Jeremy VanMaanen - Southern Herbalist

Jeremy VanMaanen - Southern Herbalist Jeremy VanMaanen — Southern Herbalist, arborist, and Master Gardener. Get the Medicine at Your Feet Guide at the link below..👇👇👇

I teach the traditional uses of wild plants found in the Southeast—practical knowledge working people once relied on.

08/04/2026

Passionflower is one of the most important calming herbs in Southern folk medicine, and it grows wild across the entire Southeast. You'll find it on fence rows, ditch banks, field edges, and roadsides from Texas to Virginia.

Old timers called it maypop because the hollow green fruits pop when you step on them. If you grew up in the rural South, you probably threw them at your cousins.

Native peoples of the Southeast, including the Cherokee, used passionflower long before European settlement. The root went on boils and inflammation, the plant calmed the nerves, and the fruit was food. Spanish missionaries gave it the name passionflower because they saw the crucifixion story in the structure of the bloom.

By the 1800s it had entered mainstream American medicine and was listed in the National Formulary, the official drug reference of the United States, until 1936. It wasn't dropped because it stopped working. It was dropped because synthetic sedatives took over the market. In Southern folk practice it never left. It stayed a standard remedy for nervousness, sleeplessness, and what the old herbalists called an overworked mind. Tommie Bass of Sand Mountain, Alabama kept it in regular use for nerves and sleep, and it remains a cornerstone herb in the Southern folk tradition today.

Passionflower's specialty is the racing mind. This is the person who lies down worn out but can't shut their thoughts off. The old use was for sleeplessness caused by mental chatter and circular thinking, nervous tension, restlessness, irritability, and tension headaches with a nervous edge. It calms without knocking you out and without leaving you groggy the next morning, which is why people trusted it for so long.

Finding it is easy once you know what to look for. It's a climbing or sprawling vine with three lobed leaves and curling tendrils, blooming May through September. The flower is unmistakable. Two to three inches across, purple and white, with a fringed crown of wavy filaments sitting over the petals. Nothing else in the South looks like it. The fruit is a green egg shaped maypop that turns yellow as it ripens. The plant loves full sun and disturbed ground, so check fence lines, pasture edges, roadsides, and old fields.

Harvest the aerial parts, meaning leaf, stem, and flower, while the plant is in bloom. Dry them in a shaded spot with good airflow, then store in glass away from light.

For tea, use one to two teaspoons of the dried herb per cup of hot water. Cover it and let it steep ten to fifteen minutes. Drink a cup half an hour before bed, or sip it through the day for tension. For tincture, use fresh or dried herb in alcohol and take dropper doses in the evening. It pairs well with skullcap, lemon balm, or chamomile.

A few cautions. Avoid it during pregnancy. Don't stack it with prescription sedatives, sleep medications, or anxiety drugs without talking to your doctor, because the effects can add up. It can make you drowsy, so don't drive after a strong dose. Always confirm your identification before harvesting anything, and gather away from sprayed roadsides.

This is traditional information, not medical advice.
Follow for more Southern plants your great grandparents knew by name.

If you want a free guide to finding a few more useful herbs get it here 👉 stan.store/medicineatyourfeet

Theres also a bonus excerpt from my ebook in there if you want to dive further into some herbs a d how to use them.

07/22/2026

You probably know this plant for depression. But the oil it makes is world renowned for two things at once: pain and viruses.

This is St. John's Wort. Yellow flowers, easy to walk past on a sunny bank. But when you infuse those flowers into oil, the oil turns deep blood red. That color is the medicine showing itself.

Long before it was a pill in a bottle, this red oil was one of the most trusted pain oils in Western herbalism. It's a trauma oil. Bruises, sore muscles, strains, burns, overworked hands, a back that's had enough. The everyday load a working body carries. I've done tree work for thirty years, and this is the oil I reach for when I come home beat up.

Here's the part most people never learn. St. John's Wort has a specific affinity for nerves. When pain turns sharp, shooting, stabbing, electric, the kind that tells you a nerve is involved and not just a muscle, that's when this oil does its best work. Sciatica. A pinched nerve. The zinging pain regular rubs never reach. It's the first oil to reach for with that kind of pain.

Hold onto that nerve piece, because it connects everything.

This same red oil was used on shingles and cold sores. Consider what shingles actually is: a virus that travels the nerves. It doesn't sit on the surface. It lives in the nerve line and moves along it. So you have a plant that's antiviral and has an affinity for calming the exact kind of nerve pain that virus produces. That pairing isn't a coincidence. The traditional approach was to catch it at the first tingle, the early warning anyone who gets cold sores recognizes, and apply the oil then.

One plant. One red oil. Pain and viruses. It earns its place on the shelf twice over.

This is what Southern herbalism is: generations of careful observation about what the plants around us can do, documented and passed down. St. John's Wort grows in the cooler upland parts of the South, and the tradition I've trained in for three years works with it the same way herbalists have for centuries. Part of my work is making sure that knowledge stays in circulation instead of disappearing.

That's why I put together a free guide.
St. John's Wort is one plant. The guide covers five more. Common plants you can actually find and use, with the traditional preparations laid out clearly so you can put them to work. No filler, no supplement pitch. Real plant knowledge most people were never given.

If this opened your eyes to one plant, the guide will open them to five more. Get it here:
stan.store/medicineatyourfeet

Read it, and start recognizing the medicine that's been growing around you the whole time.
Traditional use, not medical advice. Always identify any plant with complete certainty before you use it.

07/19/2026

There's a mimosa growing at the edge of nearly every field, fenceline, and roadside in North Alabama. Pink puffball flowers in summer, fern leaves that fold up at night. Most people call it a trash tree. It's invasive, it came over from Asia in the 1700s, and I cut them down for a living. But the bark is worth knowing.

In the old Chinese record it has a name: He Huan Pi, which translates to "collective happiness bark." It's been written down for close to two thousand years, and what it was used for above everything else was grief. Not the sadness you can talk yourself out of, but the heavy kind. Loss. Resentment that won't move. That flat low weight that sits on your chest after something breaks. The old texts said mimosa gladdens the heart and relieves constraint. The flowers were used the same way, a little brighter and more lifting; the bark runs deeper and more grounding. It also went into remedies for bruises, swelling, and broken bones, so it was a bark for the body and the spirit both.

I don't come to it for grief. I come to it after hard days. Anybody who's spent a full day in a tree, saddle cutting into your legs, saw running, hauling brush until your hands won't close, knows the particular wrung-out that follows. Body wrecked, mind still buzzing, can't quite come down. A dropper of this tincture takes the edge off that. It settles me. Not knocked-out sedated, just the buzzing quiets and my shoulders come down off my ears. I won't tell you it's a drug or that it cures anything, because that's not how any of this works. I'll tell you what the tradition says and what I've felt, and you can find out for yourself.
That's the whole spirit of Southern herbalism. You don't order your medicine, you learn what grows around you and you use it. The best of it is free, growing on ground nobody's tending, in plants most folks step over or spray. Mimosa is an Old World tree that naturalized and made itself at home down here, and it fits that ethic perfectly: abundant, overlooked, and useful to anyone willing to learn it.

That same bark is sold right now as a mood supplement. Search "Albizia" and you'll find it bottled, capsuled, and marked up. It isn't rare. It's the tree somebody's paying a crew to grind out of their backyard this week. Long before there was a supplement aisle, there was a tree and a jar and somebody who knew what to do with them.
If you want to make it, the video is the whole method. Find a healthy tree. Take the bark from a limb you've pruned, not by stripping a ring around the trunk, because that kills the tree and one cut branch gives you plenty. Spring through summer, when the sap's up, it peels easiest. Chop it small so the alcohol can reach the inside. Pack it in a jar, cover it completely with high-proof alcohol, and let it sit six weeks in a cool dark spot. Shake it when you walk past, then strain. No scale, no measuring. The jar is the measuring cup.

Two things that matter: use enough proof to keep fresh bark from spoiling, and keep every piece under the liquid so nothing molds. One caution: not during pregnancy.

A trash tree, a jar, and six weeks. That's the medicine growing at the end of your road.

If you want to learn more about this tree theres a free guide at: stan.store/medicineatyourfeet

07/13/2026

Before antidepressants, herbalists had this tree.

The old texts called it the Tree of Happiness. Bark for the deep sorrow. Flowers for the anxious heart. And it's blooming free across the South right now.

You know this tree. Pink silk blossoms, fern-like leaves, growing along fence lines and roadsides everywhere from Virginia to Texas. Most people call it a mimosa. Officially it's Albizia julibrissin, introduced to the American South in the 1740s as an ornamental. It naturalized, spread, and today most sources will only tell you it's invasive.

What almost nobody tells you is that this is one of the most respected mood herbs in the world, with a documented record that very few plants can match.

In the Southern herbal tradition I've trained in for the past three years, mimosa is the tree for grief. Not sadness in a vague, general sense -grief specifically. Loss that won't resolve. Sorrow that has settled in and gotten stuck. The traditional understanding separates the two parts of the tree by their character: the bark works on deep, long-held emotional pain, while the flowers are lighter and quicker, suited to the anxious, restless, unsettled heart.

That distinction isn't a modern invention. It comes straight out of the source record, and it's held up in practice for a very long time.

Here's the record.
Chinese physicians entered this tree into their materia medica roughly two thousand years ago. The bark is called he huan pi, the flowers he huan hua, and the name translates to "collective happiness." For twenty centuries it has been used for grief, constrained anger, insomnia rooted in a troubled mind, and what the classical texts describe as a disquieted spirit. Same species. Same plant parts. Same purpose we use it for today.

That matters, because it's exactly how sound herbal knowledge works. Southern herbalism has never been a closed system. It's a working tradition, it observes, it tests, it adopts what proves itself. When this tree naturalized across our region, herbalists here recognized what it was and brought it into practice, and in doing so they were agreeing with two thousand years of careful clinical observation from the other side of the world.

Two traditions, independently arriving at the same conclusion about the same tree, is about the strongest validation folk medicine can offer.

This is why I share this knowledge freely. Not as nostalgia, and not as a sales pitch. The plants growing around you have documented histories of use that most people have simply never been given access to. I'm in my final year of formal training in the Southern tradition, and I consider making this knowledge public to be part of the work. It shouldn't be a secret that the tree blooming in your neighborhood right now has been valued as medicine for the heart and spirit for two millennia.

This week I'll cover this tree in full: how to identify it with certainty, the flowers, the bark, and a complete start-to-finish video of the traditional preparation, made the way it has been made for generations.

The knowledge exists. It's well documented. You deserve to have it.

Traditional use, not medical advice. Always identify any plant with complete certainty before harvesting.

If you'd like a free guide with a few more plants you can find and use you can get it here: stan.store/Medicineatyourfeet

06/30/2026

Chicken of the woods is one of the first wild mushrooms worth learning because it's hard to confuse with anything dangerous and it tastes good.

It grows on hardwoods, mostly oak, sometimes cherry or beech, usually on a dying or dead tree. It comes out in overlapping shelves, bright orange on top and yellow underneath. No gills. Flip it over and the underside looks like a sponge, full of small pores. That's what tells you it's a polypore. There's a close relative, Laetiporus cincinnatus, that grows in a rosette near the base of oaks with a white underside instead of yellow. You prepare it the same way.

You want the young growth. When it's fresh it's soft enough to dent with your thumb and the edges are still tender. That's the part that cooks up with a chicken-like texture, dense and ready to pull apart. Once it goes pale and dry and starts to crumble, leave it. Older specimens turn sour and won't sit well.

A few things worth knowing if you're starting out.
Cook it all the way through, every time. Even a good specimen can upset your stomach raw or underdone.

Pay attention to the host tree. Oak and other hardwoods are the safe bet. People have reported reactions from mushrooms growing on conifers, eucalyptus, and yew, because the mushroom takes on properties from the wood it's feeding on. If you can't identify the tree, don't take the mushroom.
Eat a small portion your first time and wait a day before eating more. Some people simply don't tolerate it well, the same way some people can't eat shellfish. The reassuring part is that it has no deadly lookalike. That bright orange shelf with pores underneath is distinctive, which is exactly why it's a good mushroom to start with.
On the medicinal question, since it always comes up.

Chicken of the woods belongs to the same family as the polypores people pay good money for in capsule form, like turkey tail, reishi, and maitake. They all contain beta-glucans, the cell-wall compounds researchers associate with immune activity. There's early research showing antioxidant and antimicrobial properties in Laetiporus, but most of it is still at the lab stage rather than tested in people.

So here's the honest version. This is food first. It is not turkey tail, and I'm not going to present it as a cure. What it is, is clean wild protein you can harvest from a tree at no cost, carrying a little of the same immune-supportive character that runs through the whole polypore family. In the Southern herbal tradition I work within, food and medicine were never kept on separate shelves. You ate close to the land and the land kept you well. This mushroom is that kind of food.

Learn it, cook it properly, and pay attention to the tree it came from.

And no, gathering your own food is not how you end up dead. Being afraid to is how you stay dependent on everyone else to feed you.

06/05/2026

Most people know Black-eyed Susan as a wildflower.

It's bright.

Easy to recognize.

Common in flower beds, roadsides, pastures, field edges, and old homesteads throughout much of the South.

What most people don't realize is that it also has a long history of medicinal use.

Before pharmacies were on every corner and before medications could be picked up with a quick trip to town, people paid much closer attention to the plants growing around them.

Black-eyed Susan was one of those plants.

Several Native American tribes recorded medicinal uses for various Rudbeckia species, and over time the plant developed a reputation among herbalists as a useful ally during seasonal illness and times when the body seemed to be struggling to fight something off.

In fact, many modern herbalists view Black-eyed Susan as occupying territory similar to Echinacea.

Not because the two plants are identical.

But because they are often associated with some of the same traditional uses.

Historically, Black-eyed Susan was commonly associated with swollen glands, seasonal illness, congestion, fevers, respiratory complaints, and the kinds of situations where someone might say:

"I feel like I'm coming down with something."

That's an important distinction.

Traditional herbalists weren't necessarily looking at diseases the way modern medicine does.

They were looking at patterns.

A person who felt run down.

A person whose glands were swollen.

A person who was congested.

A person who couldn't seem to shake whatever had settled into their system.

Those observations shaped how plants like Black-eyed Susan were used.

One reason I appreciate this plant is that it reminds us how much medicine is hiding in plain sight.

People spend hundreds of dollars importing exotic herbs from around the world while walking past useful plants every single day.

Black-eyed Susan isn't rare.

It isn't exotic.

It isn't difficult to grow.

In many places it's practically impossible to avoid.

Yet most people have never considered that it may have been valued for more than its flowers.

Take a closer look the next time you see one.

Notice the bright yellow petals surrounding the dark center cone.

Notice where it's growing.

Notice how common it really is.

The more time I spend studying Southern herbalism, the more I'm convinced that some of the most useful plants aren't necessarily the rarest plants.

They're often the ones we've stopped paying attention to.

If you'd like to learn about five common medicinal plants growing around homes, roadsides, trails, and fence rows throughout the South, grab my free guide:

https://stan.store/MedicineAtYourFeet

And if you'd like to go deeper, my book Medicine At Your Feet covers 12 common Southern medicinal plants, including identification, traditional uses, preparation methods, and the history behind why generations of herbalists valued them:

https://stan.store/MedicineAtYourFeet

You may be surprised how much medicine has been growing around you this entire time.

06/02/2026

Most people walk right past Devil's Walking Stick and never realize it's one of the most respected pain plants in Southern herbalism.

In fact, many people avoid it entirely.

And honestly, I understand why.

The first thing you notice are the thorns.

The trunk is covered.

The branches are covered.

Even the leaf stems can be armed.

It looks less like a medicinal plant and more like something designed to keep people away.

But generations of Southern herbalists thought differently.

Devil's Walking Stick (Aralia spinosa) developed a reputation as a plant associated with pain, stiffness, sore joints, old injuries, and people whose bodies seemed to have become stuck.

Particularly older folks.

Particularly hard workers.

Particularly those carrying the wear and tear of decades of physical labor.

Traditional herbalists often connected Devil's Walking Stick to situations involving:

• Arthritis

• Joint pain

• Stiffness

• Reduced mobility

• Old injuries

• Chronic aches

• Pain that seemed worse after inactivity

Many herbalists considered it a plant that helped "get things moving again."

Not necessarily because the pain disappeared.

But because the body seemed less stuck.

Less stiff.

Less reluctant to move.

One thing I find fascinating is that many of the people traditionally associated with this plant weren't young athletes.

They were farmers.

Mill workers.

Loggers.

Laborers.

Older people who had spent years working with their bodies.

The kinds of people who understood what it meant to wake up sore every morning.

Fortunately, Devil's Walking Stick is fairly easy to recognize once you know what you're looking for.

Look for:

• A small tree or large shrub

• Stems and branches covered with stout thorns

• Massive compound leaves that can reach several feet long

• A distinctive umbrella-like appearance, with huge leaves clustered near the ends of branches

• Large clusters of white flowers in summer

• Dark purple to black berries in late summer and fall

From a distance, mature plants often look like several green umbrellas stacked on top of one another.

Once you see one, you'll start noticing them everywhere.

They're common throughout much of the Southeast and often grow along woodland edges, roadsides, old fields, fence rows, and disturbed ground.

Like many traditional medicinal plants, Devil's Walking Stick earned its reputation through observation.

People used it.

People shared what they observed.

And those observations were passed down through generations.

Whether you're interested in traditional pain support, Southern herbal history, or simply learning to recognize useful plants around you, Devil's Walking Stick is one worth knowing.

If you'd like to learn how Southern herbalists traditionally prepared and used this plant, along with identification tips, traditional uses, preparation methods, and safety considerations, check out my guide here:

https://stan.store/MedicineAtYourFeet

And if you're just getting started, I also have a free guide called 5 Herbal Medicines You Walk Past Every Day that introduces several common medicinal plants growing around homes, trails, fence rows, and roadsides throughout the South:

https://stan.store/MedicineAtYourFeet

You may be surprised how much medicine has been growing around you the entire time.

06/01/2026

Before antidepressants existed, people still struggled.

They still dealt with grief.

Stress.

Discouragement.

Hard seasons.

They still had days where they didn't feel like themselves anymore.

Long before anyone knew what serotonin was, people were already using a little yellow flower called St. John's Wort.

Today, St. John's Wort is one of the most researched herbs for mild to moderate depression.

Researchers believe part of its activity may involve neurotransmitters associated with mood, including serotonin. Traditional herbalists didn't know any of that.

What they knew was observation.

They watched people.

They listened.

They paid attention.

And over generations, St. John's Wort built a remarkable reputation.

What's interesting is that many people interested in St. John's Wort don't necessarily describe themselves as depressed.

Instead they say:

"I've lost my spark."

"I don't enjoy things like I used to."

"I'm tired all the time."

"I just don't feel like myself anymore."

That's a different conversation.

Traditional herbalists often looked beyond the label and paid attention to the whole person.

Their sleep.

Their stress.

Their grief.

Their workload.

Their health.

Their circumstances.

Because sometimes what looks like a mood problem is really a person who's been carrying too much for too long.

That's one reason St. John's Wort became so respected.

Not because it magically fixed everyone's problems.

Because generation after generation continued reaching for it during difficult seasons of life.

Of course, St. John's Wort isn't for everyone. It can interact with many medications and should always be researched carefully before use.

But for a plant that grows in fields and along roadsides, it has earned one of the strongest reputations in all of herbal medicine.

Not bad for a yellow flower most people never notice.

If learning about plants like this interests you, I put together a free guide called 5 Herbal Medicines You Walk Past Every Day.

You can grab it here:

https://stan.store/MedicineAtYourFeet

You may be surprised how many useful plants have been growing around you the entire time.

05/29/2026

I'm watching these flowers impatiently waiting for the berries.

Most folks see pokeweed flowers and start backing away because they've heard the plant is poisonous. Southern herbalists often see something different. They see one of the most talked about plants in our tradition.

As summer moves along these little white flowers will turn into deep purple black berries and for many old time herbalists that was the easiest form of poke to work with.

Not the root.

Not the leaves.

The berries.

Now before somebody gets excited and starts making jelly let me be clear. Traditional use was very specific. The berries were swallowed whole not chewed. Chewing changes the experience entirely and was generally avoided by many old time practitioners.

Why would anybody fool with a plant that commands that much respect?

Because poke developed a reputation across the South for helping move what old herbalists called stagnation. When something wasn't moving the way it should poke was often part of the conversation.

For generations Southern herbalists associated poke with swollen glands sluggish lymphatic movement lingering congestion and old stubborn complaints that seemed determined to hang around.

Tommie Bass spoke often about poke. So did many other Southern herbalists. Not because it was gentle but because they believed it had a job to do.

One of the most common stories you hear around old porches and country stores involves people using poke berries for long standing arthritic aches and stiffness. Ask enough old timers and you'll hear remarkably similar accounts from people who swore poke berries helped them get around better move easier and feel less burdened by years of hard work.

Whether those stories came from farmers loggers mechanics or people who spent decades working the land the pattern shows up again and again throughout Southern herbal traditions.

That's part of what makes poke so fascinating.

Not because it's a miracle.

Not because it's trendy.

But because generation after generation kept talking about it.

The modern world tends to divide plants into neat little boxes. Useful or useless. Safe or dangerous. Medicine or poison.

Poke doesn't fit neatly into any of those categories.

It's a reminder that poison and medicine often walk a fine line and that wisdom isn't just knowing what a plant can do. It's knowing how it was traditionally approached respected and handled.

Many of the old herbalists I learned from viewed poke as a plant that demanded respect. It wasn't something to be used casually and it certainly wasn't something to be underestimated. Yet despite that it remained one of the most discussed plants in Southern herbalism because so many people felt it had earned its reputation through generations of use.

So while most people walk right past these flowers without a second thought I'm watching closely.

Waiting for the berries.

Because whether you love poke or hate it few Southern plants have left a bigger footprint on our herbal traditions.

Have you ever heard an old pokeweed story from a parent grandparent or local herbalist? I'd love to hear it.

If you're interested in learning Southern herbalism I put together a free guide called Medicine at Your Feet.

Rather than starting with complex plants like pokeweed this guide focuses on 12 plants that are common easy to find and have a long history of traditional use throughout the South. It's designed to help you begin recognizing the medicine growing around you before moving on to more advanced plants.

Download your free copy of Medicine at Your Feet here:

https://stan.store/MedicineAtYourFeet

05/28/2026

Get my new FREE guide “Medicine At Your Feet” here featuring 5 medicinal plants most people walk past every day plus a bonus excerpt from my full 86 page Southern herbalism guide:

https://stan.store/MedicineAtYourFeet

As an herbalist, I find it fascinating watching science slowly catch up to some of the things herbalists have witnessed from Queen Anne’s Lace for generations.

Most people today just see a white roadside flower.

Older herbalists saw a plant tied to kidney gravel, swelling, urinary irritation, intestinal worms, and other deep chronic conditions.

What’s interesting is science has already confirmed parts of that old knowledge.

For generations herbalists used Queen Anne’s Lace around urinary issues and helping the body move excess water. Modern research later confirmed the plant shows diuretic and anti inflammatory activity.

Then there’s the parasite side of it.

Older herbalists talked about Queen Anne’s Lace around intestinal worms long before modern labs started studying it. Science has now confirmed Daucus carota shows anthelmintic activity, meaning activity against parasitic worms.

That’s two major traditional uses science eventually circled back around to after herbalists had already been observing the plant for generations.

But here’s the one that really gets people thinking.

Older herbalists also talked about Queen Anne’s Lace around hard tumors, cancerous sores, and deep stagnant chronic conditions. That part still mostly lives in old herbal records, passed down observations, and folk traditions.

And honestly, whether people agree with herbalism or not, I think that says something important.

Plants herbalists respected for generations keep ending up back under scientific investigation decades later.

That doesn’t mean every old herbal observation is automatically perfect or complete, but it absolutely challenges the idea that older people were just blindly making things up.

One thing I’ve learned studying Southern herbalism is older people didn’t separate plants into “medicine” and “weeds” the way modern people do.

Plants either proved useful over generations or they didn’t.

And Queen Anne’s Lace proved useful enough that people kept talking about it for a very long time.

What’s wild is most people now only recognize it because they’re afraid of poison hemlock.

That alone shows how disconnected people became from the plants growing around them.

Older people recognized these plants because they mattered in daily life.

Not because they were trendy.
Not because they were alternative.
Because they were practical.

That’s a big reason I made my new free guide.

I wanted to show people a few plants they’ve probably walked past their entire lives without realizing older herbalists once viewed them completely differently.

Inside the guide I cover:
• Dandelion
• Crossvine
• Mimosa
• Pine
• Devil’s Walking Stick

plus a bonus excerpt from my full 86 page Medicine At Your Feet guide.

Most people never realize how much forgotten plant knowledge is still growing around them every day.

Download it free here:
https://stan.store/MedicineAtYourFeet

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