As a kid visiting my grandmother in Carmel, I once told her my stomach was upset. She took a little bottle from the cupboard, said, “This peppermint oil will take care of it,” as she stirred a few drops into a glass of water. Of course, it did. Back home, my mother agreed, “That would do it.” But she never kept any around.
She let my father be the doctor, as he had once assisted a pharmacist, who wanted to put my father through medical school. However, he did not relish thoughts of paying back the pharmacist. He told a story of how he had filled a prescription for someone, then realized later that he had made a mistake. He literally ran five miles to the address to switch it before it got used.
On a rare occasion, when he called the doctor to see me — home visits were common then — he noted the prescription so, if necessary, he might have it filled again in the future.
About that time, he bought a small snapshot camera and started taking pictures of people, who, it turned out, would pay him for photos. He had found his niche. He had a “good eye” when behind the camera, and, when he moved from Fort Fairfield to Houlton, the newspaper called him an artist.
Time was when I took two aspirins for a headache. Then I read in a doctor’s column that most headaches resulted from an imbalance between the humidity inside the body and outside. After that I gave away my aspirin and over-the-counter sinus remedies and just drank water. Presto.
When parents give medicine to kids, the most important part may be assurance that it will work. Faith and belief, along with a feeling of empowerment over one’s body, are so often the keys to success with any remedy. Basic remedies are often found in the kitchen for pennies. No pharmacy, no big expense.
Fast forward many years, when I heard about essential oils being seemingly the answer to any possible ailment or health problem. A quick look in the natural foods store with the high prices did not inspire me to buy, at least until I had done some research on them. I did conclude that I should keep peppermint oil in the cupboard just in case, and bought a one-ounce bottle from a pharmacist. It would be very pleasant just to sniff when I opened the bottle.
Meanwhile I have not needed it, but having it on hand seems like good insurance. As W.C. Fields, an avowed atheist, said when caught praying, “It can’t hurt.”
Byrna Porter Weir was born and grew up in Houlton, where her parents were portrait photographers. She now lives in Rochester, N.Y.
