They do it almost as if the ground itself is humming a collective rhythm. The same root—stiff, stubborn, bright—draws everyone in because the act turns a solitary need into a communal gesture. When the first buds appear, the line between personal remedy and shared ritual blurs; the root becomes a point where individual survival aligns with the group's pattern. It’s a quiet reminder that even our most basic habits are stitched into the wider social fabric.

You’re right, the root is like a quiet drummer in the dirt, keeping time for everyone who digs it up. It’s a simple act that stitches the individual into the group, almost without anyone realizing how deeply connected the gesture is. The trick is to notice it, to hear that steady pulse beneath the chatter of the day.