| I was born
and raised on a goat farm in rural Massachusetts, the third child of eleven, and the only girl. Some of my strongest impressions are from those early days: milking goats, feeding chickens, harvesting honey, growing and canning our food. Life meant work, but also lessons that I carried to adulthood. The basics were cooking, canning, freezing, sewing, knitting, gardening, and most importantly, survival. Being the only girl among ten boys was a challenge to maintain a female identity. There were powerful moments, like when my beloved goat Tilly got loose from the pen. Lost, I had to search, teary-eyed, for her in the woods. These stomps through the forest were journeys, both inner and outer, developing in me a love and respect for nature, quiet, peace, and all life, great and small, animal, plant, or human. This love and sanctuary I found in the outdoors carried through young adulthood. At 18 I hiked the Appalachian Trail alone from Maine to Georgia. At 19 I became an Outward Bound instructor teaching technical rock climbing in Colorado. Lured to a less trekked land, I kayaked around Alaska, then taught wilderness survival skills near Prince William Sound for the National Outdoor Leadership School. Some years of settling brought me back east. Then, as a kindergarten teacher and single parent of two young girls, I was diagnosed with metastatic malignant melanoma. When I was told to go home, write my will, and find someone to raise my children, I was up against an enemy I thought far stronger than I was or could ever hope to be. When faced with adversity as a child, my mom would always whisper in my ear, "You can do it." How many times did I close my eyes and relive those words?
At the same time, my dearest friend's daughter, Becky, age 8, was diagnosed with leukemia. We fought our battles separately but with mutual support. Our treatments were very different. Becky had several rounds of chemotherapy and finally radiation. I agreed only to surgery, refusing other traditional therapies. Fighting terror, I researched alternative healing and took charge of my treatment. Surgery, acupuncture, massage, macrobiotics, yoga, and meditation resonated within. I delved in headfirst, focused on the journey ahead. During a quiet moment of sharing, at Becky's request I promised her that if she died, I would become a cancer nurse. Why I am alive and others are not, why Becky is not, I do not know. Becky taught me the importance of humor, humility, to care and have concern for others in spite of pain, and above all, to continue to love. In hindsight, at each step my life was blessed with signs that gave me strength. Against my doctor's advice, but keeping my promise to Becky, I enrolled in a nursing program at NY University. After nine years teaching full time, attending classes nights and weekends, and raising my children, I graduated with a BSRN and specialized in oncology, the treatment of cancer. My first nursing job was at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Institute, seven years on a hematology oncology unit. During this time I visited Haiti each year as a volunteer nurse in a mountain clinic caring for natives with TB and AIDS. As a professional camel trainer, on separate trips I walked across the Great Victoria and Simpson Deserts of Australia with 17 camels; the second trip with my children, ages 8 and 11. I was a six-time marathon runner, botany student at Brooklyn Botanical Garden, and part time professional gardener for the city of New York.
The lure of green, mountains, a slower pace, and family led me west again, where I became the Medical-Oncology Education Coordinator at a hospital serving southern Oregon and northern California. After four years of hospital and community oncology education, I sought a change. "The Role of Hope In Palliative Care," a paper I had written, was accepted for the 16th International Cancer Congress in New Delhi. At that time the plague was rampant in parts of India. This trip became a twofold effort to present my paper and to inoculate children against this disease. I visited hospital cancer wards, trekked through mountain villages, and was horrified by the devastation of poverty, disease, and lack of education. After I returned home, I took advantage of an opportunity to nurse in the Middle East, again in hematology-oncology. Travel was extensive, as was speaking on palliative care and hospice. I co-chaired a multi-cultural support group for women with cancer; introduced the teachings of my mentor of seven years, Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, on bereavement, death, and dying to Middle Eastern people; and passed the OCN exam for nursing certification in oncology. When I developed an allergy to chemotherapeutic drugs and could no longer nurse in oncology, it was time for me to return to the US. With Charlie, my new husband, we bought a farm that struck every chord within us as home, in the Rogue River valley of southern Oregon.
By this time, I had recovered from malignant melanoma four times. I had nursed in five countries, presented internationally, had a published piece, was OCN certified, had two wonderful kids, and the kind of husband worth waiting 16 years to find. At age 48, some would say I had it all. For me, however, not being able to work in the specialty I felt such passion for was a form of death and caused months of grief. I felt a gaping hole in my heart; and not for the first time in my life, I did not know where to turn. One day, I was talking with a colleague whose mother was in chemotherapy and radiation for breast cancer. The side effects can be abusive: dry, itchy, and irritated skin, and often even worse skin damage. Another side effect is hair loss or damage. Scents and chemicals aggravate these conditions. I wasn't surprised that her mom had these problems. I was surprised that she couldn't find chemical-free, dye-free, unscented, natural bath products. Sparked with curiosity and enthusiasm, I read, researched, and experimented in the kitchen. In developing a soap, lotion, and shampoo to help this woman, my priorities were clear. I wanted to make high quality bath and cleansing products that would help not only cancer patients but also people with all types of skin problems. In keeping with my beliefs, this meant a chemical-free, dye-free, unscented product made with only the purest and highest quality nutritious ingredients. The result was our Tender Touch line of products. Joyfully, customers with myriad ailments, not cancer alone, phoned to say our products healed! Friends requested scented products. Hours of research into essential oils, historically known for their soothing and healing qualities, along with other high quality base oils, and other natural ingredients led to development of our other products. People often ask why we named our business "Hummingbird." It came from the many little friends who visit our bird feeders daily. Maybe not so coincidentally, the creature is known in Native American mythology for its healing abilities. My grandfather was Blackfeet Indian. Is it not uncanny how we eventually come full circle? When you buy something from Hummingbird, you enter our kitchen, the pulse of our loving home, our beautiful gardens, and my intuitive connection to those green gifts that help soothe, heal, and offer comfort and joy. Out of the fast lane, we are here to serve you, whether your search is for an all-natural, decadent eye cream, or for a hand crafted product to soothe and heal a damaged body. The love and attention I give to each plant, our soil, my bees, each bar of soap or tub of cream, goes into each recipe.
It is my wish that on the course of your journey and ours, that Hummingbird will be a friend that attentively and holistically cares for your needs. |
