animals

The Magical Meaning and Symbolism of Frogs

If you’re tired of bugs, you’re in luck! This week, we’re taking a look at frog symbolism.

A green tree frog, clinging to a metal post under a path light. Some purple asters are visible in the background.

My Handsome Assistant and I went for a walk the other day. It was late in the afternoon, and the weather was perfect for a little stroll to see if the leaves had started changing in earnest yet. While we didn’t see much autumn color yet (which is to be expected, as leaves change a bit later year by year), we did see something else that was pretty cool — a little green tree frog!

He’d camped himself out just under the glow of a path light. It was an ingenious move, since it gave him a virtually all-you-can-eat buffet of bugs attracted to the glow. He held still while we did a little amphibian photoshoot, with a backdrop of asters.

Frog symbolism is one of the most ancient and enduring features of civilizations around the world. According to The Book of Symbols, “[f]igures with a frog’s body and a woman’s face and genitalia have been found dating to as long ago as 6000 BCE, suggesting that the notion of a frog goddess is extremely ancient.” The book also notes that there are similarities in the posture of a human giving birth and a frog sitting.

The above similarity may be part of why frogs are sacred to the Egyptian goddess Heqet, a Goddess of Fertility. Frog symbolism is also rooted in the yearly flooding of the Nile, when the water (and nutrient-rich silt it brought with it) brought greater fertility to the land. Frogs also reproduce in water, depositing their eggs either in the water directly, or on leaves where their spawn can easily fall into water upon hatching.
Interestingly, Heqet may be the origin of the name of the Greek Goddess of Witchcraft, Hecate.

Southward, in South Africa, the ǀXam-ka ǃʼē people had traditions surrounding frogs and menstrual seclusion. The frog deity !Kwah was said to watch over women and girls during this time. If any were to defy this deity and leave seclusion, they and their families would be turned into frogs.

green and white frog resting on brown tree branch
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

In Mayan culture, frogs were rainmakers. They held an important role in the story of Kumix, a deity of maize, the sun, and rain. In some versions, they act as directional rain deities that reside on mountains. Here, again, is a connection between frogs and life-giving water — however, rather than the flooding of the Nile, the water comes from rain.
In Diné legend, frog symbolism is also associated with the cardinal directions. In the story of the creation and destruction of the First World (which we mentioned in the post about wasps), Frog lived in the sea to the west. Frog was also one of the creatures who became upset when the world grew crowded and chaotic.

In Hindu legends, frogs are associated with the sun. Bheki is a frog that represents the sun on the horizon. It’s said that Bheki was originally a beautiful woman. A king fell in love with her, and she agreed to marry him on one condition: He must never, ever show her a single drop of water. One day, Bheki grew tired and asked for a drink. Her husband brought her water, and she sank out of sight like the sun beneath the water.

vibrant red eyed tree frog on leaf
Photo by Ivan Rojas on Pexels.com

In feng shui, the Jin Chan (金蟾) is a charm for prosperity. Often translated as “money frog” or “money toad,” it is most commonly represented as a bullfrog with two forelegs and one hind leg, seated on a pile of coins with another coin in its mouth. This charm is said to protect against bad luck and help draw wealth into the household. For this reason, it shouldn’t be placed facing an exterior door, or in the bathroom or kitchen (where water flows out of the house).
While the connection between frog symbolism and water isn’t really explicit here, there are connections between fertility and prosperity through the concept of multiplying one’s desires or good fortune. In Egypt, the Nile floods, and the land’s fertility brings prosperity. In Meso- and South America, rain brings fertility to the land, and the land’s abundance brings prosperity.
In Chinese mythology, the Jin Chan is also connected to the moon — it’s said to appear on a full moon, near homes and businesses that are about to experience positive financial news. As the moon is also intimately connected to water through the tides, this may be another frog-to-water-to-prosperity connection.

Given the ubiquity of frog symbolism in myth and legend, it’s next to impossible to recount all of them here. Fortunately, a number of common threads arise with just a little bit of scrutiny. Frogs reproduce in water and are active where water is abundant. They’re thus connected to fresh, life-giving water, rain, and the fertility of the land. Through this, it’s also possible to see connections to abundance, prosperity, and fertility in general.

Sometimes, frogs also play key roles in the creation of people or civilization. This is particularly interesting, because it often involves a transformation in either direction. In Myanmar, the Va people believed that their ancient ancestors were two tadpoles that grew into frogs, and eventually into ogres. These ogres consumed all kinds of animals until, one day, they ate humans. From that day forth, they were able to reproduce and create human offspring — the ancestors of the Va.
On the other hand, in Vietnam, Bahnar legend tells that a human became a frog and ascended to the heavens to become a God of Agriculture.

photo of green frog on leaf
Photo by Lexo Salazar on Pexels.com

On the other hand, frog symbolism isn’t always positive or life-giving. In Christian mythology, frogs are one of the plagues of Egypt and spew forth from the mouths of monsters.
Frogs are also common fodder for witchcraft folklore. How many times have you heard stories of witches turning someone into a frog or toad? Even children’s tales like The Frog Prince revolve around such a transformation. You can see this reflected in modern media, too — ask anyone who’s ever played one of the older Final Fantasy games. Getting turned into a frog in the middle of a battle sucks.

Through their connection to water (and their own abundant procreation), frogs are tied to fertility. This isn’t just the fertility of animals and humans, but of the land itself.

Frog symbolism is also connected to cleansing, renewal, or purification. This is through frogs’ connection to water, but also because of their unique biology: Frog skin is a respiratory surface. It’s very permeable, and very susceptible to damage from imbalances in water chemistry. Frogs can’t thrive where things are dirty, and they are one of the “canaries in the coal mine” for water pollution.

Macro photography of green frog in water. Frog symbolism is closely connected to cleanliness, purity, and renewal because of their connection to water.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Frogs also represent transformation, of a variety of types. There’s the very obvious transformation from egg, to tadpole, to froglet, to frog, but there’s also more subtle, alchemmical ideas at play. As The Book of Symbols explains,

In dreams and fairy tales the frog arrives, quite suddenly, out of water somewhere, just as an aspect (often princely) of self-substance emerges from the waters of the unconscious, but is not yet in fully conscious, recognizable form. In many such fairy tales, this fertile little being from the watery regions must be accepted and attended to in its frog form, however unattractive or odd it may seem, and inevitably it transforms into the soulful prince or princess.”

Dreaming of frogs is said to herald a change or transformation. If the frog catches a bug, it symbolizes seizing an opportunity. If you eat the frog, it represents an unpleasant task that needs doing.
On the other hand, seeing leaping frogs can represent an inability to commit to a person, idea, or situation.

Frogs are one of our longest-enduring symbols, and frog symbolism is present in everything from creation myths to children’s tales and poems. Not only do these creatures help keep pest populations in check, they’re also powerful symbols of renewal, transformation, fertility, and prosperity.

Just for fun

Party like a Corvid

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I’m not usually one to categorize myself with a single “core” or “vibe,” but I’ve been described plenty often as Goblin- or Crowcore. Honestly, I agree. My ideal aesthetic is “abandoned baroque theater slowly being reclaimed by an adjacent swamp,” and I apologize to no one.

The trouble is, I also like parties. When it comes to entertaining that matches my crowcore party vibe, I usually come up short. (Martha Stewart ain’t exactly jumping at the chance to chime in on this one.)
Besides, I’m not into filling my house with mass-market goods. I don’t like it when things are too matchy-matchy, and slow decor is my speed. Stuff that’s secondhand, handmade, or straight-up found in the yard? Yes.

During the big Mabon feast, I ended up having to bring my contributions in things like silicone bags and mixing bowls. (Which is a bit less “slow decor and thoughtful consumption” and a bit more “first apartment” than what I was going for.) So, since we’re getting closer to the autumn/winter holiday season, I figured I’d put together a list of Things I Find Cool for Fall Parties.
If you’re like me, maybe you find them cool also.
Enjoy!

If food is art, a really nice serving dish is like an excellent frame. Not only will good serving dishes make foods look better, they’ll make them easier to serve. One thing I lack is serving dishes, but I found some by CreatingComfortLab that I really like. They’re a Ukranian-American company that makes all of their ceramics by hand, and they have beautiful dinnerware (I like their serving dishes in green or black, around $48-58 each).

A set of green oval serving platters on a gray background. A sliced kiwi and small knife sit on one of the platters.

If you prefer to thrift your crowcore party dinnerware, shops like GraniteStateAntiques have some beautiful vintage pieces, like this Pyrex forest fancies casserole dish. It’s a versatile piece that I really like, and looks great when mixed with newer, handmade dishes.

A gorgeous butter dish in black and beige, topped with morel mushrooms and patterned with multiple other mushroom species.

Nice serve ware isn’t just limited to plates, bowls, and platters, though. I also found this awesome morel butter dish ($65) by SweetArtAttackEllen. This shop has a lot of really fun, interesting designs, like this snail, moss, and turkey tail mushroom butter dish, and this spoon rest.

During certain times of year, all you need to do to find a good goblincore party centerpiece is go outside — there’re tons of pieces of interesting wood with really beautiful lichen and moss, cool stones, and fresh flowers. That isn’t an option for everyone, though, but artisans like AuroraMOSSDesigns use natural materials to create beautiful, interesting centerpieces for coffee tables and dining tables alike. Check this one out:

A light wood coffee table with an interesting centerpiece made of wood, moss, dried mushrooms, and pinecones.

Isn’t that gorgeous? It’s only one of many one-of-a-kind designs available, ranging from about $37 to $190.

If you prefer to make your own, you can also find small ornaments to help bring your centerpiece to the next level. I’m particularly fond of these handmade mushroom ornaments by juliecollings — mushrooms often lose their colors and shape during the drying process, but these can give you the same look in a more robust, longer-lasting form.

I like mismatched dishes — it’s much more my speed to have things that go together, rather than match. I also really enjoy vintage water goblets, in a whole array of shapes and colors. I keep my eyes peeled for them every time I go to a secondhand shop, but it takes time to build up a collection capable of serving a group. Sellers like SecondSongHomestead and ValmontVintage have a selection of colorful, eclectic vintage glasses available.

I’m a sucker for brass candlesticks (mismatched, just like my glasses). They’re another thing I keep an eye out for whenever I’m looking through secondhand shops. When they’re old, they develop some unique and lovely patinas, but they also polish up beautifully.

candles on sticks
Photo by Gizem Çelebi on Pexels.com

As with vintage water glasses, it can sometimes be difficult to find specific pieces to round out the look that you’re going for. A nice group of brass candlesticks, filled with natural beeswax candles, is a really beautiful addition to a crowcore party table or buffet when you’re entertaining. If you’re hunting for a specific shape or style of candlestick, and can’t seem to find it, TheCherryAttic and pamscrafts7631 might be able to help you. They both have groups of assorted brass candlesticks, sold separately so you can pick exactly what you’re looking for ($9-30).

Some nice beeswax taper candles aside, there are plenty of other lovely handmade candles that can help set the mood for your gathering. I love this massive toad candle from HoneyHoleCandles (and these smaller ones by LuxArtCandles). I wouldn’t ever burn him — I just want to have him around. LOOK AT HIM.

A person in a beige sweater, holding a large black beeswax candle shaped like a toad.

If scented candles are more your thing, you might want to check out this Witch of the Wood soy wax candle (scented with balsam, cedar, vetiver, sage, and citrus) by MoonstoneandMyth, or this Petrichor candle by ValiantCandle.

I mean, not for humans. I trust you probably have things figured out on that front. (If not, maybe try this post’s recipe for banana bread — it’s really good.)

These are snacks specially formulated for corvids — crows, ravens, jays, and magpies. AnitaApothecaryShop has a bagged blend for feeding your familiars, while OrganicRawRootsFarm has a whole starter kit for feeding crows. Pair it with a dish of fresh, clean water (they like to dunk their food), and you’ll likely have bird friends showing up in no time.

The last thing a party needs is some ambience. If you’re into fantasy lofi, check out Medieval Lofi. If Pagan and witchy music is more your vibe, I’ve put together a playlist (that I listen to all the time):

For more autumnal favorites, check out Etsy’s list of Fall Entertaining and Decor picks. Happy partying! 

🖤
animals

The Magical Meaning and Symbolism of Wasps

Last week was spiders, this week we’re doing the magical meaning and symbolism of wasps.

Why wasps?

In temperate climates, late summer and early autumn when many wasps (the eusocial ones, at least) start losing direction. Like kids on spring break, they no longer have the structure they once did — the nest is likely done producing larvae, the newly-created queens are getting ready to hibernate, and the wasply lifecycle comes to a close to start back up in spring. This means that the workers, if they haven’t died already, are about to.

The lack of larvae to raise also means that the wasps’ dietary habits shift. Where babies need protein in order to grow big and strong (and adequate protein is so important, worker wasps have been observed shoving drones into lockers in order to make sure that the larvae eat first), the workers have already done all the growing they’re going to do. They don’t need a high protein diet; they need carbs for energy. This often puts them in conflict with humans, as sugar sources start to wind down a bit this time of year and humans are generally a veritable bonanza of sugary treats.

A close-up of a wasp's face.
This one’s weirdly cute. Photo by David Hablu00fctzel on Pexels.com

So, if you’re noticing larger numbers of more aggressive wasps than usual, that’s probably why. They’re hungry, and they’re on a kind of wasply rumspringa. Don’t worry, though — they won’t be around much longer. It’ll get cold, the workers will die off, the queens will hibernate, et fin.

Right now, we have a wasp nest beneath a tree stump. We considered removing it, but it’s late enough that nature will take its course pretty soon, and then we can fill in the cavity to keep anyone else from setting up shop.

In honor of the last of the summer’s wasps, here are various bits of folklore, mythology, magical properties, and the symbolism of wasps.

Insects feature pretty frequently in Japanese folklore and mythology, wasps included. In one story, the deity Susanoo-mikoto ordered his son-in-law, Ôkuninushino-kami, to sleep in a room infested with wasps and centipedes. Fortunately, Suseribimeno-mikoto, his wife, gives him an insect-repelling cloth to protect him.

One of the plays of Aristophanes, an ancient Greek playwright, is titled The Wasps. In it, the titular wasps are a group of jurors. Bdelycleon, son of Philocleon, has imprisoned his father after many, many unsuccessful treatments for Philocleon’s seeming addiction to trials. When the jurors (Philocleon’s comrades) learn of his imprisonment, they swarm Bdelycleon like wasps. Bdelycleon eventually gives in, and turns the house into a “courtroom” where his father can judge household disputes.

In Boticelli’s painting Venus and Mars, there’s a small wasp nest far to the right, near Mars’ head. Wasps are associated with Mars (and his Greek counterpart, Ares) as animals that are considered aggressive or warlike, but this may not be why Boticelli chose to include them. The painting may have been commissioned by the Vespucci family (from the Italian “vespa,” or “wasp”), and the inclusion of the wasp nest may have been a nod to that.

Detail from Botticelli's Venus and Mars, showing Mars' face and an adjacent wasp nest.

Ichneumon wasps, a family of parasitoid wasps, were also instrumental in strengthening Charles Darwin’s doubts about the existence of a benevolent creator:

I cannot persuade myself that a beneficent and omnipotent God would have designedly created the Ichneumonidae with the express intention of their feeding within the living bodies of caterpillars[.]

I have seen multiple references to wasps as sacred animals in Indigenous American cultures, but haven’t found many specific examples of this — particularly examples sourced from Indigenous peoples themselves. This isn’t to say that this isn’t true, but any references to wasps as sacred, totemic, or spirit animals in generic “Native American” culture should be taken with a grain of salt. (North America is kind of a huge place.)
One specific story comes from the Diné people and tells the story of the First World — known as Ni’hodilhil, the Dark or Black World. This was a black place surrounded by four cloud columns: Black Night to the north, White Dawn to the east, Blue Daylight to the south, and Yellow Twilight to the west. The First Man, along with a perfect ear of white corn, was formed at the place where Black Night and White Dawn met. The First Woman, along with a perfect ear of yellow corn, was formed where Blue Daylight and Yellow Twilight met.
At that time, creatures did not have their present forms. They were as mists, but would one day become their present shapes.
In the story, the first man and first woman meet and live together. Gradually, other beings appear. First is Great-Coyote-Who-Was-Formed-in-the-Water, who hatched from an egg and knew all that went on under the water. Second was another Coyote, First Angry, who insisted that he had been born first, and brought witchcraft into the world. After that, four more beings appeared. They were the Wasp People, and they knew how shoot and harm others. They were followed by the Red Ants, the Black Ants, and many others, until the world became crowded and was full of arguing.
Eventually, the Gods became angry and the occupants of the First World were forced to leave. The First Man planted a reed in the east, which grew tall and strong. The First Man, First Woman, and all of the other creatures of the world climbed up it to safety, to the Second World.

A black and yellow wasp on a white flower.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Ahti, a little-known Egyptian deity, was represented as a hippopotamus with the head of a wasp. Not much is known about her, though her interesting composition has led some scholars to associate her with chaos, disorder, and spite.

In Hindu mythology, wasps are associated with Bhramari — the goddess of bees. Bees, wasps, hornets, spiders, termites, mosquitoes, and biting flies cling to her body, and she could send them out to attack for her. In the tenth book of the Devi Bhagavata Purana, there is a powerful asura named Aruna. He performs a penance to Brahma, and, in return, Brahma makes it so Aruna cannot be killed in war by any man, woman, weapon, bipedal creature, quadrupedal creature, or any combination thereof. Feeling suitably overpowered, Aruna called on other beings to attack the devas. He nearly succeeded in beating them, too, until Adi Parashakti appeared and began releasing bees from her hands. Calmly, she continued releasing insects that clung to her body, making her larger and larger and creating the divine form of Bhramari.
When all of Aruna’s army had been defeated except him, she released her insects upon him to tear him limb from limb. This story is especially interesting because the warlike symbolism of wasps is still present, but used in a defensive, benevolent sense.

John Gerard, a sixteenth century herbalist, had a method of tree divination using acorns. The technique involved finding an acorn at a specific time of year (likely autumn), breaking it open, and examining the contents:

  • If there was an ant inside, there’d be an abundant harvest in the coming year.
  • On the other hand, a worm that attempts to crawl away means a light harvest.
  • A spider was a harbinger of pestilence for humans.
  • A white worm was a harbinger of pestilence for animals.
  • If the worm thrashed and turned away, however, it meant the plague.
  • If there was a worm that “flew away” (perhaps by growing into an adult knopper gall wasp), it foretold war.
A wasp climbing on a mossy stick.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Some modern witches use deceased wasps as an ingredient in banishing or protective powders. Combine them with ingredients like salt, hot pepper, and garlic, and grind to a fine powder. Use to dress candles, sprinkle around borders, et cetera.

The symbolism of wasps generally revolves around war, arguments, and violence. This is probably undeserved, as there are plenty of non-aggressive wasp species. (I mean, I woke up the other day with a little ichneumon wasp crawling on my leg. She was tiny, harmless, and seemed at least as confused as I was, considering both of us were A) in a bed and B) under a blanket.)

Wasps’ connection to violence isn’t always unjustified, however. These creatures, and stinging insects in general, also frequently represent punishment and wrath. Even in the story of Bhramari, where wasps are part of the insect army that eventually defeat Aruna, they are part of the righteous, defensive wrath of the goddess.

They’re also symbols of strictly enforced boundaries and protection.

On the other hand, the symbolism of wasps in dreams is linked to evil and negative emotions. Dreams of being stung by a wasp may indicate envy. Killing a wasp in a dream represents bravery in overcoming the negativity or malicious actions of others.

Are wasps aggressive? They certainly can be, but this isn’t directionless aggression. In reality, they’re very protective. The trouble is, it’s often difficult for humans to tell where our territory ends and theirs begins, which frequently brings us into conflict. Still, wasps perform very important functions as pollinators and predators of pest insects, so it’s worth learning about your local wasp species and finding ways to coexist whenever possible.
Sometimes that long “stinger” is just an ovipositor, and that wasp is on the way to take care of your garden for you!

animals

The Magical Meaning of Wasps

Last week was spiders, this week we’re doing wasps.

Why wasps?

In temperate climates, late summer and early autumn when many wasps (the eusocial ones, at least) start losing direction. Like kids on spring break, they no longer have the structure they once did — the nest is likely done producing larvae, the newly-created queens are getting ready to hibernate, and the wasply lifecycle comes to a close to start back up in spring. This means that the workers, if they haven’t died already, are about to.

The lack of larvae to raise also means that the wasps’ dietary habits shift. Where babies need protein in order to grow big and strong (and adequate protein is so important, worker wasps have been observed shoving drones into lockers in order to make sure that the larvae eat first), the workers have already done all the growing they’re going to do. They don’t need a high protein diet; they need carbs for energy. This often puts them in conflict with humans, as sugar sources start to wind down a bit this time of year and humans are generally a veritable bonanza of sugary treats.

A close-up of a wasp's face.
Photo by David Hablu00fctzel on Pexels.com

So, if you’re noticing larger numbers of more aggressive wasps than usual, that’s probably why. They’re hungry, and they’re on a kind of wasply rumspringa. Don’t worry, though — they won’t be around much longer. It’ll get cold, the workers will die off, the queens will hibernate, et fin.

Right now, we have a wasp nest beneath a tree stump. We considered removing it, but it’s late enough that nature will take its course pretty soon, and then we can fill in the cavity to keep anyone else from setting up shop.

In honor of the last of the summer’s wasps, here are various bits of folklore, mythology, and magical properties associated with these creatures.

Insects feature pretty frequently in Japanese folklore and mythology, wasps included. In one story, the deity Susanoo-mikoto ordered his son-in-law, Ôkuninushino-kami, to sleep in a room infested with wasps and centipedes. Fortunately, Suseribimeno-mikoto, his wife, gives him an insect-repelling cloth to protect him.

One of the plays of Aristophanes, an ancient Greek playwright, is titled The Wasps. In it, the titular wasps are a group of jurors. Bdelycleon, son of Philocleon, has imprisoned his father after many, many unsuccessful treatments for Philocleon’s seeming addiction to trials. When the jurors (Philocleon’s comrades) learn of his imprisonment, they swarm Bdelycleon like wasps. Bdelycleon eventually gives in, and turns the house into a “courtroom” where his father can judge household disputes.

In Boticelli’s painting Venus and Mars, there’s a small wasp nest far to the right, near Mars’ head. Wasps are associated with Mars (and his Greek counterpart, Ares) as animals that are considered aggressive or warlike, but this may not be why Boticelli chose to include them. The painting may have been commissioned by the Vespucci family (from the Italian “vespa,” or “wasp”), and the inclusion of the wasp nest may have been a nod to that.

Detail from Botticelli's Venus and Mars, showing Mars' face and an adjacent wasp nest.

Ichneumon wasps, a family of parasitoid wasps, were also instrumental in strengthening Charles Darwin’s doubts about the existence of a benevolent creator:

I cannot persuade myself that a beneficent and omnipotent God would have designedly created the Ichneumonidae with the express intention of their feeding within the living bodies of caterpillars[.]

I have seen multiple references to wasps as sacred animals in Indigenous American cultures, but haven’t found many specific examples of this — particularly examples sourced from Indigenous peoples themselves. This isn’t to say that this isn’t true, but any references to wasps as sacred, totemic, or spirit animals in generic “Native American” culture should be taken with a grain of salt. (North America is kind of a huge place.)
One specific story comes from the Diné people and tells the story of the First World — known as Ni’hodilhil, the Dark or Black World. This was a black place surrounded by four cloud columns: Black Night to the north, White Dawn to the east, Blue Daylight to the south, and Yellow Twilight to the west. The First Man, along with a perfect ear of white corn, was formed at the place where Black Night and White Dawn met. The First Woman, along with a perfect ear of yellow corn, was formed where Blue Daylight and Yellow Twilight met.
At that time, creatures did not have their present forms. They were as mists, but would one day become their present shapes.
In the story, the first man and first woman meet and live together. Gradually, other beings appear. First is Great-Coyote-Who-Was-Formed-in-the-Water, who hatched from an egg and knew all that went on under the water. Second was another Coyote, First Angry, who insisted that he had been born first, and brought witchcraft into the world. After that, four more beings appeared. They were the Wasp People, and they knew how shoot and harm others. They were followed by the Red Ants, the Black Ants, and many others, until the world became crowded and was full of arguing.
Eventually, the Gods became angry and the occupants of the First World were forced to leave. The First Man planted a reed in the east, which grew tall and strong. The First Man, First Woman, and all of the other creatures of the world climbed up it to safety, to the Second World.

A black and yellow wasp on a white flower.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Ahti, a little-known Egyptian deity, was represented as a hippopotamus with the head of a wasp. Not much is known about her, though her interesting composition has led some scholars to associate her with chaos, disorder, and spite.

In Hindu mythology, wasps are associated with Bhramari — the goddess of bees. Bees, wasps, hornets, spiders, termites, mosquitoes, and biting flies cling to her body, and she could send them out to attack for her. In the tenth book of the Devi Bhagavata Purana, there is a powerful asura named Aruna. He performs a penance to Brahma, and, in return, Brahma makes it so Aruna cannot be killed in war by any man, woman, weapon, bipedal creature, quadrupedal creature, or any combination thereof. Feeling suitably overpowered, Aruna called on other beings to attack the devas. He nearly succeeded in beating them, too, until Adi Parashakti appeared and began releasing bees from her hands. Calmly, she continued releasing insects that clung to her body, making her larger and larger and creating the divine form of Bhramari.
When all of Aruna’s army had been defeated except him, she released her insects upon him to tear him limb from limb.

John Gerard, a sixteenth century herbalist, had a method of tree divination using acorns. The technique involved finding an acorn at a specific time of year (likely autumn), breaking it open, and examining the contents:

  • If there was an ant inside, there’d be an abundant harvest in the coming year.
  • On the other hand, a worm that attempts to crawl away means a light harvest.
  • A spider was a harbinger of pestilence for humans.
  • A white worm was a harbinger of pestilence for animals.
  • If the worm thrashed and turned away, however, it meant the plague.
  • If there was a worm that “flew away” (perhaps by growing into an adult knopper gall wasp), it foretold war.
A wasp climbing on a mossy stick.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Some modern witches use deceased wasps as an ingredient in banishing or protective powders. Combine them with ingredients like salt, hot pepper, and garlic, and grind to a fine powder. Use to dress candles, sprinkle around borders, et cetera.

Wasps represent war, arguments, and violence. This is probably undeserved, as there are plenty of non-aggressive wasp species. (I mean, I woke up the other day with a little ichneumon wasp crawling on my leg. She was tiny, harmless, and seemed at least as confused as I was, considering both of us were A) in a bed and B) under a blanket.)

Wasps’ violence isn’t always unjustified, however. These creatures, and stinging insects in general, also frequently represent punishment and wrath. Even in the story of Bhramari, where wasps are part of the insect army that eventually defeat Aruna, they are part of the righteous, defensive wrath of the goddess.

They’re also symbols of strictly enforced boundaries and protection.

On the other hand, dreaming of wasps is said to represent evil and negative emotions. Dreams of being stung by a wasp may indicate envy. Killing a wasp in a dream represents bravery in overcoming the negativity or malicious actions of others.

Are wasps aggressive? They certainly can be, but this isn’t directionless aggression. In reality, they’re very protective. The trouble is, it’s often difficult for humans to tell where our territory ends and theirs begins, which frequently brings us into conflict. Still, wasps perform very important functions as pollinators and predators of pest insects, so it’s worth learning about your local wasp species and finding ways to coexist whenever possible.
Sometimes that long “stinger” is just an ovipositor, and that wasp is on the way to take care of your garden for you!

Blog · Just for fun

Cozy Horror Picks for October

I like cozy horror. No jump scares, just a deeply unsettling vibe. The more it blurs the lines between fiction and reality, the better. I like my horror weird, too. Surreal. Like taking a nice walk down a country lane on a soft drizzly morning and encountering something gray and viscous moving toward you that may once have been a deer.
That kind of thing.

These are my favorite pieces of cozy horror, perfect for an October afternoon:

1. I am in Eskew

I am in Eskew is a surreal horror audiodrama that follows the life of a man living (or trying to) in an ever-shifting city that seems bent on tormenting him. Every episode is essentially an audio diary, narrated by one (and eventually two) voices with the sound of rain in the background. It’s very weird.
It’s very unsettling.
It’s also weirdly soothing.

This series is also complete, so you don’t have to worry about waiting for new episodes to drop.

2. The Codex Seraphinianus

The Codex Seraphinianus is an illustrated guide to an imaginary world, complete with indecipherable writing. Why is the writing indecipherable? Because it’s meant to be — it’s asemic, and intended to convey the wonder and mystery of a child “reading” a book they don’t yet understand. While this book isn’t exactly horror, I’ve included it here because it does create a delightfully unsettling atmosphere — like a discarded relic from a complete, complex, fully fleshed-out world that you don’t understand, never knew existed, and operates entirely differently from your own.

3. Modes of Thought in Anterran Literature

This is another audiodrama, and it’s just delightful. It’s delivered as a series of lectures (and some assorted other recordings here and there) given by a professor who was once a big name in classical studies, but seems to have gone off the deep end. Upon getting tenure and the permission to teach one class of his choosing, he created “Modes of Thought in Anterran Literature” — a class dedicated to analyzing the literature of a long-dead society.

Anterra is also the world’s oldest civilization, tens of thousands of years older than any other recorded society. It was completely unknown until a Chinese submarine sank in the Pacific, coming to rest nearly on top of an Anterran city.

The character of the unnamed professor is engaging, but also soothing enough to make this a decent podcast to sleep to. There are virtually no jumpscares here — just the creeping dread of uncovering the secrets of a dead civilization, including what caused them to mysteriously collapse.

4. The Magnus Archives

The Magnus Archives is an episodic horror anthology, though all of the stories are connected by common threads. The Magnus Institute is an organization dedicated to studying the bizarre. Jonathan Sims, the Institute’s new head archivist, sits down to convert hundreds of written records to audio and, when necessary, add follow-up notes based on research by his team.

Individually, the stories are spooky enough. Once you get deep enough in, a bigger, much more frightening picture starts to emerge.

5. Welcome to Night Vale

Night Vale is a sleepy desert town with some… interesting characteristics. Welcome to Night Vale is an audiodrama in the form of a nightly news show. Hosted by the very soothing-voiced Cecil, it blends the surreal and the macabre with the everyday.

I first got into Night Vale when I was living in California, shortly after being diagnosed with intracranial hypertension. I was severely disabled at the time, unable to leave the house (or bed, most days). Night Vale kept me company, kept me entertained, and provided the perfect blend of humor, horror, and relaxation that I needed.

6. Junji Ito’s Cat Diary: Yon & Mu

Yon and Mu are two cats owned by renowned horror manga artist Junji Ito and his wife. The cat diary details Ito’s life as he adjusts to living with two cats — but, because it’s him, the illustrations are hilariously unsettling. He uses exaggerated horror to illustrate some of the most mundane aspects of living with a cat, and the end result is often more funny and heartwarming than frightening.

7. Weeping Cedars

Weeping Cedars is an audiodrama in the form of a documentary on the small upstate New York town of Weeping Cedars. It’s the site of more than its share of group violence and hysteria, but that’s not the strangest part. The town also seems to just sort of “forget” all of these tragedies, so nobody notices that things have developed a strangely cyclical — possibly even predictable — pattern.

The documentarians try to uncover the lost secrets behind these events, but is it too late? Can they do more than just sit and watch as things continue to unravel?

8. The Last Movie

The Last Movie is an audiodrama set in the same universe as Tanis (one I probably would also recommend, but sadly not beyond the first season or so). Nic Silver and MK investigate the existence of an underground — and possibly cursed — movie.

It’s short, self-contained, and very good if (like me) you’re a fan of cursed media.

9. The Dark Pool

The Dark Pool is another audiodrama, this time set in Maryland. A college professor and a group of students engage in a series of meditation exercises, and record their follow-up conversations. However, as the series goes on, it becomes terrifyingly apparent that there’s a lot more going on than just learning to quiet the mind. As the experiment continues, they begin experiencing bizarre phenomena. Will they be able to break free, or have they already gotten the attention of something they can’t escape?

Here’s hoping your autumn is equal parts cozy and strange!

animals

The Magical Meaning and Symbolism of Spiders

(If you’re arachnophobic, you probably want to skip the whole “symbolism of spiders” post. Don’t worry — I’ll be back next week with some more non-spider related lore.)

This is Matilda. I was out checking for more ground candy (aka, the delicious maypops that fall off my porch’s vines when they’re ripe), when I happened to look up and realize that I was face-to-face with a massive orbweaver (Neoscona species).

A close up of a large, hairy orb weaver perched in the center of a web.

Later that afternoon, once she’d had a chance to build a sizeable web right across the upper part of my window, I very carefully opened the window to snap multiple pics of her from a variety of angles.
It was then that I realized that there was a fire truck and an ambulance in front of one of my neighbor’s houses.

(Note to neighbors: THERE WAS A COOL SPIDER. I PROMISE THAT I’M NOT A MANIAC.)

(Also the emergency vehicles left pretty uneventfully, so hopefully everyone is okay.)

*Ahem*

Anyhow, this is the time of year when sightings of these guys peak around here. So, in honor of Matilda, I figured now would be a good time to write a bit about the magical meaning and symbolism of spiders.

In Greek mythology, the first spider was a woman named Arachne. She was a marvelously talented weaver — allegedly better than Athena herself. She challenged her to a weaving contest, and Arachne’s weaving was, indeed, very beautiful. However, while her weaving was flawless, Arachne had chosen to create a tapestry mocking the gods. (In some tellings, Athena is simply enraged by Arache’s pride.) Angered, Athena transformed her into a spider.

A close up of a jumping spider's face, showing their fuzzy pedipalps and big, black, almost puppylike eyes.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

In Catholic Christian mythology, the symbolism of spiders relates to faith. Saint Conrad of Constance, a German bishop, is said to have seen a spider fall into his cup during Easter Mass. While it was widely believed that all spiders were venomous (or, in this case, poisonous) Conrad drank the wine and trusted in his faith to preserve him.

Probably the best-known spider in mythology is Anansi, from the Ashanti people. He’s viewed as a cunning trickster figure. He’s so prominent, that he gave rise to the term “spider tales,” which encompasses several kinds of story within the Ashanti oral tradition.

In North America, spiders were viewed as either trickster figures, or ingenious creators. The Hopi and Diné people have Spider Grandmother, who plays a key role in the creation of the world.

Another close up of a very cute, fuzzy white jumping spider.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

In Peru, spiders frequently appear in ancient artworks (including the famous Nazca lines). While the specific significance of these depictions is often uncertain, it is known that the Cupisnique people had a spider deity associated with weaving, nets, war, and power.

In Australia, spiders sometimes appear in art and as clan totems.

The people of Kiribati Island and the Republic of Nauru, of Micronesia, both have spider figures that play a central role in their creation mythology.

In Japan, there are spider-like yokai called ogumo, yatsukahagi, or tsuchigumo. Tsuchigumo translates as “earth spider,” but likely didn’t originate as a spider at all. Historian Yoshiyuki Takioto put forth the idea that tsuchigumo were local chieftains (described as short people with long limbs, who lived in caves, eschewed civilization, and disregarded the imperial court), These chieftains were most likely shamans.
The yokai tsuchigumo first turns up in medieval literature, as a spider-like figure 60 meters long. When killed, the heads of almost 2000 people fell from its belly.

In Scotland, spiders were an inspirational figure during the First War for Scottish Independence. After a series of defeats, Robert the Bruce hid in a cave. While there, he watched a spider struggle to climb a strand of silk. Despite failing over and over, the spider eventually succeeded. This gave him the encouragement he needed to go back into battle and eventually win Scotland’s independence.

A slender black and yellow spider perched on its web.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It’s often said to be bad luck to kill a spider that you find in your home. This has a (perhaps unsurprising) grain of truth to it — killing spiders in your house means that you’re opening yourself up to all of the much less desirable things that spiders eat. If an infestation of flies or ants looks like bad luck to you, then you might want to heed this bit of folklore!

The symbolism of spiders in dreams includes:

  • Feeling like an outsider — like a spider in a web in the corner of a room.
  • Wanting to be an outsider.
  • A protective force.
  • A strong or overbearing feminine figure.
  • Rewards for one’s hard work.
  • Unpleasant relationships. Relationships one can’t escape, a (usually feminine) person who is draining one’s energy, a conflict with an overbearing person.

However, dreaming specifically of a rainbow colored spider is said to point to a situation that you probably want to avoid.

Spiders have far-reaching symbolism. Across cultures, they’ve been everything from tricksters to cosmic creators, to the unfortunate fate of the proud.

In general, these animals are associated with industry and creativity. Spider webs come in an astonishing variety of shapes and sizes — from small, silk-lined burrows to impressive constructs that are as delicate as they are massive.

Strands of a spider's web, highlighted in the sunlight. There are trees and shrubs visible in the background.
Photo by Phil Kallahar on Pexels.com

They’re also associated with snares, webs, and trickery. Spiders who use webs to catch their food place them in places where they’ll be both efficient and unobtrusive — virtually invisible, until an unwitting insect (or unlucky hiker) bumps into them. Spiders who don’t use webs generally either rely on natural camouflage to hide them as they run down their prey, or conceal themselves and wait for the opportunity for ambush. In all cases, they are patient, diligent, and cunning.
This can be good for you, if you’re seeking to emulate the spider a la Robert the Bruce.
It can also be very bad, if you’re heading into a situation that may prove to be a trap.
As with all things, context is important when it comes to interpreting omens.

A close up of a jumping spider, on what appears to be a striped rug or blanket.
Jumping spiders are ambush predators. Photo by Skyler Ewing on Pexels.com

Spiders are also connected to resiliency. No matter how many times their webs are destroyed, they rebuild them. They get knocked down, and they climb right back up again.

To an extent, spiders are also symbols of healing and rebirth. A spider can lose a leg or two and (if they survive the injury without losing too much hemolymph) will regrow them with subsequent molts.

Not a lot of people like spiders. Personally, I was never a fan of them — they terrified me as a kid. Eventually, I forced myself to take an interest in them, their body language, and their habits. I’m glad I did, because they’re really beautiful, fascinating, helpful creatures when you get right down to it.

animals

The Magical Meaning of Spiders

(If you’re arachnophobic, you probably want to skip this one. Don’t worry — I’ll be back next week with some more non-spider related lore.)

This is Matilda. I was out checking for more ground candy (aka, the delicious maypops that fall off my porch’s vines when they’re ripe), when I happened to look up and realize that I was face-to-face with a massive orbweaver (Neoscona species).

A close up of a large, hairy orb weaver perched in the center of a web.

Later that afternoon, once she’d had a chance to build a sizeable web right across the upper part of my window, I very carefully opened the window to snap multiple pics of her from a variety of angles.
It was then that I realized that there was a fire truck and an ambulance in front of one of my neighbor’s houses.

(Note to neighbors: THERE WAS A COOL SPIDER. I PROMISE THAT I’M NOT A MANIAC.)

(Also the emergency vehicles left pretty uneventfully, so hopefully everyone is okay.)

*Ahem*

Anyhow, this is the time of year when sightings of these guys peak around here. So, in honor of Matilda, I figured now would be a good time to write a bit about the magical meaning of spiders.

In Greek mythology, the first spider was a woman named Arachne. She was a marvelously talented weaver — allegedly better than Athena herself. She challenged her to a weaving contest, and Arachne’s weaving was, indeed, very beautiful. However, while her weaving was flawless, Arachne had chosen to create a tapestry mocking the gods. (In some tellings, Athena is simply enraged by Arache’s pride.) Angered, Athena transformed her into a spider.

A close up of a jumping spider's face, showing their fuzzy pedipalps and big, black, almost puppylike eyes.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

In Catholic Christian mythology, spiders are connected to faith. Saint Conrad of Constance, a German bishop, is said to have seen a spider fall into his cup during Easter Mass. While it was widely believed that all spiders were venomous (or, in this case, poisonous) Conrad drank the wine and trusted in his faith to preserve him.

Probably the best-known spider in mythology is Anansi, from the Ashanti people. He’s viewed as a cunning trickster figure. He’s so prominent, that he gave rise to the term “spider tales,” which encompasses several kinds of story within the Ashanti oral tradition.

In North America, spiders were viewed as either trickster figures, or ingenious creators. The Hopi and Diné people have Spider Grandmother, who plays a key role in the creation of the world.

Another close up of a very cute, fuzzy white jumping spider.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

In Peru, spiders frequently appear in ancient artworks (including the famous Nazca lines). While the specific significance of these depictions is often uncertain, it is known that the Cupisnique people had a spider deity associated with weaving, nets, war, and power.

In Australia, spiders sometimes appear in art and as clan totems.

The people of Kiribati Island and the Republic of Nauru, of Micronesia, both have spider figures that play a central role in their creation mythology.

In Japan, there are spider-like yokai called ogumo, yatsukahagi, or tsuchigumo. Tsuchigumo translates as “earth spider,” but likely didn’t originate as a spider at all. Historian Yoshiyuki Takioto put forth the idea that tsuchigumo were local chieftains (described as short people with long limbs, who lived in caves, eschewed civilization, and disregarded the imperial court), These chieftains were most likely shamans.
The yokai tsuchigumo first turns up in medieval literature, as a spider-like figure 60 meters long. When killed, the heads of almost 2000 people fell from its belly.

In Scotland, spiders were an inspirational figure during the First War for Scottish Independence. After a series of defeats, Robert the Bruce hid in a cave. While there, he watched a spider struggle to climb a strand of silk. Despite failing over and over, the spider eventually succeeded. This gave him the encouragement he needed to go back into battle and eventually win Scotland’s independence.

A slender black and yellow spider perched on its web.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It’s often said to be bad luck to kill a spider that you find in your home. This has a (perhaps unsurprising) grain of truth to it — killing spiders in your house means that you’re opening yourself up to all of the much less desirable things that spiders eat. If an infestation of flies or ants looks like bad luck to you, then you might want to heed this bit of folklore!

In dream dictionaries, dreaming of spiders is believed to represent:

  • Feeling like an outsider — like a spider in a web in the corner of a room.
  • Wanting to be an outsider.
  • A protective force.
  • A strong or overbearing feminine figure.
  • Rewards for one’s hard work.
  • Unpleasant relationships. Relationships one can’t escape, a (usually feminine) person who is draining one’s energy, a conflict with an overbearing person.

However, dreaming specifically of a rainbow colored spider is said to point to a situation that you probably want to avoid.

Spiders have far-reaching symbolism. Across cultures, they’ve been everything from tricksters to cosmic creators, to the unfortunate fate of the proud.

In general, these animals are associated with industry and creativity. Spider webs come in an astonishing variety of shapes and sizes — from small, silk-lined burrows to impressive constructs that are as delicate as they are massive.

Strands of a spider's web, highlighted in the sunlight. There are trees and shrubs visible in the background.
Photo by Phil Kallahar on Pexels.com

They’re also associated with snares, webs, and trickery. Spiders who use webs to catch their food place them in places where they’ll be both efficient and unobtrusive — virtually invisible, until an unwitting insect (or unlucky hiker) bumps into them. Spiders who don’t use webs generally either rely on natural camouflage to hide them as they run down their prey, or conceal themselves and wait for the opportunity for ambush. In all cases, they are patient, diligent, and cunning.
This can be good for you, if you’re seeking to emulate the spider a la Robert the Bruce.
It can also be very bad, if you’re heading into a situation that may prove to be a trap.
As with all things, context is important when it comes to interpreting omens.

A close up of a jumping spider, on what appears to be a striped rug or blanket.
Jumping spiders are ambush predators. Photo by Skyler Ewing on Pexels.com

Spiders are also connected to resiliency. No matter how many times their webs are destroyed, they rebuild them. They get knocked down, and they climb right back up again.

To an extent, spiders are also symbols of healing and rebirth. A spider can lose a leg or two and (if they survive the injury without losing too much hemolymph) will regrow them with subsequent molts.

Not a lot of people like spiders. Personally, I was never a fan of them — they terrified me as a kid. Eventually, I forced myself to take an interest in them, their body language, and their habits. I’m glad I did, because they’re really beautiful, fascinating, helpful creatures when you get right down to it.

animals · life

Pagan Pride 2024! (In which I meet some very handsome lads.)

This past Saturday was Pagan Pride at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Frederick. If you’ve never been, I highly recommend it — there’s live music, workshops on a variety of subjects, food, and tons of vendors of all kinds of cool stuff!

(I, personally, came away with a mug, some artwork, a mushroom-shaped incense holder, a pin, a set of earrings, dried organic lavender, magnesium butter, a really cool jar shaped like a skull, a hand-dyed and block printed bandana, and a display of a mossy log set with three corked test tubes. The stump in the front yard has been putting out a ton of interesting mushrooms lately, and I’ve been dehydrating what I can identify. I’m looking forward to displaying them once they’re done!)

This year, I decided to skip the workshops in favor of hanging out with friends (actually, many of the friends that I just saw at the Mabon celebration), listening to music, and eating delicious sorbet. The Street Cow‘s Cowabunga sorbet pop is non-dairy, real fruit puree, and awesome.

An image of a series of moon-shaped suncatchers. They're all made of copper wire, decorated with gemstones, brass charms, and crystals.

Also, I met some very handsome lads.

This is Spectre.

An image of a snowy owl, with his beak agape.
Spectre is fine, it was just toasty out and he is a young boy who is very excited to see new things.

He was part of Avian Encounters, a group of falconers who provide people with the chance to learn about and see raptors close up. These are all trained birds, kept by licensed professionals who know how to properly feed, care for, and mentally engage them. Getting to see birds like this up close is a rare and fascinating experience.

They also had a little screech owl, an American kestrel…

And (oh, be still my heart) a gorgeous African pied crow.

A close up of an African pied crow, showing their distinctive white chests and backs. They look like black crows that are constantly wearing little white sweater vests.

“May I take a picture of him?” I asked, barely able to contain my excitement.

“Sure! If you make a donation, you can also hold him and take a picture.”

!!!!

A photo of the author with the pied crow perched on their arm.

Needless to say, I did. He sat still for a short video (the picture to the right is a still), before hopping back to his handler. The whole time, I gushed to him (like a starstruck dork) about how pretty he is.

Human celebrities are all well and good (I saw one of my favorite musicians not long ago and managed to be surprisingly normal about it). A really cool bird or bug, though? I will absolutely lose my mind.

Pagan Pride is delightful every year, but this year was particularly special. I really hope Avian Encounters is there next year, too — the birds are all beautiful, alert, and well cared-for, and it’s a great opportunity to learn more about them and get some close-up reference photos for paintings.

life

Faun @ Baltimore Soundstage

Wednesday night, my Handsome Assistant and I went to go see Faun at Baltimore Soundstage. (I know — I mostly listen to folk metal, but I also enjoy a fair bit of regular Pagan folk, too. My Assistant is predominately into punk, but still lets me drag him along.)

By the time we left, I was sweaty and exhausted. We stopped at a Wawa on the way home, where I proceeded to eat half a tube of Pringles for dinner.
And the show was 1000% worth it.

Faun band members Stephan, Oliver, and Adaya on stage, in front of a large banner with a deer skull and the name "Faun."

For real. I know live music sounds completely different from studio recordings. Studio recording flattens things out (especially with the loudness wars), but I don’t think I’ve ever heard quite as dramatic a difference between a band’s studio recordings and their live performances as I did with Faun. Their melodies have a depth and complexity that I couldn’t really appreciate before, and oh man did it make for a fantastic show.

Even my Handsome Assistant, for whom Faun would not be his first choice, admitted that it was probably the best live show he’d heard.

Remember a few days ago, when I wrote about the chants workshop at the Mabon camping trip? Specifically, how the resonance of the chants themselves had profound impacts on the chanters? It was like that. Skin-tingling, heart-pumping, literally entrancing music.

The between song banter was also funny and clever. Oliver s. Tyr gave cultural and historical context for songs, interspersed with jokes and bits of mythology.

Singer Laura Fella didn’t appear on this tour. (She very recently had a baby, so congratulations to her and her family!) This meant that they weren’t able to perform some of their songs that rely on having both her and Adaya, so they played a few of their older songs instead.

Another shot of the band on stage, featuring Alex, Stephan, Oliver, Niel, and Adaya.

The show closed with Hymn to Pan, which seemed like the perfect ending — I used to have it on a sleep/relaxation playlist, and I love listening to it to unwind. It was also beautiful to hear the entire venue sing the chorus. Literally the best choice of encore.

This was the first opportunity I’ve had to see Faun live, and I’m so happy I did. It was an incredible show. Even though getting there involved an hour’s drive each way after a long workday, both my Handsome Assistant and I left feeling happy and energized.

Some kind souls on Spotify have also made playlists of Faun’s 2024 setlist. While they aren’t completely accurate to what the band played Wednesday night, they’re still very good listening and a wonderful introduction to Faun’s work.

Plants and Herbs

Nepenthes (Pitcher Plant) Folklore and Magical Properties

Now that I’m home, I’ve been spending the day unpacking, straightening up the house, taking care of my cats and plants, and eating pho. It didn’t take me long to notice some new… uh, additions.

A close-up of an N. ventrata pitcher.
Audrey’s newest pitcher.

This is Audrey. Every so often, especially if she’s gotten plenty of humidity, she puts out gorgeous little pitchers. I reward her by hand-feeding her dried black soldier fly larvae.

A close-up of another pitcher on the same plant.
Another pitcher on the opposite side.

Since she seemed to be in particularly good humor when I came home, I thought now might be a good time to take a deeper look at the folklore and magical properties of the beautiful, unique, profoundly strange Nepenthes.

The plant genus Nepenthes is named for nepenthe, an ancient medicine said to heal sorrow and induce forgetfulness. It’s mentioned in ancient Greek literature, and is typically depicted as originating in Egypt.
It also appears in the Edgar Allan Poe poem “The Raven”:

Respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

An image of an open pitcher plant, displaying the "lid," slender neck, and round belly of the pitcher.
Photo by Phoebeud83dudc1f on Pexels.com

Nepenthes consists of numerous species. In garden centers and plant nurseries, you’re most likely to encounter N. x ventrata — a hybrid of a N. ventricosa and N. alata.

Pitcher plants prey on insects by providing sugar and water to lure them into their pitchers. Their leaves have nectaries — special glands that secrete sweet nectar — and their pitchers contain water and digestive enzymes. Insects are attracted to the presence of food and water, and end up caught in the pitchers where they eventually drown and get digested.
(They’re pretty much Hotel California for bugs.)

However, not all pitcher plants feed on insects. N. lowii, a species native to Borneo, is known for its… rather unique shape.
Toilets.
The pitchers look like toilets.
Not only do they look like toilets, they are toilets.
N. lowii has an interesting relationship with a local shrew species. As with insects, the shrews are attracted to the pitcher plant’s nectar. While they’re there, they generally end up crapping directly into the conveniently toilet-shaped pitchers. The shrews get free nectar, and N. lowii gets free nutrient rich shrew leavings.

A close up of the mouth of N. bicalcarata, showing the pitcher's "lid" and two pointy "teeth."
Nepenthes bicalcarata, known for its two pointy “teeth.” It has a mutualistic relationship with a species of carpenter ant that makes nests in the plant’s tendrils. The plant benefits by receiving nutrients in the form of dead ants and ant feces. Photo by Yufan Jiang on Pexels.com

Other pitcher plants have symbiotic relationships with frogs. The frogs hang out in the pitchers, just under their “lids.” They eat insects that are attracted to the plant, and, as with the shrews, leave their nutritious little doots behind. They help dispose of pest insects that are more likely to harm the pitcher plant than to feed it, and the plant still gets a boost of nutrients.

One other pitcher plant species, N. rajah, has pitchers large enough to snare rats. It’s a particularly visually striking species.

In pitcher plants’ native areas, they’re often used as a source of clean water. When the pitchers initially form, they come complete with a little bit of water in their bellies to dilute the plant’s digestive enzymes to a usable level. People will sometimes crack open a fresh pitcher and drink the water inside. The trick is to use a very fresh, young pitcher — once the pitcher has opened itself, and its “lid” is raised, it may be contaminated and is no longer safe to drink.

A close up of a young pitcher, with its "lid" still sealed.
This is an earlier image of the first pitcher pictured in this post. Notice how it’s greener, slimmer, and its “lid” hasn’t opened yet. Even in this state, it has a generous amount of liquid in the belly of the pitcher. At this stage, the pitcher hasn’t yet come into contact with any insects.

Interestingly, this water is more than just a refreshing drink on a hot day. It’s also used as medicine. Nepenthes water has been used to treat digestive issues and constipation (which makes sense, considering it’s just water and stuff that helps digest things), as well as urinary tract infections.
An extract of the plant is also used to prevent scar formation.

A view of particularly striking Nepenthes pitchers, with bright red hairs and streaks on their otherwise-green pitchers.
Photo by Egor Komarov on Pexels.com

There aren’t a whole lot of resources for those looking for typical European-based magical uses for Nepenthes species. From my own experience, these plants seem to be very useful for attraction. Just be warned — while they’re effective, they aren’t quite as docile and well-intentioned as something like rose or lavender. (All things considered, this probably isn’t too surprising for a carnivorous plant!)
They’re also helpful for defense and healing.
Lastly, Considering the enormous crossover between “plants that repel or get rid of pests” and “plants historically used for purification,” it may be worth experimenting with pitcher plants as a potential purification herb.

Elementally, pitcher plants are associated with Water.

If you have access to fresh pitchers, you can add the water to a ritual bath or window, door, and floor wash for attraction. Just make sure that these are fresh, unopened pitchers. You really don’t want to be dumping partially decayed bug soup into your bath.

If you don’t have access to them, then you can also use dried pitchers. Like any other part of a plant, they don’t last forever — the pitchers have a lifespan and naturally dry up and fall off after a while. Just make sure that whatever pitchers you use are cleaned up, free of insect parts, and completely dried.

Dried pitchers are suitable for container magic like jars, sachets, or spell bottles. They also look really cool when they’re pressed in a book or between glass.

I love carnivorous plants, but it’s not always easy to find resources for using them in western magic. Since I’ve begun keeping them and developing a close relationship with them, I’ve found that they have a wonderful variety of potential magical (and even medicinal) uses. Pitcher plants don’t just help keep homes bug-free, they’re also incredibly interesting and versatile friends to have!