There are several herb gardens in Hong Kong. There is one in the Botanical Gardens, close to the seat of government. There is another in the Chinese University of Hong Kong, an institution traceable in part to the revolution of 1949, when mainland scholars were scattered to the four winds. But the one that always caught my attention is tucked away, on one of the many paths winding through the Lung Fu Shan Country Park.
With its abundant references to medicine, the garden at first glance seems like a portal into another era. In the English-speaking world, while herbs still adorn the kitchen shelf, their relationship with healing has taken on archaic associations. In China, where the very word is often expressed through the characters for “medicine” and “grass”, several hundreds of herbs still play an important role in traditional healthcare practices. But few young people nowadays could name many of them, or would come across them.
If gardens exist on a spectrum, this one is on the wilder end and, as though in concert with the forgetting of their names, the herbs have not always seemed in their best state. Last winter, to the extent that it occurs in Hong Kong, nettles had sprouted and the loose grass was trampled. The pots were weathered, and some had fallen over. Only a few flashes of purple — possibly thistles — broke up a jumble of stalks and leaves.