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Before the Pharmacy: Remedies, Roots, and Remembering
- Crimson Steed
- Apr 13
- 2 min read
Growing up, my grandmother made everything from scratch—food, remedies, comfort. We didn’t miss many days of school, and sickness was treated with teas, oils, and instructions that began with “Drink this” and ended with “Go lay down”. There was no room for argument; what she said was law. After resting that one day, you better believe we were up, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to go to school the next morning.
I can recall a time when one of my cousins had chickenpox. Back then, when a child caught it, the rest of the family’s children would be brought around so they could “catch it” too. If I can remember correctly, this was called a pox party. I can honestly say from experience that there was nothing fun about having chickenpox. There was no cake, no chips, no pizza, but there was oatmeal paste, carefully applied to help calm the itching.
I can remember my grandmother sitting at the table, making her homemade cough syrup. She had a huge glass bottle with a handle. It still had remnants of older medicine settled on the sides and at the bottom. She would place a funnel in the neck of the bottle to get all of the ingredients inside without spilling any. She would use granulated black draught, rock candy crystals, cod liver oil, honey, and some mysterious liquid from a mason jar. It was the worst-tasting medicine, but it cured anything that was ailing you.
In that era, there was no going to the doctor for colds, sinus infections, or headaches. If it wasn’t something in a random bottle that could cure it, you were sent over to the neighbor's house to see what they might have on their table. My grandmother was the neighborhood's healer, the pharmacist before the pharmacy. She could cure everything except death.
Today, many of us have strayed away from the traditional medicines we knew growing up. The remedies that kept us healthy and active without missing a step. We now rely on the complexities of modern medicine to heal us, when often the answer lies in a medicinal garden, where nature and knowledge intersect.
Looking back on these lessons, I now see that wellness is not just about remedies. It is about attuning to the cycles of life and trusting our own intuition. Honoring these cycles, as my grandmother did, allows us to participate in a holistic kind of healing—one that is physical, emotional, and spiritual. One that reminds us that health is cultivated, observed, and nurtured, not simply prescribed.
Let us remember to pause, listen, and reconnect with the healing knowledge around us. Whether it is an herb, a ritual, or a quiet observation of our bodies’ rhythms, the wisdom of the past is alive and waiting to guide us toward balance, wellness, and wholeness.
ABOUT CRIMSON STEED
Crimson Steed is a reflective writer and contributor exploring faith, transition, womanhood, and the sacred rhythms of growth. Her work centers on spiritual insight, emotional honesty, and the quiet wisdom found in seasons of waiting and becoming. Her reflections invite readers to release shame, honor the process, and trust divine timing.
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The remedies that have died with our grandparents.