Month: February 2024

Neodruidry, Plants and Herbs, Witchcraft

Hydrangea Folklore and Magical Uses

J.

I’ve written a bit about the hydrangeas we planted here. We’ve got two oakleaf and one bigleaf hydrangea, all of whom did pretty well after planting. (Well, until an incident with some botanical mosquito control, but that’s another story and everyone is fine.) It was interesting to see how the sunlight and shade seemed to affect them — the oakleaf hydrangea who got the most sun exhibited some signs of stress in the beginning, where the one planted in partial shade seemed to settle right in. Once it had time to acclimate, however, the sunny oakleaf hydrangea rapidly outgrew its compatriot!

It’s going to be a little while before I can see how my guys fared through the winter, but I’m confident that they’ll do okay and very excited to see them put out new flowers this year. In the meantime, I thought I’d soothe some of my impatience by writing about the various traditions, folklore, magical uses, and fun sciency things surrounding hydrangea.

(Also, as you read this, my Handsome Assistant is obtaining the Replacement Car. It has more cargo space than the Hyundai did, so you know what that means: I can convince him to haul home even more bushes, because I’ve got coupons to American Plant and a head full of weird ideas.)

Hydrangea Magical Properties and Folklore

The name “hydrangea” translates almost perfectly into “water jar.” It comes from the Greek words angeion, for vessel or capsule, and hydr-, for water. It makes sense, too — the seeds look like little amphorae, and these plants like water.

A blue cluster of hydrangea flowers against a backdrop of dark green leaves.
Photo by Rifqi Ramadhan on Pexels.com

In Victorian floriography, the cryptic language of flowers, hydrangeas have a somewhat contradictory meaning. On one hand, they represent gratitude. On the other, they represent heartlessness. This kind of makes sense if you consider them as a response to a would-be suitor. Very “thanks… but nah.”

In China, hydrangeas are associated with heartfelt apologies. These flowers are sometimes poetically called “the flowers of the Eight Immortals.” The Eight Immortals are legendary figures revered in Taoism. In one tale, the forces of the Immortals and the Dragon King clash. To apologize, the Dragon King offers seven of the Immortals beautiful hydrangea flowers.

Different colored hydrangeas can represent different things. Blue hydrangeas are the ones most commonly associated with regret and apology. White ones represent grace, purity, and vanity. Pink are for appreciation and gratitude. Yellow are for joy and friendship. Green hydrangeas are for rebirth, prosperity, abundance, and renewal. (This rather closely follows the meanings attributed to different colored roses, with the notable exception of blue. Roses do not produce blue pigment, so any “blue” roses are either actually lilac in color, artificially colored, or photo edited.)

It should be noted that a hydrangea’s colors can be variable. Unlike other plants, the things that give them their colors aren’t different pigments. Pink hydrangeas, for example, aren’t actually any different from blue ones. Hydrangeas act as giant, living masses of litmus paper. When they grow in acidic soil, their growing conditions cause their pigment to exhibit a blue color. If the soil is more basic, then it will exhibit a pinker color.

Here’s where it gets a bit more complicated. The soil pH itself isn’t actually what influences the hydrangeas’ color. It’s the naturally occurring aluminum ions in the soil. When soil is acidic, these aluminum ions are free to do their thing, hook up with other ions, have a gap year, go clubbing, get tiny little asymmetric haircuts, etc. They’re also easily taken up by the hydrangea plant, where they get all up in the hydrangea’s reddish pigment and turn it blue. In basic soil, aluminum ions connect with hydroxide ions, settle down, buy property, and get tiny little purse dogs. Aluminum hydroxide isn’t easily taken up by hydrangea plants, so the blooms stay pink. You can force a hydrangea’s blooms to change color, but it’s a whole Thing involving a lot of chemistry, soil amendments, and time.

Also, hydrangea flowers aren’t flowers at all — like flowering dogwoods, their “petals” are really modified leaves. The actual flowery bits (the tiny fertile parts in the center) aren’t super noticeable, so these jazzed-up leaves provide support and protection for the flowers, and help pollinators figure out what’s what.

Pink hydrangeas, the product of basic soil.
If you look closely at the center of each “flower,” you can see the actual hydrangea flower. You can also see the leafy veining pattern in each “petal.” Photo by Alena Yanovich on Pexels.com

From what I’ve seen, at least three online sources indicate that hydrangeas were once used to break curses. If a malevolent witch put a curse on someone, hydrangea flowers could get rid of it. However, I haven’t seen this attributed to any specific culture or tradition, nor have I found exactly how to use hydrangeas as hex-breakers.

A great many herbs with magical and folkloric significance have also historically been known for their medicinal properties. Hydrangeas are poisonous overall, but their roots and rhizomes do have some medicinal virtues. Both traditional medicine and modern research demonstrate some potential effectiveness against inflammation and problems with the bladder and kidneys, as well as a diuretic effect.

Hydrangeas aren’t just a little poisonous, either. They contain amygdalin, the same cyanide-producing compound in bitter almonds. It’s also related to the one that was rebranded as “laetrile” and “vitamin B17” and sold to unsuspecting and desperate cancer patients. That said, a completely different compound called hydrangenol may inhibit bladder cancer, and that’s neat!

Astrologically, hydrangeas are connected to Libra. Elementally, they’re associated with Water. (Which makes a lot of sense, considering their preferred growing conditions and the whole diuretic thing.)

Using Hydrangea

Though I wasn’t able to find a source for breaking curses with hydrangeas, they can be useful to grow as boundary plants. In most cases, a plant’s magical function follows its mundane form and use. Hydrangeas are dense, lush, and also poisonous. () A nice, healthy hedge of hydrangeas is a wonderful boundary. Just shoot for native varieties — they’ll thrive more easily, require less intervention, and you’ll be helping out your local pollinators and combating habitat loss!

A cluster of light blue hydrangea flowers against a dark background.
Photo by Sonny Sixteen on Pexels.com

Hydrangeas also make beautiful, very easy bouquets, offerings, and altar decorations. Each head is pretty much a bouquet on its own. Choose a bloom that’s the right color for your intention — for money or fertility spells, for example, choose green ones. For purification, pick white. Just make sure to keep them away from children and pets.

Hydrangeas also dry beautifully, though they lose some of their color in the process. Still, the “flowers” have a structural beauty. They’re good for wreaths and basket arrangements. Consider making a dried hydrangea wreath and empowering it to energetically protect your home’s entryway.

I still have some time before these hydrangeas bloom, but I can hardly wait. Here’s hoping they’ve settled in enough to fill out and flower abundantly this year!

Plants and Herbs

Wintergreen Folklore and Magical Uses

J.

Winter’s rapidly coming to an end — we still have a day or so of snow and cold temperatures here and there, but there are signs of the plants and soil waking up all over. On one particularly nice day, I was sipping a root beer on the back deck when a memory came to me out of the blue.

Two glasses of soda, with ice and straws.
Photo by PhotoMIX Company on Pexels.com

“I could never stand that stuff,” a friend of mine once said.

“What, root beer? It’s like the most basic beverage of no offense to anyone.”

“It tastes like mouthwash,” he replied.

“… You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong, though. Some of your fancier, gourmet root beers do contain derivatives of wintergreen, perhaps best known for playing a starring role in chewing gum, breath mints, those white Lifesavers candies, and yes, toothpaste and mouthwash. Even the artificially flavored ones have echoes of this flavor.

Wintergreen is a fun ingredient. It has a ton of uses industrially, medicinally, magically, and in food. It also has one of those names that can get you in a bit of trouble if you’re not careful.

Wintergreen Magical Uses & Folklore

(and a bunch of chemistry stuff)

There are a lot of plants named “wintergreen.” Members of the genus Gaultheria are native to Asia, Australasia, and the Americas. Pyrola is distributed temperate and arctic North America, Europe, and Asia. Chimaphila used to be a whole separate thing, but is now in the same family as the other wintergreens. (Don’t get me started on one-flowered wintergreen.) All of these genera fall under the family Ericaceae. Some members of Lysimachia are sometimes called “wintergreen” even though they’re all pimpernels and loosestrifes (loosestrives?) and aren’t related at all. As if that weren’t confusing enough, the term “wintergreen” also used to be applied to any plant that remained green through the winter, the way we now use the word “evergreen.”

While there are a ton of different wintergreens out there, the classic oil of wintergreen flavor is primarily either derived from Gaultheria wintergreens or synthesized.

A bit of modern folklore says that, if you bite a wintergreen candy in the dark, it’ll spark. Wintergreen candies can create sparks under the right conditions. This is due to triboluminescence, which occurs when energy is put into atoms by friction, heat, et cetera. When those atoms return to their normal state, that energy is released as a brief spark. Chomping on regular old sucrose is enough to generate a little triboluminescence, but the brightness of wintergreen candy sparks comes from a neat synergy between the sugar and the wintergreen oil. The oil’s most notable aromatic compound, methyl salicylate, is fluorescent. When the sugar grinds against itself when you bite it, it emits a bit of dim triboluminescence that’s mostly outside of the visible spectrum. The fluorescent methyl salicylate absorbs this energy and releases it as much more visible blue light. Put it all together and voilà, sparks!

Red wintergreen berries and green leaves.
Photo by Mike Serfas.

Speaking of methyl salicylate, you might recognize the “salicyl” in there. (Methyl salicylate is an ester of salicylic acid — in fact, artificial wintergreen flavor is synthesized from straight-up salicylic acid and methanol.)

Traditionally, Indigenous people prepared the leaves as a tea to ease symptoms of rheumatism and other joint pains. In the body, methyl salicylate gets metabolized into salicylic acid, the same pain reliever derived from white willow bark (Salix alba). However, wintergreen oil is pretty potent stuff. A single teaspoon of it is about equivalent to 20 300mg aspirin tablets!

Another member of the Ericaceae family, Chimaphila maculata, is known as “spotted pipsissewa.” This is derived from the word pipsisikweu, meaning “breaks into small pieces,” since it was traditionally used to treat gall, kidney, and bladder stones.

Though the oil is highly potent, teaberry is edible. The berries can be made into pies, and the leaves eaten as a potherb.

Because of its evergreen properties, wintergreen is used for money drawing. In Hoodoo formulas, for example, it often finds its way into gambler’s incense. Nothing like an herb that stays green to help keep you rolling in green, right?

In other traditions, this herb is used for clarity, focus, and healing. It is sometimes included in anointing oils for meditation, in the belief that it’ll help the user focus and heighten the meditative experience.

Carrying a sprig of wintergreen is said to keep evil away and attract luck to the bearer. It’s often used as an herb for general protection. (Oil of wintergreen is also an ingredient in some lubricants used for weapons, for entirely unrelated reasons.)

Wintergreen is sometimes used as a love-drawing ingredient, though I haven’t often seen it included in recipes for this purpose. It makes sense, though, considering the ways it’s used to attract other good things.

Wintergreen is associated with Saturn (as a protective herb) and the Moon (as a healing and love-drawing herb). It’s also connected to the astrological sign Capricorn.

Using Wintergreen

Man, I really wish I had more to point to here.

The thing is, I’m one of those people who’re unfortunate enough to be “salicylate sensitive.” It doesn’t take all that much for me to experience salicylate poisoning. (Pepto Bismol made me deaf for a week, with the exception of a constant, maddening, high-pitched whine.)

Sure, other herbs contain various salicylate-related compounds. I mean, even rosemary is pretty high in them. Wintergreen oil has a bit of a reputation, however, and it isn’t entirely undeserved. So even anointing with an oil containing wintergreen is A Lot for me.

(Just gonna pause here to let everyone get all the “wintergreen repels evil” jokes out of the way. Aaand… okay.)

This is by no means to scare you away from this herb — far from it. It has a long history of use as medicine because it has an effect on the body. For some, that’s relieving pain. For people like me, it’s less pleasant.

As a result, I don’t really work with wintergreen much myself. When I do, it’s usually through consuming food or beverages flavored with it, rather than using the oil or herb directly. I essentially treat them as pre-made potions, which I empower and enchant for whatever I need them to do. Usually that’s using a cold herbal root beer to ease a headache or a sour stomach.

Wintergreens are also wonderful plants to grow. Under the right conditions, they can even replace non-native lawn grasses. They’re low-growing understory plants and an abundant source of food for wildlife. Growing them near your home can help repel bad energy, attract good energy, reduce the environmental and monetary burdens of pesticides, chemical fertilizers, and extra irrigation, and bring you many small bird friends.

Should you use wintergreen? If you’re not allergic or sensitive to it or any of its components, then there’s no reason to avoid this beautiful, versatile herb. Treat it responsibly and respectfully, and keep wintergreen preparations well out of the way of pets and children.

Books, divination

“Spark Magic,” a fun little box of ideas.

J.

Every summer, a Druidry group I am part of gets together to grill, tell stories, sing, and swap goods and gear. Some of these are things we’ve made (like artwork or preserves), some are things we’ve grown (like plant starts and seeds), and some are things we’ve purchased, and want to find a new home for. I’ve taken home books, macrame plant hangers, sculpture, watercolor art, camping gear, oracle cards, some vintage Le Creuset, and one very unique tool.

A black and iridescent blue box, modeled after a match box, labeled "Spark Magic. 50 ways to find your power."

This is the Spark Magic box. It describes itself as a way to “[k]indle that inner spark,” and carries this idea through the prompts themselves. They’re all derived from various creative and spiritual practices, with a bit of self-care mixed in, printed on 50 cards shaped like matches. This makes it easy to shuffle through them just by shaking the box, plus the match design is just a really fun, unique idea.

This isn’t your standard oracle deck or list of journaling prompts, however. There are some writing prompts, of course, but this box also contains ideas for physically and mentally taking care of yourself, beautifying and enhancing the health of your immediate environment, and cultivating a regular practice to help you feel empowered and self-fulfilled.

Personally, I like it a lot. I often experience periods where I feel sort of dull and lifeless (enhanced, no doubt, by cyclothymia). While the prompts in here aren’t a substitute for a therapist, the ideas are usually pretty good at helping me to re-engage with practices that I’ve allowed to fall by the wayside. They help me feel more enthusiastic about doing stuff again. I feel like they’ve been much more helpful in this regard than the usual lists of self-care suggestions and journaling prompts that I see online.

Part of this may be due to the structure of the deck itself. It’s not a pick-and-choose list of things to do — there’s an oracle deck-style element to it. Part of the fun isn’t just drawing a match and seeing what it says, it’s taking some time to think about why I’ve drawn the specific match that I did. This also makes it fun to combine with tarot or oracle readings.

Would I recommend this? Yes, absolutely. If you’re someone who feels like they could use a little boost or some inspiration now and then, Spark Magic may be helpful for you. At $12.95, it’s also pretty inexpensive. If you like cartomancy, try combining Spark Magic with your oracle or tarot readings as a fun, interesting way to gain more insight.

life

… And then, somehow, we came out ahead.

J.

Remember when my Handsome Assistant’s car got stolen? And we found it because of a pair of sunglasses? And it came with free Takis?

Anyhow, we went through the whole rigamarole. Talked to the insurance. Talked to police. Had it towed to a place. Had it towed to another place. Had it checked out, then towed to another place for Reasons, I guess.

Long story short, the cost of fixing the damages exceeds the value of the car. It’s totaled.

Even longer story short, this is possibly the best thing that could have happened.

Look, we’re cheap frugal people. We try to live below our means. He doesn’t take out loans or buy new cars because the way that car valuation works is bad and silly. I don’t take out loans or buy any cars because my eyes are mostly decorative at this point. We make it work.

This is how he was able to haggle a really good price on his last car. Couple that with trading in the car that got poisoned in Mississippi, and the total that he’d paid is actually significantly less than its value. Like, it would cost more to replace the car at its current book value than he originally paid for it.
And, depending on how the law shakes out, we might still be able to trade in or sell the totaled car (for parts, but still).

“But Jec,” you may be saying, “You guys’re still out a car, and that sucks.” And yes, you are correct. It is less than optimally convenient.

However, after the Mabon celebration (where we accidentally gatecrashed a youth group, my Handsome Assistant almost got hypothermia, and we ended up sleeping in the trunk), we came to the conclusion that it might not be a completely terrible idea to look at other models of car once this one bit the dust. I suggested a wagon, because we could use the extra cargo space. He wanted a hybrid or EV. We kind of shrugged it off for the time being, because his current car was working fine and we weren’t in any rush.

Now, not only do we have a reason to look at cars that better fit our needs, but we also have some extra dosh to do it with.

I don’t know how we ended up benefitting from what is, objectively, a really sucky situation, but I’m happy. ᕕ ( ᐛ )ᕗ

I should get some Takis to celebrate.

Neodruidry, Witchcraft

Thundersnow — a rare (and powerful) phenomenon.

J.

The other day, my area was witness to a very rare weather phenomenon: thundersnow. This occurs as a thunderstorm where snow falls instead of rain. This happens for the same reason that regular thunderstorms happen but is rare because very cold air is dense and not as likely to rise as warm air. For this reason, you need some special circumstances for it to be cold enough to snow and allow air to rise.

Gray stormclouds.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Previously, I’ve written about using rain and other forms of precipitation. Winter storm water (or snow) is used to make oneself outshine competitors. From my experience, stronger storms produce stronger water. For this reason, thundersnow is some of the best water for working magic to outdo rivals, or even just for success in general. It has the traditional properties of winter storm water, coupled with the added oomph of a thunderstorm.

Catching thundersnow is just like catching other forms of precipitation. Let some snow fall first, because this will help clear out some of the particulates in the air. Then, put out a bowl, baking tray, or other container. Wide containers work best for this, because you’ll be able to catch much more in a broad, relatively shallow container than you will in a narrow, deep one. Finally, scoop your thundersnow into a jar or bowl, allow it to melt, and either keep it as-is or decant it into a bottle. Keep it away from sunlight, preferably in your refrigerator. Use melted snow for washing magical tools, anointing objects or yourself, brewing magical baths, or whatever else you’d use water for.

A white flower floating peacefully on water.
Photo by NEOSiAM 2024+ on Pexels.com

For safety’s sake, avoid drinking it — even if you’re very careful to catch clean snow and filter it afterward, an awful lot of snow contains various types of bacteria. This is because crystals (including snow) form around a nucleation site. These nucleation sites are usually specks of dust or grains of pollen, but, at certain temperatures, bacterial structures are more abundant and easier for snowflakes to crystallize around. So, while not all of these bacteria are pathogenic to humans, and catching the occasional snowflake on your tongue won’t kill you, please take the appropriate precautions when using melted snow.

Plants and Herbs

Moss Folklore and Magical Uses

J.

In honor of the adorable little clump of moss that I found when hiking last weekend, I thought that I’d write about the different folk tales, cultural significance, and magical properties of these awesome little plants.

Before I do, I do want to point out one thing that’s pretty funny: A lot of the plants we consider/call “moss” aren’t actually moss at all. Some of them aren’t even the same kind of organism. Oakmoss (Evernia prunastri), for example, is a source of fragrance and often considered to be a grounding ingredient that’s associated with the element of Earth. However, it’s a lichen — a composite organism of fungi and cyanobacteria or algae species — that spends its entire life in trees. Reindeer moss (Cladonia rangiferina)? Also a lichen. Spanish moss (Tillandsia usneoides) is neither lichen nor moss — it’s a flowering plant related to those spiky little air plant guys you find glued to magnets at gift shops. Irish moss (Chondrus crispus) is algae. The other Irish moss (Sagina subulata) is actually part of the carnation family. You probably get the idea.

A close-up of moss-covered tree roots.
Photo by mali maeder on Pexels.com

So, for this post, I’m limiting myself to the “true” mosses. These short, spongy little members of Bryophyta occupy a unique place in magical traditions and folklore.

Moss Magical Properties and Folklore

In a Cree legend, Wisagatcak the Trickster attempts to catch the Great Beaver. His attempt backfires when the Great Beaver gets muskrat to bite Wisagatcak in the backside. Seeking revenge, the Great Beaver begins to flood the whole planet. In response, Wisagatcak made a great raft to wait out the flood waters. Moss began to grow on the raft’s damp wood. As it grew, a wolf on the raft ran around and around, working magic to expand the moss and cover the Earth in land once again.

A Salish story tells about a Chief with a very beautiful daughter. When she came of age, he wanted to make sure that she married well, so he held a race: The man who had the strongest legs could marry his daughter. Many creatures showed off their physical prowess. Coyote was swift and cunning, Deer was strong and graceful, and Bear was powerful.
And then there was Blue Jay, with his twiggy little bird legs. He thought this whole competition wasn’t fair, so he hid behind a tree and covered his legs in moss and clay. He sculpted false muscles into the moss and clay, so, when he came out of his hiding place, he looked like he had the most powerful legs of all. (He also brought gifts of beautiful feathers, which certainly helped.)
Blue Jay won the girl, scooped her up, and carried her to his home across the river. Unfortunately for him, the river water washed away his fancy moss-and-clay legs. When he emerged from the water with his little skinny bird legs, everyone laughed.

A close-up of a snail crawling on some bright green moss.
Photo by PhotoMIX Company on Pexels.com

German folklore talks about the moss people, or Moosleute. These are a kind of forest fae that are said to be about the size of human children, but gray, old-looking, and clad in moss. In some tales, they’re said to be taller and beautiful.
These creatures are similar to the Irish sidhe, in that they can be capricious — on one hand, they may ask for help from humans and reward them generously for giving it. On the other, they’re really easy to anger by either scorning them or their gifts, or trying to give them caraway bread.
Moss people are often, though not always, the objectives of the Wild Hunt.

Lada (also known as Ladona or Lelja), is widely regarded as a Baltic and Slavic Goddess of spring, harvests, love, marriage, and fertility. She’s a deity akin to Freyja, Venus, or Aphrodite. She’s sometimes said to scatter moss as she passes, bringing new life and fertility to the soil. (Interestingly, she may have been invented by medieval Christian scholars in an attempt to malign local folk beliefs and Pagan practices, but opinions on this are divided.)

One common bit of modern myth involves painting with moss. It’s said that you can get moss to grow anywhere you want by putting it in a blender with buttermilk, then painting the slurry on fences, walls, et cetera. In fact, the buttermilk isn’t necessary — it doesn’t feed the moss in any way, because moss doesn’t take up nutrients from its substrate. Moss doesn’t even have roots. It has rhizoids, which allow it to draw moisture and nutrients from its surface. Give moss moisture and a flat place to grow, meet its lighting needs, and it’ll happen.

A fallen tree completely overgrown with moss.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It’s often said that you can navigate with moss, because it only grows on the north side of trees. While this can be true in specific circumstances, it’s not true often enough to be useful. In the northern hemisphere, the north side of anything generally receives the least sun. This means that the north side of a tree is likely to be the dampest, coolest, and shadiest side. However, if there’s anything around the tree to provide shade (like buildings, other plants, or even just the tree’s own leaves and branches), then moss will grow wherever it pleases.

Traditionally, moss is associated with healing, resilience, persistence, and rejuvenation. It’s not a fussy plant and will grow in places many other things can’t. Even when it’s removed, as long as conditions are right, it’ll come right back.

Using Moss

The hardest part about working with moss is figuring out what’s actually moss. The first step, then, should be to learn to identify local moss species. Avoid going by common names, as these can be misleading. This isn’t to say that the plants-that-are-called-moss-but-aren’t-actually-moss don’t have their own special properties, but there’re quite a few differences between a terrestrial, non-vascular, spore-producing plant, and a tree-growing colony of fungus and algae!

A glass jar terrarium planted with moss and orchids.
Photo by Katarzyna Modrzejewska on Pexels.com

You can include bits of dried moss in sachets or amulets for protection and stability.

Beds of moss are great decorations for outdoor altars. They’re soft, beautiful, and provide an effective and tactile way to connect with Earth energy.

Moss is also a good offering for faeries and nature spirits. In some cultures, moss is considered a source of their power. Some members of the faerie realm are also said to use moss to camouflage themselves from human eyes.

If you do practice moss painting, you can use it to place protective sigils around your property.

Moss is a beautiful, unique, and resilient little plant. It survives where other things give up, and doesn’t really need much to thrive. Whether you use it as a magical ingredient, or just view it as a source of inspiration, it’s a really lovely thing to work with.

Just for fun, life

Double Chocolate Cookies (and they’re egg-, dairy-, and refined sugar-free!)

J.

Hello! I had a minor surgery yesterday. (No worries, my awesome Handsome Assistant is taking excellent care of me, I have fantastic lentil soup from one of my favorite spots, and I’m recovering well.) So, in lieu of a longer blog post, here is a recipe for very tasty vegan double chocolate cookies. They’re rich, they’re fudgy, and the maple syrup gives the flavor a bit of added depth.

A glass mug of pea milk and three double chocolate cookies, on a green stoneware plate.

Ingredients

Dry:

  • 1 3/4 cups einkorn flour (or, if you prefer, 1 1/4 cup white einkorn, and 1/2 cup whole grain einkorn)
  • 1/4 cup cocoa or cacao powder
  • 2 tablespoons ground flax seed
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 3/4 cup dairy-free chocolate chips (I like the 72% cacao ones from Trader Joe’s)

This recipe works best as written, but you can use regular wheat flour instead of einkorn. If you do so, you may wish to increase the wet ingredients a little as einkorn flour tends to require less moisture than regular flour. You can also compensate by combining the 2 tablespoons of ground flaxseed with 4 tablespoons of water, allowing it to sit and thicken, then mixing it with the other wet ingredients. I don’t know how well this recipe plays with oat, almond, or gluten free flour blends, but, as long as the consistency isn’t too dry or goopy, you should be okay.

Wet:

  • 1/2 cup avocado oil (not extra virgin — extra virgin has a stronger flavor)
  • 1/2 cup + 1 tablespoon maple syrup
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla
Double chocolate cookie dough in a stand mixer.

Directions

  1. Preheat your oven to 350°F (176°C).
  2. Sift flour into a large mixing bowl.
  3. Add remaining dry ingredients and whisk together until well combined.
  4. Combine wet ingredients in a separate bowl. They won’t cream the way butter and sugar do, but that’s okay! Mix them together as best as you can using a whisk or fork.
  5. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry. Mix together either by hand or using a mixer.
  6. Drop by rounded spoonfuls onto a cookie sheet. (Depending on how large you make your spoonfuls, you should end up with 15-18 cookies).
  7. Bake for 13-15 minutes.
  8. Allow to cool, then enjoy!
life, Neodruidry

An Imbolc Hike (and Tree Divination) at Patuxent Research Refuge

J.

One of the nice things about having other Pagans around is that it makes the High Days a lot more fun. On my own, Imbolc is mostly divination and spring cleaning (or, in this year’s case, divination, deep cleaning, and rearranging my entire house). Traditionally, it’d involve pilgrimages to sacred wells, asking for healing, and leaving offerings and clooties.

This past Saturday, my Handsome Assistant and I met with a local group that we’re a part of for a hike around a lake at Patuxent Research Refuge. It was a nice, flat loop, mostly on a gravel or mulch trail, so it wasn’t too challenging. It left a lot of mental and breathing space for conversation, catching up with friends we hadn’t seen in a while, and contemplation. (One group member who’d moved away was back for a visit, and it was really nice to have the chance to talk to them again!)

We covered about a mile and a half before pausing for tree branch divination. Admittedly, as much as I enjoy divination, this was something I hadn’t tried before. The group split up to find places to sit — fortunately, it seemed like every tree near the path has spread out a welcoming pillow of moss at its roots. From there, we thought of the questions we wanted answered, or the problems we needed guidance on. After relaxing our gazes and letting them rest on the bare, outstretched tree branches above us, shapes began to emerge.

The experience was very different for each of us. My Handsome Assistant experienced it almost like a story, with images coming and going in an evolving plot that gave him a hopeful look into his questions. I had a little more trouble — I just wanted to know whether I’d achieve the goals I set for myself this spring. The trouble is, divination methods like this aren’t often conducive to “yes” or “no” answers. What would the trees even do? Give me a check mark for “yes” and an X for “no?” Spell out “Yup” in their branches? It was a little frustrating.

Finally, I kind of gave up. If the trees had something to say to me, I wasn’t going to constrain them to a “yes” or “no.” As soon as I did, my eyes came to rest on a spot that was only visible from the angle I was looking from. The branches of multiple trees came together to form a pentagon, and their twigs radiated outward into an almost perfect spiderweb shape. In the second when it all came together, it made perfect sense — I’d only be successful if I could keep from sabotaging myself. Catastrophizing is a snare. Worrying over inconsequential details is a web I build to trap myself. Even the expectations I had around this divination yielded only frustration, not answers.

I also found a really neat little clump of moss.

A small clump of bright green moss nestled amid some leaf litter.

After the divination, we all walked silently to the lake. On the shore, we meditated on what we wanted to be cleansed and healed of, made an offering of water gathered from different sacred sites, and dipped strips of cotton cloth into the water of the lake. One would traditionally tie a clootie to a tree near the sacred spring itself, as a type of sympathetic magic (as the clootie breaks down, so too would the issue to be cleansed/healed). In this case, we all brought ours back with us to be tied to our own fences or trees, composted, or burnt and scattered. I’m planning to tie mine to the branches of the little redbud tree in the front yard, myself.

A single bright red holly berry among spiky green leaves.

Things haven’t really “greened up” yet, but there’s a beauty in that. You could see the tiny sprouts and buds of things just starting to awaken from dormancy. The green needles of pine trees and spongy carpets of emerald moss were bright splashes against all of the shades of silver, gold, brown, and gray leaves. The sunlight was thin and silvery, shining through an even blanket of clouds. Even though it’s late in the cold season, some bright, jewel-like fruits still lingered — like yellow horsenettle and ruby red holly berries. The seedheads of dried mountain mint stuck up here and there, ashen gray, fluffy, and smelling strongly of mint, oregano, and bergamot. A few trees showed signs of beavers, and we even passed near the entry way to a beaver lodge.

A conifer, girdled by beavers. Though the bark's stripped away, the wood itself isn't gnawed on very deeply.
(I’m guessing conifer wood didn’t agree with this beaver.)

I’d hoped to see some mushrooms since it’s been so damp and warm, but it’s still a bit too early for that. There was plenty of bracket fungus on fallen tree trunks, clinging to the bark like oysters to a stone. One tree even had really interesting lichen on its bark, forming shapes like rivers.

A closeup of a fallen tree trunk, with lichen and tiny bracket mushrooms.

By the time we were finished, three hours and several miles had passed. Now, I’m back feeling a little bit lighter, a little reassured. Here’s hoping that Imbolc has treated you well, too!

Plants and Herbs, Witchcraft

Pea Folklore and Magical Uses

J.

As I mentioned in my tiny plant haul, I recently picked up some packets of snap peas. I was never really a fan of peas growing up — mostly because the ones I was exposed to were the mushy, grayish kind from a can. Few things can beat a fresh, sweet peapod off of the vine, though, and they’re legitimately fun to grow!

Three pea pods, split to reveal the peas inside.
Photo by R Khalil on Pexels.com

Soon, it’ll be time to start peas from seed in my growing zone. Since I’m kind of champing at the bit to get them started, I figured this would be a good time to look into all of their folklore, symbolism, and magical correspondences.

Pea Magical Properties and Folklore

Sweet peas and rosary peas aren’t that closely related to garden peas, or even sugar snap peas. Sweet peas (Lathyrus odoratus) are grown for their flowers and have toxic seeds. Rosary peas (Abrus precatorius), as their name implies, are grown for beads and are fatal if ingested — if it’s thoroughly chewed, a single rosary pea is enough to kill an adult human. Garden, snow, and sugar snap peas are different cultivars of Pisum sativum, and are grown for their edible shoots, pods, and seeds. L. odoratus, A. precatorius, and P. sativum are members of the family Fabaceae, but so are plants like lupine, Scotch broom, and logwood trees. For this reason, it’s important to draw a distinction between folklore and magical uses of edible peas, versus sweet pea or rosary pea.

A pair of pink sweet pea flowers.
Sweet peas in bloom. These are grown for their beauty and fragrance, and are definitely not edible. Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

Peas are an incredibly old food source grown around the world. While garden peas (Pisum sativum) are thought to have originated around Pisa, in Italy, they’ve also been found in Egyptian tombs, and the earliest evidence of them dates back to the Neolithic era, in what is now Greece, Jordan, Turkey, and Syria. They are considered to be one of the first food crops domesticated by humans.

According to British lore, pods containing nine peas are considered lucky.

Peas were used to cure warts through sympathetic magic. This is a very common old wart-removal method — you touch or rub the wart with an object, then burn, throw away, or bury said object. As it decays, the wart shrinks. In this case, the afflicted person would touch a wart with a pea, wrap the pea in a bit of paper, then bury it in the ground. When the pea broke down, so too would the wart.

Peas are a cool-weather crop, and don’t do very well in heat. One old rhyme about the planting of peas and beans says, “Be it weal or be it woe, Beans should blow before May go.”

Pea pods growing on the vine.
Photo by Gilmer Diaz Estela on Pexels.com

Green peas are used in formulas for health or money. Yellow peas, on the other hand, are best for luck. In some cultures, carrying a dried pea in your purse or pocket is said to attract good luck.

Dried peas are also used for divination. They’re shaken up and cast, similarly to the way you might cast bones or runes. You then read the patterns that they form.

Using Peas

As a common food crop, using peas is pretty easy — especially if you like kitchen witchery. Cook and eat peas to bring in more wealth, health, and luck.

Dried peas can be added to sachets or bowls to attract money. Combine them with dried herbs like chamomile, basil, cinnamon, patchouli, and cinquefoil. Add this to a bowl containing a few pieces of citrine and/or pyrite, and some coins. Keep the bowl clean and free of dust, and periodically refresh it with new herbs and more coins. Never remove the coins from the bowl.

If you have a difficult decision to make, take one seed pea for each of your options. Plant them, carefully marking which pea corresponds to each option. Keep an eye on them as they sprout — their growth and vigor can provide guidance on what to do.

Peas are a useful magical ingredient that’s easy to grow yourself, even if all you have is a tiny space and a pot. They’ve got fiber and protein, are associated with luck, money, and healing, and keep well once dried. All told, no matter whether you’re into kitchen witchery or not, these little guys are a very useful addition to your store of magical ingredients.

Books

Let’s Read: Folklore and Symbolism of Flowers, Plants and Trees

J.

I admit, when I first got my copy of Ernst and Johanna Lehner’s Folklore and Symbolism of Flowers, Plants and Trees, I was slightly disappointed at the size. I’d been hoping for a longer volume, while this one comes in at just 128 pages. However, despite my initial misgivings, I did enjoy this book.

For starters, it’s well organized. The first chapter covers sacred plants from Middle Eastern, Chinese, Norse, and other cultures/religions around the world. The next is a neatly alphabetized collection of folklore about flowers. From there, it goes on to cover strange and wondrous plants, and plant calendars from various cultures. The last section is a list of the floriographic meanings of each plant.

That said, this is a somewhat old book, and the majority of its sources have a Euro- or Christocentric lens. Some spellings that appear as typographical errors (Batatosk for Ratatoskr, for example) seem to be artifacts of old printing methods. Some of the wording is also outdated, like the usage of Mohammedan (an archaic term for Muslim or Islamic that’s now regarded as a misnomer at best, or offensive at worst). Some of the common names they chose to use also may be a bit strange to an English reader, like Bo Tree for Bodhi Tree. You get the idea.

While it isn’t long, the pages are large enough to hold beautiful antique illustrations and a lot of information. The entries also include the scientific name of each species (where known), which is very helpful. Relying on common names can be misleading — feverwort, also known as common centaury (Centaurium erythraea) is not the same as feverfew (Tanacetum parthenium). There are also a bunch of plants in the Gyrandra, Schenkia, and Zeltnera genera also referred to as centaury.

All told, this isn’t necessarily a book for deep dives or long reads. However, it’s a very useful quick reference for floriography, and a decent jumping off point for research into mythology and folklore. Would I say it’s indispensable? Not necessarily, but it’s been very useful to me and is really nice to have on hand. It’s best, I think, when paired with a book detailing each plant’s magical or medicinal uses. It’s a nice jumping off point for further research into folklore and mythology, but it shouldn’t be treated as the final authority.

If you’re looking for a quick mythological or floriographic reference for a wide variety of trees, herbs, and flowers, Folklore and Symbolism of Flowers, Plants and Trees is a good book to have. If you’re looking for more comprehensive information, magical uses, folk medicine, or a deeper analysis, you’ll probably want to look elsewhere.