In her Substack, Myco, Eco, Mytho, Sophie Strange writes: “Go to the oak tree and ask for its story. Go to the river and ask for its story. Go to the goldenrod and ask without saying anything. Ask with your nose, your belly, your eyes. The answer won't always be words. Won't always be sound. Sometimes it will be a feeling in your body.”
This not only felt hugely relevant for Vanderohe and how my brand came into being (more on which later), but following a night like last night, when a "Blood Moon" hung heavy in the sky, Sophie's words seem all the more poignant.
The moon is itself a story of cycles, but a Blood Moon — a full lunar eclipse — is considered a deeply symbolic and powerful reminder that life is never linear. There are chapters, transitions and moments of shadow and we are urged to use these moments to manoeuvre our own transformations and shifts. The moon can be considered our mirror, our story, and looking into ourselves, we can ask: what needs to be released? What cycle is ready to close so that another may begin?
As we follow our senses, the feeling in your body, we're given the opportunity to become our own storyteller and, if we can push ourselves to do it (for it's not such an easy thing to do), we find ourselves ever more connected to the natural world we live in and its magical mycelial network of exchange, renewal and transformation. Just as the forest floor is nourished by leaves and petals that fall and decay, we too have the chance to be nourished by the compost parts of our lives we choose to release. Letting go creates space for something new to grow.
By paying attention with our whole body, we can learn to move with these natural cycles: adapting when change comes, trusting our instincts and finding meaning in the small, sensory ways the world speaks to us. So, as you feel into this eclipse cycle, be bold enough to instinctively become the author of your own story.
Olivia x
BTS
On Friday, I spent the day with a friend who kindly photographed my production process for Vanderohe. As I poured and mixed various different oils, she asked whether it was hard to maintain a constant scent across, for example, all face serum batches. I explained that it's nearly impossible because the ingredients are seasonal and fresh and their scent will depend on the soil, climate and harvest that season, that year. That's why each time I sit down in my studio to blend a batch of any single Vanderohe product, the process unfolds as I mix and the product reveals itself gently through its scent. Alchemy.
As we spoke about it, I realised that the products are so entirely linked with nature's rhythm and I think it gives Vanderohe an extremely special quality in a rather monotonous landscape of uniformity. There is something precious about each batch because it can never be identically replicated: the product has, by default, its own seasons and cycles; at times deepening its base scent to, for example, a rich, buttery nut when the apricot kernel oil is at its freshest; at others, opening its top note to a particularly sweet and fresh neroli. In this way, Vanderohe products have their very own story — ever changing, blossoming, evolving and yet, always remaining true to their core.
Roots
Writing a new chapter in your life can require an extraordinary amount of energy and it often leads to you feeling temporarily depleted afterwards. Interestingly, nature charts this very same course.
This year, oak trees are writing a story of abundance. Walk through the woods and you’ll notice the ground littered with acorns: it’s what’s known as a "mast year", when oaks across whole regions release an overwhelming crop, all at once. Some years, the oaks are deliberately sparing — holding back their energy and limiting what’s available to the animals that rely on them in order to keep animal populations in check. And then, in a year like this, they flood the forest with possibility, so that leftover acorns have the chance to take root and grow into saplings, ensuring the continuation of the oak's story.
Witnessing this is to feel the quiet genius of nature in real time. Oaks invest as much energy in these prolific seasons as they would in many years of steady growth and, remarkably, with an unspoken and invisible sensory process, trees of the same species often sync up over vast areas to make this predator-satiation and survival strategy even more effective.
Body
Skincare, when approached as a sensory ritual, can become something really rather special. So much of what we feel is written on our skin, so it's not only about what nourishes your skin on the surface, but how you engage with your senses (and therefore your mind) in the process.
I always include a handwritten note with orders that I send out, and I usually write something along the lines of: "Don't forget to breathe deeply". I always wonder whether the recipient will actually pay heed to it. For me, it matters. I formulate through scent first and then I build the product around that scent, selecting oils that are appropriate for a specific function. So when you apply your Vanderohe oil or serum, pause and inhale deeply before massaging it into your skin, because the scent is the key — it speaks directly to your nervous system, calming or enlivening, depending on what you need. It's amazing how quickly your body allows you to lean into that feeling, letting the ritual expand from the surface of your skin into your whole being, through a simple inhalation.
Proust, the grandmaster of sensory connections, is forever quoted for the way taste recalls memory via his famous madeleine cake, but there's a passage in A la recherche du temps perdu that I've always found slightly more soul-stirring, which is when the narrator is captivated by the scent of hawthorn and, unlike the madeleine that transports him immediately to a world he had otherwise forgotten, the scent of the hawthorn is impenetrable, ungraspable — try as he might to breathe it in and unravel it in his mind, it always appears to be withholding some kind of secret, much like a beautiful piece of music: "comme ces mélodies qu'on rejoue cent fois de suite sans descendre plus avant dans leur secret."
I love nothing more than receiving messages from people commenting on how the scent of the Face Serum makes them feel. It means that someone has managed to reach through to the very heart of the product and has grasped its full potential (magic).
Long Haul
When I was struggling with Long Covid, I relied on a strict regimen of supplements, as if they could replete everything the virus had taken from me. Over time, I’ve learned to listen more instinctively, tuning in to what my body really needs at any given time.
When I feel on the edge of being run down, I’ll reach for a multivitamin (and on a hangover, nothing beats old-school Berocca). For energy dips, I take Koji Iron (27 mg); when PMS symptoms flare, I turn to ashwagandha and magnesium; and I try to consistently take Viridian Hair, Skin and Nails, because I genuinely notice the difference.
I think the most important part is not becoming a slave to what the labels promise — instead, it’s about listening a little closer to your body and giving it only what it truly asks for.
Mind
I started reading Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell on the weekend and am now savouring the last few pages. It's a life-breathing novel steeped in the elements of the natural world. At its centre is Agnes, Shakespeare’s wife, portrayed as a woman so attuned to plants, animals and the rhythms of the land that she is seen as a kind of forest witch. Her knowledge of herbs and healing, her instinctive reading of people and places, root the story firmly in nature’s cycles of birth, growth and decay. Against this backdrop, the sudden death of her son Hamnet becomes not only a profound personal grief, but also part of a larger meditation on the inevitability of loss woven into the fabric of life itself and the transformative power of creation through grief.
