In a world where we often feel disconnected from the rhythm of nature, Guido Masé RH (AHG) bridges the gap between ancient plant wisdom and modern living. A clinician, herbal educator, and author, Guido’s journey is a testament to the enduring connection between humans and the natural world. From the rugged landscapes of the Italian Alps, where he first encountered the healing power of plants, to his work with Traditional Medicinals and Urban Moonshine, Guido has spent his life weaving together storytelling, science, and tradition to cultivate a deeper understanding of herbal medicine.
We first crossed paths with Guido through the Sustainable Herbs Initiative, where his passion for plants shone through.
Guido’s work embodies the belief that true healing begins in the wild. His holistic approach illuminates the intricate web connecting our bodies, minds, and the ecosystems that sustain us. His philosophy perfectly aligns with our own ethos of honoring the wisdom of nature.
Join us as we explore Guido’s story, his inspirations, and his vision for how plants can help us rediscover harmony in ourselves and the world around us.
evanhealy: Your childhood in the Italian Alps and Renaissance Ferrara sounds like a poetic introduction to herbal medicine. How did those early experiences shape your relationship with plants and the land?
Guido: Growing up, plants featured in the daily rhythms of life: whether hiking through forest foraging for mushrooms and bilberries, or above the tree line for arnica and gentian; or coppicing poplars in the lowlands for annual fence upgrades - we would interact with plants almost every day. But what I came to realize is that the whole landscape - the special places, whether an Alpine forest or a farm field outside Ferrara where wild thyme grows in the margins - is bound to the human history of place, too. The Alpine herbal environment is what it is in part because of centuries of human contact: bringing cows to the high meadows, spreading manure, gathering firewood. I remember, even as a kid, getting the sense that plants, people, and place feed off each other and grow together as a sort of living “unit”.
As a traveler and herbalist, how has the act of moving through different landscapes—from Italy to Vermont, and even to Tanzania—enriched your perspective on plants as medicine?
Traveling reinforces the sense that herbal medicine, in different bioregions, has different flavors and approaches. It also has introduced me to some incredible species, like the thorny Zanthoxylums of Tanzania, which the Maasai call "ol-loisugi" and the bark of which contains compounds similar to those found both in goldenseal (alkaloids like berberine) and echinacea (pungent, tingly alkylamides). So I truly appreciate the gifts other plant-people have shared with me. But I've also found - and it doesn't surprise me anymore! - that herbalism everywhere has similar foundational elements: a reverence for medicinal plants as conscious, potent beings; rich and moving stories and a thriving plant-based oral tradition; and a supportive approach to the art of medicine. It's remarkable that, even when we don't share a language, we can communicate through plants by sitting, tasting, and experiencing them together.
What inspired you to co-found the Vermont Center for Integrative Herbalism, and how does its mission reflect your personal philosophy about the relationship between plants, people, and healing?
VCIH grew from a free herbal clinic for underserved Vermonters who couldn't otherwise afford to work with an herbalist (or purchase herbal remedies every month). The clinicians volunteered their time, and we donated remedies from our farms and gardens. This was not sustainable, so we coupled the clinic with the informal apprenticeship programs I'd been offering for a few years, and turned the whole of it into a non-profit three-year clinical training program, herbal pharmacy, and clinic. This accomplished two goals: first, clinicians and teachers were supported from student tuition and client donations. But second, we filled a big gap in the herbal training offerings in the US: a clinical training program where students worked with their own clients, under supervision. Now there are many opportunities for this type of work. But twenty years ago, there weren't.
Collecting Calendula at Vermont Center for Integrative Herbalism
From the beginning, we recognized that the modern healthcare system needed the daily, supportive influence of whole plants and whole food - and that we had to competently speak the language of science to get there. We wanted to train herbalists who could help bring this in - but not just in a theoretical, book-learning way. From the beginning our program focused on outdoor time, gardening, medicine-making, and one-on-one client contact as much as on physiology, pharmacy, lab tests, and herbal therapeutics. As the curriculum evolved, faculty brought more elements focused on collaboration, community-building, and social justice. This reflects what grounded, plant-centered herbalism usually carries as a side effect: the responsibility to care for the places and plants who share their medicinal power with us, and the drive to build healthy, connected communities where creativity springs from a diverse range of voices.
You emphasize the interconnection between humans and their surrounding ecology. How do you guide people to cultivate a deeper understanding of this connection through the use of herbs?
I can't say that I am the guide - more a facilitator, as I believe the plants themselves are doing the guiding. Let me put it this way: we all have a sort of intellectual understanding of some of the challenges facing the ecology, both globally and in our own bioregions. But by working with plants - and consuming them, taking them into our bodies - this intellectual understanding becomes an embodied wisdom. It's hard to spray herbicide when the weeds you're killing are the same ones helping you out. Plants offer a chemistry of communion which works on us in non-linear, non-human ways. Our behavior shifts as a result - often, we're not even aware it's happening. I see this all the time in the herbal clinic, where folks begin to talk about their world and the ecology in different ways after a few months of building a relationship with their personal plant friends. Partly, this is explicit: I let folks know that the powders, teas, and extracts I suggest come from living beings, we look at pictures, I take them to the garden to see them in the green. But the bulk of the work is below the surface: plants rewire our minds, our endocrine systems, our immunity - all of it. To many, this is a new experience. But of course it's not: our bodies remember; the process is more like coming home. It's just that so many of us have been far from home for a long time.
Bitters and tonics are central to your work. How do these remedies reflect the balance between the body’s innate wisdom and the healing power of plants?
Bitters are a type of tonic, meaning an herbal remedy that is taken habitually and which both balances and efficientizes physiology. There are nerve tonics and cardiovascular tonics and immune tonics too, as well as adaptogenic tonics that improve the efficiency and resilience of our stress response. Bitters provide an excellent case study: these plant remedies, which literally taste bitter, are usually taken for digestive support. But what's interesting is that they don't actually "do" anything to digestive function: they simply provide a bitterness which the body interprets as an important signal to enhance digestive juice and enzyme production, slow down the movement of food a bit, and balance overall appetite. The body itself is doing the work. Compare this to conventional medicines and dietary supplements marketed for digestion: they suppress acid, kill unwanted micro-organisms, offer external sources of things like digestive enzymes, etc... The common thread is: your body is messing up, so I will do its work for it. Bitters, and herbal tonics in general, are very different: the tonic approach suggests that we can use gentle remedies that restore the operating context of the body, and what follows is a rebalancing of the physiologic response, which often means less friction and more comfort. Tonics ask the body itself to rise to the occasion, and provide a tissue and cell-based signal that the body can use (if needed) to effect that shift. What's remarkable is that, if a response is not needed, you can still take a tonic and it won't appear to be doing too much. To me, that's wisdom. Tonic plants can read, and work with, myriad physiological states.
What simple lessons can Western herbalists learn from ancestral healing traditions?
I am no stranger to the allure of science. Biochemistry, pharmacy, extraction science: all reveal incredible beauty and conscious agency in the microcosm, and I will never stop studying! But there are many ways of learning and knowing, and our human written and oral tradition is just one. The simple lesson, central to ancestral healing traditions but which I have to learn over and over again, is that plants speak on their own terms, with their own language, in non-linear ways that require a type of engagement that can't be accomplished using our brains. Try different approaches:
sit next to a growing plant. Or look at the sun through a glass full of tea. Put a sprig under your pillow. Make botanical art. Taste the same herb every day for a month. Expect weird things to happen, and when they do, don't shut them out. Over time, you will have become an herbalist.
Herbal medicine has deep roots in history, yet it feels more relevant than ever. How do you see traditional remedies fitting into the future of modern healthcare?
Modern healthcare is missing compost. In our gardens, we have many tools to push back against problems. But if you add good compost, there simply are fewer problems. The intractables of modern medicine can't be solved only by going to war with them. Nurturing the field, rebalancing the system, building creative resilience are all required: this is what herbalism does, and likely is part of the reason so many find it relevant and attractive in a world where creativity and resilience are at a premium. Another analogy: if we are like a guitar, modern medicine can fix broken strings, repair a warped neck, figure out exactly what type of wood to use to let the guitar's body generate a booming sound. It knows each piece in exquisite detail, with the familiarity of a genius luthier. Herbal medicine, on the other hand, shows us how to take that guitar and make music. I look forward to 21st century healthcare learning how not only to minimize disease, but also to maximize people’s vibrancy and creative contributions through the wisdom of plant medicine.
As someone who formulates herbal teas and supplements, where do you find inspiration?
I am inspired by classic recipes. It's fascinating to pore over the old herbals and dispensaries to find hidden gems, and the body of knowledge is so vast! I like thinking about a modern twist on some of these old blends, and how to make them more approachable, flavorful, easy and fun while maintaining the time-honored efficacy. I also turn to plants themselves: I have cards with plant images on them, and sometimes I just lay them out in front of me to open up the field of possibilities. Walking in the garden or forest, a thought might come that ends up solving a formulation challenge: it's so important to keep track of these when they happen. Finally, it's much more fun to formulate as a team. I draw inspiration from my colleagues and from the brilliance of the herbal community.
In your experience working with Traditional Medicinals and Urban Moonshine, how do you balance honoring the wildness of plants with the structured demands of creating accessible herbal products?
In two main ways: first, featuring wild, weedy, and often common plants provides a recognizable element for consumers - hey, it's dandelion! While exotic, expensive ingredients might be the buzz of the day, I want to remember that there's wildness in every garden and city, too. Second, by investing in the people and places where herbs grow, we can meet plants where they are, honor those who steward and nurture them, and help preserve both the ecology and the knowledge needed to keep the plants' wild green energy thriving.
Since plants are indeed wild (even when grown in rows), they change year to year, batch to batch. This is normal and wise - they are responding to ecological shifts - but it can present a challenge for a company working at a large scale. Here, it comes down to education: while I can buffer some variability through formulation, it's important that folks who like to take herbs, especially as teas or liquids, understand that shifts in flavor are a feature, not a bug. Herbs come in vintages, like wine. While we can ensure that key requirements are met for safety and efficacy, we want to leave open the possibility of surprise, wildness, and variability as we work with these wild allies.
You’ve written about aromatic, bitter, and tonic plants in The Wild Medicine Solution. What led you to focus on these categories?
My thought was this: if you can simplify herbalism down to its most basic set of remedies, what would these be? I believe that herbalism is an easy art to learn, and within well-defined boundaries, it's easy to start applying, too. So what are the basic remedies everyone needs to get to know? Bitters, for their ability to balance digestion, appetite, and metabolism - so crucial in our overfed/undernourished culture. Aromatic plants, from roses to lemon balm, for their ability to balance our neuromuscular system, easing tension but also supporting an engaged, present orientation to life (think about how aroma captures and maintains your attention). And tonics, both the sweet ones like astragalus that speak to our immune systems, and the sour fruits like hawthorn that support cellular resilience and cardiovascular health, for their ability to regulate deep, foundational elements of our physiologies. Think about that: if more folks had these resources at their disposal, and felt comfortable applying them within safe guardrails, so many of the issues that overwhelm modern primary care would be nipped in the proverbial bud.
What has been a profound teaching that you received from a plant, and which one was it?
Once many years ago, I was following a stream with a group of students in search of skullcap. My small business was about to run out of the extract of this herb, and we needed to gather and process more. The timing was perfect - the herb should just be starting to flower, at its peak for medicinal efficacy. After some time we came to a place along the stream where a few trees had fallen, letting in enough light for a nice patch of skullcap. We were thrilled!
Before harvesting any plant, I always take time to sit, slow down, and try to feel what's happening in the present moment. Traditionally, herbalists also say, "ask the plant before you take". And so that's what we did together. As I reached out to start plucking some flowering tops, something felt off, and I got the clear sense that this was not the time, this was not the place. So I stopped and told the students, who were surprised. "You mean plants actually say no sometimes when you ask?", they wondered. For me, this was the first experience where the answer was, indeed, "no". As soon as I accepted that and told the students, a flood of imagery around water, coolness, soothing, calm, and dark, dusky serenity entered me - I remember it to this day. I felt it as the voice of skullcap. We took off our shoes and sat there, feet in the stream, before returning home. My business was out of stock of skullcap extract until the following year, but I felt closer to the herb than I ever had before. She gave me a gift, in that clearing, that far exceeded the value of the herbal material itself. Take time, listen, follow through. Expect creative inspiration from unexpected sources.
In a fast-paced world where many feel disconnected from nature, what is one simple way people can begin to restore that connection through herbs?
Well, we can never truly be disconnected from nature - everything humans make is, after all, a natural expression on this biosphere - but I can understand how folks might feel less connected to plants, animals, forest and field given how we live today (holed up in our fancy anthills). This can sometimes lead to a feeling of disconnection from our bodies, too - with their weird noises, secretions, and poorly-timed fluctuations and impulses that often don't sync up with the demands of modern culture. Herbs can help with all of that. I would start with what's right outside your door: purchase a plant ID guide for your local region, and make it a goal (ideally with a guide) to learn one or two new plants every week. This simple exercise reframes the world from undifferentiated green "outside" to a community of friends you can get to know. Usually, people are curious and want to learn more. After that, the plants do the work.
If you could distill your herbal philosophy into a single piece of advice for someone just beginning their journey with plants, what would it be?
Herbs are wild, wise, conscious beings - not alternatives to drugs. They speak in gifts of chemistry that awaken deep creative memory. Find a guide, discover a plant, put that plant in your mouth and expect the unexpected!