So I may have collected poisonous flowers from a mass of wildflowers on an unmarked grave under the hanging tree in the cemetery of an old Indian Mission Chapel with a long and violent history. And I may have accidentally brought home some of the grave soil that they came in when I was just trying to make sure they're happy in their new homes. I am not a witch. I swear. I just realized afterwards that I probably would have been put to death by that same little church had I done this 150 years ago. Good gardening feels so much like witchcraft sometimes... Watching the seasons closely. Hearing the rain. Waiting for life to happen on its own. Coaxing it along when you can... or collecting Siberian Squill from the local cemetery to plant in your wildflower garden. In the 1800s and early 1900s this church was used as the parish building for one of the most brutal residential schools on Vancouver Island. I don't think they would have been happy with me 'meddling' lo...