So back about 1968 when I left Africa, I brought home a bag of henna that resembled a brick of finely ground hashish, so it's something of a wonder that I wasn't stopped at customs. I was 14 years old and traveling with my 17 year old brother (my father was still Africa and my mother was waiting for us on the other side of customs in New York) -- so perhaps, they thought it not worth their time to search our stuff. Lucky me.
In 1973 I broke out that henna and did wondrous things to my hair. Turned it a bright copper color and because henna was not yet popular, most people assumed it was my natural color. The henna when wet was a rich, green gold mud that smelled like damp earth and turned everything it touched orange-red. I loved it, though applying it was tricky so as to not dye my ears a carrot color. These are the only photos I have of my hair back then -- a fun trip my husband and I took with my brother and his then-girlfriend to Chicago. My brother posed us in a line for these funny photos -- though my favorite is the one of me, swooped up into my husband's arms. Always romantic. Always.