Rooted in the Power of Plants and the People.

Medicine Woods has always been rooted in the power of plants.
Not as a trend, not as an aesthetic—but as a lived philosophy. Plants teach us that care is participatory. That healing is not something handed down by authority, but something we engage in slowly and consciously, with our own hands and bodies.

This belief shaped my first company, MoonMaid, and it continues to guide my work today. I’ve spent my life reminding people that we are not as powerless as we’ve been led to believe—that while pharmaceuticals have their place, they are not the only path to health, nor should they be the default answer to every human condition.

Plants offer another way. One rooted in relationship, responsibility, and respect.

This philosophy is deeply embedded in my company’s mission. If plants require clean soil, honest sourcing, and restraint, then so do our systems. I began asking harder questions: Where do ingredients come from? Who bears the cost of convenience? What happens when we stop paying attention?

Those questions followed me out of the garden and into the world I live in. Am I using chemical fertilizers or pesticides? Am I buying clean plants—or taking the easy road and picking them up at Lowe’s?

Eventually, this way of thinking extended beyond my work and into the global community I’m part of. The events in Minneapolis struck me deeply. I had to ask myself what it means to stand for care if I cannot speak when it matters. What does “positivity” become when it is used to avoid reality? Our actions—or our silence—are statements. They reveal how we choose to operate in the world.

I have never hidden my politics. I have, however, tried diligently to focus on the positive. I still believe in beauty. I still sprinkle fairy dust around my aura and my apothecary when I make my lovely herbals. That, too, is important.

But I can no longer pretend. I can no longer keep quiet or avoid difficult conversations, even here on my platform. I believe deeply in the right of every person to hold their own beliefs. And I also believe in asking questions—especially when harm is done. I will listen. And I will discern.

When I was a teenager, it was the Vietnam War. It was four dead in Ohio for simply protesting. Now it is two dead in Minneapolis. History has a way of repeating itself when we stay silent.

How many more before we speak?
How many more before care becomes action?