Plants and Herbs

Radish Folklore & Magical Properties

We’re fortunate to have a service in our area that delivers goods from the local farmers’ market. Even if we can’t go there ourselves for whatever reason, we can still pick out what we want and get it dropped off for not a whole lot of money. A week’s worth of fruit and vegetables for us is about $40, plus $2-4 for delivery. Pad that out with beans and rice or potatoes, and it’s a good way to have a reasonably healthy, varied, local diet without spending a ton or having to go to the store a bunch. If you have fewer people to feed, a box with five items of your choice is only $25ish. It’s nice.

This week, we’re getting celery, bok choy, apples, tomatoes, kale, fennel, and a ton of radishes. Why so many radishes? ‘Tis the season! They’re cool weather plants that mature in a short time, so there’s always a bunch available in spring and autumn.

Radishes originated in China and entered the historical record in the 3rd century BCE, and spread across Europe from there. They were also one of the first plants introduced to the Americas by European colonizers.

A close up of some radishes, still in the soil. The tops of the round, red roots are visible just above the soil line.

In antiquity, opinions on radishes were divided. Pliny and Discorides prized them, while Hippocrates claimed that they were “vicious” and difficult to digest.

To be fair, radishes are cruciferous vegetables. This puts them in the same group as plants like kale, mustard, cauliflower, and broccoli. They’re not the easiest things in the world to digest and are notorious for causing gas.

Radishes were offered to Apollo, but not just any radishes. It was customary to present gifts to deities in the form of intricate carvings. Radishes were so prized, Apollo received ones made of solid gold.

In Oaxaca, Mexico, people observe the Night of the Radishes. Artists compete by creating intricate sculptures carved entirely from radishes. These aren’t the typical small, round guys you see in the grocery store, however — they’re a specially grown variety cultivated specifically for this festival.

An old folk remedy for nagging and gossip involved tasting a radish before bed while fasting. This was said to protect men from being harmed by “the chatter of women.”

One old English book says that uprooting a radish while reciting the proper incantations would allow one to find witches. (Unfortunately, the author didn’t write down the incantations.)

Radishes are also associated with lust spells and protection. This makes sense, considering their peppery heat and red color. Both of these qualities are associated with sexual desire and protection and can be seen across many magical ingredients used for these purposes.

Wearing a garland of radish flowers around one’s neck was said to keep demons at bay.

The juice and oil of radishes were also considered protective and curative. Washing one’s hands in radish juice was said to enable one to safely handle venomous creatures. Another source claimed that dipping a whole radish in a glass of poison would render the poison safe to drink.
(Do not do any of these things pls.)

In Germany, radishes were associated with evil spirits. Well, one specific evil spirit: the demon Rübezahl. He is a mountain spirit who is often portrayed as a trickster figure. On one hand, he could help humans and teach them the secrets of medicine. On the other, he represents the capriciousness of the weather of the mountains. In Czech fairytales, Rübezahl (called Krakonoš) gave humans sourdough.

It’s also said that he was fond of taking whatever he pleased without asking. He kidnapped a princess who was very fond of radishes (in some versions, turnips) and locked her away in a tower. When the princess began to wither away from loneliness, the spirit turned a radish into a cricket. He warned her that, once the leaves of the radish began to wither, the cricket would die. The clever princess sent the cricket off to find her true love and bring him back to rescue her. Sadly, the radishes withered and the cricket died before he could, but he succeeded in chirping his tale to all of the other crickets in the world. Now, whenever you hear crickets chip, you hear them tell the tale of Rübezahl and the stolen princess.

It should be noted that Rübezahl is actually a mocking nickname — it’s more respectful to refer to him as Lord of the Mountains, Herr Johannes, or Treasure Keeper.

As a common culinary ingredient, radishes are pretty easy to use. Combine them in a salad with other ingredients that relate to your intention, and enjoy. Radishes, strawberries, and basil can be eaten (or fed to a consenting lover) for lust. Radishes, lettuce, oregano, and garlic can be eaten for protection. Radish greens are edible, too!

A bunch of red radishes on a cutting board, tied together with red and white string.

For best results, stick with young radishes. The older they get, the tougher and more difficult to digest they become.

Since radishes are a cool weather crop, they’re a good choice for off-season growth spells. For example, if you want to bring more love and lust into your life but it isn’t exactly growing season, you may still be able to get decent results by sowing radish seeds.

Since flowering radish tops repel evil, you may wish to include these plants in beds near your front, back, and side doors. Let them flower and keep your home protected from malevolent spirits.

Radishes are a fun, easy to grow, easy to use ingredient in food and spells alike. I remember growing some in a tiny plastic vegetable garden kit that came from McDonald’s when I was very little, and I’ve kind of had a soft spot for them ever since. If you have any space to dedicate to these little guys, give them a shot!

Plants and Herbs

The robot uprising is here, and they’re trying to kill us with bad foraging advice.

When foraging, it’s said that you should be as confident identifying edible plants in the wild as you are in a grocery store. Foragers also say that the best way to learn is to have an experienced person to guide you. Not everyone has access to someone like that, though. Enter: Books about foraging.

Ripe wineberries. They are shiny, red raspberry-like fruit on a stem covered in red hairs.

Now, gathering and eating wild plants based entirely on the photos and descriptions in a book can be a bit intimidating. For some plants, this isn’t a big deal — wineberries, for example, are an invasive edible that’s really easy to pick out. Garlic mustard and wild onions, too. Some plants don’t really have poisonous lookalikes, so the odds of making a dangerous mistake are pretty slim. Others, not so much.

All of this is to say that books about foraging aren’t all bad. At least, they weren’t.

Here’s where shit gets weird.

People looking to make a quick buck have turned to artificial intelligence and Amazon’s publishing platform to pump out a lot of barely-concealed drivel. A lot of this is in the form of children’s books, I guess because they seem easier to make than a full-length novel. This is far from harmless, because children’s books play a role in the development of literacy and empathy that you don’t really want to hand off to a computer.

This attempt to cash out isn’t limited to children’s books, either. Amazon and other online book sellers have become the proud purveyors of foraging books written by AI. This isn’t really a new phenomenon, but, on the off chance any of you out there’re in the market for foraging guides, I figured I’d give you a heads up.

To be fair, a lot of these are simply useless and the worst they’ll do is waste your money. The books in this category claim to be foraging guides, but end up being about why foraging is good, listicles on the benefits of eating more fruits and vegetables, and recipe ideas. Pretty harmless overall.

An underside view of the gills of a cream-colored mushroom.

On the other hand, there are books offering actual descriptions of “edible” plants and mushrooms(!). Some of them even list “taste” as an identifying feature of plants and fungi, which could encourage inexperienced foragers to taste things they haven’t positively identified. Since many extremely poisonous mushrooms are visually similar to harmless ones, this could get someone killed. Hell, plenty of people already mistake poisonous mushrooms for edible ones even without books encouraging them to taste them.

It’s not always easy to pick out which books are written by actual human people, and which aren’t. There are a couple of things that you can look for:

  • Publishing dates. Books written before the rise of AI generated content are a safer bet here.
  • The author’s web presence. Even if they have a photo, that doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re a person. The photo could be stolen (just see any of the fake identities on Scamfish), or made up by a different AI. Look for a blog. A Facebook page. A TikTok. An Instagram. Something to indicate an existence beyond the cover of a dodgy book.
    As this article from 404 Media states, “‘Edwin J. Smith’”’ is the author listed on two books[,] but doesn’t have any other books, or an online presence otherwise. The only Edwin J. Smith I could find was a Professor Emeritus of medicine at Indiana University from a staff list that’s more than a decade old.”
  • The author’s credentials. They should be actual, and not completely made up. Beware of author bios that offer vague, unrelated information.
  • A sample of the prose. A lot of bots pull from very varied sources, so you’ll get bits that sounds like they’re cut from a recipe blog, a florist’s website, an actual foraging manual, and so forth. These are also likely to be thrown together without much thought, because no actual humans looked at it to make sure it’d make any damn sense at all.
  • The editing. Bad, AI generated foraging guides often have mistakes that any human editor (or writer, for that matter) would pick up on right away.
  • A bad score from an AI-detection tool, like Scribbr or GPTZero. Get a sample of the text, paste it in a detection tool, and see what it says. While you’re at it, paste the author’s bio in there, too.

Again, if you’re able to, connect with an experienced foraging expert before going out in the field on your own. Your local university may be able to help you. You might even be able to find a group of foraging enthusiasts on sites like Meetup. Even if you can’t go out with a foraging expert, they may be able to recommend actual, useful guides, videos, and other resources for you.

life · Neodruidry

Happy Samhain!

It’s New Year. Halloween. Samhain. Whatever you want to call it, it’s when the “veil is at its thinnest,” children ignore everything they’ve been told about not taking candy from strangers, and the leaves are at their peak here.

This year, I’ll be celebrating Samhain with other Neodruids for the first time. That’s not all, though — after our ill-fated trip to the caverns, my Handsome Assistant and I decided to go somewhere that was the complete antithesis of a cave.

The mountains.

An image of a nearly-full moon rising over the Shenandoah mountains. The sky is shades of deep pink, blue, and lavender.

We took a road trip down Skyline drive to go leaf snarping. It was unseasonably warm, but the elevation made it quite a bit cooler. The leaves were brilliant, and the air was full of the earthy, musky, spicy-sweet smell of decomposing foliage. The strange bit of warm weather we’ve had meant that there were still some wildflowers clinging to life, bringing even more color to the already-saturated landscape. It was near sunset, so the nearly-full moon was shining just above a bank of bright pink clouds. The landscape looked like a Klee painting, the sky was a vaporwave album, and the air was filled with a smell a perfumer could only dream of replicating.

The moon peeking over a cloud bank at sunset. Below, there's a view of the mountains covered in trees in brilliant shades of red, orange, and gold.

It was pretty nice. Especially after the cave incident.

My Handsome Assistant teased me gently for taking tiny pictures. Snaps of an individual leaf, or a really interesting piece of lichen. I do that a lot. The larger landscape is fascinating, but the way the sun seemed to melt through the spaces in the trees backlit the leaves and made them glow like flames.

I took a special research elective in high school, where we had to report on abstracts of other research studies, then formulate our own. My teacher remarked that I mostly seemed interested in the extremely macro and micro — either the far reaches of distant galaxies, or the inner workings of organelles. Not so much the stuff in between.

(My experiment was about teaching hamsters to differentiate between different symbols and was in no way a way to get the school to pay for me to have several hamsters and hamster supplies, I promise.)

I feel like this is still reflected in the kind of pictures I take and the things I paint. I like to focus closely on a small individual subject, or on a very large landscape. It is also why I think I get so bored by portraits or character reference sheets.

A road curves around a hill and into a forest filled with orange, red, and green trees. Some boulders stud the hillside in the foreground.

Today, I’m making some roasted vegetables to share at a potluck. (And possibly some bread — I’ve been slacking on baking lately — or lentil pasta in pumpkin cream sauce.)

This Samhain, I’m also focusing on all of the rad things I want to do next year. Stuff’s winding down, but it’s still warm enough to be active. I’m also filled with creative energy right now, so it’s time to plan, save, and sow for spring. My Handsome Assistant and I just planted a plum tree (surrounded with some bulbs, for the bare beginnings of a tree guild), black raspberries, and swamp milkweed before the ground gets too cold to dig. We still need to prune the apples and get everyone else ready for winter, but we’re well on our way to a happy and fruitful spring and summer.

Here’s hoping all of you can get out to do some leaf snarping of your own and have a very good Samhain.

life

The bowels of the Earth are not great places to discover that you’re claustrophobic, tbh.

So, my Handsome Assistant and I took a bit of a staycation. Our original plan was to stay in a lovely (and haunted) bed and breakfast in Cape May, but we decided to put that trip off until next year and do more local activities.

One of those was visiting Luray Caverns.

I’ve wanted to check it out for a while. I like the idea of exploring caves. We didn’t really have them around where I grew up, so my friends and I compensated by finding unguarded drainage culverts and having many adventures in the glorious sewers of Long Island. I covered miles upon miles of that place, completely underground.

I had some reservations about Luray at first — not because I’m scared of caves (how much worse than a sewer can they be?) but because a lot of the reviews pointed out that the owners seemed to be more concerned with making money by packing as many people into the place as possible versus protecting and presenting the natural features of the caverns.

Still, we were planning on going in the middle of the week. It seemed kind of doubtful that we’d have massive throngs of people to contend with, so the crowd thing didn’t really worry me.

I did not, however, realize that my biggest problem would be air.

Let me be totally upfront with you — still, heavy air is an enormous panic trigger for me. It makes me feel like I can’t breathe. Like my lungs are working to pull air in, but not enough is actually moving. A lot of caves still have air flow patterns, governed by changes in air pressure and temperature. Caves with multiple entrances can even have breezes as fresh air enters and pushes old air out. I figured it’d be okay. Can’t be worse than a storm sewer, right?

We were somewhere on the banks of Dream Lake when the adrenaline began to take hold.

A photo of a cave filled with stalactites and stalagmites. The center is a very still pool of water, perfectly reflecting the cave ceiling.
Dream Lake. The water here is so clear and still, it perfectly reflects the stalactites above.

The closeness of the space, the thick, humid air, and the lack of any kind of movement got to me. It got to me bad. I felt a hot flush in my cheeks, tingling down both my arms, and a heavy feeling in my chest. Sweat prickled over every inch of my skin. I turned to my Handsome Assistant.

OkayIneedtogooutside.

Another formation, primarily of stalactites. One group has grown down to meet the stalagmites on the cave floor, forming a long, continuous pillar.
Pluto’s Ghost.

We turned around and started heading back in the wrong direction. Luray is arranged so that, once you’re in, the only way out is through. Fortunately, we weren’t super deep in and there weren’t large crowds. The walk back felt like it took forever, but we made it back out to breezes, space, and sunlight.

As far as the caverns themselves, they’re strange and beautiful. A lot of the formations have been damaged by irresponsible patrons, but many of them are still “living.” You can see water dripping. You can see the patterns of growth and erosion forming in real time. You can see the bright orange of deposited iron oxides, the white of calcite, the greens and blues of algae blooming from the lights in the cave.

A photo of the cavern ceiling, showing dripping stalactites pointing straight down.

I do agree with a lot of the reviews that criticize the ownership, however. For example, you enter and exit through the gift shop. While this may have been a matter of practicality in the beginning, they’ve recently excavated a new entrance and probably could have done so in a way that would’ve made the shop’s traffic patterns a bit easier to manage.

There are also a lot of very tight areas. People mentioned having to stand shoulder-to-shoulder and shuffle along the entire length of the caverns, which can be tough to manage with small, antsy children. One reviewer’s daughter experienced an asthma attack, and still had to go through the entire length of the caverns because there was no way to get her out otherwise. Things weren’t nearly as crowded when we went, but, again, we were able to go on a weekday. Scheduling a trip for an off-peak time seems like it makes everything a lot easier.

Would I go again? I don’t think so. Even though we weren’t there for very long, I feel like we got enough out of the experience. I also wouldn’t want to chance being there with a large crowd. Has this experience turned me off of caves in general? Also no. If anything, it’s made me more interested.

I just need to have a good escape plan. You know, just in case.

Plants and Herbs

Rosehip Folklore & Magical Properties

Roses (t least in their wild form) are fruit-bearing plants. These fruits, called rosehips or rose haws, are bright red, berrylike fruits that serve as a source of food for wildlife and people alike through the autumn and winter months. They’re high in vitamin C, and are frequently used in everything from supplements, to teas, to jellies, to skincare products.

They’re best harvested right after the first frost, when the fruits are bright red and slightly soft. That’s actually what prompted me to write this post — see, our first frost date is supposed to be in the middle of October. As of this writing, next weekend is supposed to be in the 80s. According to the National Weather Service, we’re not actually going to get frosty temperatures until the middle of freaking November. I could harvest the fruits anyhow and mimic the action of a frost by popping them in the freezer for a few hours, but still. 80 degrees.

Some bright red, round rosehips on the plant.

(Side note, my Handsome Assistant and I were planning on taking a very off-season vacation on the beach. We weren’t planning on trying to swim or anything, but we decided to cancel anyway since it’d likely be too chilly to do much but hole up. Go figure!)

Rosehip Magical Uses and Folklore

Medicinally, rosehips are used for anything that benefits from more vitamin C. They’re boiled into syrup and given for colds, and used in tea over winter (when fresh fruit is in short supply). The fruit is also a mild diuretic that can help with certain urinary disorders, while the seeds, when boiled, may be helpful for symptoms of gout.

The fruit portion of a rosehip forms a kind of capsule around the seeds. These seeds are covered in irritating hairs, which is why it’s important to clean rosehips before using them. These hairs are so irritating, in fact, that they can be used to make itching powder!

Not all roses will form hips. Flat blooms, as opposed to cup or globular blooms, generally have the easiest time doing so. The reason for this is simple: cup and globular blooms are bred for show, and have masses of petals that cover their stamens and pistils. Since pollination is necessary for fruit production, bees need to be able to get in there to pollinate. This is easy for them with flat blooms, and next to impossible with more complex shapes. Deadheaded roses also won’t produce hips, since the portion that would become the hip gets cut off in the process.

Rosehips are useful for all of the same things that roses are. They shine in love and beauty magic (due, in part, to their vitamin C content). Used in ritual baths or to infuse oils, they can have a brightening effect on the skin.

Some more rosehips. These are still very green and not yet ripe.

Rosehips are also used in spells for good luck and prosperity.

To banish nightmares, place some rosehips under your pillow. You might want to use dried hips for this, since fresh ones could end up leaving you with a sticky, squishy, unpleasant surprise in the morning!

Since rosehips house rose seeds, they’re a good general addition to spells to increase anything. All seeds have immense potential and are used in magic for growth, so you can include rosehips in any spell to increase love (including self-love), money, luck, you name it.

Using Rosehips

To use fresh rosehips, wash them well, slice them open, and remove the seeds and hairs with a spoon. You can then dry them, make them into jelly, or eat them fresh. Dried hips from the store are good to go as they are.

Add fresh or dried hips to magical teas or other recipes. They have a tart flavor that pairs well with lots of drinks and dishes. Stir with your dominant hand as you cook, and intentionally infuse the mixture with the energy that you want to attract or increase.

To keep nightmares at bay, include dried hips in a dream pillow. Lavender, lemon balm, and rosemary also work very well here.

Dried rosehips (and rose seeds) are great additions to spell jars. As I mentioned above, they bring extra energy to increase whatever it is you’re looking to grow or attract.

On the other hand, the irritating hairs around rose seeds are good for protection or banishing spells. Add them to powders to keep unwanted people or spirits at bay. Sprinkle them under your doormat and instruct them to annoy anything and anyone who shouldn’t be at your door.

Rosehips are as useful as they are beautiful. If you have garden space, I highly recommend planting some wild type roses to help feed birds and other animals (and provide you with lots of powerful magical ingredients). If you don’t, keep your eyes peeled when you’re out and about — you may just find some wild roses with plenty of hips to share.

Just for fun · life

“ANTLERED CREATURE! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

This past Saturday, my Handsome Assistant and I attended Raven’s Night at The Birchmere. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing — when I’ve got downtime, I crack open the websites for some local theaters and concert venues, send my Assistant whatever looks interesting, and we get tickets more or less at random. (It’s how we ended up going to a late-night showing of Inu-Oh and getting pretty much the entire theater to ourselves.)

And so, we found ourselves at a theatrical Halloween belly dance show. To our chagrin, we arrived too late for the magic show, carnival, costume contest, and tarot readers, but we did get there in time for the dancing itself. I ended up talking to a very lovely woman about gemstones for a bit before we sat down, then my Handsome Assistant and I ordered some drinks and found a seat off to the right side of the venue, near the wall. With just a few minutes to go before the show started, I excused myself to sneak to the restroom.

Here’s the part where I should explain that, even though we didn’t arrive in time for the costume contest, I still dressed up. It wasn’t much of a costume — a cashmere and silk paisley caftan, a shawl in a different paisley, and a feathered mask of a deer skull from Higgins Creek. (Which, by the way? Perfect for occasions like this. It can double as a mask or hat and is equally comfortable either way. Move it out of the way to drink or see better, and slip it back into place when need be. Like I said, perfect.)

Anyhow. I slip out of the seating area to the one place where I knew there was a restroom — the other side of the venue. I was maybe halfway there when I heard a voice behind me.

“CREATURE!”

I couldn’t really make it out, though, and also I was in a venue full of people in costumes.

“ANTLERED CREATURE!”

Oh.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

I returned to the direction of the voice, where a very nice security person pointed out that there were restrooms right next to the seating area. Right under a large red sign marked “Restrooms,” in fact. Whoops. (Side note, masks are also excellent for navigating socially awkward situations.)

The show itself was an excellent time. The highlights, for me, were almost too numerous to name. There was a beautiful performance by Taschen*. Another mesmerizing allegorical depiction of prudence by Irina Akulenko*, Han Chen*, and Stephanie Cheng*, with costumes and movements that seemed almost reptilian. They started fully veiled, slowly raising their veils to show three faces each — one mask for the past, one for the future, and their own faces for the present. (After a point, it was almost impossible to tell which face was the “true” one.) Raqs al Taneen gave a gorgeous, gender-bending interpretation of what would’ve happened if Sarah had never escaped the Labyrinth. Morgana blended dance, animal mimicry, and martial arts in a dance that seemed half theater, half ritual. Spirit of Ma’at* was a high energy celebration. There was sword dancing, drag, costume transformations, erotic poetry, and some really unique and interesting sound design.

(*Unfortunately, searching did not yield websites or social media profiles for these performers. If you happen to know if they have web presences I can link to, please let me know.)

Like I said, it was a good time. Parts of it reminded me of reading about Aleister Crowley’s theatrical rituals (for which he actually received reviews from theater critics). Some performances adhered more to the masquerade theme than others, but all of them brought their own stories to tell through costume, music, and movement.

As it gets colder, my Handsome Assistant and keep busy. We just shift away from camping and fairs and move indoors. All told, Raven’s Night was a hell of a way to kick off our autumn and winter activities.

Plants and Herbs

Maple Folklore & Magical Properties

This past weekend, my Handsome Assistant and I took a small drive down Falls Road (alias Scenic Route 25). This was recently dubbed the second-best route in the country for seeing fall colors, and, while the leaves haven’t quite reached their peak just yet, it was a really lovely drive.

Red maples (Acer rubrum) are one of my favorite trees to see in autumn, and I’m lucky to share a home with one. Their leaves turn a vibrant scarlet every autumn, hence the name.

Bright red maple leaves on a branch.

Honestly, I just love maples in general. As a little kid, I used to pick up their samaras (we called them “pollynoses”) from the sidewalk, open the seed capsules, and stick them on the end of my nose. I bake primarily with maple syrup. I’m trying to convince my Handsome Assistant to make his next back of mead a batch of acerglyn (a similar beverage made of half honey, half maple syrup) instead.

I probably don’t need to say that trees have featured prominently in Pagan practices probably ever since the first Pagan. Each one has its own traits and associations, and, when it comes to working with the wood, leaves, or fruits, its own magical properties.

To be honest, maples were so ubiquitous where I grew up that I didn’t know they weren’t more widely harvested from. When I was thirteen, I was a foreign exchange student, which resulted in a brief stay in the Netherlands before going to Sweden. My student group (jetlagged and exhausted) stopped at a cafe on our first day there, where I happily ordered a plate of silver dollar pancakes and syrup.

But it was not syrup.
It was stroop.

Stroop (rhymes with “rope”) is often made of boiled-down fruit, water, and sugar, but can also be made with molasses and brown sugar. While it isn’t bad by any means, the latter variety is kind of an unpleasant surprise when you’re a kid who’s used to maple syrup with pancakes, hates molasses, and also desperately needs a nap. Not knowing any better, I drenched my pancakes in stroop and made myself a very avoidable struggleplate.

Anyway, all of this is to say that maples rock, maple syrup is the food of the Gods and should absolutely never be taken for granted, and I may still carry some molasses-induced trauma.

Maple’s genus, Acer, is Latin for “sharp.” This is due to their very unique, pointy leaves.

An Abenaki story tells how maple syrup once flowed freely from trees. It came so easily, people would lay on their backs and just let the syrup run right into their mouths. The legendary figure Glooskap saw how lazy people had become, so he turned the thick, sweet syrup into runny sap. From then on, if people wanted to eat maple syrup, they would have to work for it!

Another story, said to be of Haudenosaunee origin, tells of a man who watched a red squirrel nibble the end of a maple branch. The sap flowed until the sugars dried, hardened, and crystallized. The squirrel then came back to lick the sweet maple sugar.

In European-based magical systems, maple syrup is often used as an ingredient in love spells.

Maple sugar or syrup is also a useful ingredient in sweetening jars.

A bright green maple leaf.

By contrast, maple wood is considered very protective. It was sometimes incorporated into doorframes for this purpose.

Some sources consider maple to be good for prosperity and abundance in general.

As wand wood, maple is known for having a somewhat erratic energy. It also helps dispel negative energy, center oneself, and reveal paths and options one may not have considered.

Maples, particularly silver maple (Acer saccharinum) are considered Moon plants. They’re also associated with the element of Water.

Working with maple can be as simple as using magical tools made from the wood. Every tree — and thus every wood — has its own energy. I haven’t personally found maple to be erratic, but, to be totally honest with you, I’m erratic enough myself. (I think it also helps to have sourced the wood from a tree that I know pretty well!)

If you’re in the eastern US, you’re probably located near a maple tree. If that maple tree is anything like the one here, it probably drops plenty of sticks and smallish branches every time there’s a storm. Should you be of a mind to make your own magical tools, deadfall maple wood is honestly really easy to come by.

I can only vouch for red maple, but, once the bark and cambium are stripped off, the wood itself is light and silky-feeling. Sanded well, it takes on an almost metallic sheen. I love it.

The next easiest way to work with maple is to use maple syrup. You’ll need the real stuff for this, unfortunately — the fake stuff is cheaper, but also doesn’t really bear any resemblance to the genuine article. (There’s a good reason for that, too. Maple sap is chemically very complex, and we still don’t really understand all of the different compounds and reactions that give boiled sap its flavor. That makes it pretty much impossible to make a decent imitation syrup.)

If you’re looking to make a sweetening jar, artificial syrup is probably fine if you can’t get your hands on the real stuff. That said, plain sugar and tap water will make you a perfectly fine simple syrup that’ll a) be cheaper, b) let you add your intention or energy during the syrup-making process, and c) let you bypass the artificial flavors, colors, and other ingredients that don’t really add anything to the magic-making.

Otherwise, add maple syrup to your favorite edible magical recipes. Like I mentioned above, I bake with it almost exclusively — it’s pricey, but I love what it does for the flavor and texture of desserts. Seriously. It makes amazing breads and cakes, and is fantastic in chocolate chip cookies. Add the maple syrup, thank the tree for its sacrifice, tell the syrup what you want it to do for you, and stir your concoction clockwise using your dominant hand. Easy peasy.

Maple samaras (aka, pollynoses) can also be helpful additions to a charm bag. They end up all over the place in late spring to early autumn, so, if there’s a maple anywhere near you, you probably won’t have any trouble finding some. Add them to bags for prosperity, love, or protection.

Plants and Herbs

The beauties are berrying!

Thank you for being patient with me while I slept for essentially a week straight. It may have “just” been a vintage cold, but that coupled with the rainy weather was enough to put me out. If there’s one nice thing to come out of that, though, it’s emerging from my tiny, forced hibernation to see the ways the garden is changing as the days shorten and temperatures drop.

Earlier this year, I planted an American beautyberry (Callicarpa americana) bush. By “planted a bush,” I primarily mean “stuck a stick in the ground.”

The original sapling was a tiny, nearly leafless thing with just a few roots. This year alone, it’s managed to grow into a roughly three-foot-tall bush with tons of leaves, tiny flowers, and — eventually — fruits.

Tiny clusters of bright pink beautyberries hidden among serrated green leaves.

The fruits are all starting to really ripen, which has been incredible to see. While the flowers of beautyberry are rather indistinct and unremarkable, the berries are absolutely gorgeous: tight clusters of tiny, round, bright magenta berries that can persist through the cold months. While they aren’t a first choice for birds and other animals, this actually makes them even more valuable to wildlife once winter really hits. When other, more palatable sources of food are used up, beautyberry’s there to help keep everyone going.

The berries are bright, attention-grabbing, and non-toxic, so why aren’t they more popular among wildlife? It’s purely a matter of taste — literally. I’ve eaten a few ripe beautyberries straight off of the bush, and the opening flavor is sweet and very unique. It’s hard to describe, but, if I had to, I’d say it’s a combination of lemon, grape, and cucumber, perhaps with very subtle notes of raspberry and bergamot.

A close-up of a cluster of beautyberries, held in the palm of my hand.

Unfortunately, this is followed by a rather bitter aftertaste. I don’t think it’s a dealbreaker when it comes to snacking on a few here and there, but I can absolutely see how an animal with an abundance of other food sources might. If I had to describe the bitterness, I’d say it’s about on the level of grapefruit.

Medicinally, beautyberries are really interesting. The leaves contain aromatic compounds that have been said to repel mosquitoes comparatively to DEET. People indigenous to its range have used it as a natural bug repellent, and researchers have extracted some unique compounds that “showed significant repellent activity against [Aedes egypti] and Anopheles stephensi.” Anecdotally, some people claim it’s also effective against ticks, but other users have found it to be of little use. There are loads of DIY mosquito repellent recipes using C. americana available on the internet, but those that macerate the leaves in alcohol (ethanol or isopropanol) are likely to be more effective than those that use water.

Other than making mosquito repellent, the leaves and roots are traditionally used to treat colic, edema, dysentery, stomach pain, rheumatism, and symptoms of malaria.

Researchers have also found an aromatic compound, 12(S),16ξ-dihydroxycleroda-3,13-dien-15,16-olide, that can help treat antibiotic-resistant staph infections. MRSA is a big deal because it can be very difficult to treat. Beta-lactam antibiotics are some of the safest ones we’ve got, but don’t work very well against resistant bacteria. The compound found in beautyberry helps to restore drug-resistant staph’s sensitivity to oxacillin, a beta-lactam antibiotic.

C. americana is only one species of beautyberry. There are also C. japonica from Japan, and C. dichotoma and C. bodinieri from China. Beautyberries all look alike, but there are some key differences to look for if you’re not sure which bush you’ve got.

C. americana has magenta berries that grow very closely around the stems of the bush. There’s basically no airspace between the bark and the berries, which gives these plants a rather unusual appearance. One cultivar, C. americana var. lactea, produces white berries.

A close-up of C. americana, showing the berries closely packed around the stems.
Another shot of “my” beautyberry, showing the lack of space between the berries and the stem.

Asian species of beautyberry look very similar to C. americana but produce berries in clusters on short stems. Instead of closely circling the branches of the bush, there’s a little bit of air space between them.

An image of C. bodinieri, showing the fruits on short stems.
C. bodinieri, showing its slightly different fruit distribution.

If you’re me, you get a little sapling, find a place with lots of sun, stick it in the ground, and wish it the best of luck. Wild beautyberry is found in meadows, woods, and the edges of ponds and streams. It’s not really picky.

I admit, I’m probably not a great person to ask how to grow things. Most of my most successful plants have been accidents (hi, pumpkins) and part of the reason that I love gardening with native plants and nativars is because they don’t require coddling. Find an appropriate spot, and the plant’ll know what to do.

At the moment, the beautyberry bush I planted is still fairly small. While it’s putting out berries like a champ, there aren’t enough for me to harvest some and leave enough for the birds. Since it’s done so well, though, I’ll definitely be looking for more places to add it to the landscape. By next year, I’ll hopefully have enough for jam, sauce, and even pie!

life

Gonna take this cold on Antiques Roadshow.

Hello! I went to the Maryland Renaissance Festival yesterday, and I think I’m dyin.

Okay, not really. I did do much more than my accustomed amount of walking, though, and it was one of those days that seems to alternate between toasty and very chilly, which is pretty much guaranteed to give me a headache. By the time I got home, I felt like I’d been run over. (And I’ve been run over.)

My Handsome Assistant and I make a point to go to at least one Ren Faire a year. In my case, I think it’s genetic — my dad was very into that kind of thing, to the point where he actually made his own armor and chainmail. There’s a baby picture of me, bare-ass naked, with an adult-sized morion helmet on. He had a collection of swords. (I think it was one of the many bones of contention in my parent’s marriage, which is why I’m also glad that my Handsome Assistant and I can agree that swords are cool and a large knife collection is a good thing to have. But I digress.)

This year, we met up and hung out with our Druid group. Well… as much as its possible to “meet up” and “hang out” at any large event like this. Even times when I’ve gone there with groups of friends, everyone ends up splitting up and meeting periodically throughout the day. This was no exception. We met up to go to the Bee Folks, then got separated when my Handsome Assistant got sidetracked by a sculptor and I went to go find him. We met up again, later, when everyone else was watching a band play and he and I were looking for somewhere to sit down for a bit.

The two of us bought some artwork and some sculptures for the garden, pounds of specialty honey for mead brewing, more specialty honey because it’s delicious, and a large bag of honey candy for cold season. I found a shirt I liked, he found a pauldron he liked, and so we continued the tradition of adding one piece or so to each of our costumes every year. It was fun, the food was good (there were even options for herbivores like me), the music was good, and I had a good time, as always.

The following morning, though? Woof.

I have one working nostril, and my lungs appear to have accumulated several pounds of Substances throughout the evening. COVID tests were negative, so I’m pretty sure I’m just dealing with a regular vintage cold. A bit of stuffiness from the before times, if you will. It almost makes me miss being on massive doses of Diamox — it altered the pH of my blood to the point where I never got sick. This also meant that I had chloride acidosis pretty much constantly, but still.

It’s a good thing we got all of that honey.

Now, I’m settled in with warm blankets and a wonderful-yet-incredibly-impractical mug which I love. It’s massive and great for when I feel sick, but the handle is goofily small. It used to have a gold image of a crystal ball on the side that said, “Your Future is Bright!” but an accidental trip through the dishwasher has rubbed off the gold until all it says is “Ufb.” Which, to be fair, is usually exactly how I’m feeling when I most want to use this mug.

And so, for the time being, I am taking naps and doing my usual autumn cleaning. I also have a raised bed that I’d like to plant with cold-weather crops, but I haven’t decided what I want to plant yet. (After last year, I’m probably not doing kale again. There were so many seeds, and there’s volunteer kale everywhere now. I even saved half a jam jar of broccoli/kale/some kind of hybrid seeds for growing microgreens, so I am full up with brassicas.)

Here’s hoping everyone else is successful at staving off autumn and winter bugs.

life

THE BOYS’RE BACK IN TOOOO-OOO-OOOWN!

Not long ago, I wrote about the family of starlings that had pretty much taken over. A squawping mass of tiny kicks, punches, flung food, and babies that would walk up and demand to be fed by anything that moved (and a few things that didn’t).

While they were fun to watch, they also seemed to drive away a lot of the other birds that visited me — especially the crows. Given how much energy I’d put into building a relationship with my local crows, this bummed me out. Still, I knew that starlings aren’t forever, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d join a migratory murmuration and the yard would be peaceful once again.

At that point, I figured, I could try attracting crows again. They might not be the same family that I’d grown to love, but I knew this area was hospitable to breeding populations of crows and would easily become so again.

Anyhow, the starlings have gone on their yearly vacation. I discovered this when I woke up the other morning to big, black shadows passing over the skylight. I went to investigate, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but…

A view through a window, showing seven crows crowding around a feeder.
The view from my Handsome Assistant’s office. Not shown: The other six crows at the feeder on the other side of the deck.

All of the crows.
At the same time.

I knew it was the same group because they have a handful of pretty visually and behaviorally distinct individuals. They scrapped over cat kibble, raisins, nuts, and fancy organic peanut butter cereal (which is apparently a very hot commodity among corvids). I went outside to refill the feeders once they’d nearly wiped them out, and they flew off to the roof, waited for me to finish, and immediately swooped back to resume feeding.

It feels nice. As far-fetched as it seemed, there was always a nagging fear that I’d done something wrong somehow. Something to drive them away. Crows are intelligent, perceptive creatures, and I’ve heard stories of them spurning people for things like imitating the wrong crow calls. It’s good to have some confirmation that it wasn’t me — if anything, it seems like they’d been champing at the bit to get back and hang out.

It was also great to see how much they remembered. In the beginning, they’d fly off when I went outside. Things got to the point where they’d hop to the roof, at most, and wait for me to fill the feeders. Sometimes, if I was sitting down on the deck, they’d land near me to eat anyhow. Despite their hiatus, they still aren’t afraid. A couple flaps to perch on the roof, or the fence, or the shed, and they’re content to wait patiently and watch me put more food down.

A group of five crows swooping in to feed.

I missed these dorks so much. ❤