A Kindness Medicine

Murderous hatred of one group of people in response to attempting to liberate others is perpetuating cycles of egregious harm. No one wins. We all lose. There is very little else I can say in this moment because I am devastated and angry—angry at the gas-lighting and the ignorance and keyboard warriors, angry at the silence and inaction of my own friends to nip lethal antisemitism in the bud, and to be allies—powerfully and unequivocally. So I turn to things that are life giving and restorative, and I anchor myself in the power of kindness. What follows is my love letter to Sweetgrass, known as “a kindness medicine.” May it sweeten your day, your month, your year, your life.

The sweet-smelling hair of Mother Earth

I don’t remember the first time I smelled Sweetgrass, but I’m pretty sure I loved her instantly. The more I got to know her, the more I loved her.

Sweetgrass grows just up the road from my house, along the disturbed edges of a cool canyon. Yes, it’s her grassy, honey-vanilla scent—but more than that, it’s her benevolence. The feeling that she is blessing incarnate.

She’s a fragrant, perennial herb native to Eurasia and North America, known for the sweet aroma of coumarin—a scent that draws humans in while deterring animals. Used in basketry, herbal medicine, and ceremony, she is both practical and sacred, woven through centuries of culture and care.

She’s known by many names: manna grass, Mary’s grass, vanilla grass, holy grass, bison grass, Seneca grass, bluejoint, buffalo grass, and Zebrovka. In Lakota, she’s called Wacanga. In Latin, Hierochloe odorata or Anthoxanthum nitens.

“In our [Anishinaabe] language,” wrote Robin Wall Kimmerer, “it is called wiingaashk, the sweet-smelling hair of Mother Earth. Breathe it in and you start to remember things you didn’t know you’d forgotten.”

One friend told me, “Every time I smell Sweetgrass it’s like a nostalgia for a place I’ve never been.”
Another said, “Sweetgrass feels like home.”
I couldn’t agree more.

Ceremony, Kinship & Care

Sweetgrass is used as a smudge—most often braided and then moistened to release her fragrance, or burned like incense. She’s one of four sacred medicines (along with Cedar, Tobacco, and Sage) revered across Turtle Island. In Northern Europe, she was once scattered on church floors on saints’ days, so her fragrance would emanate when people walked in.

When harvesting Sweetgrass, it’s important not to pull the roots. Enough must remain in the ground to ensure her survival and to continue her work of holding the soil in place. Indigenous teachings remind us:

Never take the first Sweetgrass you see.
Never take the last.
Only take what you need.
And never more than half.

These aren’t just sustainable guidelines—they are sacred instructions for how to live in right relationship.

Sweetgrass is a teacher of reciprocity, generosity, and kinship. She is a kindness medicine—a bringer of peace, used to invite good spirits. Some call her “the grass that never dies,” because her scent and spirit remain long after harvest. Some tribes say she was the first plant to cover the Earth.

A braid of Sweetgrass symbolizes body, mind, and spirit woven together. Working together as one.

Oral Histories, Anecdotes & Blessings

A while back I began gathering stories, asking friends to share their dreams, memories, and uses of Sweetgrass. I didn’t want this love letter to be a solo exposition, but a braid—a weaving of many strands into a whole.

“I was told by a Wise Woman years ago, never to burn Sweetgrass alone. Always burn something clearing first, like Cedar. Sweetgrass brings in blessings, but you have to clear the space first, before the blessings can come in…” – Marianah

“My Lakota relatives always burn Sage first to clear the space. My Northern Cheyenne relatives use Sweetgrass alone. My Miwuk relatives don’t use it at all—it’s not native to this part of California.” – Trish

“On multiple occasions when I went to harvest Sweetgrass, I’d be standing in a field of grass but couldn’t find it. I knew it was there, but I couldn’t see it. So I’d get very quiet and very still inside myself, and then I’d see it everywhere—it was right at my feet and all around me. I had to change my vibration in order to see what was right there all along.” – Diane

“It’s the background smell from blessingways in years past…” – Cecilia

One blade of Sweetgrass is easily broken, but when braided together, it is nearly impossible to break. That teaching isn’t just botanical. It’s relational.

My Friend & Plant Familiar

When I think of Sweetgrass, I feel a sense of relief. A deep sigh. Unconditional trust. Something reliably good. Sweetgrass puts me squarely inside my heart.

One friend once compared her to a grandmother touching your forehead, smoothing out your furrowed brow, softening any lines of worry or fret. That’s exactly how it feels.

I often give Sweetgrass (in one form or another) as a gift–especially to my ceremonial elders, and it’s always gratefully received. I don’t know why I feel such tender intimacy with her—it just is. I’ve never smelled too much of her. Never been smoked out of a room or tipi because she was too overbearing. When I read about a bundle of Sweetgrass hanging above a baby’s crib, I burst into tears. I can’t imagine anything that looks more like love than that.

Sweetgrass disarms me with her gentleness, creating a safe, spacious presence where I can be fully open and undefended. She feels like home, a beloved ally and eternal companion, with whom I feel no separation. 

Reciprocity, Generativity & Blessings

In Braiding Sweetgrass, both scientific observation and Indigenous wisdom showed that when Sweetgrass is left alone, she degrades—but when respectfully harvested, she thrives. The lesson? Reciprocity. We need each other.

Tending to what you love helps it grow. What you bless blesses you back. May the blessing you bestow always bless you back a thousandfold.

My hope is that in writing this—this braid of memory and reverence—our relations will grow deeper, stronger. That it will be generative, yielding not only scent and story, but sacred connection and true safety and belonging for ALL.