Nettle season is one of my favourite times of year 🌱 Every spring I make big batches of nettle purée and freeze it in ice cube trays so I can enjoy it for months afterwards. In the morning I’ll often defrost a cube and spread it on toast — especially delicious topped with a poached egg 🍳Or I’ll throw a cube into casseroles, bolognaise, soups, or pasta sauces as an easy boost of nourishment. Nettle really is one of nature’s superfood. It’s particularly high in iron and vitamin C and packed with minerals — almost like a natural multivitamin growing freely around us. It can be used in so many dishes as a more nutritious alternative to spinach, and once cooked, the sting completely disappears. 🌿 My simple nettle purée recipe: • Fry one onion and a few garlic cloves gently in real butter• Add a pan full of rinsed nettle tops• Pour in a small cup of water• Wilt the nettles down for less than 5 minutes• Add a large dollop of butter and plenty of salt & pepper• Transfer to a food processor and blend until smooth Simple, nourishing, seasonal food 🌱 If you make it, I’d love to hear how you use yours too. 🌱 A little note: only harvest young nettle tops before the plant flowers or goes to seed. Once nettles begin flowering, the leaves can develop compounds that may irritate the kidneys, so it’s best to stop harvesting them for food at that stage.

You were never meant to do this alone. Not the becoming. Not the unravelling. Not the quiet, aching work of figuring out who you are beneath everything life has piled on top of you. And yet here we are — living in an age that tells us to be self-sufficient. Independent. To hustle solo, heal solo, figure it all out solo. To scroll through other people's lives from the isolation of our own sofas and call it connection. Society has it profoundly, fundamentally wrong. We Were Wired for This Cast your mind back — not decades, but millennia. Your ancestors didn't wake up alone in a box, commute alone in a metal box, and collapse alone in front of a glowing screen. They woke with their people around them. They foraged together, cooked together, told stories around fires together. They grieved in community, celebrated in community, and made sense of the world in community. The elders held the wisdom. The children learned by watching. The women gathered — at the river, in the forest, around the hearth — and in that gathering, something ancient and necessary happened. They knew each other. And in being known, they knew themselves. Your nervous system was built for exactly that. The loneliness you feel isn't a personal failing. It's your body remembering something your modern life has taken away. The Forest Knows This Too Have you heard about the mycelium network beneath a forest floor? That vast, invisible web connecting tree to tree, root to root — sharing nutrients, sending signals, keeping the weakest trees alive through the generosity of the strongest? Trees, it turns out, do not thrive in isolation. And neither do we. The lone tree on the hilltop survives. But the tree held within the forest — sheltered, connected, nourished by the network beneath — that tree flourishes. You were made to be a forest tree, not a hilltop survivor. This Is Why This Place ExistsThe Wild Path Home is not another online group. It is a gathering. A circle. A digital hearth where women who feel the pull of something

Welcome to The Wild Path Home. I'm so glad you're here. I know what it's like to arrive somewhere new and wonder where do I even begin? So I wanted to place something useful in your hands right away — a small gift to start your journey. Inside you'll find a grounding techniques cheatsheet — simple, practical ways to bring yourself back to your body, back to the present moment, and back to yourself. Whenever the world feels too loud, too fast, or too much — these are your anchors. This is where your path home begins. 🌿 Download your grounding cheatsheet below Save it. Print it. Stick it somewhere you'll see it. And whenever you need it — it's there. Welcome home beautiful woman. You belong here. 🌙 With love from the hedgerow, Lea 🌿