In the fragile sunlight after a rain, the garden is riotous. I run my hands through the flowers like chimes. They’re dewy and panting. The light is diaphanous and wet. Nectaries swell. Seeds ripen fat, blushing. The senses glitter. The bellflowers recite their letters in the language of the bees. The garden is an arena of pleasure.

This zine is about how to grow herbs and how to create and enjoy a garden of sustenance and pleasure.

All proceeds go to Indigenous Women Rising’s abortion fund. $12 suggested, but pay what you can.

venmo @Wes-Holtermann and send your address for shipping

or email wesholtermann@gmail.com