The Herb Shop
a mostly true story from the summer of 2003
by Charles Schamel

We were returning from a weekend at Chincoteague Island with our niece, Whitney and grandson, Tyler. Driving along Route 50, a few miles west of Easton, Wynell shouted "Stop, turn around, turn around now."

I checked the rearview mirror and pulled into the left lane to turn around. "What is so important," I asked.

"Every time we pass that herb shop I wish we had stopped there, but we are always going so fast and I never see the sign until it is too late," she said. Wynell retired last year and is gathering plants for her first retirement garden, so I swerved into the eastbound lane and drove back to the next turn-around.

As soon as I turned I recognized the small wooden Herb Shop sign on a fence post beside a narrow lane almost hidden by vines and leaves. I, too, had seen the sign hundreds of times when we drove from Washington to Chincoteague, but the place always looked overgrown and abandoned, so I had never thought of stopping there. I guess she saw something I missed. I turned off the highway and pulled up a small hill, avoiding the leafy growths that partially blocked the lane, and drove past a collapsed aluminum frame that had once been a greenhouse.

The entire property was hidden from the highway by a ten foot wall of shrubbery. The field behind the shrubbery screen was haphazardly filled with dozens of lush growths of foliage that I assumed must be the herbs advertised on the sign. Far back along the lane was a small cottage set among trees, and covered with vines. As we drove slowly back the rough lane, Wynell spotted a low wooden shed almost hidden by Wisteria, and started to jump out of the car while I was still driving. "Whoa! What if they have a German Shepherd guarding their fields," I said half joking, but half serious, "Let's wait until we see if someone is home."

We pulled around behind the house, and into an open area surrounded by out-buildings that appeared to be the parking lot for the business. A fat old mongrel dog approached the car, and Tyler joked, "Is that the German Shepherd?" He is an actor and might be a comedian.

"There she is," announced Whitney, and we saw the small, heavy, past middle-aged woman emerge from the vine-covered porch.

I lowered the window and said, "We're looking for your herb shop."

"Got plenty of herbs. Look around," said the old woman, "Dog is big, but he don't bite."

Her place was quite interesting, actually it looked like a place I would like to live in when I retire - a small barn and maybe six other small out-buildings, all shaded by large oak and maple trees, a few fruit trees, and plants everywhere. The nearly continuous spring rains had made everything lush and green. It was a beautiful place in this rainy year.

"I got any type of herb you might want," she said as she pointed to various groups of plants in her yard. "That's basil there, that's oregano, sage, sweet myrtle, rosemary, marojam, and I got all kinds of flowers," she continued while we got out of the car. Wynell was interested in herbs, but I was more interested in the layout of her place. In the back of the yard was a small barn with four geese in a fenced-in yard. I wondered over to the geese enclosure beside the barn to daydream. The four geese formed a small, tight formation, and waddled quickly, in lockstep, around the yard. Then turned and scooted into the barn, still in the tight little formation. I went to look into the door, and there they were, scurrying around inside like four little men all huddled together going from place to place. I wondered if geese always move in formation so closely together. I wonder if that might be what is meant by a gaggle of geese.

As I walked back to the car, the woman was showing Wynell her gardens and apparently giving her a summary of her life. "My house is divided down the middle by plywood so the other people can't get into my side," she explained, as they walked though the herb patch, "Used to be a crazy man lived in the other side, always left chocolate laying around to attract ants. Never worked, and I got rid of him. I thought he would pay rent and help me get along. That was a mistake. When he left I had to go around his room and clean up all the chocolate - filled with ants." She led Wynell around the house and into a side yard, never stopping talking, "That is beebalm, I use it to make soap. I take in boarders and clean a few houses, that's how I got started in the herb business - woman was allergic to chemicals so I mixed up a cleaning formula from ammonia and some of my herbs. That's how I got started selling herbs, and now I make soaps and things, and sell them at all the farmers markets and flea markets and health food stores."

"Used to be a rabbit farm," she said, "all the buildings here were part of the rabbit works. Rabbits. I bought it from the rabbit man, me and my husband. He's dead now. I make geese. Can't stand rabbits."

I was beginning to think the woman was a little strange, the way she seemed to babble on without letup, but how could you not like a person who grows herbs for a living. She actually seemed sweet except that she also seemed a little loony.

The dog did prove to be very friendly and jumped up on me several times, asking to be petted. He followed me around the yard, nudging my leg, pawing at me and moaning. He followed me back when I went to see the barn where the geese nested. When I opened the door to the barn the fat, old dog ran in, but came flying back out pursued by the four geese waddling quickly in formation. Whitney found a perch in a small peach tree and Tyler threw little unripe peaches to bother her.

The old woman continued telling her story to Wynell. Tyler and I walked down the path toward the front of her house. He spotted a neat little shed with colorful glass objects in a little flower garden in front of it. Inside we found what must be her business storeroom, filled with all sizes of glass jars and bottles filled with mixtures of herbs, bars of homemade soap, and other little objects. Tyler and I both became enticed with the odors and began opening the lids of jars and smelling the contents.

Some of the jars were labeled with the name of the herbal mixture and its price by the ounce. I was familiar with many of the labels - Chamomile, Melissa, White Willow, Verbena, Sandalwood - but some of them bore peculiar titles and some of them weren't labeled at all. Tyler became entranced by a bottle containing small red berries and passed the bottle for me to smell. I couldn't smell any odor in the bottle, but assumed that because of his young age he had a more sensitive nose. Besides, the room was full of dozens of odors that were quite strong and I had trouble distinguishing the smell emanating from one of the bottles from the general mix of odors.

I wondered around the room looking at the dried flowers, colored and painted vases, little dolls and groups of dolls, herbal soaps, and various things made out of colored glass. Eventually, I came across a jar of lavender massage cream that I thought Wynell would like, but didn't want to buy without seeing if it had some allergic affect on her. But, when I went to find her, she was not in the parking lot and neither was Whitney. I called for both of them but they must have gone into one of the other buildings or out into one of the fields of flowers. Just then I saw the old lady go into the shed where Tyler was still entranced in the smell of the bottle of tiny red berries.

"How much are these?" he said.

"What are you going to make?" she said, "Why do you want those, they have no smell. There are lots of better mixes. Here smell these."

"But, I like the smell of these. What are they called?"

"They are not for potpourri, they have no smell. Here, smell this - Summersweet - nice um! And this is Nasturtium. You can eat the flowers, just like squash blossoms." She picked around her jars, always keeping one eye on Tyler and said, "This one I know you will like, it's Patchouli - try it." Tyler tried it and liked it, "How much," he said. She showed him the label that said Patchouli - $2.50/oz. and continued, "but an ounce is a lot of herb, they are dried and very light." He pulled out his wallet and bought two ounces which she put into a plastic sandwich bag.

"Have you seen my wife and niece," I asked her, "I want to buy the massage cream, but don't want to get something she won't like." "Oh, I don't know," she replied, humming as she moved around the jars of herbs, "might have walked up to the soap shed."

I walked back to the parking lot and watched the geese waddle around in their yard, still amazed at how they bunched together in a way that reminded me of the sculpture of the Burghers of Calais in the sculpture garden back at the Hirshhorn. I thought again that I would like to have a small farm like this when I retire, and have geese to lay eggs and waddle around like that. But, it was getting late and I wanted to get home, so I went over to the car and called out for Wynell and Whitney. When neither of them answered, I assumed that they had gone to the soap shed.

There were four sheds that I could see from the car, one of them must be the soap shed. As I approached the first shed I saw that its door was padlocked, therefore not a place they would be. The next shed must have been part of the rabbit farm for it's walls were lined with hutch-sized cages made of wood and wire, and it appeared to still be in use because several of the cages along the far wall contained live rabbits. Again I shouted their names, and again heard only the honking of the geese and the rustles of the rabbits.

The third building was larger, a small barn really, but it too was padlocked. As I peered through a window beside the door I saw that it was dark, with what looked like old pieces of farm equipment on the walls and floor. In the center of the floor was a large image that might have been some sort of mandala or a pentagram, and in the center of the image was what appeared to be the ashes of a camp fire. An odor emanated from the window that was not at all like the pot pourri smells in the gift shop. I held my nose and moved on.

The dog had been following me, rubbing against my legs, and now he was joined by a fat black cat that also decided to nuzzle my legs. The door of the forth shed was open and it must have been a washing room because inside were piles of clothes and shoes stacked against the wall - mostly blue jeans, white socks, and something made of the same material as the blouse Whitney had on.. The door to the back room that must have contained the washing machine was locked, so I walked back outside. The only other place the girls could be was the barn, but only the geese were there. By this time I really wanted to find them, so I called to Tyler to help me find them. Tyler didn't answer, so I assumed he was inside the gift shop.

Wrong. Only the old lady, puttering with the bottles and jars, and humming to herself. "Did you see where my grandson went," I asked. "No," she said,"but he still wanted to buy those tiny red seeds, even though I told him he would be sorry he bought them."

"What do you mean, he would be sorry he bought them," I asked.

"Here, smell them" she said.

My head ached and my vision was blurred as I awoke. It took me a while to realize that I was laying on a dirt floor in a barn. A huge goose was near my face, pecking at my neck. I moved to bat it away, but fell on my face, the white feathers of my wing brushing across my orange bill.