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My name is Mackenzie Laurin. I am a herbalist, horticulturist, green kitchen witch, archivist, writer, and storyteller; born and raised in the beautiful Peace Country of Alberta, Canada.

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The story of my life begins with my hands in the dirt.

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I mean that in a literal sense, of sorts; my first memory is of me, around 2 years old, in my mom's vegetable garden, shovelling fistfuls of dirt in my mouth. In my mind, this memory feels like the creation of my consciousness- I blink, and the world comes into colour: two dirty hands, a brilliant blue sky, a garden of vibrant greens, and my mom, exasperated and rushing over to scoop the dirt out of my mouth. So commenced my lifelong love affair with the soil.

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In my memory, I was always with my mom out in the garden. I consider myself incredibly privileged to have been raised on a small family farm in rural Tangent, Alberta. Like so many other farm kids, I recall watching the land around my home come alive each Spring with an unparalleled sense of wonder: first the trees, the spring flowers. The lilacs and the chokecherries. The Tulips, Delphiniums, the Hollyhocks, Foxglove, and Baby's Breath, that defined the gardens of my childhood. We are greeted in the garden, my family and I, in early June, by neat rows of vegetables that we planted together. When I was 7, my mom sectioned off a precious square meter of her garden for me to plant on my own. My little garden plot grew as I did, and when I was 12, I planted my first herb garden. I fashioned it after old monastic gardens, a proper spiral- though it quickly became an unmanageable jungle. I have always been a chaotic garden manager- preferring to keep the weeds, rather than being burdened by the mystery of how they grow.  

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In my teen years, under the guidance of some of my dearest grandmother figures, I began to venture into the wilderness that surrounded my country home. These women often spoke to me about their childhoods: memories of visits to blueberry patches, of hands stained purple, sticky with juice. Tales of a flower that could stop your bleeding, a flower that saved lives when no other medicine could be found. They spoke of their grandmothers, their beauty rituals, foraged for in the swamp and in the forest: wild rose, horsetail, stinging nettle. I began to wander as often as I could, in search of the subjects of these stories. It was not difficult to find them: the forest seemed suddenly alive with millions of different species, each of them beautiful and fascinating. I began to document the local flora in what would later become the foundation of The Ladybird Archives: assorted paper piles of drawings, musings, facts, pressed plant samples, poems. I didn't yet know that I was following a thread that would reveal to me the purpose of my life.

 

The area around Tangent, my home, is wedged between the Peace and Smoky Rivers. The land between them, especially the valley, is unlike anywhere I have ever explored. It is home to many flora & fauna that are found nowhere else North of Edmonton- I speak often of the Cecropia moth as an incredible example of this. 

 

It was apparent to me that the place I called home was unlike many others. The culture I was surrounded by was unique, a privilege I didn't always appreciate as much as I do now. ​Perhaps the greatest privilege I was afforded in my youth was intergenerational connection. Growing up so rurally, this intrinsic aspect of our community shaped me more than I ever could have imagined.  My elders were the foundation of our local culture. I was blessed to be surrounded by numerous grandmothers and aunties; women who, despite our lack of shared blood, treated me as one of their own. I was greatly blessed to grow-up right next door to my grandfather- my grand-père. He was a deeply proud Frenchman; a world explorer; a careful photographer... and a true gentleman, through and through. He told vivid stories of his travels, of the many other cultures he visited. When I was about 8, he taught me about edible flowers. He once told me that if I ate all of the dandelions from the front lawn, he would give me $5 (I never managed it). He planted a seed of curiosity for me about my lineage- about the cultures that shaped my family story. The thread of my French and Scottish heritage greatly inspires my study and practice today. 

 

The elders in my life carried deep wells of lived knowledge, and while I was perhaps often too busy-minded to truly listen, I find more and more their lessons impressed upon me now, written in my flesh and bone. These lessons guide me every day, in my life and my work.

 

Their wisdom was simple, steadfast, and enduring: always give a little more than you take; waste nothing and mend what you can; keep faith and cackle often, even when times are lean. Always speak words of kindness and care into food made for loved ones, it is its own kind of medicine. Good work done with care is a great blessing; our hands are instruments of prayer when we work with intention. It is better to tell a story than to tell someone what to do. Community is not given; it is built. When you are blessed with too much, always share it. A meal stored in the belly of your neighbour is a better investment than a meal stored in the freezer. Humbly listen to the quiet voices of those who are smaller than you- show kindness to the spider, the bee, the ladybug (those who think themselves too grand often discover the opposite, before long). Learn the stories of your ancestors and heed their lessons. The sooner you can live with the rhythm of the seasons, the happier you will find yourself. These lessons, and many more, have become the guiding tenets of my life, and my company. 

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After graduating high school, I attended Olds College and earned my Horticulture Technologist Diploma. Shortly after, my health deteriorated, and I was forced to step away from the path that I had so intently envisioned for myself in the greenhouse industry. Isolated within a body that made each day a battle to be fought, and faced with an indifferent healthcare system that began to feel more and more disconnected from true healing, I reached a breaking point. It was at this unhappy crossroads that I realized- something had to change. I needed to take my power back, or risk never again being in control of my life and my health. So, I chose- I turned backwards, to the passions that had guided me in my youth. I dedicated every spare moment I had diving into the study of herbalism, nutrition, human biology, and the microbiome, and in every sense, it felt like coming home. It wasn't long before this study gave way to careful practice, and over the years, an idea took root in my heart. One that felt, in my bones, like something greater calling to me. 

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After moving to Lloydminster in early 2023, I began to question if it truly was the right time to begin the work that was calling to me. It took time to feel rooted again. I felt adrift, away from my home and the land and forests I felt so deeply connected to. That was, until spring arrived a month later. As the snow melted, I began to explore the city's green spaces, parks, and wild alleyways. With each walk, I felt a growing sense that I was in the right place, at the right time, with the right person. One afternoon, while I was deep in thought, searching for a name for the project that I had been quietly chiselling away at, Matthew Grant asked me to join him in the front garden. To my complete joy, I found the entire lawn alive with thousands of ladybugs. The sight stopped me in my tracks, and the two of us delighted like children in the way they crawled and landed on us, one even landing on the tip of my nose. In the most inexplicable way, it felt like a sign- a rare, beaming display of synchronicity- and The Ladybird Company was born. 

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From that day on, The Ladybird Company rapidly began to take shape. Aspirations turned to fully formed ideas, turned to testing products, turned to crafting tailored medicines for my loved ones. In early 2025, it was finally ready, and I launched the company.

 

The Ladybird Company became the vessel through which I could share my lifetime of lessons; gifted to me by the elders, plants, and animals that have been my teachers. All of the offerings of my business stay true to this gift of connection. ​Through plant walks, classes, workshops, and seasonal gatherings, I invite others to experience that same sense of wonder and belonging.

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This work is more than a business to me- it is a love letter to the land that raised me.