Elara spent the afternoon under the humming sun. As she filled her basket with the sticky, bright blossoms, she felt the familiar calm of the garden. By the time she paid Miller—a fair price for a harvest that smelled like autumn and honey—her fingers were coated in the flower's healing oils.
Elara’s garden was a masterpiece of organized chaos, but this summer, it felt incomplete. She was a self-taught apothecary, known in her small village for balms that could soothe anything from a sunburn to a broken heart. Yet, her jars of orange-gold petals were running dangerously low.
"Looking for the pot marigolds, are you?" he asked, not looking up.
She tapped her chin, looking at her notebook. "I need to ," she murmured, "and I need the good stuff."
The local supermarket only carried dusty tea bags, which wouldn’t do for her potent oils. She decided to visit Old Man Miller’s farm on the edge of town. Miller didn’t have a website or a sign; he just grew the most vibrant Calendula officinalis in the county.
"The best you have," Elara replied. "I'm making a batch of 'Sunlight Salve' for the winter." buy calendula