Via Hedera's Blog, page 3

Lemon Balm Steamed Rose Dumpling Magic

It's strange what will cross your mind... 

As summer began to rise, my grandmother died.  She loved roses.  And tea.  And baking.

And she loved, loved, loved to garden.

I've been feeling more reserved and numb lately, there's been a lot of grief these last few months.  But slowly, with the sun, I rise.  I wish this awful rain would let up, it's dreary.

When I get sad, I get bored, and then I get creative.  I found this lemon balm with giant leaves on my in-laws land.

And thought of dragon boats and tamales and family and my grandma.  And then, something strange fell out of my brain and into an idea.  Honey soaked rose petals chopped fine and added to a lemon-balm sugar dumpling, wrapped in soaked lemon balm leaves and steamed over a bed of rose petals.  I tied the bundles with the stems of the lemon balm.  The result was a lovely mix of floral and lemon tea-like flavors.

Unwrapping each one was fun, pleasant, aromatic.  The bread was a little chewy on the outside, but crumbly inside.  I liked it with English breakfast tea.  Sometimes it's the little, mundane every day magics that make life feel a little better during grief.  Simplicity and gratitude for things is it's own class of magic. I feel... Much better.

Love Magic: lemon balm, red and pink roses, honey
Day: Friday
Court:  Venus

The Waters We Witch For

Water Witching (dowsing) Wands and their Familiars.  This compass is used in my tradition of witchcraft to represent the art of navigating nature with our spiritual senses, and the guides who dwell along the roads we take.  Frog and Driftwood and Water; Mole and Apple and Earth; Crow and Willow and Wind; Moth and Persimmon and Fire.  Illustration by Andrew G. Jimenez.

I am no water witch.  It is not my element, it rarely appears in my natal chart; I fear the open water and am terrified of unseen depths.  I love a bath but loathe the mystery that lies beyond the abyss.  I am a child of wind, fire, earth.  But... where magic is concerned, water is a great inspiration; I am a under the protection of La Sirene, she who knows well my fear of water, and my love for magic.  She does not begrudge my inherent fear of the open sea.  She knows I am a daughter of beaches and shores and river people on every side of my ancestry.  She knows the rushing waters between mountain and sea is my place of work; especially where the waters weave off into swamps, marshes, wetlands and estuary mucks.  That's where water and I may meet in peace and congress.

There are a great many waters in folk-magic, witchcraft and occult lore.  Like a mirror, or a pool of ink, it becomes a conduit for the living, the dead and everything beyond that.  Water is transcending of worldly things and a birth fluid that ushers in life, and often leads to annihilation.  It is from the water we emerged.  We release water from our bodies as urine, spit, sweat, tears-- all of these fluids make for key ingredients in some of the most powerful charms and spells imaginable.

We need waters to live, we need water to cool ourselves, we need it for sanitation... it is probably the most popular element among practitioners (something I understand but don't personally resonate with).  What is it about the waters of our small world that give us so much inspiration?  So much power?  It gives.  It is the giver of immediate relief, like the earth often is-- it is not as aloof and wayward a lover like the wind (though water is as fickle and wandering)  or searing, passionate force of destruction like fire (though it is just as overwhelming and consuming).  And so, thought I do not love water the way I love warm, dry air, I have come to know water as a necessary component to my works. 

There are quite a few kinds of water that can be used in the work we do as witches, sorcerers and folk-magicians, and to each of them, a spirit, a nature of things.  Some waters are made gifted by the nature of their placement, or their collection.  Some waters, like those of springs and sea tend to be considered more naturally gifted with power, while others are only made sacred by the circumstances of their treatment, or made powerful by the time of their collection, the tide of the year.  And some magical waters are manufactured through simple alchemies.  What makes a water magical?  Is it "powerful" because it has been touched by moonlight or soaked with earthworms?  What is it about the ability for water to absorb and transfer that makes it so easy to give meaning to? Who knows really.  There's more mystery to water than I really understand, so much history behind its use in ritual and in life.  I'm less concerned with the why and more of the "if"-- if it works for my needs, than why not? I use quite a bit of different waters in my practice, some more than others.  Like all things, the diversity of magic in the realm of water is a gift to any magician.

Some Curious Waters of Note

Stump/Spunk Water-  What do you need a cure for?  Freckles (why would you, they're perfect!), rheumatism? Warts? Bad hair? Skin-complaints?  Stump Water is the panacea of the afflicted and blighted.  The gambler's magical wash, the sanctifier of rabbits feet and conjure-bags, the water that accumulates in the hollow or impression of stumps and logs offers a unique magic and is deeply entrenched in American folk medicine.  Stump Water, like Unspoken Water, is gathered with specific rites and taboos observed: moonlight, silence, backwardness-- it is all meant to give an efficacious punch of flavor to this talisman, which can be carried in a bottle on the person, or used to anoint a talisman of great power; specifically a graveyard rabbit's foot.

"To stop a "haunt" walking, boil prickly pear roots in stump water and sprinkle in the yard with the water."
(CLD)

Holy Water- oh, the great water of purity, consecrated in the name of some divine entity, some god of grace and morality.  The holy water of the Church has qualities of banishment and exorcism, and can be used to bring a searing cleanliness to all it touches.  It may drive out some classes of demon and may even harm some witches.  Mostly, holy water drives away what some call "evil".  I don't believe in true good or true evil, so I have very little use for holy water, but I appreciate that there are magicians who really believe in a great evil and that it can be banished with this kind of water.  As a witch, I'm not even remotely affected by holy water (my devils aint scared of shit) and nothing around me is either; my banishing water is simple sea-water.  To each their own.

Easter-Water- Cora L. Daniels describes this as water taken up before sunrise on Easter Morning from a running stream, which is then bottled and kept for good luck, prosperity and health.  It is used in Catholic traditions as a holy water, mixed with consecrated oils or herbs and is supposed to keep year-round.  My only experience with Easter water is recent; my work with Christo-Pagan friends has led me down the road of their holy waters and I'm rather fond of this revived tradition.  Might not be my flavor of magic but man do I love when people find power anywhere they can.

Saining Water- this bit of Scottish magic became pretty popular with the resurgence of Western European traditional witchcraft practices.  The silvered water, used to bless newborns, the hexed, the cursed and to heal the ill. Sprinkling saining water with a branch of juniper has become a common practice among modern witches.  Silver is one powerful metal in the realm of Western occultism, and this is particularly true in traditions of American magic; it is the killer of witches and their familiars, the bane of the graveyard haunts and a powerful anti-evil charm that was supposed to inherently drive away all supernatural and otherworldly entities.

Unspoken Water- The Journal of American Folklore and the Frank C. Brown Collection reference unspoken water as that which is collected from the creek, brook or river beneath a bridge over which the living and dead have passed.  When collected in silence and under certain auspicious, the water was reported to be able to heal maladies and purify the afflicted.

Corpse Water- contrary to first intuition, the water in which a fresh corpse has been washed has purification qualities, and can be washed over porches or sprinkled before doorways to purify the space from evils and drive off the hungry damned by placing the water of tender grace about the place.  When the mortuary water is collected from funereal rites, it has the power to drive off the dead and create a boundary of blessing.  When the water is washed from the skin of the disgraced and mistreated dead, it can be used to bring a hex upon the foe who is sprinkled in this water.

Putrid/Black Water- this differs from Corpse Water in that it is blackish/brownish from the rot and decay of putrefaction.  This rot water or sip-of-decay is made from the process of death and decomposition accelerated by the presence of rancid water.  Bloating and rotting corpses instead of the fresh dead may produce this water, or plant matter left to rot in muck water.  It is a perfect tool for sealing in death (in a black bottle) or bringing disease and plague when washed over a foe's porch, car or furniture.

May Dew- the drought of beauty, collected on May's Eve or May Day morning (depending on who tells the tale).  The dew collected from Venusian herbs; specifically the hawthorn, when added to washes for the face were once supposed to bring beauty and charm to the person who uses it.  May Dew must be collected in early morning light, from only the most beautiful of spring's blossoms or freshest of green grass.  Just a few drops on the tongue or rinsed over the face was supposed to be enough to make a person not just beautiful, but lucky in love too.

Well & Spring Water- the water that comes from a natural spring is fresh, tasty and often extremely rich in minerals, which is why so many people swear by it.  It is the water of springs that washes the hands of witches before their work.  And, it is the water of the common well that youngsters were thought to divine their futures by with mirror and shadow.  Holding a hand mirror, leaning backwards over a well, a youth was supposed to catch a glimpse of a long-awaited loved one reflected in the waters surface and in the glass of the mirror.

Luminary (Sun, Moon, Star) Water- of these, it is the Moon Water and Sun Water that seem best known, but the water can be made in the light of other spheres-of-influence who shine in the sky.  Where I live, Venus, Saturn and Mars have times when they shine like the brightest star in the sky, and capturing their essence in water can work in a small, distant way.  It is not as powerful as Moon Water, but Venus Water can have unique loving qualities that bring a sense of sensual sexuality to a charm/talisman.  It can be as simple as leaving a bowl of spring water under the moon's light, asking the water to capture her spirit in its cold reflection.

Luck Water- Water which is collected from a glass bowl in which a Resurrection Plant has greened.  Taken on the day of its full unfurling, it is sprinkled on the front porch of places of commerce/businesses.  There are a few different kinds of resurrection plants, most popular are the two varieties of "Rose of Jericho" which are commonly sold in Hoodoo shops and Botanicas.  I've met quite a few other witches who make luck water with different money plants, but I think the reason why Resurrections are the standard is because they represent plenty from nothing; greenness after drought, growth after desiccation.  As they unfurl, the water is supposed to become charged with with the power of their rejuvenation.

War Water-  A jar full of swamp water, muck water, puddle water and rusting nails, urine and other putrid and corrupted matter is an excellent elixir for hexing an enemy, for bringing ruin to a foe.  A little sprinkled on their porch will slow their steps, and if poured about their property, will bring ruin and rot.  You can read more about it in Cory Hutcheson's New World Witchery: A Trove of North American Folk Magic.  War waters can be physically dangerous; mixing different chemical compounds together in a sealed jar has the unfortunate habit of causing explosive reactions in some instances.  But then again, a witch looking to crack a bottle of war under an enemy's porch would probably appreciate a nice bang to their work...  It's not recommended to try, nobody needs to die with a Darwin award for occult mishaps.

Flesh Water/Urine-  You have no idea how useful the water released from the body can be.  It can seal a witch's bottle, ensnare a lover, curse an enemy, bring protection to the home, bring disaster to an enemy, and add a personal mark to any spell.  To use the the water of the flesh in a spell is a personal and powerful thing; think carefully before adding so much of yourself to a charm.  It seems a little gross to modern witches but folk magicians know better than to discount the waters of the body in any form-- from spit to tears to urine, our body provides waters with symbolism, with their own magical signature.

Lightning Water/Storm Water-  my relatives in Florida were my first exposure to this idea; leaving a jar of tap water out on the porch during the thunder and lighting storms.  The water was supposed to be charged with the electric vibrations and wild energy of the thunder and lightning, and would be used to bring a spike of power to a situation, and would protect the home from great evils.  Water collected from a lighting-struck stump was a notoriously powerful type; there is always a touch more magic to those things that are lighting struck, especially trees, as they are considered "charged" by this experience, touched by the hand of the Sky gods.

River Water- Rivers are transitionary places, natural crossroads where sea and land may meet, and are holy places for initiation rites for witches.  A charm meant to hex and wither is best released in the waters of a river.  Rivers, creeks and brooks appear throughout the folklore of the American South as places where rain could be raised by conjure-folk pouring pitcher water into the rivers, as places where witches could be initiated after casting in black-cat's bones, or wetting knotted handkerchiefs.  In my region, rivers are powerful places of plenty, the realm of food and family and fortune.  For my work, a river is the place where all things meet-- a liminal space of movement that tends to work well for my work honoring the Mountain gods (from whom the river comes) and the Sea spirits (to where the river goes).

Sea Water-  Well what more could you need to banish so-called evils and heal impurity?  The first womb of life is the sea; the place from which life emerges, the great primordial soup to which we owe so much, and its salty waves are a thing of purity. Churning in the darkness of the waves is mystery and restlessness, but also the salt of purification and  removal.  Many witches collect their salt right from the sea (when the law allows), allowing the water to evaporate, leaving only the salt and all its wonderful impurities.  While sea-salt in some tap water can be good enough for a basic wash, the sea is a more powerful bet.  Just a splash, and a baptism may take place; just a splash and a curse will be swept away, out to sea, to die as most things do, in time.  Salt water can rebirth a lost soul, or capture one too.

Muck/Swamp Water- if you need a base water for hexing potions and bottles, a good amount of muddy muck water will do the trick.  It used to be believed that even dreaming of muddy water is an omen of sorrows.  It works to stop-up and dirty-up those who pursue you, and can help facilitate disease spells when washed over the porch of an enemy or broken in a jar in their yard.
Pin/Needle Water- the water left over from boiling pins and needles to avert evil is useful because most practitioners speak their incantations against a troublesome enemy or difficult spirit as they boil the nine needles, naming their for.  The water that remains afterwards can be used as an anti-witch floor wash.  I've been using this water for a while now and find it useful to get irritating magical folk off my back.
Worm-Water- water made from soaked earthworms was reportedly used to heal superficial pains. The worms were deposited into a bucket and soaked overnight.  I've only seen this one mentioned in a few places, and I've been gifted a small jar of some from a friend, but I haven't put any of it to work.  Paulsen quotes this incantation which accompanied the charm:"Earthworms who slip through earth below Secrets of sorcery ye know, When the good foot doth o'er you tread, or when it passes overheard Transfer its power and its merit, Now I pray you to this spirit, To do such virtue as it may, And let this headache pass away!"
-The Complete Book of Magic and Witchcraft, Kathryn Paulsen, p-111

Black-Cat Boil-  old folk magic in America is rife with the sacrifice of black cats, moles, toads and graveyard rabbits.  The black cat is thought to be a conduit for initiation into witchcraft, and one of the most popular methods of initiation with the cat was to boil a black one live in water, and then take it's floating bone into your mouth.  But what of the water?  I imagine the boiled water can be used as an anointing for new witches, or used to feed one's working tools to give them power, invisibility and devilish strength.

Mountain Marsh Water- the water that is collected from the swamps of some Cascade and Olympic marshes/swamps.  Wetlands are immensely powerful, they absorb so much destruction and power, mitigating the effects of mudslides and floods and acting as a place of both birth and death for the land.  Here in Washington, the marches, wetlands and swamps of the mountains belong to invisible tribes of otherworldly and unseen beings.  I say it is best not to take water from their swamps, or the whispers will follow you home and tell you the most horrifying secrets...

For more, take a look... in a book... 
Cory T. Hutcheson,  New World Witchery: A Trove of North American Folk Magic
Cora L. Daniels, Encyclopedia of Superstitions, Folklore and the Occult Sciences
Kathryn Paulsen, The Complete Book of Magic and Witchcraft Book
Zora Neale Hurston, Mules and Men
Newbell Niles Puckett, Folk Beliefs of the Southern Negro
B.A Botkin, Treasury of Southern Folklore
Journal of American Folklore
Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore

Merry Midwinter, Magicians

 

Cran-Apple Orange Tart-Pie and cran-apple simple-syrup soda.



Apple-Cranberry clove poached pear
Cinnamon poached pear with honey goat cheese and dates

The Diviner's Tide: This Folk Witch's Winter Ways

The Diviner’s Tide
This Folk Witch's Winter Ways

The land stretches even under the stiff soil; can’t you hear her great sigh?  Restless in the dark cold earth, undulating with the change of the tides.  It smells like rain and damp earth outside; a little sweet and tangy where the pines and spruce needles are falling; muddy and dank where the birch leaves decay in the puddles.  The sun rises just before 8am and sets just before 5pm.  Crows caw and huddle in mass murders along the grass, picking it apart to forage for beetles and worms.  I do not love winter.  I am a daughter of sun and spring and warm green. Miss me with this bitter noise, I want my sunlight back.  Such a boring, lifeless time, with nowhere to go, nothing to do and worry as a constant companion.

Back before the pandemic, in the long, long ago, I had written a little bit about my changing warmth towards the winter holidays. I wrote a bit on apples, eggs, wassailing, divination and opening my mind to the secular folk magics of the season.  I maintain that Christmas is a garbage holiday; I still don’t like what it brings out of people, how it ravages relationships and brings financial misery to so many poor people.  But I have been able to find my peace with the season by ignoring Christmas itself and focusing on the traditions of magic that appear between Hag’s Night, the Halcyon Days, Christmas Eve, New Year’s Eve and Epiphany.  These are diviners' days, but then again… aren’t all of the holy days of the calendar used for divination… and I've taken a particular interest in reinterpreting Winter’s-tide and all that comes with it as a holiday of divination and home protection.

Cedar "rose" cones that were cured with olibanum oil and cinnamon for about 7 months.

And so, I set aside the notion of presents and stockings and trees and bring out the folk magic; the foods of prediction, the yule-candles and strings of cranberry garland.  I turn my face away from the celebration of a miracle that I don’t believe in and turn my face towards the miracle of the great god some call the Sun.  With the rise of the Sun’s renewal comes an awakening of the land, a stirring in the fruit trees, a weakening in the frost.  The Sun is the old god, you know.  The herald of evolution, the balancer of our world, he who sustains us always and consumes us in time… All these sabbats are his, and yet, what time do we yearn for his power more than winter?  It brings me peace of mind to take the time to find a place of joy-- a space to live in the moment and appreciate the temporary nature of all that surrounds us, and bringing magic into any and every aspect of life has been a therapeutic way to cope with life and death and the things in between.

The Yule Candle

When the Hag’s Night begins, I begin my Diviner’s Days; prepping my home to let the spirits make their changes, focusing on feeding my household deities and the domestic spirits who dwell with me.  This has now become my time to perform daily and nightly offerings of service to the spirits of the land, the dead and the living.  Why?  Because you have to find and make meaning in life, you have to strive to finding ways to move your mind in all directions, because atrophy is the end.  I do this by attuning myself to the constancy of the changing seasons, filling the seasons with spiritual expression.  What does this look like?  It looks like the daily lighting of the Yule candle and the sharing of meals with the dead; giving apotropaic charms and sharing fortune-dinners with the living; drinking, caroling, speaking to the land.

Winter Solstice/Yuletide

“The wish that is spoken at Yuletide shall not be crossed nor yet denied.”

Also called St. Thomas Night or Yule, I call it Midwinter or Long Night.  This is when the Sun seems to have the least rulership over the land, and with the darkness rises the otherworldly things who love to haunt cold and dark spaces.  I honor this darkness, and light a candle from sundown to sun up; for luck, for protection, for the honor of the Sun, the great Luminary. Some practices that have found their way into my Midwinter:

Leave a heap of flour and a little ale or wine outside for the passing fairies, witches and spirits, and a small bowl of porridge by the doorway or fireplace for the household entities who watch over the dwelling.  Give them a warm place to be honored by the fire, and keep them happy. Bring a sprig of holly into the home and hang beside the door.  For every berry that withers and drops before New Year, a bit of luck will go with it. With a partner, cut a large apple in two; whoever gets the larger half, or, counts the most seeds in their half, has good luck and should make a wish while eating the apple.

Christmas

"gilded nutmeg"- for good fortune and health.

I don’t do much with Christmas; magic didn’t seed in this holiday and folk charms were not part of my family way for this holiday-- no mistletoe hung over our door, no taboos against ivy and yew; it was all about gifts, stress and awkward feelings, and honestly, that’s all Christmas is to me.  Luckily, my in-laws have long supported my pagan ways, and this Christmas we will be focusing on crafts, not gifts.  I look forward to stringing cranberries and popcorn, drying orange and apple slices, and caroling around the blue spruce in the yard while the kids and I decorate it and take joy in being together.  I have managed to squeeze some magic into Christmas where there once only stood boredom and consumerism:

Baking boar’s bread (a loaf in the shape of a boar) -- this one is brand new to me and was introduced to me by a sister-in-the-craft who has been teaching me how to bake.  Thanks Meryl! Give “gilded” nutmegs on strings to the kids. These nutmegs were supposed to give good luck and blessings to those who were gifted them. I use gilding leaf, and string them on red thread so it can be worn or hung from trees as an ornament or talisman.

Leave a cup of tea and a saucer for the dead on Christmas eve to drink. Set a glass of water outside of your window on Christmas day.  When it freezes over, portents of the future will form shapes in the ice.

New Year’s Eve

 On New Year's Eve, I divine the way ahead and make merriment-- after all, in my culture, New Years is a big deal and a second chance for us all, and despite its secular nature it’s actually fairly spiritual.  When we celebrate New Year’s, at least where I’m from, there is really a magic to it.  I can’t count now many superstitions I grew up with about needing to bathe on NYE, eating the right food, opening the doors before midnight to let the evil out and closing them before the last stroke to keep the good tidings in, and most importantly, sealing the magic with a kiss.  Fireworks are a modern luck omen; watching them go off at midnight and singing in good cheer is like some national ritual of renewal and relief.  You drink libations that open the heart, sing a song of incantation (Auld Lang Syne) that binds feelings of love and community between peoples, and play little games that spawn curiosity and good-will.  I wish we'd make magic a more prominent perspective for this time of year, as a country.  There is a power to the cheer and expectations of this season that make for a healthy brew of optimism and mysticism.  We should channel this into reviving divination as a normal part of Winterside ritual and celebration.                Over the last decade, I’ve introduced all kinds of folk charms into my New Year’s Eve and Day celebrations; ones that have crept in as I’ve made new friends, as I’ve read new books, as I’ve walked with new spirits, maybe some of them will speak to you and your work:

On New Year's Eve, place a horseshoe under your pillow to have prophetic dreams. Place a spring of young green ivy in a dish of water on New Year’s Eve.  If it wilts before epiphany, bad luck is coming, but if it remains green, good luck will grow. Holly leaves are used in telling fortunes.  Ask a question out loud as you hold a multi-pointed holly leaf. Follow from point to point using this counting rhyme: "This year, next year, now, never." Remove all evergreens after New Year’s and burn them on Epiphany, to warm the fields and honor the death of the evergreen gods. On New Year’s Day, cut an apple in two and whoever eats the bigger half will have better luck. Money left on a windowsill on New Year’s Eve will bring fortune and good luck to the keeper.

Epiphany

Now, I know it seems odd, but ever since my, ehem, epiphany with the Mother of Apples.  I have become enamored with this tide as my moment to honor the orchard; a realm in which I do a lot of my work year-round.  Does sound counterintuitive since there are no blossoms, greens or fruit on the tree, but it’s sort of perfect for me; the apple trees always have a few decaying remnants on their boughs; fermented by frost and time, swinging stubbornly on brittle black branches.  There is the power of life deep beneath this layer of death, and it’s in this green heart I find a connection.  She’s sleepy, and wants coaxing.  I hear it…

Washington is known for our vast array of apple trees and variety of the malus fruits, and so fruit-bearing trees-- especially apples-- play a unique and deeply spiritual role in my practice as a witch.  It is in the orchard one finds so much ripening life and rotting death.  It is in the orchards I find my favorite meadow-spirits, and it is along the pomme trellis hedges I wander to and from worlds on occasion.  Why the apple?  It’s like a heart.  It’s this trophy of the land, this beautiful, symmetrical, useful entity that has traveled the world bringing endless joy and nurturing. Mater Malus has a sweet and spicy smell when she holds you, and is ever warm and yielding.  I think I’m in love.  I think she reciprocates.

Because I work with apples so regularly in my witching and because they are symbolic of the Witch Queen herself as she moves through the seasons changing shapes, I find a spiritual center in the high grass of the orchards.  And so, what is typically a Holy day for Christians, has become my own personal day of exploration of personal gnosis, meditating on the power of this liminal god who has long grown with me and long helped me grow.

I take those old charms to heart and put them to work for me as a witch; the Apple Mother calls on me to sing, to sacrifice, to warm her branches and shake the rot from her roots.  She calls on me to awaken the land with song, circle, cider and service:

Take all the Yuletide greens from the home and burn them in the bonfire outside, to purify the garden. Sprinkle the ashes of the Yule log around the orchard for blessing and to drive away impure or restless spirits. Shake the frost and rot off the apple trees while imploring them to give you good fruit come summer. Place lucky stones on the branches of the orchard trees to encourage a bountiful year. Pour warmed cider or good ale at the roots of the apple trees in thanks, and to encourage them to grow.  A few sun-wheel cakes go a long way in sweetening up relations between witches and apple gods.

“Oh, here we go a-wassailing among the leaves so green

and here we come a-wandering so fair to be seen--

Love and joy come to you, and to you your wassail too,

and god bless you and send you a happy New Year,

the god send you a happy New Year.”

Needles and Pinlore

Leave a loaf of freshly baked bread, stuck with many nails at a crossroads, and all who pass it will be cursed.

Stick pins in your sleeve on St. Agnes Eve and you will see the the lad you'll marry.

Like a pendulum; hold a needle on a thread above the head or belly of a pregnant woman; it was once believed, in simpler times, that a circle would indicate a girl and a linear swing would indicate a boy.

If two needles named for lovers are placed in a bowl of water float together, the lovers will stay together.  But if they drift apart, so would their love.

Nine pins in a black bottle, with noxious substances and ill-wishes, buried in the garden of your foe, will hex them deeply.

A wax heart stuck with nine pins and roasted over a fire will burn the heart of he who you have named the heart for.

A dolly stuck with pins, lets the pain and evils in.

Nine needles stuck in the blade bone of a rabbit, which is then placed under the bed, will produce prophetic dreams.

Stick nine needles in a candle one by one from top to bottom and name each for a foe.  As the candle burns down, so will those named.

Want more needle-lore?  Check out this amazing contribution to the witchery community by my friend Kamden S. Cornell!  It's a sensational recipe book for good, sharp, magic.  I loved being inspired by this book and I have really appreciated Heart & Vine Apothecary's beautiful, powerful work in the folk-witch community.  Get your copy now!

The Sythe Moon and the Feast of Nuts: Part II

Another year in quarantine, another Feast Day in solitude.  The Harvest Moon is my birth moon, it is when I came into the world at the time of the scales, under the auspicious Glittering Venus, the  Morning Star.   This Tide is for corn and nuts and grains and apples.  For the late roses and the early frosts and the first rains after the relentless summer dryness.  

For me, this is the time when the lightyear turns dark, when the sun passes from spring's hands to those of the winter Hag and all those riding, nightmare-inducing, wild spirits of the crossroads who go about giving a cold breath to the land.  The Hags that ride at night on their many implements and beasts, these are the ones I follow across the night sky.

They have come for the sacrifice; for the turning of the land from fruitful and green to a time of reservation and survival.  This is the time when the horned father rides with all his host and array.  The autumn is personified as a lush woman bearing a cornucopia. a sickle, a crown of roses and the flames of burning fields around her.  And beside her, a withering pyre, where there rises shadows and spirits.  That's what I see in the subtle turn of the land, in the change of the trees.  And for this moment, where the day and night are equal and turning toward the short dark essence of a dark-year, we honor the sustenance that emerges from this tide, and taste the changes.  I think we all await it; this time of pumpkins and apples and sweet smells and savory ones.

The Harvest Is... food, family, home, sacrifice, gathering, rush, preparation, sex, finality... it is the light waning, and the all-consuming darkness and the message that it sends to us; there must always be a balance, a time of emptiness, a hunger.  All things must change, and we can only hope that the change of the tides, there will come a change... one that will reopen the world.

Death is always with us, some times more than other times... right now death is feasting heavily.  I accept this, and think on the nature of mortality. I watch the leaves wither on the trees and appreciate the change that death brings.  I watch the tearing of rabbits by the owls; this is the cost, it is the way of things.  And I look at the many dead from this disease, and prepare my mind for the change this has brought in the world.  And so, I feast.  On nuts, and grains, and apples, and corn, in honor of life, and death, and that sacred dance they do.

The Path of the Seasons

We all see the change of the year differently.  What one witch calls the calendar, another calls a Wheel of the Year, but I call it the change of the tides.  That's what the seasons are, after all; the tides of the shift of our world.  It follows a rhythm, a clock, a sacred melody whose notes conjure life and death in turn...
The seasons are everything in my work; I time so much of my practices by where the sun and moon fall, what is turning green or brown.  This is the time of pods and husks and dry grass.  It is in the moons after High Summer and before the Equinox that I call Darkyear.  When the world turns over to the hands of those old hag gods and wild hunters, there is a tangible shift in the air; a toasty smell, something bold, something brittle, sweet and acrid, a lot of smoke, a little ripeness of fruit.  It dances on my tongue and I swallow it.  I love the grain seasons just as I love the green seasons.  Transitions and the in-between are the place for me.  
How does the passage of time move for you?  Is it the churning of a wheel?  The stretching of roots?  How do you trace the path of the Sun and Moon?
Equinox Spring/Final Frost/First Flowers It's when the violets come in.  It's when the bluebells hang.  It's when the first lilacs are just ever so perfectly purple, peaceful and perfuming the air. The March hares rise, the days grow longer and the morning is a little less wet each day.  It is the tide of the passing of the cold dark sun to the new spring.  Here there be brides of the greening and fresh antlered-gods, and virid virgins.  Hail to them all.  I do nothing but enjoy the wildcrafting and the rain-dodging, and pray the frost away. The Feast of Hares When the Pink Moon rises, so with it does the tide of the hares.  Rabbit spirits and Mother of Leverets make the world fruitful and populous.  Thumping the land awake, and making wild all our rites of spring.  The hare and rabbit spirits invoke the time with their mysterious rituals of sex and greening.  It's more a feast of flowers than anything else; an excuse to eat as the rabbit does, to enjoy the floral wonders of the growing and turning land.  I love this feast; it's a time to sharpen culinary and creative skills, to forage and nurture the wild senses, and to celebrate my favorite little buddy, the lagomorph.  Feast, my fluffy friends.
May Day What other day is there for snails and flour.  May's Moon is for flowers and festivals; it's a time for baskets and eggs and hares and happiness, spring is in full bloom and what is more alive than the ripening of life around us?  For some witches, Beltane and Walpurgis are these powerful moments of flight and freedom but for me, I just like to honor the beauty of the time I suppose with a little thought here and there.  Sometimes it's fine to have a relationship with a season that at some moments meaningless and at other moments, everything... There was a time in my life when Beltane meant a lot, but now, May will pass me by with almost no real notice. There's love there, and the root of that is deep.
The Feast of Pines Nothing tastes quite as sweet as the warming sap of conifers.  Pines ooze from their cracks and craggy parts with sticky sap.  The green ends of the spruce are pale and petal soft.  The cedar roses smell like cinnamon and sunlight, and the pollen on the pines makes a fine yellow paste when mixed with honey.  The crumbling decay is dry, the needles are pliable.  This is the time to honor the greenwood walking along the land in all their fine array.
Midsummer's Eve The sun rises, and nothing stays dead, every flower grows and withers here.  This is the time of warmth and yellows and golds.  Midsummer is a magical time, for divinations and seeing beyond this world, and for flying by firelit nights.  Witches dance round the ferns and divine by the river waves.  Find your romances on this night, go flying with that love, use it and be wild with it.  Make a wreath of flowers and let them sink or swim...
St. John's Day The water isn't warm, but it's warming.  It's holy, the saint's water, it anoints and purifies.  A time for taking away illness and for delivering fortunes and futures.  It's of little consequence to my work but it's recently become a perfect time for purification in-between the great feasts of my faith.  I call it a "fresh root", one that may grow strong like the trunk of some great tree, or simply fade to nothing.  I don't think it's for me to know right now.  It's just part of the path.

 Highsummer/ Feast of Grains

The height of summer is a beautiful thing; it is the Feast of Grains; when wheats are ripe and breads are plenty.  The bread represents the alchemy of seasons, of human ingenuity.  It is the body of the old gods of the land, the culmination of green life made brown and buttered and good to eat.  This is the tide of sustenance, to celebrate the height of a life that is so very fleeting.
The Feast of Apples The making of cider and chips from the ripe and ready apples of the Northwest is a wonderful time; it is the tide of Mother Apple and her brood of sweetness.  The taste of the air is full and warm and crispy. What does a witch do with the Feast of Apples?  Why, they celebrate the sweet life giver of course!  They count the seeds on their knuckles with ancient rhymes, they bob for them in pits of water and roast them by fires.  They coat them in caramel and smash them into cider.  Cut them in two, sing of their tidings and enjoy that moment of reaching into the mysterious green for that special, perfect apple.  Apple Mother is a god of mine and her feast days occur in Spring and Autumn, marking her promenade across the landscape of the year.

Equinox Autumn/ The Feast of Nuts The sun changes hands, moving into a dark place, where the sun's power wanes and the nights begin their decent into darkness.  The meeting of day and night in this liminal space gives rise to the beginning of Autumn and all the woe and wonder it brings.  Here, the Hags of Winter rise and wink up at the fading sun.  There's nothing left but the bitter work now, the frosting of every leaf and the beating down of the land into stiffness.  The Hunter raises up with all the host of the dead and shades.
The Feast of Corn The tide of the corn feasts is a tide to welcome the fearful return of the dark year, a proper feast to the Hags and Horned ones.  The equinox proper is a ritual moment, a time for passages... but the corn feast is for the welcoming, a way to offer your hand to the wild ride and go flying with all those underworldly things that rise with the wane of the sun's power.  Go into those fields and get scared.  Swipe your sickle at the grass in sacrifice.  Offer your foods to the spirits, souls and otherworldly gods, in gratitude. All Hallows Eve It's a feast of pumpkins, a time for witching things.  The sun is low and the fields are withering.  Everything smells good, even the marshes.  Everything tastes good; all the best of human memory and survival finding a place in the kitchen witching that we call the feasts of fall.  This is not my new year, this is my celebration of life.  This is the glorious reign of the dead, the damned and all dark and enduring things.  Ghosts and spirits, foul and fair gods of wicker and roses and thorns... they command the short days and chilly nights.  A witch makes off with cabbages on this day, sups with the silent dead and serves the games of love fortune.  Hail to the pumpkin feast and the prince of the field, and every cawing crow.
Hekate's Night Mother of witches, queen of the underworld, holder of keys and patron light of all those witches and poisoners and feral beasts of the world.  To your sacred fires, we commend our very souls.

Midwinter's Day, New Years & Epiphany When we dream of Christmas Eve and New Years-- we think of the food, the family, the ferns and fine fir trees strung with lights. It is a cold time of year but full of such warm tidings.  I've never liked Christmas.  But I love the turn of the year, the wassailing of the apples orchards, the shaking of snow off boughs in a ritual of awaking for the land.  Midwinter is a dark and dreary realm in the roots of the yearly tide, but it's when we most gather round our traditions and pray, pray for the year to turn safely, and for the food to never run out.  Epiphany is this witch's time to honor the apple orchard and the burning of the evergreens.

St. Valentine's It's just a little love, and I live for the excuse.  I am a love witch; not the manipulative, cold kind, but the pleasing and fickle kind.  This isn't the magic of forever, this is the magic of now, and wherever souls gather their wants and needs and desires and give them an altar to live on; one festooned with hearts and doilies and sweet-nothings... something there is summoned.  On this day, we summon the spark of curiosity. 

Witchy Recommendation: Motherland: Fort Salem

It's about witches, military service, sex and sound.  Get in on this wicked good fun.
Yall know me, I tend to stick to reviewing occult books, card decks and magical tools exclusively, but even this folk-witch has her mundane delights, and television is my other altar...

And, like most practicing witches, I'm both hungry for magical media and skeptical of every new occult-themed movie or show that comes out.  The day I heard that a production company was filming a young adult series about a female-dominated alternate United States of America whose military's is run by witches, I was pretty much sold on the idea immediately.  It's just what I've been waiting for- less sparkles, less Satan, less schtick and shlock, more original substance.  Just the idea that anyone would want to explore a universe like that was thrilling to me.  It tickled the part of me that loves American history, the part of me that lives for fantasy, thrills and magic...

Witches are all the rage right now in pop culture.  Each year a new round of witchy-movies makes their way to our screens and we witches of the real world spend hours enjoying or hating the new trend.  Personally, I only see the witch-media market getting better over time; Anna Biller's 2016 insta-classic The Love Witch, Eggers' stylish horror The VVitch, the revival of The Craft (not an improvement on the 1994 classic but an interesting spin all the same) and a host of new binge-series; The Magicians, Salem, Netflix's interesting but ultimately difficult The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, and fan-favorite AHS: Coven & Apocalypse-  there's a lot of witchy media to nosh on,  but a shining gem of a new-comer is Freeform's Motherland Fort Salem.

It sounds almost ridiculous; the US Army run by witches, mystic mycelium and sonic superpowers... but trust me, it is a strange, gritty, fascinating and altogether completely unique take on the word "witch".  Imagine an America where the Salem trials uncovered "real" witches, and that those witches agreed to conscription into military service in exchange for their freedom.  This is an America that did not develop a dependency on firearms, probably because even the most simple of whispers could disintegrate a bullet... or brain.  Motherland's America is even shaped differently, with a great river dividing East and West coasts.  Here there be witches, and they are absolute killers.  Even the terrorists of Motherland are witches, causing political and religious hysteria with the pop of a balloon. Literally.

There are no brooms and wands, no cauldrons (yet), but rather- empty wooden boxes full of deadly sounds, tuning forks that measure vocal power, skrying-stone security cameras and some kind of fungus that isn't above healing or harming whenever she desires.  The "work" in this show is sound-based, emphasizing the power of the voice, the power generated from our vocal cords-- no glittery sparkles, no god-forsaken blue sky beams.  Even the witches' flight is achieved through a type of flying-ointment-like chemical patch (like an external acid dose to the neck), not a broom.  Beltane is a military-sanctioned teen orgy, empty balloons are potential bombs, and little yellow birds climb into the mouths of dead men while young lovers float in the night sky.  Yeah, it's a hell of a ride.

Battling terrorist's, the politics of forced-service and the complexities of a culture that has always seen and known magic as a tangible reality, this is how the show opens right off the bat, following our three heroin protagonists as they navigate what service and sacrifice mean to them.

Izadora and Raelle

Our favorite young cadet, Raelle Collar, is a fierce, gifted, rebellious young lesbian, growing increasingly more distrustful of the Army who now own her life, safety and fertility as a weapon of warfare, as an incubator for future warmongers.  Her necromantic love interest, Scylla, is aptly named- she's a monster (or appears to be).  Cadet Collar is joined by the admittedly irritating but wildly lovable Abigail Bellweather- the high-society leader who embodies feminine sexual prowess and bitter blind nationalism all at once.  Rounding out the group is the heart of the team, and maybe even the show: sweet, kind, wise and tame (if not sheltered and overeager) Tally Craven, a seer from NorCal who just might be the most naïve and unlucky patriot around.  Under the dutiful eye of Anacostia Quartermaine and General Sarah Alder, the girls not only develop themselves, but a friendship that transcends imagined power and possibilities.  

mother mycelium tests, S:2-E:3
General Alder is a righteous bitch with a cold heart, but just when you come to hate her, she reveals a humanity that leaves you questioning if we really understand the pressures and perils of war.  She condescends to her allies and friends, she unscrupulously uses everyone she meets and most terrifyingly, she's not above running the country from the shadows via some dark work.  I've loved her complex character development; from ruthless shatterer of dreams, to merciful mother of lost daughters.  The actresses' playing these characters are each exceptional at what they do; Taylor Hickson's cadet Collar is easily one of the most likeable leading ladies in a long while and Hickson was a perfect choice to bring intensity to the role.  Personally, I think Demetria McKinney's Anacostia is probably one of the best characters on the program: she is moral, she is just, she has compassion and steel in her spine... and maybe something a tad bit self-destructive inside too. 

I love that the gifts these women (and men, who attend a separate militaty school) have is referred to as "work" rather than magic.  In fact, I don't think the word "magic" appears in the show at all, even the "spells" being used (which are notes and harmonies) are called seeds  I. Love. It.  I love that the cast is full of women and nonbinary people of every shape, size, sexual identity and fluidity-- representation in every corner and an emphasis on powerful women of color.   I've got to respect the normalization of free-love, pansexuality, queerness, butchness, femmness, and body-diversity, it is so affirming.

I highly recommend Motherland: Fort Salem, available on Freeform or on Hulu.  I think it's the kind of refreshing take on witchcraft and magic that many of us everyday practitioners might crave, have missed, will need to wash the taste of so many magical-media failures out of our mouths.  it's a breath of fresh air, or rather, a freaking storm. So far, this second season has been everything I've wanted and I'm really pleased at all the little details (Izadora's skrying-stone x-ray anyone?).   This show certainly deserves a bigger budget, and a wider audience, and I'd probably sell (what's left of) my soul to play an extra in the background.
So cheers to you, Motherland, and I hope witches give this show a chance, it's good fun, and so very stylish too!  I really hope to see more Motherland cosplay, I've been searching for uniform replicas everywhere but no luck yet...  Hopefully, I can look like real war-college material come Halloween.

Catch Motherland: Fort Salem Tuesday nights on Freeform or Wednesdays on Hulu.

Say the Words.

Your Favorite Teacup

Toasted rice tea "I Got You" from T Project in Portland

You know, tea culture is incredibly important.  So many cultures around the world, so many kinds of fascinating and unique human groups boil a plant and drink it with friends and family in a social ritual that creates bonds, establishes trust, and occasionally, reveals the future. Sharing tea with others or with yourself is so... memorable.  It's a moment taken, a silence enjoyed.  That's what it really symbolizes to me; pleasant memories.  Good memories.  Solid and stable memories that always warm me.

I grew around a lot of tea lovers. Our grandma took us to some of the most beautiful tea-houses whenever she could afford to.  I'll never forget how incredibly fancy and special I felt having high tea at The Empress in Victoria B.C, or the quaint little tearooms up North of Seattle by the lake, with all their perfect porcelain and delicious flavors.  I love that "hot-leaf juice"; red rooibos and thick green matcha…  I'm partial to black teas with lots of cream and sugar; Yorkshire Gold, or Market Spice...  But then again, I fairly swoon for a strong mango black or pure peppermint.  I love my mother's teas too; Russian tea, hemp tea, southern lemon sweet-tea.  The Perennial Tearoom used to carry my very favorite kind of tea; Blue Eyes- so tangy and fruity, my sister and I haunted that place after college just to get that Blue Eyes, or Sakura.  Right now, my addiction is toasted rice and green tea from T Project, it is legitimately one of the most interesting and thoughtful flavors I've ever enjoyed, and smells like some odd and wonderful bakery.  I'll be going back to Somehwere for another batch soon.

Delicate, cold, painted china balanced on little round saucers... or big ole glass jugs of dark honey colored sweet goodness.  Fruity teas in summer, spicy teas in winter; long steeping and tablespoons of sweet glorious sugar (I can literally feel my English friends groaning at that part haha).  Oh, and the ritual.  The fancy hats and pretty pearls, and all those doilies stacked with every kind of food that feels familiar and comforting to me.  I don't know what it is, locked inside my memory, but I feel giddy every time I see those three tiers of cucumber on white bread, lemon tarts, biscuits and petit fours.  Nice, pleasant conversations, smiles, and all those marvelous tea pots hanging from their hooks behind the counter, or ringing the room, stacked in glass shelves.  

More than anything, I remember the connection that tea-ware made between people.  You see, the kind of tea cup one holds dearest, or their favorite teapot, says a lot about them.  You can see all kinds of history and personality in one's choice to teapot or of teacup.  There's emotions, wishes, dreams and history in there; broken-hearted tears that fell into steaming cups, trembling hands gripping the porcelain for warmth....  Each hairline crack may tell a story.  For some people, a teacup is just a means to an end.  For others, their teacup is sending a message-  I am delicate.  I am stern.  I adore fine things.  I have an edge...

Whenever I'd go to a teahouse or shop, my favorite part (other than opening very cannister for a sniff) was connecting with other people over the tea-set they were picking out.  I cherished my girlhood tea-sets, and I still have quite a few of them in storage and in regular rotation.  My favorite sugar cannister, teapot and creamer are the thick, white porcelain ones with the blue roses I was given by my aunt while she was alive, when I was twelve.   She was a wonderful painter, and she painted my set.  I have good memories of her. My favorite tea cup is the "Canadian Dogwood" teacup that my grandma gave me (pictured above).  I don't know if it has any collectable value or where it really came from- that's not why it's special.  It was a special gift, saved just for me because she knows I love dogwood and collecting favorite cups was our thing.  It was one of the last things she gave me before her memory went.  Every little gold line, every curve in the cup holds decades of memory and joy. Secrets.  Lies.  Fortunes read. I love how perfectly soft the texture of the cup is, there's something about it that feels good against the skin. If ever I had a favorite cup, mine is the dogwood cup.

I do believe that my tealeaf readings tend to be a little bit more informative in my favorite cup.  As far as divinations go, it isn't at the top of my tool kit but I do occasionally turn the cup and read the remains...  And in my favorite cup I always seem to get a warning, some symbol that lets me know that in some ways, the spirits are looking out for me even in small ways.

Pine Pollen Honey Cakes:  nothing quite goes with a good cup of tea like biscuits, cookies and cakes.  For this year's Feast of the Pines, we made foraged pine pollen cream cakes.

Your favorite teacup or teapot might say a lot about you.  Mine say that my values lie in sentimental connections between the women in my life and myself.  That I feel connected to my elders and also to the dead.  I am feminine and maybe a little remote.  I don't do matching sets and I'm a sucker for my vices. My favorite teacup says; I'm old school, and I value memory.  I wonder what yours says about you.  I bet your favorite teacup has a wonderful memory inside it.  Rituals have a way of forming those kinds of bonds, creating a magic within the places we pour so much memory into...  I still have tea parties.  I'm not ashamed to admit it.  I'll sit on a blanket in the shade with my rabbits or teddy bears and pretend I'm at the Empress again.

Me, my tea, and my favorite teacup... and all the wonderful memories.


P.S:
Happy Pride Month!

Regional Witchcraft Challenge

When I first posted the #regionalwitchcraftchallenge on Instagram, I had no idea that it would take off into such a unique phenomenon.  The idea was for people to show me what the magical toolbox of their own region looks like.  I wanted to see how magic is shaped by where we live and where we came from, and for us to share those experiences.  When I posted it, I was knee deep in Puget Sound story-telling lore for a project, and was just hoping to connect to a few people about their own bioregional animism.  

But then, something happened; the connection was made and an explosion followed.  Magicians, brujos, sorcieres, charmers, witches, healers, sorcerers and magical folk from all over the world posted a picture of the tools that best represent the craft in their region. From France and Germany, from Italy and Denmark, from Scotland and South Wales, from Australia and South Africa, from New England and Alaska; witches the world over-- over 145 people so far, jumped on this hashtag (or a related one) and shared their tools.  Lo behold- we really are a very distinct spiritual group.

Horseshoes, rusted nails, shells, twisted branches and animal skulls it would appear that every folk witch in the world has their own use for red thread and woven magics.  It has been incredibly connecting, and affirming, this realization that no matter the denominations of magic we practice, we share a common spiritual center, a common animistic thread that tells each of us to collect from the land and bind what we find together to make a practice that is whole and good.  The familiarity was fascinating; if you take a look at the pictures posted, you will see a definite trend in what folk witches the world over need to do their works, and it would appear we are riding similar waves in our practices.

What we share in common in our practices, far outweighs our cultural and religious differences, and binds us together in the common faith of spirit and magic.  I want to thank every single one who participated and made the Regional Witchcraft Challenge a huge success. May the red thread that binds us magical folk never unravel.  

I'd like us all to come together after vaccination and restrictions lift, and meet at some place, some camp or resort, to host our Goblin Markets and share our magical humor.  I picture witchy movie night, ancient board-games, trading skills, karaoke, mischief in the forest, general hell raising.  I want to gather round the fire at a crossroads in the woods and hail to the father and mother of witches, play some banjo and cat's cradle...  I'm picturing a whole lot of sea-shanties and a whole lot of food.

I encourage you so join in, share your regional toolkit and bond with those fascinating humans from all over the world who understand where we're coming from.  I think bringing awareness to diversity/similarity is important-- it's part of the way I was raised and has brought me a lot of good friends and family to share this life with.  Highlighting our beautiful variety and bonding over that shared experience, is an affirming thing, and I'd love to learn more about each and every one of you.  Folk-witches of the world, unite and take over.

My Puget Witchery

It started with a simple picture, of my Puget Sound Magic, the toolkit of a witch who lives along the river, in the shadow of Rainier.  The Puget Sound region is water and earth and sky energy in such perfect balance, so much life hidden in shadows. We are quiet people in a way, often introverted and socially calm, so often we miss each other.   If you are a Puget Sound animistic practitioner of magic, seek me out, we should congregate as the rivers do.  I look forward to reaching out to the other Pacific Northwest Witches-- and those around the world, to meet up, to share. The land of mountains and rivers is home to everything a witch could need to work their will. There are whispers in those dark woods and swamps, there are ghosts and monsters in these lakes.

It smells like cedar here, and damp, and that cloyingly sweet scent of tree resins baking in the sun.  It's a land of ghosts, woodland devils, ogres, sea-kingdoms and witches, a good place to be.  Our magic is riparian, our mountains are gods, our forests are haunted and witches are devourers.  There are many demons to dance with in the wood, and underworlds to fly to. Baskets and stones, reeds and bones, there's a lot to love here in the Evergreen woods, and in the whole of the world.

In My Toolbox...

Clay Babies- Famously found on Fox (and McNeil) Island in the Sound and surrounded by a wealth of local lore, these incredible, strange curiosities of geology are the children of the maiden of the sea, and tokens of sadness, sea-divinity, gift giving and messages.  The ones found on the private beaches are now protected from being gathered, but they were free-game not that long ago and still occasionally find their way places.  At this point, most people seem to receive them as gifts from old rock-hounds, like the one I was given by a deceased local, or they gather them from some of the rivers and estuaries in the State that occasionally find themselves populated with these little water-messengers.  They aren't always found on private islands or preserves but that's usually the places they get the most attention; either way, they are children of earth and water and time.  Clay babies from this particular region house water-spirits, small folk imbued with life over the long stretch of time by the sea gods.  Layer after layer, building itself by combination of water and earth over (often) an organic material (such as a worm).  One source claims that they are related to the souls of infants, others claim they are tokens of affection from the sea.  They can represent the spirits of the water and should be kept carefully, and kindly cradled.

St. Helen's Ash-  when the mountain blew her top, her tears went EVERYWHERE.  As far north as Canada, as far south as who knows where, this ash accumulated all over the Pacific Northwest, with all the fury and destructive magic of the mountain.  A little bit of this in any averting dust brings a sense of finality to the charm.

Poplar Fluff- Also known as the Summer Snow, the fluff from the poplar trees smell heavenly but they accumulate everywhere the wind blows and can irritate allergies like crazy.  But watching them dance in the stillness, capturing the light of the sun, rolling along in great piles as you ride by on your bike... it's incredible.  The fluff is an excellent poppet stuffing, but frankly, I like to keep a small pile of the fresh stuff for my spirit to fly with.

Sound Salt-  Some people like to evaporate their waters for the salt, but I prefer to imbue.  I bought some salt on Bainbridge from a local and placed it in a jar with a large sprig of algae from the beach.  Over the months, the salt took up the moisture and scent of the sea from the red algae and now the salt, years later, is perfectly sea-worthy, and cleanses everything it touches, leeching impurities as moisture was leeched from the algae.

Geoduck Shells- when geoduck season comes you'll see a great deal of people out on the beach clamming, it's a Northwest tradition.  Geoducks are symbolically sexual creatures, with a history of use as an Aphrodisiac outside of the USA.  They are swift, sexual, powerful and (apparently) delicious?  Their shells make a good offering bowl to the amorous spirits.

Decayed Cedar- is perhaps one of the most useful incense bases that can be found all over the place-- even in the more lush and wild backyards with a rotting stump out in the fringes.  Cedar is god.  Cedar has every kind of use and is about as close to a world-tree here as one will get.  When decayed, the red bark becomes a sweet, spicy-scented powder that fills the room with the food of the spirits.  From the death of some of these trees comes a new life, found in the flames.  When sprinkled in foot-tracks, the powder conjures spirits (for me at least).

Pitch- from pine and spruce, a tool of dark witching indeed, associated with the magic baskets of the ogresses and snake and snail witches who haunt the woods and waters.  The pitch is perfect for woodwife torches (wood, sticky pitch and dried moss/lichen).

River Clay- the grey mud along the banks of certain creeks and brooks is soft and murky and easily filtered and poured into molds, and the rock clay dries quickly outside the shelf of the riverside away from all the moisture, and when powdered can become some of the most beautiful brown pottery.  There's a lot of death in the clay, those spirits must be appeased and respected and placated before granting consent to be taken.

Spring Water-  The closest to me is the Lynnwood Well and it was pretty sweet, tasty, refreshing and easy.  But the best come from the springs near the mountains further South.  There's just so much more magical UMPH to it, you know?  Those woods are full of demons, snail witches and ogre tribes; whispering wetlands and malefic meadows, and the waters that come from those places hold the spirit of that dark and mysterious medicine.  Spring water is a go-to base for all kinds of potions and notions. 

Glacial Sediment and Silt- as a magical dust.  The glacial sediments give lakes like Diablo their pristine colors, their clarity and coldness.  A tiny pinch of these kinds of dust make an excellent addition to offering sands to the jay spirit, among other gifts.

Cascade Crystals- the devil haunted mountains are a forge operated by old gods and dark spirits, and from the heat and fire of the volcanic ark, one might stumble across a quarry of raw crystal with orange and red sediment impurities within them.  Beautiful, full of the magic of death and fire and forge.  My grandpa would take my sister and cousins and I with him rock hounding up North in the quarries; we'd come back with small handfuls of only the most beautiful little crystals we could dig out by our own hand.  I'd share when with friends at parties and talk all about my cool hippy Scandinavian grandpa and his traveling spirit.  I feel his spirit in the crystals, and every time I pass by the mountains.