done after Endwalker, and a small Mol clan tattoo on his inner wrist.

— F A M I L Y

Parents: Dolgoon Qestir (father) and Odsetseg Mol (mother). Both are alive and well and living in Ul'Dah. They also use the D'OSchon surname in Eorzea.

Siblings: None.

Grandparents: Temulun Mol

In-laws and Other: Cousin - Cirina Mol. Various other cousins, aunts, and uncles within the Mol tribe. No In-laws, Kendra doesn't have any living family.

Pets: Birdlegs (chocobo), Lily (Eos, she's not a pet, but she's important and I wanted to list her), Walpole (a very bitchy Carbuncle).

— S K I L L S

Abilities: SCH main (Scholar questline is canon for him), aetherology (he started his work with the Scions as Y'shtola's personal assistant), experienced and competent field medic, unique echo manifestation gives him the ability to see the flow of aether around him in a synesthesia-like effect.

Hobbies: Reading, astrology (learned from his mom), botany and gardening, botanical drawing, alchemy, helping Kendra in the kitchen, knitting, letter writing.

— T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Orion has an inquisitive mind. His desire, not only to know but to fully understand phenomena has led him to several ground-breaking discoveries. And he does not hoard knowledge. He'll enthusiastically share his findings with anyone who cares to listen. He is also just as inquisitive and keen to understand in social situations, making him an empathetic and open-minded person in general.

Most Negative Trait: Orion has a deep-seated distrust of governments and other institutions of traditional authority. This is not without reason, or even some merit, but it can make him difficult to work with when it comes to large-scale endeavors. His words or actions have nearly cost the Scions a deal more than once.

— L I K E S

Colors: Blue, especially woad, ink, and rhotano blue / Green / White / Warm browns / Metalics, especially gold.

Smells: Sandalwood, cedar, oolong tea, jasmine (reminds him of Kendra's perfume), libraries and well-preserved old paper, and morning fog in the Dravanian highlands.

Textures: The downy fur of Kendra's ears / yarn spun from the karakul of the Azim Steppe / well-loved leather-bound books / smooth, expertly-blown alchemical glassware.

Drinks: Tea, especially oolong or pu-erh. If Orion does not have access to actual pu-erh, he will make an equivalent with the darkest Sharlayan-style tea blend he can find, a custom blend of additives he will not divulge, and karakul milk. Just tasting it once put Urianger in a sickbed for two days. / Botanical spirits such as gin and aperitifs. He's even made a few himself.

— O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: Medicinally smokes whatever variety of moko grass gets you stoned. He will also occasionally smoke tobacco socially, especially cigars.

Drinks: An adventurous but moderate drinker. He'll try anything at least once. He can occasionally be cajoled into heavier indulgence but that's abated as he's gotten older.

Drugs: There have been a few controlled "experiments" over the years.

Mount Issuance: Birdlegs is his primary mount that travels with him almost everywhere. The dusky, gigantic chocobo has become a bit of a legend in her own right. However, he does also technically have a yol as well, but has entrusted Cirina with his care because there's just not enough room on any of his properties for a bird of that size.

Been Arrested: For a mild-mannered professor type, Orion has been arrested so many times.

Tagged by:@ardberts🤍 tyyyy! Tagging: @physicalvocalist@sarenraegalpaladin@janzoo@airis-ray@ae-fond-seeker@captainqster@koijikido@adina--astra@iron-sparrow Sorry if you've already done this or been tagged before! I tried to pick mutuals I hadn't seen this from yet.

[velvetsands]

- spicy marg, lots of tajin from cantina ok

- heavy pour of shiraz, cherry forward

- a shitty double gin and tonic (too much ice, huge lemon wedge in a short glass) from ric’s in the valley

- islay whiskey with two drops of water

- that gimlet with tortilla cordial from el primo sanchez

- pour and a half of the botanist with mediterranean fever tree, grapefruit slice preferable but will settle for orange (or standard gin mare with charred rosemary)

- literally any buttery riesling from the clare valley

i miss drinking a lot but its absence has allowed me to work on myself, my relationship with alcohol, and really massage the kinks in my life without a crutch. i genuinely enjoy the taste, the smell/s, the art form. i like the way it makes me feel without the nuance of escapism. there is simply nowhere to hide in sobriety! and i enjoy making/drinking mocktails, especially at restaurants. the experience is still pleasurable which should be the idea of ~drinking~ and connecting anyway, regardless of alcohol content.

[kibadoglover45]

Tobias Reference Sheet

Tobias is a 32 year old Botanist in the City of RedLock, he runs both the his own little market selling both regular fruits and veggies but his own creations along with his flower store. He is part of the buisness group where he hangs around Tinktom the tailor, Lohi and Gin the chef and bartender, and Fredrick. He is know to be more patient than the other shopkeepers, and is the closest to Theo compared to the others since he loves exchanging recipies with Theo. However he is cold towards Izo for he just finds him annoying.

[nice-bright-colors]

Since there isn’t a SkyClub at IAH, to The Centurion Lounge we go.

As an added bonus, the serve Tanqueray as their typical/ standard gin. I also spied a bottle of The Botanist back there, but I would never mix that with tonic from a gun.

(Insert obscure Ramones lyric about here)

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Sam’s team is confused, but one thing is clear. With Sam's promotional plan, he will guide and achieve the desired engagement with fans (two bottles). It is not mandatory, but we know how his fans want to impress him, buying his alcohol for $209.98, which will translate into increased profits for his company.

How many people does he expect to serve in 2 hours? with this mess forcing people to queue up for a wristband. It’s not a good look.🥴

gin+whisky = $209.98 + tax =

Now we see who came up with the 2 bottles idea… Sassenachspirits (Alex, who else)

@imahalfemptykindofgirl If NYC’s taxes is 8.875%, which means at least paying a total ≤ $229 💸 £180 excessively high prices, to stand in a queue all morning to see Sam 25 seconds for a photo with fans who have never-drinking, this is not having fun.

$99.99 $51.99

If You buy a Macallan - 12 Year Sherry Oak Cask Highland Single Malt Scotch - $99.99 + The Botanist - Islay Dry Gin (1L) $51.99 = $ 151.98 + tax = total ≤ $166 or £130 is still cheaper than two Sassenach’s boozes in the same store and delivery 🚚 home.

[alanide-arts]

more monhun shenanigans

[thewifesposts]

Remember…….

Oh, you mean the time when I was in the posh pub. Even the women were commenting on my ass in those Freddy pants in the toilet.

So, I was standing at the bar in Botanist, there were a group of young, good looking lads standing at the side of me.

You were sat at the table watching. One of the lads asked, “What ya drinking?”

“Rhubarb gin and ginger with ginger!” I reply!

There was quite a queue at the bar. People were pushing forward to get served. I thought I felt him push himself against me, but when I turned around he said, “Oh, sorry” so I thought nothing more of it.

Then he did it again, this time no one was pushing. I felt him hard and throbbing inside his jeans, as he pressed himself against my tight ass, he whispered in my ear, “Let me get this drink.”

I said that was very kind, but my partner was sitting st the table behind. He asked what he was drinking and ordered an extra beer.

I told him that he was probably getting off on the fact that I was getting chatted up!

He whispered into my ear, walked over to your table and complimented you on your gorgeous girl! 😉

We sat at the table and he went back to his mates. We chatted about the possibilities this could bring and could this be the chance?

I made an excuse to go to the toilet to seek him out. He followed me. I told him about our conversation, he grabbed my tight ass and said how could he refuse? He wasn’t too sure about the extra guy, but I assured him they my man would be happy just to watch and then we’d see what happens ....

[nova-chant]

hi hello i hear you are quite the botanist? or well a- respectable forager! or something. do you grow anything yourself? with the horrible acidity in the soil around here that would be quite impressive..! WELL i'd better get going! from anonymous! from no one! okay bye!

Hello mysterious stranger!

Firstly, thank you for your question! I do grow a couple of things myself, mostly herbs and a couple of flowers, but I do have a little watermelon plant on the go, he's doing very well I think :D

And you're right about the soil around here being terrible. When I first tried to grow things they kept dying, so I had N. Gin help me make a greenhouse of sorts on one of the castle rooves, keeps my plants safe. I also had fresh soil delivered so I wouldnt have to use the bad soil around here.

Feel free to ask anything else :D

[birgittesilverbae]

What type of gin do you prefer?

Tanqueray is my go-to London Dry; it's a classic for a reason, I have a certain affection for heavy juniper lean, and you can't beat the price tag

The Botanist is probably my favourite Dry, Aviation's decent too

Collective Arts always does neat stuff with their flavoured gins, though I find they're a bit hit or miss

gotta shout out Georgian Bay, too, their London Dry is pretty good and I'm a sucker for a Cranberry Gin Smash on a lake day

[thelongestway]

I mean, people Have you seen Leslie Gracie, the Hendrick's Gin lead chemist? The author of that rose and cucumber grin?

This is a botanist who did go to the Amazon for her Amazonia botanicals. She has the most insane greenhouse. She has a Cabinet of Curiosities.

I am not at ALL surprised by the Illuminati Cucumber cup. I am DELIGHTED

Y'all wanna see a weird cucumber illuminati cup I found at the thrift shop?

[warsawmountain]

Tallgrass Prophecy

*Andropogon gerardii* reaches skyward,

six feet tall & counting---a measurement of resistance.

The same height my father stood, before collapsing

onto blonde Red River sand, Player's Original

still burning between gin-soaked fingers.

Each blade a warrior, ancient geometries

in cellular memory. The taxonomists call it Big Bluestem,

but Grandfather knew it as *turkey foot*. Three-pronged

& perfect, while I---the odd sampling---

grew up spliced & splintered, my phenotypes

all wrong, my mother grateful for recessive traits.

What lives above ground is only

one-third of the story. Root systems

dive twelve feet into prairie darkness,

each fiber a desperate finger reaching

for something lost. For every inch visible,

two more hide below. Mathematics

of shame & survival.

The manual suggests systematic mowing

to maintain acceptable height. To look presentable.

Keep the wild contained. But this grass remembers

buffalo thunder & native fire.

Remembers how to turn destruction

into strength, how to hold soil

against all erosion.

They tried to plow under these fields in 1880,

to grid the prairie into sellable sections.

The same year my ancestors' feet walked

these Manitoba grasses to sign away their children's

birthright for scrip. Regulations required

everything be cut down to size.

But *Andropogon* means "man's beard"---

& *gerardii* honors a long-dead botanist

who never touched this soil. Meaning

gets lost in classification. Latin terms

can't capture how these stems

still wave like prayer flags in autumn wind,

still shelter ground-nesting hope,

still remember the old songs

even when cut to the root.

Today I walk through remnant patches,

studying biological resistance.

My fingers brush seedheads---

their three-part structure an echo

of something sacred. Each blade

contains a prophecy: What grows tall

must grow deep. What bends

does not break. What seems

destroyed in winter

will rise again, defiant,

when spring rains call.

Some facts they don't teach in biology:

The average prairie grass can survive

a hundred years of colonization.

Can photosynthesize trauma into growth.

Can thrive in disturbed soil.

Every time they try to cut it down,

roots remember deeper ways to live.

My father's beard was patchy, uneven---

but mine grows in thick as prairie grass,

dark as earth after burning.

Some mornings I touch my jaw

& feel generations reaching through time

like rhizomes spreading underground.

The textbooks call it clonal propagation.

I call it prophecy. Call it survival.

Call it blood memory, growing wild

despite every attempt at cultivation.