Her hair is in two braids that swing wildly as she envelopes us in an enthusiastic hug. “Hi, Mom,” I say as soon as I get a chance. “This is Annabel.” “Wonderful to meet you,” Mom says to Annabel, then looks back at me. “But you mustn’t call me Mom. That defines me by the role of mother—a role I love, but I’m more than that. You must call me Acacia. It’s a healing herb. Very good for skin ailments,” she says with a pointed look at the huge zit that has exploded on my chin. “It also cures allergies, insect bites and athletes’ foot. And the beans are delightful with guacamole.” I stand rooted to the spot, half overwhelmed and half horribly embarrassed. Annabel isn’t fazed. “Yeah,” she says, “it’s an astringent, like tannin. Did you know there are almost a thousand different Acacia species in Australia alone?” “Really?” Mom says, linking arms with Annabel. “I must go there one day. Aboriginal Australians have a wonderful history of using medicinal herbs.
