Freida Buchanan, Mountain Healer: A Fictional Monologue
By Debbie L. Miller
Freida Buchanan, 83, is seated in a rocking chair on the porch of a cabin, in 2013. Music from the Blue Ridge Mountains plays , then fades as she starts to speak. Baskets of dried flowers, and jars of herbs, spices, and salves sit on a bench next to her.
PART ONE
Goodness, it’s nice to see ya’ll. Funny, it took ’til now for folks to wanna learn about healin’, but I’m sure glad they did. My name’s Freida Buchanan, ‘n I’m from Mavis Holler, in Mud Creek, Virginia. Born ‘n raised in the Blue Ridge. Still live here.
Now, mountain folk is tough. We can survive. We can grow our own food ‘n treat what ails us. Granny always said: “Use it up, wear it out, or make do.” Why, if we couldn’t make it ourselves or trade for it, why then, we done without. Folks don’t need much to live a good life — just a roof over they head, enough to eat, ‘n the good Lord to watch over ‘em.
I’m what you call a Wise Woman, but you can call me a Folk Healer or a Medicine Woman. Some old timers call me a root doctor. I learnt it all from Granny — taught me everything I know ‘bout healin’. See, we didn’t have no doctor back in the hills, so we hadta’ take care ‘a ourselves.
