Part II — “The Apothecary’s Kettle”
How Colonists Learned from the Meadow—and Their Neighbors
Harbor mist drifted up the lane as a colonial stillroom stirred to life. On a hook above the hearth hung the day’s ambition: a copper kettle, bright as a coin. Beside it lay a bundle of tall meadow stalks, their flower heads fading the color of old roses.
“Gravel root,” the householder called it—on account of the ol…
