Plants and Herbs

St. John’s Wort Folklore and Magical Uses

Ah, St. John’s wort. Taken internally, it’s reportedly a balm for the nerves. Used externally, it’s a balm for cuts and scrapes. Its turpentine-scented leaves and flowers are a source of bright red, medicinal oil, but only when very fresh. The plant itself is the subject of folklore, a medicinal treasure, and a whole lot of magical help.

So, what’s so great about St. John’s wort, and why is it called that, anyway?

Let’s start with the name. Officially, St. John’s wort is known as Hypericum perforatum — “hypericum” from “hyper” and “eikon,” referring to how the flowers were hung above icons, and “perforatum” meaning “perforated,” due to the hole-like appearance of the translucent glands in its leaves.

Hypericum is a large genus, and a lot of its members are referred to as St. John’s wort. There are even some unrelated species that bear the same common name, like the marsh St. John’s worts of the genus Triadenum, or the greater celandine that’s sometimes regionally known as St. John’s wort. For our purposes here, we’re going to stick to Hypericum perforatum.

Bright yellow St. John's wort flowers.
Photo by Valter Zhara on Pexels.com

As for how this plant became known as St. John’s wort, it’s a bit of a convoluted story. Its history of use dates back to pre-Christianity, so it wasn’t always known as “St. John’s wort.” (As for the “wort” part, that’s just an old word for “plant,” derived from the Old English “wyrt.”) So, older sources will have their own names for this herb that may not be recognizable to modern readers. St. John’s wort also has a ton of regional names — in the US, it’s sometimes called goatweed, Klamath weed, or Tipton weed. In the UK, it may be called touch-and-heal, rosin rose, penny John, or balm of the warrior’s wound.

The name St. John’s wort came about because it was believed that this herb was at its most potent during Midsummer, and therefore should be harvested on or about June 24th. This was later turned into the Christian feast day of St. John, and so the plant became “St. John’s plant.” It’s also said that the plant’s red, blood-like sap runs in August, on the day that St. John was beheaded.

As evidenced by many of its healing-related common names, this herb is often hyped up in natural medicine circles. Topically, its oil is used to treat and soothe minor wounds in a similar fashion to commercial wound care ointment. Internally, it’s often used to help with symptoms of anxiety or depression. The reason it works is that St. John’s wort has a whole host of active compounds, including sesquiterpine oils, anthraquinone derivatives, and an interesting chemical called hyperforin. Hyperforin is particularly noteworthy, as it may be the source of St. John’s wort’s antidepressant effects, while the anthraquinone derivatives hypericin and pseudohypericin have demonstrated antiviral and/or antibacterial activity.

(As a side note, please avoid taking St. John’s wort internally if you’re on pretty much anything. It can alter how certain medications are metabolized by affecting specific liver enzymes, causing overdoses. It can also inhibit the effects of birth control, antivirals, chemotherapy drugs, certain anticoagulants, and medications for heart disease. Taking it with certain antidepressants also increases the risk of serotonin syndrome, and I don’t wish that on anybody.)

A side view of a creeping St. John's wort, Hypericum calycinum, flower.
Hypericum calycinum, or creeping St. John’s wort, displaying very similar flowers to Hypericum perforatum. Photo by shaosong sun on Pexels.com

Magically, St. John’s wort is often used to repel or banish evil. Another common name, fuga daemonium, literally means “demon flight.” It was often hung in houses, placed above religious icons, or carried as a protective talisman. Flowers, brought into the home on Midsummer’s eve, are considered particularly protective and lucky.

This plant also had some limited divinatory use as a kind of mortality predictor. If you took two sprigs of St. John’s wort and hung it over a marital bed, the sprig that wilted the fastest indicated which member of a couple would die first. Fun!

As a Midsummer plant, St. John’s wort is associated with the Sun and the element of Fire.

It’s probably best to work with this herb in dried or oil form. St. John’s wort is such a potent medicinal plant because the compounds that we use as medicine are actually the plant’s defensive mechanisms — they’re distasteful and poisonous to grazing animals, allowing the plant to grow unchecked. That’s not a super big deal if you’re within St. John’s wort’s native range across parts of Europe and Asia but can become a (rapidly spreading) problem if you’re not. This plant is considered a noxious weed elsewhere, so, unless you’re an herbalist who needs the fresh herb specifically, I’d avoid growing it.

If you have access to a patch of St. John’s wort, however, and you’re outside its native range, harvest all you like. (Not much else will use it, and you’ll be doing the native fauna and flora a favor.)

Use St. John’s wort oil for physical and magical healing. Its resemblance to blood makes it appropriate for workings related to birth, death, or rebirth (though I find a bit of bloodroot or alkanet steeped in red wine or vinegar to be a somewhat better — and easier to obtain — substitute for blood itself).

Use the dried herb for banishment. Burn it in bundles and waft the smoke around any space where you want to clear out malevolent spirits, magic, or the effects of the evil eye.

Place some of the dried herb in a protective sachet and carry it on you. You can also add it to jars, poppets, or other container spells as you deem appropriate.

Plants and Herbs

The Pumpkining. It begins.

I messed up.

I don’t know if you remember, or even read this bit last year, but I had a whole Thing where the front yard started growing some kind of mystery plant out of nowhere, the guy who helps us out with cutting the grass identified it as a kind of squash, and it ended up being a pumpkin vine that produced a large (large) number of beautiful and delicious little sugar pie pumpkins.

I didn’t save the seeds from those pumpkins because the flowers were open-pollinated and I am afraid of toxic squash syndrome. (Long story short, if you grow any cucurbits from seeds that you’ve saved, never eat any that taste weirdly bitter.) I did want to grow more pumpkins since they seemed to do so well, so I bought a little packet of seeds.

I figured I’d plant all of them just kind of wherever. Not all of the seeds would germinate, because nature is unpredictable like that. The ones that did would likely have to fight for survival, because I don’t spray for anything. I don’t even really water stuff. The most I do is wipe down leaves with pest eggs on ’em, and I barely even bother with that unless the eggs are from an invasive species.

So, knowing that these baby pumpkins would have to fight for their tiny lives, I planted all of the seeds.

And they’ve all sprouted.

A top-down view of several small pumpkin sprouts.
This was the day before yesterday. Their secondary leaves are now unfurled, ready to go, and looking for trouble.

And they’re gaining strength.

Their stems are plump and sturdy. Their secondary leaves are uncurling. They’ve started to develop the fine, stiff spines that protect their leaves and stems from predators.

A pumpkin sprout, secondary leaf unfurled.
Today.

Where one pumpkin vine gave me more pumpkins than I could handle myself (and pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie, pumpkin bisque, pumpkin sauce), I am now facing about twenty.
That could be hundreds of pumpkins.

I wish I could say that this is the first time that something like this has happened, but it isn’t. I have a track record of vastly underestimating plantlife. Just ask the Passiflora incarnata growing up my porch.

I could pinch off the weakest ones, but none of them actually seem… well, weak. They’re thriving. Living their best little green lives. Just absolutely vibing out here.

I might just have to let them have at it.
Let the yard be a little pumpkin Thunderdome for a bit. May only the strongest survive.

Failing that, I’ll be stealthily abandoning baskets of unwanted sugar pie pumpkins on people’s porches by August.

Uncategorized

RAL’s Spring Art Show

Hello! Sunday was the opening of RAL‘s Juried Members’ Spring Show. My Handsome Assistant and I attended, albeit briefly, because of a combination of scheduling conflicts and also enough antihistamines to sedate the Cloverfield monster. (I had two paintings selected for the show — one acrylic, the other casein and gold leaf.)

While we didn’t get to stay for the award ceremony, it’s always great to see the artwork itself. Since this is one of RAL’s bigger shows, there are pieces that cover pretty much every combination of genre and material. If you’ve never been, I recommend it. If you can’t attend, you can explore the exhibit online.

Right now, I’m about to go pick strawberries and peas, feed the crows, and plant a rosebush. Here’s hoping today is treating you well!

Plants and Herbs

Lemon Balm Folklore and Magical Uses

Et tu, lemon balm?

I have tried so hard to love it. It’s relaxing. It’s delicious. You can make it into tea or syrup or use it to flavor anything from sugar to fish. If you have anxiety, it’s touted as a virtually ideal way to calm down — the closest thing to an herbal benzo out there.

However, I can also tell you that, from personal experience, that it can also leave you waking up from a nap that leaves you like Robin Williams in Jumanji.

Fortunately, even if you are sensitive lemon balm’s very relaxing properties, there are other things you can use it for. It’s still very tasty in less-than-therapeutic doses and has an abundance of interesting uses in folk magic.

Lemon balm’s official name is Melissa officinalis. “Melissa” is Greek for “honey bee,” since the plant is a favorite of bees and was often planted to help attract them. Beekeepers would also pinch off fresh sprigs of the plant and rub them on the entrances of beehives to entice them to move in and stay.

(“Officinalis” (or “officinale”) just denotes organisms that are useful in medicine or cooking. Kind of like how “sativa,” “sativum,” and “sativus” just mean “cultivated,” and denotes crops grown from seed.
Cannabis sativa and Avena sativa are not closely related, to put it mildly.
Melissa officinalis, the lemon balm, and Sepia officinalis, the cuttlefish, are also not related.)

A sprig of lemon balm against a dark background.
Photo by Oksana Abramova on Pexels.com

Lemon balm is good for attracting more than just bees, though. Magically, it’s frequently used as an herb for good luck and general positivity. Tons of recipes feature it for love, fertility, and money.

To a somewhat lesser extent, lemon balm is also used for repelling evil and attracting good spirits. Since it’s so fragrant, it was used to strew the floors of Christian churches. In Abruzzi, Italy, women who happened on wild lemon balm would crush a sprig between their fingers in hopes that the scent would ensure that Jesus Christ would guide them to Heaven.

Lemon balm is considered a sacred herb of Hecate. It’s said that she gave the knowledge of lemon balm and other “witches’ herbs” to her daughters, Medea and Circe.

As well as being a mild sedative, lemon balm is used to soothe digestive issues. However, while it’s a tasty and relaxing herb, it’s best avoided by people with thyroid issues. It can interfere with thyroid hormone replacement therapy.

In the past, lemon balm was also applied to scorpion stings, bites from rabid dogs, and the venom of serpents. Since this herb isn’t an antivenom or protective against rabies transmission, this practice likely met with very limited success.

Nobody seems able to agree on lemon balm’s planetary or astrological associations. Nicholas Culpeper called it an herb of Jupiter and the sign Cancer. Other authorities say it’s an herb of Venus, Neptune, or the Moon. It is considered a generally “Water”-y herb, which makes sense when you consider its ability to relax the mind and soothe the emotions.

I know I usually advocate for growing your own herbs whenever possible, but planting lemon balm is one of those situations where you really want to exercise caution. Lemon balm requires next to no maintenance. Like other members of the mint family, it spreads aggressively outside of its native habitat. Absolutely do not plant it in the ground unless you want the entire area to be lemon balm. Keep it in window boxes, pots, or even containers indoors. If you do grow it in a container outside, avoid placing that container directly on the soil. When I say this stuff spreads, I’m not messing around.

Photo by Alesia Kozik on Pexels.com

In my experience, mints do not smell very good when burned straight. Instead of making lemon balm into incense, consider using it to infuse alcohol for making sprays, or oils for anointing or making balms.

The easiest way to use lemon balm is just to sprinkle some of the dried leaves across your front doorstep. The second easiest is to brew it into a tea and either drink it, use it for washing crystals or other curios, or use it to wash the doors of your home. As you do this, visualize good fortune coming in, and back luck or malevolent spirits turning away.

Lemon balm is one of those herbs that’s readily available fresh, dried, or as an oil. You can try it in a tea, or, depending on how fancy your local shops are, in a gourmet syrup. Its flavor is refreshing, citrusy, and herbal, while also tasting quite unlike anything else. As far as magical ingredients go, it’s also hard to go wrong with lemon balm — it’s a useful herb for attracting good things (also bees) and keeping out the bad. All of that aside, I wouldn’t rely on this as a protective herb on its own, but it’s great for filling up an empty space with useful, positive energy.

life

Self-parenting and Rose Petal Jam

Hello!

So, as I write this, it’s Mother’s Day in the US. I’ve written in the past about having complicated feelings about this particular holiday, for what I think are pretty valid reasons.

(There isn’t really a long or terribly interesting story there, and it’s one that sadly seems to be all too common: I was tired of being smacked around and humiliated, I knew nobody around me was going to put a stop to it, so I did it myself. Fin.)

Rather than dedicating this post to practices to help heal from damaged or diseased familial relationships, this is for people who have had to come to the realization that they weren’t taught how to thrive and had to re-learn and re-parent themselves. Sometimes, people don’t seem to recognize that they aren’t just keeping little extensions of themselves — they’re raising future adults who will have to function in the world on their own. From seeing how other kids my aged lived, and what their families were like, I learned that things weren’t normal in mine.

Once I was on my own, I had to un-learn and re-learn everything. Nutrition. Cooking. Hygiene. How to relate to people different from me. How to recognize and recover from religious abuse. It was a lot, and I screwed (and still screw) up regularly.

So, if you’re a grown-up kid who’s also had to go back, undo the damage that was done to you, and re-learn how to live in ways that aren’t completely karked, this is for you. Chances are you’ve messed up time and again in the re-learning process, but that’s normal. The important thing is to not give up. No matter how old you are, it’s never too late for you to become the person you’ve always wanted to be.

This is a simple, but very tasty, recipe for rose petal confiture. Don’t be intimidated — it’s really very easy, it just looks and tastes fancy. To be honest, the hardest part is sourcing enough rose petals. (You’ll want ones that aren’t sprayed with anything or treated with systemic pesticides. I grew these myself, picked, and cleaned them right before cooking.)

A piece of bread covered in strawberry and rose petal jam, sitting on a blue-green plate beside a jar of said jam and a butter knife.
Pictured on a slice of fresh-baked einkorn bread.

Roses are an excellent herb for a variety of purposes, but they’re most commonly associated with love in all its forms. Visualize what life could be like if you were able to forgive yourself for whatever mistakes you’ve made in the re-learning process, and parent yourself the way that younger you needed. Infuse the preserves with this self-love as you stir them (clockwise, using your dominant hand). Eat them on bread, ice cream, yogurt, or fresh fruit.

  1. 2 cups of rose petals. Stronger-fragranced roses have a stronger flavor. For this, I used native Virginia rose petals.
  2. 1 cup of water.
  3. 1 cup of sugar.
  4. 2 tablespoons of lemon juice.
  5. A clean jar with a tight-fitting lid.

If you like, you can also add a bit of fruit to the preserves. I had an extra handful of strawberries, so I chopped them up and tossed them in, too.

  1. In a medium saucepan, combine sugar, water, and lemon juice. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly, until the sugar dissolves.
  2. Add the rose petals. Lower the heat to a simmer.
  3. Continue to cook, stirring frequently, until the rose petals release their color into the surrounding liquid and turn kind of pale and translucent and the syrup thickens a bit. (This’ll take about 20-30 minutes.)
    It won’t gel the way that fruit jellies or jams do and will maintain a somewhat syrupy consistency. That’s okay!
  4. Remove from heat and immediately pour into the jar. Put the lid on tightly.
  5. Keep the finished preserves in your refrigerator. They’ll keep for about a month but will probably get eaten long before then!

life

Korpiklaani at Baltimore Soundstage (Or, how thick thighs really *can* save lives.)

Remember when I said I couldn’t maypole dance because my ankle’s still janky (a jankle, if you will) and so I had to pick my battles?
This is what I meant.

Sunday, my Handsome Assistant and I got to see Korpiklaani. They were part of a lineup of bands that were mostly symphonic metal — Foretoken, a local band from Virginia; Illumishade, formed by some members of Eluveitie; and Visions of Atlantis, which I wasn’t familiar with but, if I had to describe them, I’d probably say “what would happen if Nightwish got really into seafaring.”

Also, also, also! As we were pulling up to the parking garage, we passed within a few feet of Jonne Järvelä. I waved and smiled, he waved and smiled back, I had an embarrassing fan nerd moment in the car in front of my Handsome Assistant, it was rad.
(I didn’t stop, get out of the car, or try to actually talk to him or anything, of course. Man was taking a break, and I definitely didn’t want to be rude or make a nuisance of myself. It was just a brief gesture of, “Hello! I am super excited about what you are about to do,” and it was cool to get a smile and wave back.)

The show started on time, which kind of amazed me. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a concert that actually started when it said it was going to before. There wasn’t a lot of downtime between bands, either.

All of the bands were enjoyable — Visions of Atlantis, in particular, was a lot of fun — but Korpiklaani brought the house down. Since my motion was somewhat limited and it’s still a bit challenging to put weight on my ankle for too long, I had to stay by the railing. Even so, I danced enough that I accidentally butt-donated (or, I guess, leg-donated) to the Share the Meal app.
Multiple times.
With a working ankle, I probably could’ve solved world hunger and gone devastatingly and irreversibly into debt.
My Handsome Assistant, on the other hand, went into the pit to dance.

There wasn’t a lot of banter or downtime between songs. As soon as Korpiklaani got on stage, they kept the energy up the whole time. It was sometimes hard to hear Jonne Järvelä singing, but I think this was a mic issue and it wasn’t exclusive to them.

Honestly, this was one of my bucket list items. I’ve got a pretty long list of bands that I need to see either before I die, or they stop touring. Korpiklaani absolutely lived up to and surpassed my expectations. I had a fantastic time.

Some kind soul has also made a Spotify playlist of Korpiklaani’s setlist, if you’d like to know it. I’ve been listening to it pretty much on repeat ever since.

If you get the chance to see them live, do it. It’s absolutely worth it.

Plants and Herbs

Chili Pepper Folklore and Magical Uses

Have you ever gone to the store with an idea of what you need, but no real list? And then you go home and discover that you’ve bought everything but a specific item you actually needed?

Tl;dr, I have a lot of pepper plants now.

See, I was going to the garden store for some tomato starts. (I love tomatoes. When my grandpa kept a garden, he grew big, fat beefsteak tomatoes and there are many, many photos of me and my sibling as tiny children with whole tomatoes in our hands, cheeks smeared with juice and seeds. I do not, however, try to grow tomatoes from seed because it is tedious and saving and fermenting them is Not a Good Time.)

Yellow peppers on a pepper plant.
Photo by Zen Chung on Pexels.com

Somehow, I managed to return with the herbs I wanted for some railing boxes, a bunch of pepper plants I never planned on, and exactly zero tomatoes. None. None tomatoes.

So, I figure now’s as good a time as any for a refresher on the many, many magical uses of the various cultivars of chili pepper.

Chili peppers are members of the Capsicum genus. 90% of the time, Capsicum annuum.
“What about jalapeños?” C. annuum.
“Bell peppers?” C. annuum.
“Serranos?” C. annuum.
“Habaneros?” Okay, those are C. chinense, but mostly due to a series of errors.

It’s been my experience that hot spices, in general, fall into two camps. While the heat of hot spices is great for acting as a kind of magical catalyst to really get things moving, this can be used in one of two ways. The “sweet heat” spices (your cinnamons, ginger, etc.) are commonly used for money, love, and passion. The other hot spices, like chili peppers, are commonly used to banish or protect. In both cases, hot spices are used to get things moving quickly. Whether you want things to move to you or away from you is the deciding factor.

A dried chili pepper, whole star anise, clove buds, and whole nutmegs on a wooden table.
Photo by Pranjall Kumar on Pexels.com

Hot peppers are good at repelling more than just unwanted people, entities, or energies. Capsaicin, the primary compound that gives peppers their heat, is a defensive mechanism to keep peppers from being eaten. Humans, massive weirdoes that we are, decided that capsaicin was delicious, actually, and no plant was gonna tell us what to do.
Birds are unaffected by capsaicin, so they’re a major means of pepper seed dispersal. They eat the brightly colored fruits and scatter the seeds in their droppings.

In Coahuila, Mexico, chili peppers are used to counter malevolent magic. Specifically, they’re a remedy against salting, a practice akin to Hoodoo foot track magic. The practitioner combines salt from the homes of three different widows and graveyard dirt taken from the burial site of someone who died violently, and sprinkles it in front of their intended victim’s front door. To counter this, the victim combines chili peppers, star anise, garlic, rue, rosemary, storax, and myrrh, and uses the mixture to fumigate every corner of their home to drive the evil out.

Chilis are also a remedy for the evil eye.

The Tsáchila people, who live near the foot of the Andes mountains in Ecuador, use chilis to foil a kind of vampiric entity called the red demon. This demon feeds on people’s blood, leaving them pale and lifeless. Burning chilis in a fire while serving chili pepper-laden food drives the creature away, since it can’t tolerate the spicy food or pepper fumes.

The Aymara people of Bolivia, on the other hand, add chilis to a pot of boiling water and other herbs to create a cleansing steam bath. Sitting under a blanket, in the steam, is said to drive out evil energies.

To be honest, anywhere you’ll find hot peppers, it seems you’ll find a ritual that involves burning them to drive out evil. It reminds me of a specific incident from my own life — I was making some spicy sautéed broccoli on the stove top and added the spices a little too early. The capsaicin heated up and became aerosolized, and the fumes drove my then-partner outside. So, burning hot peppers really can drive out malevolent influences!

Hot foot powder is another common use for chilis, specifically within Hoodoo. While specific recipes can vary from culture to culture and practitioner to practitioner, chili is usually the base. This is sprinkled in a target’s footprints, in their shoes, where they will walk (like in front of their door), or in a container with a photo of them, paper with their name written on it, or personal possession of theirs. This isn’t a strictly protective practice, though it is certainly used that way. It’s just meant to drive unwanted people away from the user. Some scholars of folk practices think that hot foot powder may be a variation of walkin foot, which is intended to create confusion in one’s target.

Of course, chilis also have their dark side too. One way to curse someone involves throwing specially prepared chili peppers into their home or workplace. The seeds may also be combined with other baneful ingredients, added to a fabric or paper parcel, and tossed in instead.

Medicinally, capsaicin triggers a cooling response in the body. It helps increase circulation and is often used as a topical “counter irritant” for muscle and joint pain. I personally have a few different muscle rubs and pain-relieving balms, and about half of them are capsaicin based.

Hot peppers are ruled (unsurprisingly) by the planet Mars and the element of Fire.

As mentioned above, chili peppers are excellent at making things go away.
(Well, except birds.)

Red and yellow peppers on a pepper plant.
Photo by Yan Krukau on Pexels.com

Someone bothering you? Find you someone who can make you some hot foot powder. Need protection? Add chili peppers (or the ashes or char from burned chili peppers) to protective salt and sprinkle it in the corners of all of your rooms. Getting badgered by malevolent magic or evil entities? Smoke ’em out by burning some chilis on charcoal. Just be careful with that last one — chili pepper fumes are no joke for babies, children, and people with respiratory disorders. Basically, don’t expose anyone to the smoke that you wouldn’t also want to spray in the face with bear mace.

I also want to reiterate that, while chili peppers are a magical catalyst, I’d avoid them in situations where you aren’t specifically trying to repel something in a hurry. If you’re looking to attract things instead, go for one of the “sweet heat” spices — like nutmeg, cinnamon, or ginger.

I would not advocate using them for malevolent magic. Don’t get me wrong, cursing is absolutely useful and appropriate in some situations, but that’s something you’re better off learning somewhere other than a random website.

Right now, we’re trying not to count our peppers before they hatch. Should we have an abundant harvest, we’ve got a dehydrator, several batches of mango and hot pepper mead, peach and hot pepper water kefir, pepper jelly, spicy dark chocolate, and plenty of other uses in mind. (I love sweet and spicy flavors together, and mango/pepper, peach/pepper, or red berries/pepper/chocolate are my favorites.) Here’s hoping for an abundant harvest!

Neodruidry · Witchcraft

Beltane with Frederick CUUPs

This past Saturday, my Handsome Assistant and I went to celebrate the first of the fire festivals with the Congregation of Unitarian Universalist Pagans. It was a bit rainy, so outdoor bonfires were out, but they managed to make even an indoor-only Beltane a ton of fun!

There was lots of food, drumming, dancing, and a maypole. When we arrived, we were asked to write a message on two pieces of ribbon — one was a wish for ourselves, the wider community, or the world. The other was a specific wish for an anonymous person in the community.

The first ribbon was tied to the longer ribbons streaming down the maypole. The as the dancers dipped and wove around each other, these ribbons were all beautifully interwoven together in a powerful representation of community, togetherness, and cooperation.

A different maypole, pre-dancing. Photo by Sandeep u2736 on Pexels.com

The second ribbon was placed in a basket, for another attendee to select at random. (The one I picked simply said “joy,” which is a succinct and delightful thing to wish for another person. I tied it to my backpack, and it makes me smile every time I see it. Sure, the person who wrote it doesn’t know me, and the wish wasn’t for me in particular, but the idea that someone out there hopes that a stranger is happy is still a sweet notion.)

I also brought my big tongue drum. I wasn’t sure how it’d fit with the rest of the percussion, but it was fine. A bit challenging to keep up the tempo of the drumming, since tongue drum notes are meant to be sustained, and not very loud, but still lots of fun to play — and my first time playing it at a public event.

I danced a little in the beginning but couldn’t really take part in the maypole dancing. I’m still coming off of spraining my ankle, and, with everything else this weekend held, I knew I had to pick my battles. So, drumming and socializing it was!

After the ritual, I was carrying my drum back to the car when I was sidetracked by an adorable tiny child in a skeleton costume. Said tiny child came up and began bapping at the top of the drum, in the absolutely fearless and unselfconscious way of tiny childs, so I set it down on the floor, sat next to them, and let them play. I showed them how the small metal tongues make the high notes, and the larger ones make the low, and they seemed to have a blast making all kinds of sounds.

The ritual was beautiful, the drumming was high-energy and exciting, and everyone there was delightful and welcoming. It was great to see friends I hadn’t seen in some time (some since the Mabon camping trip) and make new ones. 🧡

Uncategorized

Iris Folklore and Magical Uses

It’s the first of the month! Did you remember to say “rabbit, rabbit?”

How’s it going?

As I write this, it’s almost 90° F. My cats are yelling at me for reasons utterly inscrutable. My bearded dragon is demanding to go for a walk on the deck. My Handsome Assistant is at his other job, the one that does not entail handsomely assisting me. Nonetheless, the garden is looking wonderful and all is well.

The hydrangeas and roses are full of buds, the strawberries and blueberries are laden with immature fruits, and the beautiful irises my Handsome Assistant planted are vibrantly blooming.

A purple, peach, and orange bearded iris.
One of the bearded irises growing next to our porch.

These are sterile bearded irises (Iris × germanica), which aren’t native to this area. We do have our own native species, the blue flag iris (Iris versicolor), which typically grows in wet areas. A lovely art gallery near here has a beautiful water garden just full of blue flag iris.

Several blue flag iris flowers and buds.
A blue flag iris, photo by D. Gordon E. Robertson.

Irises bloom in spring and summer, so this is prime iris season and an excellent time to look into the mythology, folklore, and magical uses of these lovely flowers.

First, let’s start with the name: Iris. These flowers are named for the Greek goddess Iris, who was a messenger between the gods and the rest of the world. She traveled on a rainbow and it was said that brightly colored flowers sprang up everywhere she stepped.

In ancient Greek legend, it was also said that iris flowers were one of the flowers gathered by Kore and the nymphs before she was abducted by Hades to become Persephone.

Irises are not only showy flowers, they’re one ornamental flower species that actually comes in pretty much every color. Many flowers (roses and sunflowers being particular examples) just don’t have the genes to produce certain color pigments, but irises boast a very impressive color palette.

(This is also why all of those ads for blue rose or sunflower seeds are scams. The closest thing you can find to a “blue” rose is probably best described as a sort of lavender shade, not an actual blue. Any photo of a blue rose or sunflower is of a flower that has either been artificially colored with dye or manipulated with image editing software.)

The roots of some varieties of iris are heavily used in perfumery. Called “orris root,” they are often used as a fixative and base note for perfumes and incense. The essence of the roots is said to smell like violets, and is commonly the source for natural “violet” perfumes.

Orris root is also a flavoring ingredient, particularly for gin. Iris roots contain some quantity of the toxic glycoside iridin, but the roots of perfume and flavoring varieties are relatively low. Other varieties, like the blue flag iris, contain much more iridin and should not be consumed.

A yellow iris flower growing in front of the reflection from a pond.
Photo by Roman Biernacki on Pexels.com

Irises are sometimes used in land remediation. Yellow iris, in particular, is used to clean up polluted waterways since it’s excellent at snatching and holding on to nutrient pollutants (think things like fertilizer runoff from agriculture) that would otherwise fuel dangerous algal blooms and fish kills. Unfortunately, they’re so good at this that they’ve become a bit of a problem in some heavily polluted areas — the nutrients they grab onto fuel their growth so much, they can actually clog waterways.

Irises have a long history as an image of nobility and authority. They’re the origin for the fleur-de-lis of French heraldry, where each “petal” represents a sector of society: the peasantry, the nobility, and the clergy. In the 15th century BCE, Pharaoh Thutmose III conquered Syria, which had an abundance of native irises. He brought the flowers back to Egypt, where it became a symbol of power and authority.

In Asia, irises are more likely to connect to the idea of banishing evil. One variety of Chinese iris, Iris anguifuga, was thought to keep snakes from entering anywhere it was grown. It grows during winter and becomes dormant in spring and summer, during which snakes can sneak into the garden again. The ground roots are also used as a remedy for snakebite. In Japan, irises were associated with exorcism.

In addition to authority and banishing, irises are also frequently connected to death. They’re a common flower to plant in Muslim graveyards in Iran, and the ancient Greeks also would plant these flowers on graves in the hope that the deity Iris would come to escort the deceased to the afterlife.

Overall, culturally, irises seem to be a very commanding flower. Even in areas where they aren’t specifically connected to the idea of authority, they’re associated with commanding evil or unwanted things to leave, or making requests of the gods themselves. If you look at an iris, this makes sense — they stand tall and straight, with large, showy blooms like flags.

Magically, irises are typically used for purification and wisdom. Orris root, specifically, is frequently employed in formulas for meditation, divination, and love-drawing. In Hoodoo, orris root is a very common love herb.

Irises are ruled by the Moon and Mercury, and connected to the element of Water.

As with many other plants, one of the best ways to work with iris is to grow it. Since it has a firm reputation as a plant for authority and keeping evil away, it’s a good candidate for growing around the edges of one’s space.

Of course, you can also always work with orris root. One common way to employ it is as an ingredient in incense, magical powders, and container spells. Use chips of the root in herbal sachets or jars or grind it into a fine powder for powders and incense. While it seems to have a very iron-fist-in-a-velvet-glove presence, this isn’t exactly an ingredient for “asking politely.” It has a reputation as a persuasive or commanding herb.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Pexels.com

I also feel that orris root is a power herb, if only through its very commanding properties and presence. Remember, from France to ancient Egypt, the iris flower was a symbol of power and authority. Add it to magical mixtures to increase their power.

Orris root powder is also used as-is in some traditions. Take a pinch of the powder and blow it onto a significant other’s clothes to keep them faithful and ensure that they return your love. However, particularly given orris/iris’s commanding nature, it might be best to do this with some kind of consent from your partner.

Considering the herb’s connections to authority and love, it seems like a natural choice for formulas related to popularity and charisma. A “queen bee” sort of herb, if you will.

I love irises. I think they’re stunningly beautiful and come in an amazing array of colors from deep reds to bright blues. The availability of sterile iris varieties also means that you can enjoy them with less fear of them taking over your garden. Worse comes to worse, if you end up with too many bearded irises, dig them up and dry chips of the roots for use in magical or meditative formulas.

Plants and Herbs

Plum Folklore and Magical Uses

In autumn of last year, my Handsome Assistant and I planted a plum tree. As we work on getting rid of the lawn in the backyard chunk by chunk, we’re replacing those chunks with tree guilds. We couldn’t decide what kind of fruit tree we wanted for that space — it had to be a dwarf variety, and it needed good disease resistance. If the fruit didn’t need a lot of processing to be edible, so much the better. I was torn between a sand pear and a cherry, but, in the end, we went with a beautiful little Pershore yellow egg plum (Prunus domestica).

Right now, it’s shed its pretty white flowers to leave behind a number of tiny green plums-to-be. While I was looking up ways to protect at least some of the fruit from the other yard denizens, I got caught up reading about some very interesting plum facts and folklore.

Plums have an interesting reputation across multiple cultures. They’re harbingers of spring, protectors against evil, and cultivators of romantic love.

When used as wood for wands, plum is said to be useful for healing. This may tie back to the idea of plums as promoters of vitality (and even immortality — ). Since plum trees also banish evil, plum wood wands are suitable for pretty much all magical workings.

In China, plum (Prunus mume) is one of the Four Gentlemen, along with orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum. The plum blossom’s five petals represent the five blessings of good luck, fortune, longevity, and joi, and wealth. Plum blossoms are also symbols of resilience, since they bloom so early — well before the last of the winter snow has melted away.

The plum blossom is one of the national symbols of Taiwan.

In Japan, plum trees are symbol of elegance and purity. They’re also charms against evil and are often planted in the northeastern area of gardens as a protective talisman.

White plum blossoms on a black twig.
Photo by Cats Coming on Pexels.com

Pershore, Worcestershire, has a designated Plum Charmer. This person plays music to the plum trees during the summer in order keep spirits away and ensure a good harvest. (This probably also has the effect of shooing hungry birds and squirrels away, which ensures that fewer plums get nibbled on!)

Unfortunately, good plum harvests are a bit of a double-edged sword. It was also said that plentiful plums mean cholera is sure to follow. (Cholera is caused by the bacterium Vibrio cholerae. Most human cholera cases are caused by consuming food or water contaminated with infected feces, and fruits in general [with the exception of sour fruits] are a potential vector for cholera when they’re prepared by someone affected by V. cholerae.)

I wasn’t able to find much information on plums as a fruit for love, other than the general ideal that any sweet, juicy fruit is suitable for love workings (or as offerings to deities of love and beauty). The blossoms are associated with beauty and marriage, however, and the coverlet on a bridal bed is sometimes referred to as a plum blossom blanket.

Overall, plums are a boundary tree. They’re planted in gardens to be a ward against evil. They bloom on the narrow line between winter and spring. This makes them a useful, surprisingly versatile plant to grow and work with — they seem to function as a way to keep unwanted influences at bay, clearing the way for whatever you want to accomplish.

Plums are associated with the elements of Water and Air, as well as the planet Venus.

Naturally, you could grow a plum tree and request that it guard your space, but that might require quite an investment of time, money, and room. Since plums are associated with keeping evil away, one easy way to make use of them is to hang a windfall plum branch over your front and back doors.

As far as love workings go, the simplest way to use plums there is to share one with a partner (or partner-to-be). For this, I’d probably choose a plum with a deep red flesh and a sort of heart (or, let’s be real, butt) shape. Of course, as with any love working, you’ll only want to do this with a consenting partner. Nobody likes to be sideswiped by a love spell.

Red plums nestled amid plum leaves.
Like these. Photo by ALINA MATVEYCHEVA on Pexels.com

Plums are stunningly beautiful trees with lovely, delicately scented blossoms. This year, it looks like we’ll be fortunate enough to be graced with plum fruit, too. While I don’t have any windfall branches or evil spirits to keep away, I am looking forward to plenty of preserves this summer.