Leisha The pomegranate’s outer skin is a universe of medicine that most people throw away.
Most people who know me know that when I began to study the soil, my whole way of seeing health changed. Once I understood how the soil food web functions, I saw how every part of life depends on microbial cooperation. The soil is alive with communities of bacteria, fungi, protozoa, nematodes, and microarthropods that feed one another in perfect cycles. Each group holds the others in check. It is not about killing but about balance. When we destroy one group, the entire system weakens.
That same truth exists inside the human body. Our gut is a mirror of the soil. It holds bacteria, fungi, archaea, and yeasts that keep us alive and well. These microbes digest food, build vitamins, and regulate our immune system. When I learned that, I could no longer ignore how many “anti” herbs I had been using in my apothecary. I had once believed that to heal, we had to fight pathogens. But nature does not fight; it restores. It feeds what is weak and strengthens what is out of rhythm.
So I began taking the “anti” herbs off my shelves. The labels alone told me how far I had drifted from the intelligence of the soil. Antibacterial, antifungal, antiparasitic. All of these words describe destruction. None describe relationship. These plants, while powerful, do not always distinguish between what we call good and bad. They clear the field completely, and that leaves both the soil and the gut like an empty battlefield. With the protective species gone, the system becomes vulnerable to the next invader. The same happens when farmland is sterilized with chemical sprays. The microbes die, the structure collapses, and the land loses its immune system.
I began looking for plants that work with life instead of against it. Plants that protect by regulation, not by erasure. That is how I came to the pomegranate skin.
The outer rind of the pomegranate is a chemical masterpiece. It contains tannins, ellagic acid, gallic acid, punicalagin, and a wide range of polyphenols that act as microbial modulators. In the soil, these compounds shape microbial populations, favoring species that build structure and suppressing those that cause decay. In the gut, they do the same. They do not sterilize. They signal. They feed beneficial bacteria through cross-feeding mechanisms, where microbes metabolize the complex polyphenols into smaller, health-promoting molecules such as urolithins. These metabolites strengthen the intestinal lining, reduce inflammation, and improve mitochondrial function.
The pomegranate skin also carries antioxidants that protect the gut wall from oxidative stress. It supports the tight junctions that hold the intestinal cells together. Instead of tearing things down, it fortifies the barriers that keep us whole. It helps the body resist parasites by improving resilience rather than by poisoning. That is why I use it now. It teaches how to hold boundaries without harm.
When I hold a piece of the dried skin, I think about how it works in both worlds. In the soil, it feeds microbes that build humus. In the body, it feeds microbes that build vitality. It is slow medicine, patient and strong. It shows how defense can come from nourishment, not from attack.
In our Living Ground gardens, the pomegranate trees live in living soil. Their roots weave with mycorrhizae, their leaves breathe microbial life, and the fruits form through the rhythm of the seasons. When the fruits split open under the sun and reveal their red jewels, I am drawn to the skin. Beneath its leathery surface is a deep concentration of plant intelligence that speaks to the terrain of the gut.
The skin holds the plant’s natural defense system. It is where the tree protects its fruit from decay and imbalance through harmony, not destruction. The tannins, ellagic acid, punicalagins, and polyphenols in the skin are regulators of microbial ecosystems. In the soil, these same compounds stabilize and guide fungi and bacteria toward balance. Inside the human body, they do the same, supporting beneficial microbes while calming those that grow out of proportion.
Our pomegranate peel tincture is made from the thick skins of ripe fruits from our own trees. They are harvested when the fruit has reached full maturity, then sun-dried and slowly extracted to hold their full complexity. The tincture is deep amber, slightly bitter, and beautifully grounding. It does not destroy or strip away; it restores and protects. It is known to be effective against parasites while leaving the beneficial microbiome intact.
The tannins in the skin help tighten and tone the gut lining. This action supports barrier strength and discourages invaders that thrive in weak terrain. At the same time, it nourishes the beneficial bacteria that build integrity in the digestive tract. The result is both cleansing and rebuilding.
In ancient medicine, this was well known. Ayurveda uses the rind to calm digestion, balance Vata and Kapha, and bring steadiness after infection or travel. In Persian and Mediterranean traditions, it was infused in wine or vinegar as a tonic for worms and fever. Modern studies confirm what tradition has always known. The polyphenols in the rind weaken parasite attachment, slow their life cycle, and feed beneficial microbes through gentle fermentation of these plant compounds.
When taken as a tincture, the body feels the difference. The first taste is earthy and bitter. It wakes the saliva, moves the liver, and stirs bile flow. Within moments there is warmth and clarity in the belly and the mind. The gut feels more awake and calm at the same time.
Energetically, pomegranate skin teaches boundaries. It holds the light within. It reminds the body to stay whole. Just as the rind protects the shining seeds, it helps us hold our own energy steady. When our microbial world feels scattered by stress or sugar, this tincture brings order. It tends the garden within.
In the soil, pomegranate peel behaves much like humic matter. It binds what is loose, feeds what is weak, and gives structure to what is soft. It restores the soil’s ability to breathe. When we take this tincture, we mirror that same process inside ourselves. The gut begins to rebuild, the blood clarifies, and the body remembers its own rhythm.
We make this tincture by hand. The peels are cut, dried, and soaked in a mix of alcohol and spring water for several weeks. The liquid turns dark red and fragrant. It carries the memory of sun, rain, and soil from our gardens. Once ready, it is strained and bottled with quiet respect for what it holds.
A few drops are enough. Ten to twenty drops in water or tea once or twice a day is a simple, effective dose. It can also be used after a heavy meal or during the wet season when parasites and imbalance are more common in both soil and body.
The taste itself is the teacher. Bitterness brings awareness. It tells the body to slow down, digest, and listen. When we welcome this flavor, we reconnect with the natural rhythms of life.
Our Pomegranate Peel Tincture is available in our store. It is medicine from the land, created by hand, and rooted in the belief that healing comes through balance, not battle. It honors the microbiome and the soil alike, reminding us that cleansing and nourishment are one and the same.
This is why pomegranate skin has become my choice. It represents a new understanding of what medicine can be. It is not a weapon; it is a teacher. It supports balance through chemistry that nature designed to cooperate with life itself. When I make the tincture and watch the liquid turn deep red, I see the same intelligence that runs through the soil, through our food, and through us. That is the medicine I trust now.
To learn more about the full story and spirit of the pomegranate, visit the article I wrote earlier: Pomegranate – Who Knew?
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