It’s the time of year when my crow bros — Magni, Ruff, Boink, Muse, Peanut, and company — typically come back. They’ll be around until the starlings fledge, then usually disappear with the rest of their murder over the winter. I love them dearly and I’m excited to have them, but it’s an excitement that’s tinged with worry for one reason: H5N1, the virus responsible for avian flu.

There’s avian flu in my county. It was found in a backyard flock of chickens. (Perhaps coincidentally, the neighbor’s roosters have been unusually silent.)

While news stories have primarily focused on pet and livestock birds, wild bird populations are also potential reservoirs for the disease. While you’re not going to get it from hiking or bird watching, it’s a significant concern if you’re one of the many people who maintain bird feeders.

My yard is, for the most part, optimized for feeding songbirds on its own. I leave the seed heads on things for the finches to pick at, and I’ve deliberately planted hip roses and beautyberries to provide some autumn and winter food. The platform feeders I have are pretty much just for crows, and two distinct families of crows, at that. One of them is Magni’s bunch, the other is a family that was displaced during some construction downtown. There are a few reasons why I want to keep them attracted here:

1. I’d rather they hang around here, where food and water are easy to get, than go hassle my neighbors that have backyard fowl. Also,
2. They keep the rodents away.

“But,” you might be saying right now, “If you don’t put food out, rodents won’t come!”
Ha, I say. Ha ha, even. You would think that, but as long as there’s a water source and anything resembling food, the rodents will come. That means bugs. Any fruit-, vegetable-, or grain-bearing plants. Particularly attractive pieces of cardboard. In short, as long as I grow anything other than grass, something’s gonna come try to eat it. Since I am legitimately terrified of hantavirus, I want as many natural allies against uninvited rodentia as possible.

So, there are some steps I’m taking to keep myself, the crows, and others safer from avian flu. This shouldn’t be taken as advice, but as an assurance that all of these little weirdoes that I write about seem healthy, and that I’m doing the best I can to keep them so.

I’m:

Being selective.

Regular wild bird seed mixes are intended to attract a variety of birds to one’s yard. Experts recommend against this for multiple reasons, chief among them that it encourages multiple groups and species to congregate in one spot. This makes it easier to transmit diseases like avian flu between bird populations that otherwise wouldn’t interact.

Fortunately, in this situation, I’m not trying to attract multiple species of birds. Much the opposite, really. While the front yard is planted in a way that wild birds can come pick at things as they please, the two platform feeders I maintain are pretty much exclusively for Magni’s crew and the other crow family. This means that I can put out food that they’ll want, but is unappealing to the starlings, juncos, cardinals, finches, and sparrows that usually pass through here. In other words, I’m discouraging congregation by focusing entirely on two small family groups of birds that already forage together.

Being nosy.

I don’t want to keep food out for long periods of time because, even if the food I put out isn’t appealing to smaller birds, they’ll still come up and pick through it to see if there’s anything edible.

I’ve been nosy, so I’ve noticed that Magni’s group and the other family typically come through here at two distinct times of day. Now, those are the only times I put food out. Once it’s gone (and it never lasts long), it’s gone. There aren’t any leftovers for anyone else to come dig through. Whatever they don’t eat, Todd, Freddie, and the other squirrels clean up in short order.

Sanitizing.

The platform feeders are basic wire mesh, which is nice. Any dust or water falls right through, so things stay pretty neat in the feeders themselves. Nonetheless, this doesn’t mean that they’re germ-free.

Each one gets a regular soak in a diluted bleach solution. I know, I’m usually all about making my own cleaners and using vinegar on everything, but I’m not going to fuck around with a virus like avian flu. Bleach and water it is.

This is also useful for other surfaces that animals come in contact with. It’s something I’ve gotten used to doing from keeping small animals whose enclosures require careful, thorough, regular sanitization.

Observing.

Right now, Magni’s bunch and the other crow family look (and sound) healthy. Last year, Ruff had an issue with what was most likely a mite or fungal infection that caused them to lose most of the feathers around their neck, but this has resolved on its own. Boink had some damaged flight feathers that kept him from flying away, but he had enough safe places to hide, molted well, and has replaced the feathers he’d lost. Nobody has had any signs of avian pox or other serious illnesses. Dark, shiny feathers, clear eyes, clean butts, no weird lesions, and no weird noises.

It isn’t always easy to tell a sick animal at a glance, so this isn’t exactly reliable. Still, it’s a good idea to keep an eye on the overall health of wild animals that pass through spaces you frequent. A weird looking bird could be cause for concern.

Occasionally, I provide some diluted ACV in the water I put out. This isn’t something that’s helpful to do on a constant basis, and it must be very diluted. There’s some evidence that it can help birds combat various fungal and bacterial issues, but it is not a suitable treatment or preventative for serious illnesses.

Protecting myself.

The last step I’m taking is to take care of myself. That means masks and gloves when cleaning up, careful hand and face washing, and so forth. This is important whenever you have to be around any kind of biological mess, but masking is especially important when you’re dealing with dried feces or any other residue that may break down into airborne dust when you disturb it.

If you maintain a feeder for multiple species of birds, now might be a good time to either revise your strategy or go on a hiatus. Encouraging them to congregate makes it easier for sicknesses like avian flu to spread from one population to another, and more disease vectors mean more opportunities for mutations that could make the jump to humans and other animals. It’s always better to provide food in the form of native fruits, vegetables, and flowers than to provide a bird feeder, but that also isn’t always possible with every species. By taking on the task of providing food, water, and shelter to animals, one also takes on the responsibility of keeping them (and the people who may come in contact with them) as healthy as you feasibly can.

Larkspurs are strikingly lovely flowers of the genera Delphinium and Consolida. They’re summer flowers that are possibly best known for being a) extremely deadly to most things, and b) the birth flower for the month of…
July.

Okay, okay, I know what you’re thinking, and I have a very good reason for writing about them now. Despite their birth month symbolism and all that, they’re actually flowers that need a bit of cold. Depending on your zone, that means sowing the seeds in either autumn or early spring so they can get a bit of a chill in. Lately, gardening stuff has been on my mind. Ergo, I figured now’d be a good time to write about…
Well.
Gardening stuff.

Larkspur Magical Uses, Folklore, and Medicinal History

Like the lovely hellebore and lobelia, larkspur is poisonous. All parts of it. They’re actually a major contributor to cattle poisonings, to the point where farmers will delay grazing their cattle at high elevation pastures until summer, when the larkspur has chilled out a little and is slightly less likely to cause problems.^[1]

The name Delphinium comes from the Greek word delphínion, meaning “dolphin.” According to Discorides, this is because of the shape of the flowers, which resemble dolphins if you kind of squint.^[2] The English common name comes from the idea that their flowers resemble the feet of larks.

Mythologically, larkspur is a very interesting plant. In the story of Hyacinthos and Apollo, in which Apollo and Zephyros vie for the affections of Hyacinthos, Apollo ends up killing Hyacinthos either accidentally or in a fit of jealous rage. It’s usually said that Apollo turned Hyacinthos’ body into the hyacinth, but some scholars hold that the flower was the larkspur instead.^[3]

Another story holds that the larkspur sprang up from Ajax’s blood. After the death of Achilles, Ajax and Odysseus vied for his armor. Athena supported the latter and drove Ajax mad. In his madness, he fell on his sword. Where his blood spilled, larkspur flowers grew.^[4]

Larkspur appears to have somewhat limited medicinal and magical uses. As with many poisonous herbs, it’s associated with protection — the alkaloids in larkspur are cardiotoxic, cause respiratory arrest and digestive issues, and are generally irritating to skin. Just as they naturally repel most animals who’d eat them, planting them in one’s garden is said to repel evil. Some writers suggest using larkspur in protection baths, but, given its potential as a skin irritant, I would caution against this.

Some also cite larkspur as a love herb, but I haven’t done so. It does bloom during “wedding season,” and the flowers make beautiful bouquets, but most of its associations seem to spring from its toxicity and connection to warfare. Even the story of Hyacinthos and Apollo, where larkspur is essentially a symbol of Apollo’s love for Hyacinthos, ends in tragedy. Your mileage may vary, of course, but larkspur has never done much for me in love workings.

(Interestingly, its medicinal uses seem to primarily lie in its appearance. Multiple sources cite folk practices of looking either at larkspur (or through bunches of larkspur) to soothe tired eyes and guard against eye problems.)^[5]

Even in Victorian floriography, larkspur is a bit… sketch. In general, larkspur is associated with lightness and levity. You know, the kind of stuff you’d expect from a pretty summer flower with tall blooms. However, this meaning depends heavily on its color — pink larkspur indicates a fickle nature, while purple represents haughtiness.^[6]

Using Larkspur

The easiest, and probably most straightforward, way to use larkspur is to plant a native variety in your garden. Not only is this said to repel evil, but it’s a huge help to native bees, butterflies, songbirds, and hummingbirds.

You could also crush the dried flowers into a powder (or salt) for protection and sprinkle it around whatever it is you wish to protect — your property, a room, et cetera. However, I caution against sprinkling it where a house pet may be able to step in it or get it on their fur, since ingesting it during grooming could cause serious harm.

The dried flowers are also a good addition to protection jars, sachets, or other container spells. Honestly, container spells are one of my favorite ways to use baneful herbs — they work, they’re easy, and I don’t have to worry about anyone trying to eat them.

Larkspurs are a beautiful summer plant, but they need cool seasons and humid summers to grow. Don’t wait until summer to add them to your garden. Sow them now, so they have time to stratify and establish themselves properly. You’ll be rewarded with their protection, tall spikes of colorful flowers, and an abundance of native pollinators.

1. Poisonous Plant Research: Logan, UT. Larkspur (Delphinium spp.)
2. Wikipedia, Delphinium
3. Theoi.com, Hyakinthos
4. Flower Database, Consolida ajacis
5. Magical Plant Folklore: Larkspur, Periwinkle, and Wormwood
6. Flower Meanings Dictionary from A to Z: the Secret Victorian Era Language of Flowers

Every time I read the word “lobelia,” I always hear it in the voices of those girls from Lobelia Girls’ Academy from Ouran High School Host Club.

It’s a very specific kind of brain rot. Anyway.

The other day, during the bone walk, we came across some Indian tobacco (Lobelia inflata) in a meadow. It was a striking looking plant, with tall flower spikes covered in things that looked almost like the tiny, dried flower “skulls” of the snapdragon plant. So, I thought now might be a good time to go into the various folklore, (very limited) medicinal, and magical uses of this very intriguing plant.

Lobelia Magical Uses, Folklore, and Medicinal History

The genus Lobelia is made up of a lot of plants with some very disparate characteristics. It’s not considered a very useful designation in a taxonomic sense. It’s very paraphyletic, meaning that it consists of lobelia’s most recent common ancestor and some (but not all) of its descendants. Lobelia species are also highly variable. There’s the giant lobelia of Tanzania, Lobelia deckenii, which is eaten by hyraxes and pollinated by birds. Then there’s Lobelia inflata, Indian tobacco, which is pollinated by bees and doesn’t appear to be eaten by much of anything. For the purposes of this post, I’d like to focus on the American lobelias.

In European-based folk magic, lobelia is often treated as a baneful herb — according to the (lovely, but now-defunct) Pooka Pages, it’s an herb that expresses hatred, where other baneful herbs might express dislike or anger. Its action is efficient, effective, and nasty, but seldom predictable.

Lobelia inflata, also known as Indian tobacco or puke weed, is native to eastern North America. Traditionally, it was an entheogen and, as the name “puke weed” suggests, an emetic. It was also used for skin and respiratory disorders. Consuming lobelia can lead to a lot of adverse effects, however, up to and including death. Its therapeutic index is narrow, and the medicinally helpful dose is very close to the potentially deadly one. As a result, it shouldn’t be used outside of the guidance and close supervision of a trained herbal medicine practitioner or an expert in its ceremonial use.

Lobelia siphilitica, or great lobelia, has an absolutely fascinating mechanism for pollination. (Seriously, it’s so cool.) It has three petals that are fused into a kind of landing pad for bees. When a bee lands that is just heavy enough, these petals bend downward as it wiggles its way toward the nectar. This triggers the plant’s stigma to also move downward, wiping along the bee’s back and picking up pollen granules.

Some lobelia species contain a compound called lobeline. This is a nicotine receptor agonist, meaning that it triggers nicotine receptors in the body. For this reason, some species have been used as a way to quit tobacco use. Refined lobeline has even been sold as a commercial anti-smoking aid and has been researched as a potential treatment for other addictions.

Since lobelia has been used as an entheogen, it’s sometimes used (preferably not internally) as an aid to visions and prophetic dreaming. In these cases, the dried leaves are typically added to sachets or dream pillows, or otherwise placed near the user’s bedside.

Using Lobelia

If you live in lobelia’s native range, it’s a great plant for native bees. Look for a species that’s endemic to where you live, and you won’t have to do much to care for it. Your local ecosystem will thank you.

Since lobelia can be rather dangerous when used improperly, I don’t recommend taking it internally despite its history of use as a medicinal herb. As I mentioned previously, the line between “helpful” and “possibly deadly” is very thin, and something that should only be navigated by someone who has been highly trained in its use.

That aside, there’s no reason not to include lobelia in formulas to repel or curse. Add the dried flowers to powders to drive someone away, for example, or include a dish of the dried leaves or flowers in spells that target an enemy. (Not necessarily a rival — as I also mentioned above, this is an herb for hatred. Not one you’d reach for just to outshine someone, express dislike, or exercise your anger.)

You can also include lobelia in jars or pouches for visionary work. While it’s also sometimes suggested to place the dried leaves under your pillow or beside your bed, it’s important to exercise caution here — you really don’t want to place it anywhere where a curious pet or child might ingest it. For that reason, I recommend using lobelia in container spells where the risk of ingestion is minimal.

Lobelia is an interesting, powerful herb that demands respect. On one hand, it’s an herb used for hatred and hexing. On the other, it’s an ally for those seeking prophetic dreams or visions. If you treat it well, and keep its unpredictable nature in mind, it can be a very helpful, fascinating friend.