Category: Plants and Herbs

Phlox Folklore and Magical Uses
Plants and Herbs

Phlox Folklore and Magical Uses

J.Leave a comment

Right now, my moss phlox (Phlox subulata) is absolutely popping off. I posted some photos in my last post about murdering the lawn, and they’ve continued to open more flowers as the days go on.

Phlox is more than just a pollinator-friendly native groundcover, however. Though most species are in North America, they’re a useful (if often overlooked) magical ally and ingredient for all kinds of traditions.

Phlox Magical Properties and Folklore

The name “phlox” comes from the Ancient Greek word phlox, for “blaze.” I’ve seen two reasons given for this etymology: One is that the intensely colored flowers are as bright as little flames. The other is the flame-shaped flower clusters of upright varieties of phlox.

A bunch of violet-colored phlox flowers.
Photo by u042eu043bu0438u0430u043du043du0430 u041eu0441u0438u043fu043eu0432u0430 on Pexels.com

It’s said that phlox flowers were created by the torches of Odysseus’ men when they descended to Hades. When they returned, they threw their torches to the ground, where they became phlox flowers. This tale most likely refers to Polemonium caeruleum, a member of the phlox family known as Jacob’s ladder or Greek valerian.

The kantuta (Cantua buxifolia), also known as the Peruvian magic tree, is a tree with bright, trumpet-shaped flowers. It’s the national flower of both Bolivia and Peru.
An Incan legend tells of two kings who, jealous of each other’s wealth, went to war against each other. They were evenly matched, and, in the final battle, both struck mortal blows. On their deathbeds, they called their sons to them and made them swore to avenge their deaths — even though their sons hadn’t been in favor of the senseless war in the first place. Nonetheless, their sense of filial piety drove them to continue their fathers’ war.
History repeated itself, and the two sons also inflicted mortal wounds on each other. However, instead of demanding that the war continue, they forgave each other and died in peace. They were buried together, on the green ground of the battlefield.
Pachamama, the Goddess of fertility, punished the sons’ unjust fathers by making their stars fall from the heavens. When they landed on Earth again, they became the mountains Illimani and Illampu. The melting snows that run down them and water the valleys below are their tears of regret for what they have done. The kantuta trees represent unity and the hope that such a war should never happen again.

A North American legend tells a similar tale, but about Phlox subulata. There, the Creek and Chickasaw peoples engaged in a battle when one nation disrespected the other. It was seen as an attempt to provoke a war, and the two nations battled for days.
When the Chickasaw people tried to retreat, they were trapped by a wall of flames. In desperation, a young boy asked all of the animals for help extinguishing the fire so his people could escape. The animals tried, but they were unsuccessful and exhausted by the attempt — the deer’s long tail was burned off by the intense flames, and the once-white squirrel was stained gray with ashes. Taking pity on the animals and people, the Great Spirit changed the burning flames into bright phlox flowers.

In Victorian floriography (the cryptographic “language of flowers”), phlox meant “our souls are united,” or even “we think/feel alike.”

Blue phlox flowers.
Photo by Julia Filirovska on Pexels.com

Planting it in a garden is said to encourage family harmony and unity within the household.

Another source holds that phlox flowers symbolize pleasant dreams and love.

Phlox is associated with the elements of Earth and Fire.

Using Phlox

The best way to use phlox is to find a variety native to your area, and plant it. (If you’re in the eastern US, Phlox subulata makes a great substitute for turf grass.) The presence of phlox is said to encourage unity and peace, and forges a harmonious household.

You can also use phlox flowers based on their color. Include dried flowers in sachets, jar spells, or herbal offerings. Since they’re a very peace-love-and-harmony plant, that may affect your perception of what each color is good for. Pink flowers are the most suitable for love, and red for passion, while white or blue are best for peace and healing. Purple flowers are useful for meditative or spiritual pursuits. Oranges and yellows are helpful for positivity and optimism. This isn’t really a flower you’d want to include in, for example, banishing work.

Phlox is associated with protection, but, from the folklore and legends that I’ve seen, this mostly seems to be “protection from harm by calming hostilities.” It doesn’t seem to be a flower for more aggressive protection magic.

To harvest phlox flowers, pick them early in the morning — just after the dew has dried. Hang them upside-down somewhere dry and out of sunlight. (Dried flowers inevitably lose some of their color, but exposure to bright light can cause their colors to fade more.) Once the flowers are dry, store them in a jar in a cool, dark, dry area.

From Odysseus to Illimani and Illampu, phlox flowers are representations of hope, togetherness, and peace. Their legends talk about the senselessness of war and the relief that comes when peace is achieved. They’re excellent allies for works involving calming, hope, and unity.

Grassassination, a Year and a Half Later.
life · Plants and Herbs

Grassassination, a Year and a Half Later.

J.3 Comments

It’s been a while since I’ve written about my ongoing battle against the lawn. It started with a tarp, then went on to solarizing, then sheet mulching, then replacing the unwanted turf grass with native groundcovers, to discovering some kind of gigantic alien mystery plant we didn’t plant that accidentally ended up being delicious.

So, since it’s been about a year and a half, how’s it going?

The grass hasn’t come back. Instead, the area is made up of (mostly) mulch, interspersed with some slow-growing moss phlox (Phlox subulata), bee balm (Monarda fistulosa), violets (Viola sororia), and echinacea (Echinacea purpurea) plants. Occasionally, I’ll find a patch of native wild onion (Allium canadense). The border closest to the house is made up of non-native strawberries, which the birds, squirrels, carpenter bees, and also I seem to enjoy. Along the front path, there’s thread leaf coreopsis (Coreopsis verticillata). In the center, there’s the little redbud tree (Cercis canadensis).

A white Phlox subulata flower.
A flower from one of the white Phlox subulata plants. These guys actually flowered pretty much all through winter!

There are also small mats of non-native “weeds,” like chickweed, purple deadnettle, and speedwell. These aren’t exactly what I was going for, but they do have several advantages over grass:

  1. I’m not allergic to them. Flowering plants like these are typically pollinated by insects. Grasses are wind pollinated. Wind pollinated plants are much more likely to be responsible for allergies, because their pollen ends up in the air (and eventually your eyes, nose, and lungs). This is also why bee pollen is generally not a great way to desensitize oneself to hay fever — it’s primarily made up of sticky, heavier flower pollens, rather than the wind-carried pollens that people with hay fever most commonly react to.
  2. They’re edible. Chickweed is actually pretty nutritious, and so is purple deadnettle. I’m not up on all of the nutrition facts and medicinal uses of speedwell, but I am assured that it is also edible.
  3. They’re not invasive enough to be restricted. While these three plants aren’t native species, they typically have pretty shallow root systems and aren’t super competitive.
  4. They require no effort. Unlike lawn grasses, they don’t need fertilizing, pesticide, weed treatment, or supplemental irrigation. While they’re not as beneficial as native groundcovers, they’re at least not a net negative like turf grass.
  5. They’re an early food source for pollinators and small herbivores. Since they’re not native to the US, they haven’t evolved alongside our native pollinators and thus aren’t really an ideal source of nectar. They do, however, provide more food that a mowed monoculture lawn does.
  6. Honestly, it looks better. I’m not a fan of the manicured look of suburban lawns. This spot has a ways to go still, but tiny blue, purple, and white flowers and multi-hued foliage beat grass any day.

Tiny blue speedwell flowers.
Itty bitty speedwell.

Should anyone run out and sow a speedwell, deadnettle, or chickweed lawn? No, not in the US. (Non-native clover lawns aren’t really a great idea, either.) Nonetheless, I’m in less of a hurry to eradicate these plants than I was to get rid of the grass. It’s reassuring to see other plants moving into an area that was once a mowed, lifeless monoculture.

And, if you’re an invasivore, you can always eat them.

Bright purple Phlox subulata flowers.
Some of the purple moss phlox. Oddly, these guys didn’t flower as resiliently as the white did. They’re putting out more flowers now, though!

This year, the plan is to plant more moss phlox and bee balm, and maybe another coreopsis or two. I’d also like to find a source for native strawberries. These grow in slightly different conditions to the cultivated strawberries you usually see in garden stores and groceries and are a good addition to “edible landscaping” plans. For now, I’m pretty happy with the progress this little patch of dirt has made!

Cacti Folklore and Magical Uses
Plants and Herbs

Cacti Folklore and Magical Uses

J.2 Comments

My partner has a window shelf of cacti and succulents in his office. In winter, it doesn’t get much action — temperatures are too low and there’s not enough light to foster growth, so we don’t water them from about November to late March or early April. They use up the water stored in their tissues, and the lack of soil moisture means that they’re much less likely to develop rot. Since it’s warming up again, it’ll be time to start watering them soon.

Close up of opuntia cactus fruits.
Photo by Fiam So Iam on Pexels.com

We’re also continuing work on replacing our lawn. One of the plants I’ve considered putting in is a native Opuntia humifusa cactus, also known as an Eastern prickly pear. These are, believe it or not, hardy cacti that are the most wide-ranging species in the US. It can be found everywhere from Ontario, to Florida, to New Mexico. My grandfather’s house in New York had a pretty big specimen planted on one side — it was pretty surreal to see a big blue hydrangea bush, and then this cactus spread out less than ten feet away!

A bearded dragon perched on a moss pole in the center of a Monstera deliciosa.
A very handsome, chonky boy.

I’ve also been revamping my bearded dragon’s enclosure. I’m a fan of bioactive habitats, personally, so I make an effort to establish naturalistic microclimates using a variety of lights, sources of humidity, live plants, and even live insects. While desert reptiles can live in very dry, arid conditions, a lot of enclosures don’t include the kind of microclimates that they need for optimum comfort. He’s a big guy who has to live by himself, and I want to make his enclosure as comfortable and stimulating as possible. So, I’ve been looking into spineless cacti and other desert plants that will do the job without putting him at risk of any pokes.

All of this is to say that it’s been a very cacti season, so I thought I’d write a bit on the different folklore and magical uses of these weird, wonderful plants.

Cacti Magical Properties and Folklore

A cactus’ spines are actually its leaves. Like the specialized leaves-turned-petals of hydrangea and dogwood “flowers,” cacti spines have changed their form to suit a specific purpose. In this case, it’s reducing moisture loss and protecting the plants’ plump, water-rich flesh from herbivores. Though they’re thin, spines help shade the cactus from the harsh sun. They also catch rainfall and dew and direct the droplets toward the plants’ roots. While we typically think of dry deserts when we think of cacti, their spines and roots create humid, shady, relatively cool microclimates around their bases.

A Peruvian tale explains where cacti got their spines. On a tall, tall mountain, there was a single lush, green plant. It had broad, tender leaves like lettuce, and was all but irresistible to the local alpaca population. Every day, this plant would have to dodge their attempts to grab a mouthful of its leaves, and every day it prayed for a way to protect itself.
One day, the plant heard a terrible noise. A fox was rushing down the mountain with a tremendous boulder in hot pursuit! Panting with exhaustion, the running fox begged the plant to stop the boulder somehow — if it could, the fox promised, he would give it his claws in payment. The boulder came crashing down, and the plant stopped it in the nick of time by spreading out its broad leaves. The grateful fox gave the plant his claws, and the cactus became the prickly plant we know today.

There are also many stories of the relationship between rose and cactus. One such tale talks about how, on rose’s birthday, he invited all of the plants to attend a party. The self-conscious cactus didn’t answer the invitation, since she had no gift suitable to give the rose. Still, the rose sent a butterfly to make sure cactus came to the party and enjoyed herself anyway.
The cactus was grateful that rose wanted to invite her, even though she had no suitable gift to give him. When the time came to offer rose his birthday presents, cactus gave him the only thing she had — her protective spiny coat. The rose put it on immediately and, in return, offered the cactus a beautiful flower on her birthday.
To this day, rose wears a spiny coat of thorns, and the cactus blooms on her birthday.

A close-up of a yellow and orange cactus flower.
Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

Another tale tells of a proud rose who regarded himself as the most beautiful plant in the land. He looked down on the cactus, who had neither beautiful flowers nor fragrant perfume. What use could such a plant be to anyone?
When a drought came, the rose began to wither. He noticed, however, that the cactus was still plump and filled with water — so much, in fact, that the birds would visit her to poke holes in her tender flesh and drink.
The proud rose humbled himself and asked the cactus for some of her water. Not wishing to see anyone suffer, she told the birds to bring the rose some water. The birds dipped their beaks into the cactus’ green skin, and, flying to the rose, dripped the water on his roots. The rose and the cactus survived the drought, and the rose was never haughty again.

One bit of very persistent folklore says that you can slice open a cactus and drink the water inside. This is only even a little true of one particular species — the fishhook barrel cactus (Ferocactus wislizeni). While this cactus’ water can be drunk in extreme situations, it contains a lot of oxalic acid. Drink it on an empty stomach, and you’re probably looking at a lot of (very dehydrating) diarrhea. Other cacti contain various acids and alkaloids that can do everything from damage your kidneys, to straight-up paralyze you. Cactus-like plants found outside the US, like those in Madagascar and southern Africa, are actually members of the highly toxic family Euphorbiaceae.

The San Pedro cactus (Trichocereus macrogonus var. pachanoi) is an Ecuadorean, Peruvian, and Colombian native that is a natural source of the psychoactive compound mescaline. Peyote (Lophophora williamsii) is native to Mexico and Texas and also contains mescaline. Both of these cacti are considered sacred plants that have been used by humans for spiritual, medicinal, and divinatory purposes for thousands of years.

Cacti are one of those plants that you won’t find in old European grimoires, but that doesn’t make them any less valuable as herbal and magical allies. They are generally associated with resilience and protection.

Some practitioners also believe that they’re capable of absorbing and storing negative energy within themselves. These practitioners cleanse their cacti by repotting it regularly and very occasionally giving it a good soak under running water.

A close-up of a round, very spiny cactus.
Photo by SevenStorm JUHASZIMRUS on Pexels.com

On the flip side, another school of thought holds that cacti can store any kind of energy. Therefore, those plants that have been grown in relaxed, happy environments can actually improve the energy of wherever they’re moved to. These specific plants are frequently used for healing.

Feng shui cautions against having cacti in the home. Their spines are sait to disrupt the harmonious flow of energy.

Cacti are associated with the planet Mars and the element of Fire.

Using Cacti

I can’t really advise you on using entheogenic cacti species, so we’ll skip that part.

In general, the easiest way to “use” cacti is to grow them. I know I say that a lot, but it’s true — living plants can provide benefits above and beyond what dried herbs can.

If you live in an area which cacti can tolerate, then you may want to plant them near the perimeter of your house. They’re great for xeriscaping in desert environments, but some, like the Opuntia humifusa I mentioned earlier, can grow in plenty of other places.

If you do choose to keep a cactus, care for it well. The steps outlined above for “cleansing” cacti? They’re pretty standard care for desert plants. They’ll need repotting as they grow and their soil gets displaced. They also benefit from deep, infrequent watering. Some magic practitioners say that cacti are capable of a kind of “energy vampirism” — that is, if they’re neglected, they can start making the occupants of a home feel lethargic and dragged down.

It’s also important to research what kind of cactus you have, and where it came from. As mentioned above, Euphorbia species are very similar to cacti. They’re also very poisonous and dangerous for children and pets. Some species of cacti are also threatened by overharvesting for the houseplant trade. Cacti poaching is a very lucrative crime, so make sure that yours come from a reputable source (preferably grown from seed, domestically).

Also, be wary of “moon cactus,” also known as Ruby Ball, Hibotan, Red Hibotan, or Red Cap cactus. These plants don’t occur naturally — they’re actually a mutant desert species (Gymnocalycium mihanovichii) with no chlorophyll of its own, grafted on top of another species (usually a tropical dragonfruit cactus). Since the colorful top of the cactus has no chlorophyll of its own, it’s dependent on the host plant for survival. Since both of these species typically have very different needs, they’re very hard to keep alive. While they’re inexpensive and popular, you may want to skip them and choose an easier one. If you really love the look of Gymnocalycium mihanovichii, there are also variegated specimens that still have some of their chlorophyl and aren’t grafted onto host plants.

You can also use cacti spines in the same way that you might use pins or thorns — to spear poppets, fill witch bottles, and so forth. However, cacti generally don’t shed and regrow their spines on a fixed schedule in the same way that other plants lose their leaves, so I don’t recommend harvesting spines for this purpose. If you happen to find a dropped spine or two, however, there’s no reason to throw them away.

Cacti are strange, beautiful plants that show life’s incredible ability to adapt to the most extreme of situations. Long associated with resilience, tenacity, and self-defense, they’re a great plant to cultivate for people who want to strengthen their boundaries and discover their own innate strength.

Mustard Folklore and Magical Uses
Plants and Herbs

Mustard Folklore and Magical Uses

J.3 Comments

I swear, mustard is immortal. At least, the kind I scattered in one of my raised beds is.

I had a packet of giant red mustard seeds that were initially intended for microgreens. When I cleared out a neglected spot in the front yard and turned it into a slightly raised bed, I didn’t really have anything to plant in it. So, I chucked a handful of the mustard seeds in there figuring that, at worst, I’d get some sprouts that would die back and essentially act as “green manure.” At best, I’d get some tasty mustard greens.

This was two summers ago. I have not sown mustard since. I am still harvesting tons of huge, fresh mustard leaves.

A close-up of red mustard leaves.
Photo by Alfo Medeiros on Pexels.com

Right before sitting down to write this, I went out to grab some leaves to use on sandwiches and as salad for my bearded dragon, Cecil. (His salads use collards, turnip tops, kale, or mustard as a base, with various other vegetables, limited fruits, a dusting of calcium and/or vitamin powder, and a sprinkle of dried black soldier fly larvae. I swear, I put more effort into his nutrition than I do my own.) That got me thinking — I’m familiar with the spell uses of mustard, and I’ve heard the bit of Christian folklore about “having faith as small as a mustard seed” before, but what else is out there? What more does mustard have to offer?

Mustard Magical Properties and Folklore

Mustard, as a condiment, is old. Very old. In ancient Rome, people would grind mustard seeds with wine and use the resulting paste just like we use mustard today.

A close-up of mustard seeds.
Photo by Eva Bronzini on Pexels.com

(Believe it or not, the easiest way to temper the heat of mustard is to change the liquid component. Mustard seeds, on their own, don’t really taste like much when compared to mustard as a condiment. They need to be crushed and mixed with a liquid to really express their full flavor. Using water to make a mustard paste creates a very hot mustard. Acids, like wine or vinegar, temper the heat by altering the enzymatic reactions within the crushed mustard.)

Mustard is a member of the Brassica family. That means that it’s related to broccoli, kale, cabbage, turnip, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, and kohlrabi.

In traditional Chinese medicine, mustard is used for respiratory problems, skin conditions, and pain in the joints or muscles. Mustard is actually pretty useful for muscle or joint pain, as it’s a counterirritant that encourages blood flow to an area — similarly to the way that we use capsaicin cream today.

In early Western medicine, mustard seeds were crushed, placed in a protective dressing (usually flannel), and applied to the body to warm it, improve blood flow, and speed healing. This was most commonly used for issues like joint pain, muscle strains, and chest congestion. While it has since become less popular than standardized preparations of compounds like capsaicin or menthol, it is still sometimes used as a home remedy for aches, pains, or colds.

A bit of German folklore advises that new brides should sew mustard seeds into the hems of their wedding gowns. This helps ensure that they don’t get bossed around in their new households. It also helps ensure good luck.

Mustard is, like many hot or irritating spices, used to repel things. In both Denmark and India, scattering mustard seeds around the outside of a property was believed to keep evil away.

This is something we see time and time again — the vast majority of evil-repelling plants that I’ve encountered are also good at repelling physical pests, as well. Mustard is no exception. The leaves have a spicy, subtly bitter flavor that makes them pretty unpalatable for a lot of pests. (I got to see this in action when I was cleaning cabbage loopers off of my kale and broccoli. The mustard was untouched.)

In general, mustard is considered a useful magical herb for any workings that deal with healing, repelling evil, or attracting good luck.

Mustard is associated, probably unsurprisingly, with the element of Fire.

Using Mustard

Looking at its historical uses, mustard is one of those interesting herbs that can be a bit misleading. There are a lot of charts and tables out there that’ll tell you basic information — for luck, use x, y, or z. For love, use a, b, or c — but don’t go any further than that.

Here’s the thing: Mustard acts, in all ways, as a repellent. Medicinally, it inflames tissues, bringing in more blood flow to flush out whatever the problem is. Horticulturally, the heat and flavor in the leaves repel insects and sensitive herbivores. In folk magic, it repels evil.

While mustard is an effective herb for attracting good things, this appears to be because, traditionally, it chases away the bad. Once evil is repelled, good fortune and healing can come in.

For this reason, I don’t really recommend using mustard on its own. If you really want to dial in a working for good luck or healing, combine it with herbs that focus on those things. Mustard will help clear away the bad, and they will help bring in the good.

Since mustard is typically available as seeds, it’s also a useful tool for sympathetic magic. To increase one’s luck, combine fresh, untreated mustard seeds with luck-drawing herbs like alfalfa (another herb that’s generally better to not use alone), fenugreek, dried chamomile, or crushed allspice berries. Scatter the mixture outside declaring that your luck will grow as the mustard seeds grow.

On the other hand, if your goal is to purify or banish, then mustard is fine on its own. Scatter the seeds outside, across the area in front of your front and back doors, etc. Sprinkle bits of ground mustard powder in the corners of your rooms and under your door mat. Tell the seeds that you want them to repel evil, and thank them for their help.

Mustard is a delightful, delicious, and nutrient-dense addition to any meal. It also packs quite a metaphysical wallop — while its hot and bitter compounds are great at keeping garden pests away, it’s equally good at repelling evil. It’s a very useful addition to spells to attract good things, as it’ll help keep away the bad and make room for more blessings in your life.

Hydrangea Folklore and Magical Uses
Neodruidry · Plants and Herbs · Witchcraft

Hydrangea Folklore and Magical Uses

J.1 Comment

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!

Wintergreen Folklore and Magical Uses
Plants and Herbs

Wintergreen Folklore and Magical Uses

J.2 Comments

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.

Moss Folklore and Magical Uses
Plants and Herbs

Moss Folklore and Magical Uses

J.Leave a comment

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.

Pea Folklore and Magical Uses
Plants and Herbs · Witchcraft

Pea Folklore and Magical Uses

J.Leave a comment

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.

A tiny plant haul — nerve plant, ZZ, and more!
Plants and Herbs

A tiny plant haul — nerve plant, ZZ, and more!

J.Leave a comment

Since we’re swapping rooms around, my Handsome Assistant and I felt like it’d be a good idea to scope out some more little green guys to add to our family. (I also have a disco ball in my shower that I’ve been dying to put a plant in.)

So, armed with time to kill, we stopped by a local florist/nursery. We have a bit of a reputation there — in summer, especially right after we moved and were murdering our lawn, we were there nearly every week.

I usually have a pretty good idea of what I’m looking for when I go, but my Handsome Assistant is a bit more impulsive. There have been many occasions where I’ve had to disappoint him by pointing out that a cool looking plant is extremely poisonous, or else has space/light/care needs way beyond our means. He has an eye for really awesome plants, and I always feel bad doing it.

A collection of houseplants in a flat cardboard box.

This time, we came away with a nerve plant (Fittonia), what I think is a raven ZZ plant (Zamioculcas zamiifolia), a pretty pothos (Epipremnum aureum), and a Chinese evergreen (Aglaonema).

Some of these are listed as toxic in various resources because they contain calcium oxalate crystals. These crystals are a natural defense against herbivores, as the crystals are sharp and cause irritation to the mouth, throat, and stomach. This is rarely severe, and is a purely mechanical injury. It isn’t toxic the way that, say, the phytotoxins in lilies or the cardiac glycosides in foxglove are toxic. It’s more “toxic” in the way that trying to eat a handful of broken glass would be “toxic.” Damaging, rather than poisonous.

(There is a way that calcium oxalate can potentially raise the risk of kidney stones, but, since calcium oxalate isn’t very soluble, it’s a whole Thing that depends on fat absorption, the presence or absence of certain electrolytes, and so on. In the end, the main problem most people and animals have with calcium oxalate-containing plants is that their crystals can cause irritation, pain, and/or inflammation on contact.)

Nerve plants are known for being big, fussy babies. If they want water, they will wilt until they look dead. Give them a drink, and they perk right up. Some growers have success with treating them like ferns — keep them humid, keep them evenly moist, and don’t give them too much sunlight.

A nerve plant with dark green foliage and striking bright pink veins.

ZZ plants, on the other hand, are known for their hardiness. They like indirect sunlight and can deal with neglect. They’re very hardy and drought-tolerant — some sources even say that they can go for months without water and will grow in pretty much any lighting condition that isn’t a windowless closet. Needless to say, they thrive when their needs are adequately met, but they can definitely survive if you make a few mistakes here and there.

The funny thing about this plant is that I think it’s a variety known as a raven ZZ plant. This variety is known for its nearly black foliage. They’re also usually more expensive than regular ZZs. This specimen was labeled and priced as a regular ZZ plant despite its deep purple-black leaves, which I think might be due to a slightly damaged stem on one side (having worked in retail, sometimes things like that make life easier). Either way, it’s a beautiful little plant and I’m not complaining!

A closeup of the ZZ plant's foliage. The leaves are thick, waxy, shiny, and of a dark purple color.

Pothos are one of my favorite indoor plants. They grow easily, bounce back from wilting, and propagate like nobody’s business. I’ve even used them to propagate other plants — I stick a plant I want to root in a cup of water along with a pothos cutting. It seems like enough of the pothos’ natural rooting hormone ends up in the water to help the other plant along, thought this is by no means proven. All I know is things root faster, and everyone’s happy.

I’ve also developed a real soft spot for Aglaonema, or Chinese evergreen. These plants also thrive with neglect and can grow in a variety of conditions. I have one near my front door that doesn’t get much light and I routinely forget to water. It is the lushest, leafiest plant in the house, and recently put out some flowers. They’re a really lovely houseplant (honestly, think of the word “houseplant,” and the first mental image you get will probably be an Aglaonema) that’s good for difficult areas.

Next, we picked up a Sansevieria. These are also called snake plants, adder’s tongue, devil’s tongue, or mother-in-law’s tongue (but my mother-in-law is cool, so I don’t use that one). These plants are toxic due to the presence of saponins, but they’re also not trailing plants and pretty easy to put out of reach. Like the ZZ plant and Chinese evergreen, these plants deal with neglect very well. Give it bright, indirect light and a little water now and then, and it’ll be pretty happy.

Lastly, we got some peas.

I had pretty good luck with growing sugar snap peas last year, even though I planted them several months too late for my growing zone and the heat stunted them a bit. Determined to do better this time around, I picked up two packets of peas — one Sugar Daddy, a sweet, stringless bush vine pea; and one Sugar Magnolia, a vining pea with purple flowers and pods.

I’ve been wanting to try to expand the fruit tree guilds we started. Right now, we’ve got the apple tree that was here when we purchased the house, a smaller Chehalis apple, and a yellow egg plum tree. We’ve planted bulbs around the bases, as well as some blueberries, strawberries, garden sage, and yarrow, but I really want to maximize the space by using the fruit tree trunks as supports for vines. Some guides recommend Muscadine grapes, which would be amazing, but I think they’d overwhelm these baby trees at the moment. So, peas it is!

Chickweed Folklore and Magical Uses
Neodruidry · Plants and Herbs · Witchcraft

Chickweed Folklore and Magical Uses

J.2 Comments

Recently, we had a tiny burst of warm weather (by which I mean an extremely unseasonable 76° F/24° C). It was nice! Also very concerning, but nice!

This little bit of heat seems to have kicked the yard into overdrive — while the bigger plants haven’t started leafing out yet, we’ve had a lot of spring ephemerals suddenly make an appearance. Following the grassassination, most of our ground covers are various types of chickweed and violet while the moss phlox and other guys establish themselves. Right now, we’ve got lesser chickweed (Stellaria apetala) and regular chickweed (Stellaria media).

Some plucked sprigs of Stellaria media.
Photo of Stellaria media by kokokara on Pexels.com. If you look closely, you can see the row of tiny white hairs.

While neither of these species are native (lesser chickweed is European, while regular chickweed hails from Eurasia), they’re still a valuable herb in early spring. They’re full of minerals and vitamin C, and one of the first edible springtime greens to appear. It isn’t a good idea to eat a ton of them — not raw, anyway — but they provide nutrients that are often in short supply for winter foragers.

So, with that in mind, I figured I’d take a look at the various folklore and magical uses for these humble little groundcover plants.

Chickweed Magical Properties and Folklore

Chickweed has a few poisonous lookalikes, but is also pretty easy to identify. Two of its unique characteristics are the presents of a row of white hairs (like a cock’s comb) and a firm, green stem-inside-a-stem. Pull a chickweed’s stem apart, and you’ll uncover a green “chicken bone!”

When I say that chickweed is high in vitamin C, I really mean it — sailors used chickweed steeped in vinegar to prevent scurvy during times when citrus fruits weren’t available.

Chickweed is associated with love and fidelity. This idea may stem (no pun intended) from its growth habit. Chickweed grows in groups, with spreading tendrils reaching out from the center. It’s a powerful visual metaphor for the importance of community, as each chickweed stem grows out from this connected center in order to reach its full potential.

This plant is also very tenacious. It’s hard to get rid of, and often springs right back up after being cut or pulled out. While chickweed favors moist soil with a good pH and abundant nutrients, you can also find it growing in cracks in sidewalks. This makes it useful for situations that you want to exhibit this same resilience — for example, a long-term relationship.

Some green magic practitioners also associate this plant with abundance. It produces a lot of very long-lived seeds, which connect it to fertility and prosperity.

Tiny white chickweed flowers.
Photo by Imad Clicks on Pexels.com

The name “chickweed” comes from chicken and weed. Since these plants are pretty nutrient-dense and come up in early spring, they’re eagerly fed on by poultry and are particularly good for growing chicks.

Using Chickweed

Chickweed is very easy to find. Look for moist (but not soggy) soil, in early spring, just about anywhere and you can probably pick some. It’s stubborn, it’s prolific, and it’s not super fussy. Use a good plant identification app and research chickweed’s poisonous lookalikes, or, even better, go with a seasoned forager who can show you what to look for.

Once you have your chickweed, you can use it fresh or dried. Dried, it mixes well with jasmine, rose petals, lavender, and other love-drawing ingredients. Blend these dried herbs together with equal parts Epsom and sea salts, add a few drops of patchouli and rose oil, and use the resulting mixture for a love-drawing bath.

To attract a partner, wear a sprig of chickweed. These unassuming greens can be easily tucked into a boutonniere, vase necklace, flower crown, hairclip, or fascinator without too much trouble. As with the bath salt recipe above, combine them with other love-drawing plants for best effect.

To ensure the fidelity of a partner, it’s said that you should feed them chickweed. (If you do this, you should probably ensure that you have their consent, and that you’ve properly identified your chickweed or purchased it from a reputable source. Otherwise, you’re going to end up with an angry and/or poisoned partner.) Caraway seeds are used in a similar fashion.

If you have access to a yard, or even just an open field, you most likely have access to chickweed. This plant is subtle, but powerful. Whether you choose to use it as food, medicine, or a magical ingredient, this tenacious little herb can be a great friend to make.