Tag: native plants

life, Plants and Herbs

Grassassination, a Year and a Half Later.

J.

It’s been a while since I’ve written about my ongoing battle against the lawn. It started with a tarp, then went on to solarizing, then sheet mulching, then replacing the unwanted turf grass with native groundcovers, to discovering some kind of gigantic alien mystery plant we didn’t plant that accidentally ended up being delicious.

So, since it’s been about a year and a half, how’s it going?

The grass hasn’t come back. Instead, the area is made up of (mostly) mulch, interspersed with some slow-growing moss phlox (Phlox subulata), bee balm (Monarda fistulosa), violets (Viola sororia), and echinacea (Echinacea purpurea) plants. Occasionally, I’ll find a patch of native wild onion (Allium canadense). The border closest to the house is made up of non-native strawberries, which the birds, squirrels, carpenter bees, and also I seem to enjoy. Along the front path, there’s thread leaf coreopsis (Coreopsis verticillata). In the center, there’s the little redbud tree (Cercis canadensis).

A white Phlox subulata flower.
A flower from one of the white Phlox subulata plants. These guys actually flowered pretty much all through winter!

There are also small mats of non-native “weeds,” like chickweed, purple deadnettle, and speedwell. These aren’t exactly what I was going for, but they do have several advantages over grass:

  1. I’m not allergic to them. Flowering plants like these are typically pollinated by insects. Grasses are wind pollinated. Wind pollinated plants are much more likely to be responsible for allergies, because their pollen ends up in the air (and eventually your eyes, nose, and lungs). This is also why bee pollen is generally not a great way to desensitize oneself to hay fever — it’s primarily made up of sticky, heavier flower pollens, rather than the wind-carried pollens that people with hay fever most commonly react to.
  2. They’re edible. Chickweed is actually pretty nutritious, and so is purple deadnettle. I’m not up on all of the nutrition facts and medicinal uses of speedwell, but I am assured that it is also edible.
  3. They’re not invasive enough to be restricted. While these three plants aren’t native species, they typically have pretty shallow root systems and aren’t super competitive.
  4. They require no effort. Unlike lawn grasses, they don’t need fertilizing, pesticide, weed treatment, or supplemental irrigation. While they’re not as beneficial as native groundcovers, they’re at least not a net negative like turf grass.
  5. They’re an early food source for pollinators and small herbivores. Since they’re not native to the US, they haven’t evolved alongside our native pollinators and thus aren’t really an ideal source of nectar. They do, however, provide more food that a mowed monoculture lawn does.
  6. Honestly, it looks better. I’m not a fan of the manicured look of suburban lawns. This spot has a ways to go still, but tiny blue, purple, and white flowers and multi-hued foliage beat grass any day.

Tiny blue speedwell flowers.
Itty bitty speedwell.

Should anyone run out and sow a speedwell, deadnettle, or chickweed lawn? No, not in the US. (Non-native clover lawns aren’t really a great idea, either.) Nonetheless, I’m in less of a hurry to eradicate these plants than I was to get rid of the grass. It’s reassuring to see other plants moving into an area that was once a mowed, lifeless monoculture.

And, if you’re an invasivore, you can always eat them.

Bright purple Phlox subulata flowers.
Some of the purple moss phlox. Oddly, these guys didn’t flower as resiliently as the white did. They’re putting out more flowers now, though!

This year, the plan is to plant more moss phlox and bee balm, and maybe another coreopsis or two. I’d also like to find a source for native strawberries. These grow in slightly different conditions to the cultivated strawberries you usually see in garden stores and groceries and are a good addition to “edible landscaping” plans. For now, I’m pretty happy with the progress this little patch of dirt has made!

Neodruidry, Plants and Herbs, Witchcraft

Hydrangea Folklore and Magical Uses

J.

I’ve written a bit about the hydrangeas we planted here. We’ve got two oakleaf and one bigleaf hydrangea, all of whom did pretty well after planting. (Well, until an incident with some botanical mosquito control, but that’s another story and everyone is fine.) It was interesting to see how the sunlight and shade seemed to affect them — the oakleaf hydrangea who got the most sun exhibited some signs of stress in the beginning, where the one planted in partial shade seemed to settle right in. Once it had time to acclimate, however, the sunny oakleaf hydrangea rapidly outgrew its compatriot!

It’s going to be a little while before I can see how my guys fared through the winter, but I’m confident that they’ll do okay and very excited to see them put out new flowers this year. In the meantime, I thought I’d soothe some of my impatience by writing about the various traditions, folklore, magical uses, and fun sciency things surrounding hydrangea.

(Also, as you read this, my Handsome Assistant is obtaining the Replacement Car. It has more cargo space than the Hyundai did, so you know what that means: I can convince him to haul home even more bushes, because I’ve got coupons to American Plant and a head full of weird ideas.)

Hydrangea Magical Properties and Folklore

The name “hydrangea” translates almost perfectly into “water jar.” It comes from the Greek words angeion, for vessel or capsule, and hydr-, for water. It makes sense, too — the seeds look like little amphorae, and these plants like water.

A blue cluster of hydrangea flowers against a backdrop of dark green leaves.
Photo by Rifqi Ramadhan on Pexels.com

In Victorian floriography, the cryptic language of flowers, hydrangeas have a somewhat contradictory meaning. On one hand, they represent gratitude. On the other, they represent heartlessness. This kind of makes sense if you consider them as a response to a would-be suitor. Very “thanks… but nah.”

In China, hydrangeas are associated with heartfelt apologies. These flowers are sometimes poetically called “the flowers of the Eight Immortals.” The Eight Immortals are legendary figures revered in Taoism. In one tale, the forces of the Immortals and the Dragon King clash. To apologize, the Dragon King offers seven of the Immortals beautiful hydrangea flowers.

Different colored hydrangeas can represent different things. Blue hydrangeas are the ones most commonly associated with regret and apology. White ones represent grace, purity, and vanity. Pink are for appreciation and gratitude. Yellow are for joy and friendship. Green hydrangeas are for rebirth, prosperity, abundance, and renewal. (This rather closely follows the meanings attributed to different colored roses, with the notable exception of blue. Roses do not produce blue pigment, so any “blue” roses are either actually lilac in color, artificially colored, or photo edited.)

It should be noted that a hydrangea’s colors can be variable. Unlike other plants, the things that give them their colors aren’t different pigments. Pink hydrangeas, for example, aren’t actually any different from blue ones. Hydrangeas act as giant, living masses of litmus paper. When they grow in acidic soil, their growing conditions cause their pigment to exhibit a blue color. If the soil is more basic, then it will exhibit a pinker color.

Here’s where it gets a bit more complicated. The soil pH itself isn’t actually what influences the hydrangeas’ color. It’s the naturally occurring aluminum ions in the soil. When soil is acidic, these aluminum ions are free to do their thing, hook up with other ions, have a gap year, go clubbing, get tiny little asymmetric haircuts, etc. They’re also easily taken up by the hydrangea plant, where they get all up in the hydrangea’s reddish pigment and turn it blue. In basic soil, aluminum ions connect with hydroxide ions, settle down, buy property, and get tiny little purse dogs. Aluminum hydroxide isn’t easily taken up by hydrangea plants, so the blooms stay pink. You can force a hydrangea’s blooms to change color, but it’s a whole Thing involving a lot of chemistry, soil amendments, and time.

Also, hydrangea flowers aren’t flowers at all — like flowering dogwoods, their “petals” are really modified leaves. The actual flowery bits (the tiny fertile parts in the center) aren’t super noticeable, so these jazzed-up leaves provide support and protection for the flowers, and help pollinators figure out what’s what.

Pink hydrangeas, the product of basic soil.
If you look closely at the center of each “flower,” you can see the actual hydrangea flower. You can also see the leafy veining pattern in each “petal.” Photo by Alena Yanovich on Pexels.com

From what I’ve seen, at least three online sources indicate that hydrangeas were once used to break curses. If a malevolent witch put a curse on someone, hydrangea flowers could get rid of it. However, I haven’t seen this attributed to any specific culture or tradition, nor have I found exactly how to use hydrangeas as hex-breakers.

A great many herbs with magical and folkloric significance have also historically been known for their medicinal properties. Hydrangeas are poisonous overall, but their roots and rhizomes do have some medicinal virtues. Both traditional medicine and modern research demonstrate some potential effectiveness against inflammation and problems with the bladder and kidneys, as well as a diuretic effect.

Hydrangeas aren’t just a little poisonous, either. They contain amygdalin, the same cyanide-producing compound in bitter almonds. It’s also related to the one that was rebranded as “laetrile” and “vitamin B17” and sold to unsuspecting and desperate cancer patients. That said, a completely different compound called hydrangenol may inhibit bladder cancer, and that’s neat!

Astrologically, hydrangeas are connected to Libra. Elementally, they’re associated with Water. (Which makes a lot of sense, considering their preferred growing conditions and the whole diuretic thing.)

Using Hydrangea

Though I wasn’t able to find a source for breaking curses with hydrangeas, they can be useful to grow as boundary plants. In most cases, a plant’s magical function follows its mundane form and use. Hydrangeas are dense, lush, and also poisonous. () A nice, healthy hedge of hydrangeas is a wonderful boundary. Just shoot for native varieties — they’ll thrive more easily, require less intervention, and you’ll be helping out your local pollinators and combating habitat loss!

A cluster of light blue hydrangea flowers against a dark background.
Photo by Sonny Sixteen on Pexels.com

Hydrangeas also make beautiful, very easy bouquets, offerings, and altar decorations. Each head is pretty much a bouquet on its own. Choose a bloom that’s the right color for your intention — for money or fertility spells, for example, choose green ones. For purification, pick white. Just make sure to keep them away from children and pets.

Hydrangeas also dry beautifully, though they lose some of their color in the process. Still, the “flowers” have a structural beauty. They’re good for wreaths and basket arrangements. Consider making a dried hydrangea wreath and empowering it to energetically protect your home’s entryway.

I still have some time before these hydrangeas bloom, but I can hardly wait. Here’s hoping they’ve settled in enough to fill out and flower abundantly this year!

Plants and Herbs

Wintergreen Folklore and Magical Uses

J.

Winter’s rapidly coming to an end — we still have a day or so of snow and cold temperatures here and there, but there are signs of the plants and soil waking up all over. On one particularly nice day, I was sipping a root beer on the back deck when a memory came to me out of the blue.

Two glasses of soda, with ice and straws.
Photo by PhotoMIX Company on Pexels.com

“I could never stand that stuff,” a friend of mine once said.

“What, root beer? It’s like the most basic beverage of no offense to anyone.”

“It tastes like mouthwash,” he replied.

“… You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong, though. Some of your fancier, gourmet root beers do contain derivatives of wintergreen, perhaps best known for playing a starring role in chewing gum, breath mints, those white Lifesavers candies, and yes, toothpaste and mouthwash. Even the artificially flavored ones have echoes of this flavor.

Wintergreen is a fun ingredient. It has a ton of uses industrially, medicinally, magically, and in food. It also has one of those names that can get you in a bit of trouble if you’re not careful.

Wintergreen Magical Uses & Folklore

(and a bunch of chemistry stuff)

There are a lot of plants named “wintergreen.” Members of the genus Gaultheria are native to Asia, Australasia, and the Americas. Pyrola is distributed temperate and arctic North America, Europe, and Asia. Chimaphila used to be a whole separate thing, but is now in the same family as the other wintergreens. (Don’t get me started on one-flowered wintergreen.) All of these genera fall under the family Ericaceae. Some members of Lysimachia are sometimes called “wintergreen” even though they’re all pimpernels and loosestrifes (loosestrives?) and aren’t related at all. As if that weren’t confusing enough, the term “wintergreen” also used to be applied to any plant that remained green through the winter, the way we now use the word “evergreen.”

While there are a ton of different wintergreens out there, the classic oil of wintergreen flavor is primarily either derived from Gaultheria wintergreens or synthesized.

A bit of modern folklore says that, if you bite a wintergreen candy in the dark, it’ll spark. Wintergreen candies can create sparks under the right conditions. This is due to triboluminescence, which occurs when energy is put into atoms by friction, heat, et cetera. When those atoms return to their normal state, that energy is released as a brief spark. Chomping on regular old sucrose is enough to generate a little triboluminescence, but the brightness of wintergreen candy sparks comes from a neat synergy between the sugar and the wintergreen oil. The oil’s most notable aromatic compound, methyl salicylate, is fluorescent. When the sugar grinds against itself when you bite it, it emits a bit of dim triboluminescence that’s mostly outside of the visible spectrum. The fluorescent methyl salicylate absorbs this energy and releases it as much more visible blue light. Put it all together and voilà, sparks!

Red wintergreen berries and green leaves.
Photo by Mike Serfas.

Speaking of methyl salicylate, you might recognize the “salicyl” in there. (Methyl salicylate is an ester of salicylic acid — in fact, artificial wintergreen flavor is synthesized from straight-up salicylic acid and methanol.)

Traditionally, Indigenous people prepared the leaves as a tea to ease symptoms of rheumatism and other joint pains. In the body, methyl salicylate gets metabolized into salicylic acid, the same pain reliever derived from white willow bark (Salix alba). However, wintergreen oil is pretty potent stuff. A single teaspoon of it is about equivalent to 20 300mg aspirin tablets!

Another member of the Ericaceae family, Chimaphila maculata, is known as “spotted pipsissewa.” This is derived from the word pipsisikweu, meaning “breaks into small pieces,” since it was traditionally used to treat gall, kidney, and bladder stones.

Though the oil is highly potent, teaberry is edible. The berries can be made into pies, and the leaves eaten as a potherb.

Because of its evergreen properties, wintergreen is used for money drawing. In Hoodoo formulas, for example, it often finds its way into gambler’s incense. Nothing like an herb that stays green to help keep you rolling in green, right?

In other traditions, this herb is used for clarity, focus, and healing. It is sometimes included in anointing oils for meditation, in the belief that it’ll help the user focus and heighten the meditative experience.

Carrying a sprig of wintergreen is said to keep evil away and attract luck to the bearer. It’s often used as an herb for general protection. (Oil of wintergreen is also an ingredient in some lubricants used for weapons, for entirely unrelated reasons.)

Wintergreen is sometimes used as a love-drawing ingredient, though I haven’t often seen it included in recipes for this purpose. It makes sense, though, considering the ways it’s used to attract other good things.

Wintergreen is associated with Saturn (as a protective herb) and the Moon (as a healing and love-drawing herb). It’s also connected to the astrological sign Capricorn.

Using Wintergreen

Man, I really wish I had more to point to here.

The thing is, I’m one of those people who’re unfortunate enough to be “salicylate sensitive.” It doesn’t take all that much for me to experience salicylate poisoning. (Pepto Bismol made me deaf for a week, with the exception of a constant, maddening, high-pitched whine.)

Sure, other herbs contain various salicylate-related compounds. I mean, even rosemary is pretty high in them. Wintergreen oil has a bit of a reputation, however, and it isn’t entirely undeserved. So even anointing with an oil containing wintergreen is A Lot for me.

(Just gonna pause here to let everyone get all the “wintergreen repels evil” jokes out of the way. Aaand… okay.)

This is by no means to scare you away from this herb — far from it. It has a long history of use as medicine because it has an effect on the body. For some, that’s relieving pain. For people like me, it’s less pleasant.

As a result, I don’t really work with wintergreen much myself. When I do, it’s usually through consuming food or beverages flavored with it, rather than using the oil or herb directly. I essentially treat them as pre-made potions, which I empower and enchant for whatever I need them to do. Usually that’s using a cold herbal root beer to ease a headache or a sour stomach.

Wintergreens are also wonderful plants to grow. Under the right conditions, they can even replace non-native lawn grasses. They’re low-growing understory plants and an abundant source of food for wildlife. Growing them near your home can help repel bad energy, attract good energy, reduce the environmental and monetary burdens of pesticides, chemical fertilizers, and extra irrigation, and bring you many small bird friends.

Should you use wintergreen? If you’re not allergic or sensitive to it or any of its components, then there’s no reason to avoid this beautiful, versatile herb. Treat it responsibly and respectfully, and keep wintergreen preparations well out of the way of pets and children.

Neodruidry, Plants and Herbs, Uncategorized

Cedar Tree Folklore & Magical Properties

J.

I’m not a fan of fake greenery. While it can definitely amp up a room’s decor when it’s judiciously combined with real plants, I always end up forgetting to maintain it until it’s faded, dusty, and doing the exact opposite of helping things look fresh and natural. Blegh.

Anyway, when it comes to decorating for Yule, my Handsome Assistant and I go for fresh greens. There’s a florist nearby who sells trimmed branches of various evergreens pretty cheaply. Combine a few of them with some wired ribbon, and you can make a very pretty swag or garland without spending much money at all.

A close up of fanlike American cedar branches.
Photo by Abdul Zreika on Pexels.com

This year, we picked up the cutest little potted Alberta spruce tree. We’re keeping it indoors until spring, at which point I’m going to repot it and set it outdoors. Next winter, it’ll probably still be small enough to fit in the living room and be next Yule’s tree, too. Once it’s outgrown its pot, we’ll plant it in the front yard.

We also picked up some trimmed branches from an incense cedar tree (Calocedrus decurrens), which I used to decorate table tops and the top of our curiosity cabinet.

Since we’ve been taking down our Yule decorations and cleaning up the shed bits of greenery, I thought now might be a good time to look into the folk tales and magical associations of cedar trees.

Cedar Magical Uses and Folklore

First things first: “Cedar” isn’t a very exact term. True cedars are chiefly found in the Mediterranean, but there are also quite a few unrelated American species referred to as “cedar.” True cedars have needles, while American species have flat leaves, like scales, that form delicate fernlike or fingerlike structures (as seen in the photo above). There are only four species of “true” cedar: cedar of Lebanon (Cedrus libani), Atlas cedar (C. atlantica), Cyprus cedar (C. brevifolia), and deodar cedar (C. deodara). American cedar species are actually members of the cypress family, Cupressaceae!

The needles of an Atlas cedar, one of the "true cedars."
Photo by Feyza Dau015ftan on Pexels.com, showing the needles of a “true cedar.”

American cedars are culturally significant to the people indigenous to the trees’ native ranges. Indigenous people used (and continue to use) cedar as a sacred incense and purifying herb. Cedar trunks were used to make boats, the branches were used to filter sand from water and when leaching acorns for acorn flour, and the fibrous roots are still used to make beautiful baskets.

Cedar smoke was also used to prevent illness, which mirrors the old Scottish practice of fumigating one’s home with juniper for the same purpose. This is particularly interesting since the eastern red cedar, Juniperus virginiana, is actually a juniper. Junipers are also members of the cypress family, like other American cedars are.

Many Salish groups had special rituals for the felling of cedar trees. These trees are considered symbols of providence, abundance, and generosity.

A Mi’kmaq tale warns you to be careful what you wish for. A man went to the legendary Glooskap and asked if it was true that Glooskap gave people whatever they asked him for. Glooskap demurred, saying that he couldn’t always answer people’s requests, but he helped however he could. The man asked Glooskap for immortality, but he refused — all things must die. Once everything has died, even Death would probably die. Disappointed, the man asked to live longer than any man has ever lived. In return, Glooskap turned the man into a tall cedar tree.

A Potawatomi tale tells of a group of men who visited the Sun to ask for help. One desired to see the future, two desired immortality, another desired a blessing associated with water, and yet another had gone along just to help the others. The man who wished to see the future was set down in the west, where the Sun goes to end the day. One of the men who wanted to be immortal became a boulder. The man who wanted a water blessing became a half-man, half-fish. The other man who wished for immortality became a cedar tree. This is how people received the stones and cedar used in sweat lodge ceremonies.

In Judeo-Christian stories, cedar represents protection and strength. Its wood was used to build Solomon’s temple. According to Medieval Christian tradition, the cross used during the crucifixion was made of cedar. For this reason, it was considered bad luck to burn cedar wood. Planting a cedar in your yard was also believed to bring misfortune and poverty, but a cedar growing naturally was considered fortunate.

In Irish folklore, cedars were associated with strength and durability. Their wood is extremely rot-resistant, and the trees live for a very long time.

Like a lot of other magical ingredients used for protection and banishing, all types of cedar repel pests. The aromatic compounds in their essential oils are a deterrent for moths and all kinds of biting insects. All around the world, there’s a very strong connection between “plants that keep bugs out” and “plants that keep evil away.”

Depending on your needs, you may or may not be able to substitute juniper-family cedars for “true” cedars. There is quite a bit of overlap, however — no matter which species you’re working with, these trees are connected to purification, protection, longevity, and strength.

Since we’re talking about some very distinct groups of trees that use the same common name, I won’t go into cedar’s medicinal properties here. This underlines the importance of using standardized nomenclature — each of these species has its own bouquet of medicinal compounds (and some potentially dangerous ones, like thujone), so it’s important to know exactly what you’re using. Never go by a plant’s common name when you’re looking for medicinal ingredients, because there’s a ton of common name overlap between completely unrelated species.

Using Cedar

The most important thing to recognize when working with cedar is that this is a plant that should be respected. The famous cedars of Lebanon (Cedrus libani) were highly regarded — the oldest among them were considered sacred, and anyone who harmed them would be overtaken by misfortune. In the Potawatomi tale above, the man who became a cedar says that one should “call the cedar tree your nephew when you speak of it.” Folklore all around the world warns against cutting down a cedar without performing the proper ceremonies.

With that in mind, there are multiple ways to work with cedar. Cedar essential oil is frequently used in magical aromatherapy (though a little bit goes a very long way). Cedar twigs can be burned as incense and used in smoke cleaning. Since the wood and needles are so strongly aromatic, you can also infuse them in oil.

Dried conifers are easy to crumble, so they’re an easy ingredient to include in magical powders or incenses. Grind dried cedar leaves fine and sprinkle the powder in the corner of your rooms or around the border of your property while asking for protection against malevolent forces.

If you or anyone in your household has been sick. use cedar smoke to drive the illness out. Give the sickroom (in modern homes, the sick person’s bedroom and bathroom) a thorough physical cleaning, air it out well, and fumigate it with cedar smoke.

Right now, I have some dried cedar branches waiting to be used. These didn’t require a tree to be felled — instead, they’re trimmings. My plan right now is to grind the leaves fine, mix them with a binder, and form them into incense cones. The branches have blessed and protected my home when they were fresh, and they can continue to do so once they’re processed into incense.

I love the warm, earthy, spicy smell of cedar. In my tradition, it’s connected to the sun and the element of Fire. During these dark, cold months, inviting the power of cedar into your home can bring some much-needed heat, light, cleanliness, and protection.

Plants and Herbs

Cypress Folklore and Magical Properties

J.

I first started this post in January… of 2020.

A bald cypress in autumn. The needles are a vibrant read and very close to falling.

The reason it took so long was because I wanted to do the subject justice. Cypress trees are my favorite trees. I feel closer to them, and more power from them, than I do other trees. They’re sacred to me. I even have a glass pendant filled with slivers of lightning-struck bald cypress wood, and a pendulum made of a naturally fallen bald cypress’ knee.

Since the local bald cypresses have lived up to their names and done their trademark needle-shedding, I thought now would be a good time to dust this post off and finally finish it.

Cypress Magical Uses & Folklore

To the ancient Greeks, cypress trees had a tragic origin. Kyparissos was a youth who was beloved by Apollo. Apollo gave Kyparissos a beautiful tamed stag who accompanied the boy everywhere. Unfortunately, the stag was slumbering in the forest when the boy was out hunting, and he accidentally killed his stag with a hunting spear. Heartbroken, Kyparissos grieved so deeply that he transformed into a cypress tree.

The staff of Asklepios, the Greek God of Healing, was made of cypress wood. Though cypress does have some medicinal qualities, it’s likely that his staff used cypress less for its healing attributes, and more for its connections to immortality.

Sacrifices to Hades and Persephone were made under groves of cypress trees. Asklepios’ staff may have been a symbolic placation of the deities of the Underworld, so that they would not take his patients.

One of Athena’s names was “Lady of the Cypress.”

Bald cypresses are so named because they are deciduous. Every year, they shed their needles during the winter months.

Bald cypresses (Taxodium distichum, in the Cupressaceae family) are also unique in that they form “knees” — tall, knobbly growths that spring straight up from the trees’ roots. Nobody’s really sure why this happens, as the knees don’t appear to serve a particular purpose and removing them doesn’t seem to affect the trees negatively. They just kind of… happen. Some theories for cypress knees describe them as an adaptation for living in very wet environments, by helping to aerate the roots, provide an additional means of preventing erosion, or helping to stiffen and strengthen the root system.

Some cypress knees get pretty big. While they’re mostly conical in shape, they can be really irregular and knobby. It wasn’t uncommon for travelers, particularly those walking at night, to mistake them for other people or even monsters.

In general, cypresses are guardians of boundaries. Members of Cupressaceae are symbols of death, immortality, the afterlife, and liminal spaces. Their typically upright growth habit connects the earth to the sky, and they’re commonly planted on the borders of cemeteries. Kyparissos’ legend further associates these trees with death and grieving. Since these trees are evergreen, they are identified with the concepts of immortality and the afterlife as well.

I wasn’t able to find much information about Chinese cypress species, but the bit I did find suggests that cypress seeds were eaten to preserve longevity. In Japan, hinoki cypresses have a prominent place in Shinto rituals. Hinoki wood is used to start ritual fires, as well as to make the priests’ scepters.

A close up of a cluster of green cypress cones.

Though bald cypresses are native to America, they still connect to similar concepts as their Middle Eastern, European, and Asian counterparts. Though they resemble evergreen conifers, they shed their needles every year — a symbolic death and rebirth. They also grow where the water meets the land, which is another liminal space.

According to Persian legend, a cypress tree was the first tree to grow in Paradise. It’s evergreen leaves and extremely durable and rot-resistant wood made it a fitting symbol for immortality.

Cypress motifs are frequently used to decorate graves and tombs. You can see this on Christian graves, and in abstract depictions on Turkish Muslim tombs as well.

Some sources claim that Indigenous American peoples believed that cypress trees had a connection to the spirit world. This claim is vague, however, and since I couldn’t find any specific references to which tribes and nations believed this, it should be taken with a grain of salt.

Cypress wood, when used in wands, is said to have a calm and soothing energy. This follows cypress’ use as a symbol of, and remedy for, grief.

Medicinally, cypress oil is used to soothe coughs, treat warts, ease hemorrhoids, treat cuts and broken skin, relieve pain from muscle aches and varicose veins, and ease symptoms of anxiety and depression.

Personally, I love cypress and get a lot out of its connection to the other worlds. Bald cypresses, in particular, are excellent emblems of the thin border between the material plane and the spirit worlds. I’ve used cypress to ease thanatophobia, and as part of an excellent oil for trancework.

Using Cypress

If you don’t have access to cypress trees or wood, the easiest way to work with them is probably through their oil. Cypress trees are fragrant and produce a lovely essential oil. If you avoid using essential oils due to safety or sustainability concerns, you can also try purchasing some cypress needles and infusing your own oils. I’m fortunate that bald cypresses are native to this area, so there are plenty around when I need to gather twigs, needles, or cones.

If you work with grief, or as part of the counseling or deathcare industries, it may be worthwhile to explore the properties of cypress wood or oil. Even if you don’t choose to use incorporate this into your work, the aromatherapeutic and energetic properties may help ease the stress of confronting death and grief on a daily basis.

A close up of the base of a bald cypress trunk, showing four distinct knees. A pond and more trees are visible right behind them.

I have several bald cypress knees around my house. Some are altar pieces, some are floor sculptures, some are cabinet specimens. It doesn’t hurt bald cypress trees to have their knees removed, and many homeowners do so in order to make their yards a little safer and easier to maintain. You can often find cypress knees for sale on Etsy or eBay.

Cypress trees are great. If you live in an area with a native cypress species, plant one. They’re beautiful, they’re useful, and they’re powerful.

Plants and Herbs

Maple Folklore & Magical Properties

J.

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 Magical Properties and Folklore

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.

Using Maple

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!

J.

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.

What do beautyberries taste like?

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.

What else is beautyberry helpful for?

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.

Are there any beautyberry lookalikes?

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.

How do you grow American beautyberry?

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!

Plants and Herbs

Grape Folklore & Magical Properties

J.

It’s the most wonderful time, of the year.

Okay, so.
There’s a new fruit quest. (If you have been reading here for a while, you might be familiar with the persimmon quest that I force my Handsome Assistant to accompany me on every year.)

A year ago, I tried my first muscadine. It was almost the size of a wild plum, the deep purple of a cloudless night sky, with firm flesh that tasted like a combination of grape jelly and extremely good wine. It was sweet and juicy, in perfect, balanced contrast to the firm, tart, slightly tannin-y skin. I could probably wax rhapsodic about muscadines and scuppernongs for way longer than anyone would be comfortable with.

Muscadines ripening on the vine.

Anyhow, I saw them pop up at the farmer’s market at about $13 a container and was sad to pass them up. Immediately after that, I saw them at Aldi for about $3.69. (Nice.)

Normally, I’d advocate for buying from farmer’s markets versus a supermarket whenever you’re able to. The thing about muscadines is that their range is very limited, so even the grocery store variety has traveled, at max, a few states away. They’re also seasonal, so they’ll disappear from the shelves as soon as their time is up.

This is why the other evening saw me leaving Aldi with arms full of containers of muscadines and scuppernongs (they’re the same species, but scuppernong is usually used for muscadine grapes that are kind of a light bronzy-green in color). I was also quietly singing a little song about how excited I was to have tasty grapes, and possibly skipping. (I am fortunate that my Handsome Assistant seems to find my goofball-ass qualities endearing.)

So, since it’s muscadine season, I figured I’d write a bit about grapes. Muscadines (Vitis rotundifolia) are strictly an American fruit, so they’re another plant you won’t find in old grimoires or European mythology, but that’s okay! They’re a kind of grape (Vitis species), and grapes in general have had a prominent place in myth and magic everywhere they appear.

Grape Magical Uses and Folklore

Grapes figure heavily in Greek and Roman legend. According to the Greeks, the first grapevine came from a satyr named Ampelos. He caught Dionysus’ eye, and the deity romantically pursued him… at least, until Ampelos mocked the Moon Goddess Selene and got himself gored by a bull. Heartbroken, Dionysus transformed Ampelos’ body into the first grapevine.

(According to Ovid, things panned out a bit differently. In this version, grapes already existed, Ampelos fell while picking them, died, and Dionysus transformed him into a constellation.)

In Christian mythology, grapes are associated with abundance. Moses sent spies into Canaan (the “promised land”), who then returned with a cluster of grapes so large, it required two people to lift it.

On the other hand, some scholars claim that the “forbidden fruit” of the Garden of Eden was also a grape, not an apple as it’s commonly portrayed. Other scholars claim it may even have been wheat, so who knows.

Two bunches of grapes. They're a mixture of ripe and unripe fruits, showing shades of deep blue, to purple, to bright green.

In the ogham alphabet, muin, is often said to be a grape vine. However, grapes aren’t native to Ireland (they showed up with the Romans), and tend not to grow well there anyhow. Grapes also don’t really appear in Celtic legends with significance. Etymologically, connecting muin to the word “vine” is also tricky. For this reason, you’ll find a lot of debate about the actual meaning of this fid, as well as what plant it was even meant to represent in the first place. (Probably originally thorny brambles, like blackberries, though this meaning may have shifted over time.)

Grapes and wine are also generally good offerings for a wide variety of spirits and deities.

Vines, in general, are associated with binding. This isn’t necessarily binding in a negative or protective sense — binding can also be used to hold a favorable situation to you.

Elementally, grapes are associated with Earth and Water. They’re also associated with the Moon.

Using Grapes

They’re…
They’re grapes.

All kidding aside, grapes are possibly one of the easiest magical plants to use. Eat, brew, or cook with them while visualizing yourself as prosperous and happy.

If you have the space and ability to do it, plant a grape vine in your yard to bring abundance to your home. (This may work even better than intended. Birds love grapes as a source of both energy and water, and tend to excrete more seeds when they hang out to feed. This is how I ended up with free, thriving tomato and mulberry plants, and possibly even the pumpkin vine. Free food!)

Grape vines make fantastic bases for wreaths. I’d like to devote a longer post to making and empowering magical wreaths, but, in short, take a grapevine wreath, add whatever other magical dried plants or curios you like, and hang it where it’ll do the most good. A protective wreath on the front door, for example, one for prosperity in the kitchen, or one for passion or fertility in the bedroom.

Though it also isn’t one of their traditional meanings, I also associate grapes with protection. Dark grapes make red wine, the color of courage, strength, vitality, and protection. The leaves themselves are covered in trichomes, which are small, pointy, hairlike structures. Covering the floor around your bed with grape leaves is said to be a folk remedy to control and protect against crawling pests like bedbugs.

Whether you’re like me (and do a goofy little happy dance when you’ve gotten special grapes) or your feelings about the fruit are more ambivalent, grapes are worth considering for your magical practice. They’re sweet, tasty, easy to use, and pretty straightforward in their properties and associations.

Plants and Herbs

Milkweed Folklore & Magical Properties

J.

I planted a swamp milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) in the back yard not too long ago. Though I did it well after I could hope for monarch butterflies, I still wanted one of these beautiful, interesting native plants. (Besides, they’re perennials — if it could survive this year, there’ll be plenty of plant for the monarch babies next year!)

It was blooming happily, playing host to all kinds of tiny fauna, and finally put out lots of big, fat pods. Apparently it wanted to wait until the recent supermoon to bust those suckers open, because that whole part of the yard is inundated with milkweed fluff!

Flat, brown milkweed seeds, showing their tassels of silky white fluff.

I gathered a good quantity of the fluff and seeds to save, share, and use for various purposes. So, I figured, now’s probably a good time to write about this lovely plant’s magical properties!

Like many of the plants I choose to explore, this one’s native to the Americas. That means that you won’t see it in a lot of older folk or ceremonial magic resources. This plant is still powerful, however, and has a lot to offer practitioners in its native range.

Milkweed’s Magical Uses and Folklore

Like I mentioned, milkweed produces tons of fluff. This fluff appears as silky white tassels on its seeds and helps them disperse via wind — just like dandelions. If you catch a floating milkweed seed, make a wish, then release it to go along its merry way, its said that your wish will come true.

Milkweed fluff can also be used as filling for pillows, sachets, and poppets. Thistledown is a traditional poppet filling, but, if you don’t live in an area with abundant thistles, milkweed fluff can be used as a substitute.

Filling a dream pillow with milkweed fluff is said to cause the user to dream of the fae.

The juices of the milkweed plant, when used for anointing, are said to strengthen one’s “third eye.” (However, these juices are also irritating, so maybe just place a whole leaf or sprig of flowers to your forehead instead.)

In World War II, military life jackets were filled with milkweed fluff as an alternative to kapok (Ceiba pentandra).

Milkweed’s genus, Asclepias, was named for Asclepius. He’s the Greek God of Healing, and a son of Apollo.

Though it’s associated with a god of Healing, one of milkweed’s primary virtues is its toxicity. When monarch caterpillars feed on milkweed, they take in the plant’s toxins. This, in turn, makes the vulnerable caterpillars toxic and unpalatable to predators. As a result, milkweed is associated with protection.

A plump, stripey monarch caterpillar.

There’s also a very fine line between “poison” and “medicine.” To the people indigenous to milkweed’s native range, milkweed sap was used to remove warts. Boiling helps leach out the toxins in the plant’s sap, and cleaned up extracts of milkweed proved useful for respiratory ailments, sore throats, and kidney problems. Some of the toxins in milkweed sap are cardiac glycosides, which, in small doses, behave similarly to the digitalin extracted from foxglove (genus Digitalis).

Milkweed is a very liminal plant. Swamp milkweed (A. incarnata) can be found at the edges of wetlands, where the water meets the land. Common milkweed (A. syriaca) often grows in disturbed areas, like roadsides.

Milkweed is associated with the Moon and the element of Earth. (Personally, I also associated swamp milkweed with water.)

Using Milkweed

Milkweed’s a really lovely plant, though it can also be hazardous to work with if you aren’t careful. Personally, I limit myself to the flowers, fluff, and seeds — I have sensitive skin, and the last thing I want to worry about is getting milkweed sap on myself!

The fluff is really lovely as a filling for poppets and dream pillows. Blend it with herbs like mugwort, hops, and lavender, and add a clear Herkimer quartz crystal for a wonderful dream pillow that’ll help improve dream recall and make it easier to dream lucidly.

The seeds, like a lot of native American seeds, need to be stratified. That means that they’re great to use for sowing rituals during the colder months — the winter solstice, for example.

Seeds are a great spell component in general, because they embody as-yet-unrealized potential. They’re a bit of sympathetic magic, too. As the seed grows, so will the thing you hope to get from your spell.

Milkweed seeds are also flat, so they’re nice to incorporate into homemade paper. Once the paper’s used, you can plant it and allow the seeds to grow. Just make sure that you’re using varieties native to your area!

The pink flower clusters of A. incarnata.

Milkweed is a beautiful, protective plant that has much to offer those who can get past its defense mechanisms. Inside those pods, protected by poisonous, milky-white sap, is an abundance of silky, silvery fluff and seeds. If you have the ability to grow or otherwise hang out with milkweed, I highly recommend it.

Plants and Herbs

Echinacea Folklore and Magical Properties

J.

Echinacea, or coneflower, is a genus of flowering plants found solely in parts of the US. They’re native to where I currently live, so I’ve added several different wild type and nativar plants to the front and back yards here. They’re a unique addition to the landscape, and help bring in even more pollinators than the bee balm and anise hyssop already do!

These flowers are probably best known for their medicinal qualities. The first time I’d ever heard of echinacea was from my father’s former significant other. She had some echinacea tea, and I overheard her talking about how she used it medicinally. (Though they’ve since split up, I’m still friends with her — she went on to become a bodywork therapist who specializes in sound healing and craniosacral therapy, and is one of the founders of the nonprofit Columbia Resilience Integrated Health Community Project. She’s a pretty cool lady.)

Unfortunately, the popularity of echinacea means that wild populations are suffering from overharvesting (two species, E. tennesseensis and E. laevigata, have only recently recovered from being on the endangered species list). If you want to use these plants, it’s best to grow your own. Fortunately, that’s really easy to do — they self-seed super easily and will grow pretty much anywhere there’s sun. They’re also great for helping populations of native pollinators.

Since these are American plants, they’re not found in European-based grimoires. They’re still very valuable to develop a relationship with, even if they don’t show up in old world folk or ceremonial magic.

Echinacea Magical Uses and Folklore

To the Ute people, echinacea’s traditionally called “elk root” due to the belief that injured elk sought out these plants to use medicinally.

Echinacea roots are used as a physical and spiritual medicine. They’re a traditional healing herb for burns, pain, and inflammation, and some peoples have chewed them as part of their ritual purification ceremonies.

The name “echinacea” comes from the Greek word for hedgehog, “ekhinos.” This is because the center of the flowers is round and spiky, like a hedgehog.

Today, echinacea is often touted as a way to help prevent or eliminate respiratory viruses like the common cold. Research doesn’t really bear out assertions that coneflower can significantly help with the common cold, but there’s evidence to suggest that coneflower’s immune activity may have a lot to do with the bacterial populations within the plant itself. These studies are on isolated cells in vitro, however, not on humans. Overall, it seems like echinacea isn’t really a great remedy for upper respiratory viruses.

Topically, infusions of echinacea are helpful for soothing the skin. Prepare a strong brew of the root (and any other soothing herbs you like, like chamomile or marshmallow), filter out the plant matter, and add the liquid to a bath.

Some green witches use echinacea as a way to increase the power of their spells. It’s best employed when attempting to overcome a problem that doesn’t respond to other measures, but adding a little of the root or seeds to any spell will help increase its effectiveness.

Hanging a sachet of echinacea over the bed is said to act as a fertility charm.

A bright red cultivar of echinacea, showing the characteristic spiky center surrounded by a ring of bright, daisy-like petals.
One of the bright scarlet echinacea cultivars in the front yard. You can see a bit of the mysterious pumpkin vine in the background.

Coneflowers are also associated with strength and vitality. Sprinkling powdered echinacea root in one’s shoes is said to increase physical vitality and endurance. This is particularly interesting to me, since the same is said of mugwort. Both echinacea and mugwort are pretty opportunistic plants that will tolerate poor soils. The plants’ own resilience could be why they’re connected to the idea of endurance and strength.

Some sources also claim that placing a single echinacea flower on one’s brow can enhance psychic abilities. Interestingly, mugwort is also used to enhance psychic abilities.

When cut and kept in a vase, it’s believed to bring prosperity into the home.

The large, brightly colored flowers are frequently used as natural offerings to the spirits of a place.

Coneflowers are also part of an herbal formula to attract same-sex love, particularly by men. Combine deerstongue herb (which has a lovely vanilla aroma), echinacea, and imitation musk, ambergris, and civet.

Echinacea is associated with the planet Mars and element of Earth.

Using Echinacea

In general, it seems like the flowers are used for offerings and laying on the body, and the roots and seeds are used for everything else. The roots and seeds are also said to have the most magical power. I can definitely see that — seeds, in particular, are symbols of infinite potential. If you want to start something new, include some seeds in your spell.

The easiest way to use echinacea magically is to include a bit of the whole seeds or ground root in sachets, jars, or herbal spell blends. There doesn’t seem to really be a limit to what this plant can empower.

You can also steep some larger bits of root in a carrier oil and use it as a protective or empowering anointing oil.

Personally, I plan to experiment with using echinacea alongside and in place of mugwort. There seems to be a fair amount of crossover in both their ecological and magical uses, though their planetary and astrological correspondences differ. Echinacea is native and grows like nobody’s business here, while mugwort is invasive. I’ll definitely harvest invasive wild populations of mugwort when I have the chance, but I’d like to see how far I can get with the herbs that I grow myself.

Medicinally, echinacea tea may be made from the flowers, leaves, or roots of Echinacea purpurea. This can be taken internally or used topically. Traditionally, it’s a remedy for inflammation and pain. Nowadays, it’s often touted as a treatment or preventative for respiratory viruses, but research shows that it probably isn’t very good at that last bit.

Overall, this herb is pretty safe, but people who are allergic to members of the daisy family will definitely want to avoid it. It isn’t known how safe this is for people who are pregnant or nursing, so ask your doctor if you have any concerns.