Dana O'Driscoll

Dana O’Driscoll has been an animist druid for 20 years, and currently serves as Grand Archdruid in the Ancient Order of Druids in America (www.aoda.org). She is a druid-grade member of the Order of Bards, Ovates, and Druids and is the OBOD’s 2018 Mount Haemus Scholar. She is the author of Sacred Actions: Living the Wheel of the Year through Earth-Centered Spiritual Practice (REDFeather, 2021), the Sacred Actions Journal (REDFeather, 2022), and Land Healing: Physical, Metaphysical, and Ritual Approaches for Healing the Earth (REDFeather, 2024). She is also the author/illustrator of the Tarot of Trees, Plant Spirit Oracle, and Treelore Oracle. Dana is an herbalist, certified permaculture designer, and permaculture teacher who teaches about reconnection, regeneration, and land healing through herbalism, wild food foraging, and sustainable living. In 2024, she co-founded the Pennsylvania School of Herbalism with her sister and fellow herbalist, Briel Beaty. Dana lives at a 5-acre homestead in rural western Pennsylvania with her partner and a host of feathered and furred friends. She writes at the Druids Garden blog and is on Instagram as @druidsgardenart. She also regularly writes for Plant Healer Quarterly and Spirituality and Health magazine.

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5 Comments

    1. Thank you for the reblog! 🙂

  1. […] Source: Permaculture: Design by Nature and the Magic of Intentionality | The Druid’s Garden […]

  2. I had to smile at your description of your early gardens. It sounds just like the refugia garden I started this year! The difference, though, is that wildness was part of my intention for this garden.

    I like what you said about the relationship and the difference between intention and design. Part of the design of my refugia was to incorporate a tree for its solar tempering and water retaining qualities. Plus, the one tree I have on my lot is a locust, so there’s nitrogen fixing going on too. That’s the dimension of design.

    But there was a deeper intention behind encouraging a diverse ecosystem around this tree. I’ve been able to have meaningful contact with many trees, mostly using your experiences as a guide. This tree, though, was extremely… distant. All I ever got was a sense of isolation and withdrawl. It felt like a ghost that dreamed of being a tree.

    I don’t know what kind of locust it is. It has no thorns, it’s small (maybe 25 feet) and it’s never put out pods. I figure it was “designed” in a nursery. Something essential has been denied to this tree, and I wanted to give it community. Our interrelations with others in our environment give our lives context, and I strongly feel that this holds true for all life.

    I’m proceeding very slowly with this tree, mostly just being present in the garden and sharing breath with it, but I saw something very encouraging recently. I welcome all “weeds”, (this year, at least) so long as they aren’t starting a monoculture or actively killing something I want. A couple of newcomers were really giving me a challenge trying to figure out what they were, until it hit me: the locust was actually putting up suckers!

    I haven’t tried to commune with the tree since making that discovery (like I said, I’m moving slowly) but I’m very encouraged by this development. It shows a level of participation in life beyond mere existence.

    I’m looking forward to this upcoming series. I’ve made a lot of observations over the past year, and your knowledge and experience with design should help me make sense of it in a practical manner. Also, what a wonderful suggestion to use design principles as themes for meditation! Thanks again for sharing your journey.

    1. Ynnothir,

      Oh, I had wild gardens that were intentional–but some of my early ones were ill planned. Nature did its thing regardless (or perhaps in spite of my planning), but there isn’t anything quite like trying to pick tomatoes in the middle of a nettle patch or have sprawling food on the ground so that each step ends up smashing something you’d rather eat. 😛

      I’m delighted to hear about your refugia garden, and I’m so encouraged by your story of the locust tree. I have found that locusts can have a….hard energy sometimes. I haven’t written on them yet (my tree series is one I’ve been neglecting, and will change that this fall and winter!) but I have been doing research on the locust. Most of the locusts I’ve worked with are either black locusts or honey locusts. I grew up with the black locusts, so they are good friends, but some of the others are more distant. Part of it is that the locusts (at least the black locusts) drop their leaves so much earlier than the other trees, and bud out so much later. They have a shorter window of being “active” if it was, and that might be some of the distance at a species level. But there’s also this issue of breeding, or over-breeding, in the plant kingdom.

      I have two thoughts on the matter:
      A) Its interesting that you talk about the nursery “design” of this tree. I’m not sure you’ve noticed this, but it is something herbalsts do know in the herbalism community: the hawthorn trees that are bred to not have thorns aren’t as potent medicinally. Again, its like something has been “denied” to them when their thorns no longer protect their trunks. I have a set of these on campus, which I was delighted to find, but when I made medicine from them, I could just intuit that they weren’t as potent. Its the same with Yarrow and many other plant allies–the yarrow you gather wild in a field is so much more medicinal than the fancy colored varieties you find in people’s gardens….

      B) I also think here about companion animals that have been over-bred (like a stray cat I had that was likely a purebred himalayan — she had such bad congestion and snoring issues because the breed had been bred not for functionality, but for look). I saw a graphic of this once online somewhere –comparing the hounds and labs and other such dogs from 100 years ago to today. The breeding has caused all kinds of really bad genetic defects. I wonder if the same is true in the plant kingdom. Does that over breeding (taking the wild out of the locust, or the hawthorn) actually harm their spirits? Your story seems to suggest it does. And that’s a *really* important insight.

      I’m so glad to hear that some rehabilitation can be done–perhaps you are working to encourage the tree spirit to come out of its long slumber!

      I’d be interested in continuing this conversation further, if you have any additional insight.

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