Plants and Herbs

Moss Folklore and Magical Uses

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just for fun · life

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

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

A glass mug of pea milk and three double chocolate cookies, on a green stoneware plate.
  • 1 3/4 cups einkorn flour (or, if you prefer, 1 1/4 cup white einkorn, and 1/2 cup whole grain einkorn)
  • 1/4 cup cocoa or cacao powder
  • 2 tablespoons ground flax seed
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 3/4 cup dairy-free chocolate chips (I like the 72% cacao ones from Trader Joe’s)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I also found a really neat little clump of moss.

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

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

A single bright red holly berry among spiky green leaves.

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

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

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

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

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

Plants and Herbs · Witchcraft

Pea Folklore and Magical Uses

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

Books

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plants and Herbs

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

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!

life · Neodruidry

Happy Imbolc 2024!

Yes, it technically started at sundown yesterday, but it still applies.

According to traditional weather divination, we could be looking at a long, cold winter yet. Today’s a bit rainy, but yesterday was sunny and mild. A mild Imbolc means the Cailleach has made the weather pleasant so she can go out and collect enough firewood to last for the rest of the season. If winter were going to end early, she wouldn’t bother, and it’d be miserable outside.

A stack of firewood.
Mild, sunny Imbolc? The Cailleach’s out gathering firewood for a long, cold winter. Photo by Lum3n on Pexels.com

There are a lot of ways to celebrate Imbolc, but I’ve gotten into a nice groove of making it my spring cleaning day. It’s a time that makes me excited for the season ahead — I want a fresh house, a filled fridge and pantry, and some promising divination, you know?

I have a large Brigid candle that I lit last night, snuffed before bed, and lit again this morning. We’re cleaning and decluttering. There’s a loaf of fresh baked einkorn bread, a pot of soup, a pie, and a batch of cookies.

Most importantly, I’ve decided to rearrange my entire house so it stops making sense.

I was raised (well… “raised” seems a bit generous, but follow me here) to accept convention. When something seemed questionable or, frankly, stupid, I was told that that’s how it was done.
“That’s the style.”
“The other way would be wrong.”
“That’s silly.”
I feel that this has been instrumental in making me the spiteful pain in the ass that I am today.

My house is, like many other homes from the 1940s in this area, built in a Cape Cod style. It’s meant to be very efficient when it comes to keeping the hot sun out during summer and cold drafts away during winter, so it doesn’t have large windows. Fortunately, it faces the southeast, so we do still get plenty of light. The living room, where we spend most of our time, has a little eastward facing window. In other words, we end up missing out on the best light most of the day.

My studio, on the other hand, is a bit bigger than I need it to be. It also has a lovely west-facing window that lets in the most gorgeous sunlight in the late afternoon. The late afternoon that I usually spend in the living room.

“Self,” I says to myself, “Does it make more sense to keep my living room where it is just because that’s where living rooms usually go, or to move things around according to how we actually use these rooms?”

And this is why my living room is going into the bedroom-turned-studio, my studio is going into what used to be the living room, and we’re dedicating half of the living room-turned-studio-space to be a quasi-dining room. Yes, it’s confusing. It’s also a lot of work. I think it’s going to be very worth it, though.

As the land gets brighter and warmer, I want to (quite literally) bring more light into my life. Imbolc, for me, has always been about clearing, renewal, and preparation. I can think of no better thing than making room for more light and brightness here.

Brigid, Goddess of inspiration, fire, and healing, may you bring your brightness, warmth, and clarity to the rest of this year.

Neodruidry · Plants and Herbs · Witchcraft

Chickweed Folklore and Magical Uses

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 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.

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.

divination · Neodruidry · Witchcraft

Footprint Folklore & Magical Properties

With so much snow on the ground, it’s been even easier to keep track of all of the visitors to the front and back yards. From the efficient single-track prints of stray cats, to snowshoe prints of rabbits, to the rodent tracks ending in the sudden whump of an owl, they all stand out starkly in fresh snow.

A set of squirrel tracks in snow.
For example, these prints by resident Absolute Unit Frederick de Bonesby, the gray squirrel.

The weather is warming up bit by bit (it’s supposed to be in the 60s F this weekend, go figure), so the snow isn’t long for this world. With that in mind, I thought this might be a good time to look at different folk beliefs and folk magic practices involving animal tracks and footprints.

Unique footprints and strange feet are a defining characteristic of many cryptids and folk monsters:

  • The Tupi-Guarani people of Brazil have the Curupira (Tupi for “blister-covered”), a kind of demon with fiery red hair and backwards feet.
  • The Scottish have the glaistig or maighdean uaine (“Green maiden”); a gray skinned, blonde-haired woman with a long green skirt to hide her goat legs.
  • In Madagascar, there is the Kalanoro. This is a humanoid cryptid described as a small, hairy person with red eyes and backwards-facing legs and feet. While they are said to have once lived in corporeal forms, habitat destruction has left only their spirit forms behind.
  • In the Himalayas, there are Abarimon (“mountain-dweller”). These are said to be vicious humanoids with backwards feet who lived solely in a single mountain valley. While Abarimon were dangerous, they could only breathe the air of their valley home, and thus were unable to ever leave it.
  • In Trinidad and Tobago, there is the Douen. This entity is another humanoid with backwards facing feet but has the distinction of also lacking any facial features other than a mouth. If they hear a child’s name, they are said to be able to mimic the parents’ voices, calling to the child to lure them into the forest. Douen may be related to the duende, humanoid spirits from Spain and Latin America.
  • In Australia, there’s the Yowie. This is a tall creature covered in dark hair, often said to have backwards-pointing feet.
  • The Dominican Republic has La Ciguapa, a lovely wild woman with long, dark, silken hair, beautiful bronze skin, and backwards feet. While small, she is perfectly proportioned and incredibly agile. She’s said to use her beauty and agility to prey on those who are foolish enough to venture into the woods — her domain — alone.
  • On the Indian subcontinent, there are ghosts known as bhuta. These can shapeshift into any animal, but often appear as perfectly normal humans — save for their backward-facing feet.

To be honest, you’d probably be hard pressed to find a culture that doesn’t have some version of “cryptid whose main thing is having weird feet.” Many of them serve as cautionary tales against wandering dangerous places alone, especially for children. They’re the personification of situations that seem perfectly safe, or even nice (like meeting a beautiful woman on a walk in the woods), and lure you in before you notice the danger that you’re in (like the fact that she’s a cannibalistic cryptid with weird feet). Across cultures, the message here is also pretty consistent: Stay away from strangers, and out of the wilderness at night.

In northeastern Tanzania, there are a series of incredibly ancient footprints set in stone. These point to two small groups of hominids (likely members of Australopithecus afarensis) traveling in the same direction. The Maasai people associate these footprints with Lakalanga, a hero so big that he was said to leave footprints sunk into the ground wherever he walked. He is said to have helped the Maasai win a battle against a neighboring enemy, long, long ago.

In South Devon, England, a heavy snow fell in the winter of 1855. The next day, and for two days after that, mysterious sets of very hooflike marks appeared. They were in single file, roughly 4 inches long by 3 inches wide, and managed to cover a total area of about 40 to 100 miles. Strangely, these hoofprints didn’t seem to care about obstacles — they traveled straight over fences, hedgerows, walls, and even houses. Called the “Devil’s Footprints,” hypotheses for their appearance range from experimental balloons to kangaroos… But there’s still no accepted explanation.

In some magical traditions, footprints are used for sympathetic magic. Any spell benefits from the addition of something belonging to the target — a nail clipping, a lock of hair, or a scrap from their clothing, perhaps. (I once managed to pull something off by getting a target just to touch a grass poppet that I’d made, but that’s neither here nor there.) In the absence of these, footprints often suffice.

Some magical powders, like the hot foot powder used in Hoodoo, are sprinkled into a person’s footprints to control their actions. This derives from the traditional West African practice of foot track magic, brought to the Americas by the transatlantic slave trade.

Reading animal tracks is also a method of divination. While augury was traditionally divination using the flight paths of birds, you can also gather omens from the number, direction, and maker of tracks you come across.

A set of cat tracks through snow.
These belong to a stray cat. Cats conserve effort when walking trough snow by placing their hind feet directly in the prints of their forefeet.

When it comes to divination using a human’s footprints, the practice is called “ichnomancy.” This comes from the Greek “ixnos,” meaning “footstep,” and “manteia,” meaning “method of divination.”

Divining with footprints can be a little difficult, since you need to be able to read them in a mundane sense first. For example, deep footprints indicate a heavy load. Widely-spaced ones indicate a long stride, perhaps someone running. The different depths of the impression in the heel and ball of the foot areas can also tell you different things.

My first suggestion for working with animal tracks and footprints is to familiarize yourself with what you’re likely to encounter. If a deer walked through your yard, what would it look like? How about a dog, or a bear? What impressions does it leave when a bird of prey scoops up a rat, or a squirrel? Consider your connections and associations to each of these creatures. What would their appearance mean to you?

Next, consider their other qualities. Movement to the left is often considered an ill omen, while the right is considered a positive one. For example, seeing the tracks of a bear or mountain lion moving quickly toward your left could be an omen of danger. Seeing the tracks of an animal you have a positive connection to, moving at a leisurely pace toward your right, could be a very good omen.

Working with footprints in a magical context is a bit different. You can collect the dirt from within a footprint and use it to target a spell toward whoever left the footprint. You can also sprinkle magical powders or crushed herbs in someone’s tracks, or over a place where you expect them to step. (There are far too many magical powders to enumerate all of their uses and qualities here, unfortunately. Since this is a method frequently employed by Hoodoo practitioners, you may wish to consult with one for more information. Many online sellers of Hoodoo supplies offer consultations and can answer your questions on foot track magic.)

As for me, I love seeing fresh tracks in the snow. It’s a reminder that, while the outdoors seems to sleep under its cold, fluffy comforter, there’s still plenty happening. Tracks also give me another way to gauge the way everything’s activity increases as we inch closer to spring. I look forward to seeing tracks in the mud and snow just as much as I look forward to seeing new faces at the feeders and in the fruit trees.

art · life

So, we went to the show!

Last time, I mentioned struggling with imposter syndrome. Yesterday, my Handsome Assistant and I braved the cold (it is bonkers freezing right now, especially considering that it’s going to be like 60° F next weekend) and went to the opening of the art show.

The venue itself was beautiful (it’s history, not so much) and its tall ceilings, many windows, and twists and turns were very conducive to hosting a large art show without everything feeling too cluttered or busy. Sadly, I didn’t really get any pictures of the interior or the show itself (it would’ve been difficult to do without getting some of the possibly-unconsenting public in the shots) but you can see all of the entries here. Interestingly, the majority of them were portraits of people — there were fewer animals than I expected, though I did find one other lovely painting of a corvid.

The volunteers and other artists were all very nice, too. Everyone I spoke to was kind and helpful. We even ran into one of my Handsome Assistant’s friends, whose child had won an award for their work in the juried student exhibit.

While it was a nice outing overall (the artwork was beautiful and moving, the venue was gorgeous, and the rolling hills of the grounds were streaked with kids on brightly colored sleds), it was also pretty mentally exhausting. There’s a COVID surge, so being indoors in a group was a bit tense. I also felt a very acute sense of imposter syndrome. An inner critic kept telling me that I didn’t really belong there, that my work was only chosen to humor me, so I wouldn’t get discouraged and withdraw my membership. Anxiety turned what should have been a relaxing, inspiring day into a bit of an internal mess.

But still, we did the thing! As cold as it was, and as much as my various social anxieties kept urging me to pull out, we went and did it. All that remains now is to figure out how to make it easier on myself in the future and be more confident in my art. It’s something that’s much easier said than done.