An Evergreen Winter: The Comfort and Protection of Conifers

The snow is falling in such ghostly flakes that I almost need to squint to see it. Each icy star is so tiny that it doesn't so much fall as dance through the air, whirling around me, kissing my nose and cheeks, melting even as it arrives at the very edge of my skin. It's the same sort of teasing weather that our small party of wildcrafters enjoyed in the woods last month at year's end. We made our way across the snowy landscape, seeking out evergreens to keep our homes jolly and stocked with conifer medicine for winter tide.

We were kept company by chickadees, and stalked the foot trails of deer and coyote, and something with larger paws...lynx, perhaps. We set off together, then wandered slightly off course from one another to find our own trees to whisper to. I lingered at a Douglas fir whose large boughs reached toward the place my dog was buried over a decade ago. Her bones are there still, and though I've been reunited with her in dreams over the years I was surprised at the fierce longing I felt while I was standing beside her resting place. I gathered a few small clippings and kept them tucked aside. Some of those fir tips were for tea, and it gave my heart mild comfort to think that I might be rejoining us in the smallest way by ingesting an infusion from a tree that was fed with her body.

I spent some time with Ponderosa pine, happily gathering up sprays of needles and brushing my hand lightly down the bark to collect any loose resin that had dripped the length of the trees. One pine had been scored heavily by a bear, and another next to it had fallen, its standing remains worn smooth by animals using it as a rubbing post.

There was juniper to be had as well, along with merry green wolf lichen, and a few bright red rosehips left on a stand of wild roses. Once our arms were full of our bounty, we found our way back to my friend's cozy kitchen where a pot of soup was warmed. Rum and eggnog was the seasonal aperitif and a delightful assortment of home-fermented foods accompanied the meal. We spoke of herbal medicines and the hard-won victories of our own peace and well being, while we nibbled on roasted apples topped with maple orange whipped cream.



Conifer medicine is good medicine year round, but there is something especially comforting about bringing evergreens inside in the winter months. The traditional scent of the holidays aside, trees in the pine family (Pinaceae) and some of their cypress brethren (Cupressaceae) are chock full of vitamin C and can offer aid in dealing with respiratory issues/infections, making these trees a perfect cold tonic. Anti-inflammatory and diuretic, the needles can also be infused in oil for a pain-easing massage blend for muscle and joints. Taken as tea, in nutrient-rich vinegar, or transformed into a soothing chest rub, pine, fir, and juniper can assist in keeping your body humming along through the coldest season.

In folklore and magic, conifers seem to act as guardian spirits and are especially useful as helpers for healthy and safe home-keeping. Their stories and lore echo the practical application of these stalwart trees by the original inhabitants of the land. Lodgepole pine was employed in home-building for First Peoples, providing the poles for tepees and lodges, and fragrant fir boughs were gathered as bedding and as floor covering.

Juniper has a history of aiding purification work, assisting in the clearing of both real-world pests, such as insects or rodents, and those of a more spectral variety. The fragrant shrub was used as funerary wood in some forest tribes, the smoke offering protective company to the departing soul. Even in fairy tale, juniper is burial chamber and underworld where the dead can be reborn, as the The Juniper Tree story tells. Cedar, and in the west specifically Pacific red cedar (Thuja plicata) was the conifer of choice for coffins and sea-faring vessels and had so many daily uses that it was known as "Mother Cedar" to the Salish peoples.

The south has its own evergreens (the devastating decline of longleaf pine in particular, is worth reading up on) and here too, in southern rootwork and hoodoo traditions, we see pine added to incenses and floor washes for protection and cleansing/clearing work. Cedar is used in work where gentle persuasion is needed, and evergreens in general can be considered money-drawing just by their nature and name.

Hoarfrost on pine, British Columbia

In my own practice the fir, pine, and juniper I collect in the woods before the winter solstice are bound together with words of protection whispered or chanted over the bundle. I often add a sprig of prickly wild rose, the maroon skin of the branches and the deep red hips lending a pop of red to my green swag. Sometimes I'll even attach a cutting of Oregon Grape, which has a decidedly holly-like look to its spiny leaves. This grand bundle will guard my door and household from December through until late January. The neighbours might give a side-eye to my lingering branches, their own holiday decor long put away, but my evergreen guardian is meant for keeping unwanted spirits from stopping by on a winter's eve and the bitter season doesn't begin to loosen its grip around these parts until February dawns.

As I find myself in the last hours of January now, my sentinel swag is retired and the greenery sorted and re-purposed for incense and magic-making. It pleases me to consider that the aromatic smoke of pine and fir wafting from my censer was once the ward at my home's threshold. This previous-incarnation adds an extra note to any clearing or protection work I do with the incense or washes I create with these trees. (While I might add juniper and cedar to a clearing incense blend, they are more often utilized in my ancestor practices.) If your practice follows seasonal or wheel-type observations, the arrival of Imbolc or Candlemass marks the traditional burning of Yule greens. Generally, these greens would not remain in the household after this point as to keep them indoors would be to invite in poor luck. I burn a small selection of my conifer branches in my fire bowl as a tribute to the passing season, and put the rest up in glass jars for future use.

I truly hope you have weathered your winter beautifully. Perhaps you've found comfort in hygge, coziness and good company, or you've ventured out to ski runs or sledding hills. If you didn't save your holiday greens for Imbolc bonfires or incense, don't fret. Soon, bright green fir tips hinting of citrus will emerge with the coming of spring and you can find new ways to enjoy conifer medicine and magic!


*Please note that conifers can irritate the kidneys with continual use. Please research and know your pines/fir/junipers/cedars before imbibing them (a good field guide or local forestry website will be of great help). Junipers and some pines are not recommended while pregnant or breast-feeding.


Articles and Recipes for reveling in conifers:

Gathering and Processing Conifers, from Rebecca at Thorn & Wonder

Incense crafting, from Sarah Anne Lawless

Evergreen salt scrub, from Rosealee de la Foret at Learning Herbs

Juniper berry spiced cookies, from Danielle at Gather

Foraging for Pine needles, from Colleen at Grow, Forage, Cook, Ferment

A Midwinter Herbaria, from Becky at Blood and Spicebush (Pine is mentioned)

I have another small batch of my conifer oil, bottled and listed in my shop, ready to take home.


Sources:

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer (specifically the chapter "Old-Growth Children" in which she speaks of cedars)

Edible and Medicinal Plants of Canada, Lone Pine
(Lone Pine produces beautiful field guides)

The Old Magic of Christmas, Linda Raedisch (chapter 12, specifically "Juniper")

The Untold History of Healing, Wolf D. Storl (chapter 2, specifically "Juniper")

USDA Ponderosa Pine guide

Trees, Trails, and Chickadees

The hills have been calling me for two weeks now, but the days have been frigid and icy and the wind wicked - not the kind of weather suitable for much except blankets and books. This week, a warm front moved in and melted the small amount of snow on the valley floor, leaving puddles for happy ducks and revealing green grass, and late autumn seeds for the profusion of quail picking through the yard. I gathered my wildcrafting friends, wise women who know the land and its stories, who hear it speak to them, just as I do, and we went up into the trees and the great rock bluffs to wander for a while.

The snow fell in tiny wisps of almost-flakes while we spread out and followed the trails that called to us. I became enthralled with a grove infested with what seemed like hundreds of chickadees. Their calls, excited peeps, and pecks and scratches on the tall pine and fir were a symphony, and their jumping and flittering from tree to tree, a ballet. You may have your Nutcracker, but I'll keep the wild chickadee troops, who eat massive amounts of food each winter's day and then induce hypothermia each night in order to stay alive through the long, cold months ahead.

There were other paths to follow. High mountain juniper called out to me, and I now have some infusing in oil for an after bath treat for my cold-weary skin. I stopped for a while and listened to the wind as it whispered through the old, sky-high pines. I traced deer tracks for a time, winding back and forth through the trees. I wanted so much to follow the coyote too, to see where it had gone roving, but my friends called out to me from a gorgeous bluff over the hill, and I left that trail of paws for another day.

We found several small trees that someone had cut and left where they fell. Why such waste, there's no way of knowing, but we allowed ourselves to scavenge the boughs of the fir and pine lying there to bedeck our own homes for the season. The drive home, in a vehicle stuffed to the roof with evergreens, was divine.

There was soup to be had at the end of our exploration, hearty warmth handmade by someone who knows her way around bones and herbs. As the cold faded from our own bones, we spoke of transformation, discovering the depths of ourselves, and finding where we belong - even if that is in more than one place and even if that knowing makes us ache.

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go. 

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

Excerpt from "Wilderness" ~ Carl Sandburg

Last night, after crushing a bit of juniper in my hands and bringing it to my cold nose, again and again, I finally drifted off to sleep and went back to that path of paw prints in the snow. I don't know if I ever found the canid that left them, but I woke feeling like I had been wandering all night in the cold.

Tonight there are candles lit, and extra blankets at the ready (as there will be for all the long nights to come) and I can't help but think about the chickadees gathering in their hollowed trees and any other shelter they can find, intentionally dropping their body temperature, transforming their food stores from the day into fuel to keep their body shivering until the dawn.

I don't know that I will mind if my dreams lead me back to the wintry forest. I might follow the trail of paws again, or perhaps I might learn something from those tenacious birds who embrace the cold, and find a way to evolve to suit it. Maybe they can teach me about going deeper, to the very edge of life, only to wake in the morning and begin the adventure again.




Assorted wintry bits:

~ The stars are falling again - the Geminids will put on a show for you on December 13-14th if you feel like looking to the sky. Great info here.

~ My delightful, if grumpy about the winter holidays, friend Hob from The Orphans's Almanac is now into his Nights of Krampus giveaways. You only have 24 hours to get in on each night's fun, so make sure you stop by his blog daily over the coming week to check out the wonderful and wicked goings on!

~ If you want to know much, much more about animals and working with them in a meaningful way as a spiritual practice, then do check out Sara Magnuson's class Animalia. Sara is wise, and passionate about her work with animals/animal spirits and this looks to be a fantastic course.

The Delight and the Madness of May

May is all kinds of madness, and I'm not sure I have ever experienced it any other way.  There is the revelry of the 1st of May, if you partake in it, and the explosions of colour and form as the green world returns lustily to life.  I have seen more bud and bloom in these last few weeks than I will see for the rest of the growing season, I think.  It is dizzying and intoxicating.

I am frantically stringing more and more fishing line across bamboo stakes to keep ahead of the peas that are greedily reaching for the sky. I'm nibbling lettuces and chives while thinning onions and weeding out the clover that has snuck in to the garden beds. The honeyberry bush is delivering up funny-looking purple berries (like a blueberry, but more cylindrical) and I'm fighting off the birds nesting in the cedars for my share.

The lilacs have languished just as the dogwood and wild rose have begun to flower. The columbines opened overnight. And we finally were blessed with some rain.

The high valley desert that I live in can be cruel without enough snow each winter to fill the watersheds. If the snow volume is little, like this past winter, we depend on the spring rains. And until today, we've had little but a sprinkle. As the earth and the cycles shift and change, there is little accuracy in predicting the seasonal weather if you rely on "what used to be." The April and May showers we once were familiar with, are now closer to June monsoons. That can spell the end of some plants in my garden, like the delphiniums that don't like to get soggy as they prepare to bloom (they get dusty and mold), and the Valley's cherry crops can be damaged by the downpours so late in the spring.

But we adjust. We move plants to different locations, or phase them out for more hearty cultivars. We collect water when it does rain. We wander the Valley hills and notice that the harvest times for the wild flowers and trees has shifted slighty - and we shift too. And when the constant sun arrives, around late June until early September, we will leave our prayers and offerings upon the land in the hopes that the wildfires are few and well managed.

In the time between - and isn't it always the time between, these days - I have been wandering a bit, with my wild-hearted friend. I have witnessed the Tamarack needles return, and the chocolate lilies and wild strawberries flower.  A few days ago, I walked through the Valley sagebrush and collected a small basket full for drying, while swooning over lupines and bitter root.  

Artemisia tridentata (Big Sagebrush)

You know it is dry when the bitter root is happily blooming.

There are still activities afoot that are holdouts from late winter. The fire bowl has not been put away yet, but a burning ban in the Valley is imminent if the rain does not continue. Still, there are candles to light each evening when I finally drag myself and the cats back indoors.  There is also a crockpot of bone broth on simmer tonight - a practice that has continued from the cold months, as I find it nourshing and calming. There are blankets folded in neat piles, that I may never put away in the cedar chest. There is some odd comfort in having an assortment of soft blankets at the ready - even if they become merely cat beds until the Autumn returns.

Sagebrush plains between Valley hills

As I have been writing this, the moon too has shifted. A blink or two after its darkest possible incarnation, and it is new again. Although we won't see it as a tiny slice of crescent for a few days, it moves slowly away from its momentary position directly between the earth and sun.  I like this. While many don't consider the moon "new" until they can see it, I have always loved the idea that it starts a fresh journey the next breath after it is at its darkest. 

And what of your journey this month? What is growing around you? What is changing or shifting? Let us lift a glass of iced herbal tea (or something stronger) to the glory of May, the lushness of the earth, and the fresh new moon. Cheers!




Assorted May Mischief:

~ On May Eve I used Sarah's Sabbat Flying Ointment and whisked off to the Brocken. Her shop is closed until the beginning of June, but swing by and read her essay "For Fear of Flying."

~ Mercury now heads into retrograde. Having been born in a sign ruled by Mercury, I find the retrograde weeks perfect for organizing, and letting go of things. I generally go through my closets and find clothes and items in good shape to donate to the thrift store. I wrangle books, paper work, and all those sticky notes I write and leave everywhere, in to some kind of order. Don't fret about the wonky energy (if you even feel it). Simply think before you speak, double check important paperwork, and perhaps take the time to finally sort out your junk drawer!

Bri says it better, in this post about the current retrograde in Gemini.

~ The farmers market is open for the season and I'm in heaven. Also of note: the city has allowed local wineries to have a booth at the market and offer tastings. Just when I thought the farmers market couldn't get any better. And although wine is fine, vodka is better! New to our local spirits trade, Legend Distilling is making a name for itself with local fruit infused vodka.

Slàinte!

The Magic is Everywhere

My little town smells like citrusy evergreen tips this morning. And sure enough, as I headed out to feed breakfast to the local elementary school kids, I took a look at the neighbour's trees and noticed flashes of bright green at the ends of all the branches.*

The wild neon of the weeping willows along the lakeshore has mellowed a bit in the last week. Cherry blossoms are already giving way to leaves, and the large rue plant in the front garden is forming flower buds. According to the local orchardists, Spring arrived two weeks early this year.

In the vinyards every stray, creeping vine, save the two main producers, has been clipped from the trellises. They are bare and sad-looking at the moment, but they will leaf soon. In the cellar at my brother's winery, he is bottling like a madman. Last year's gewurztraminer has just hit the shelves and the 200-plus wineries in The Valley are gearing up for tourist season.

My own energy is trying to keep up with the shifts. It has been an odd and unsettling transition from Winter to Spring. I'm feeling as though a bit of tempering is happening - an adjustment here, a refining there. I wish I could say I've gotten to be an expert at this over the years. I still find change somewhat uncomfortable. I'm perfectly happy to watch the seasons melt in to one another, but watching parents age, and my almost-adult nieces struggle through the last of their teen years, has been a bit more of a challenge.

As always, I turn back to my practice. Busy mornings have thwarted my usual long river-walks, and so I squeeze in yoga, breathing exercises, and bits of meditation throughout the day. I take a moment (or more, if I'm lucky) to linger at the altar. My offerings have been meagre of late. Candlelight and incense only go so far. It's time to uncork a treasured bottle of wine, and add some fresh flowers.

Spring is settling in, and I'm finding my groove again.

Move, stretch, bloom, inhabit, and then move some more. Watch the sun stretch out its stay in the sky each day, and set a little bit further north each evening. Find solace in the cycle, and your place within it. Love more. Smell more flowers, and trees, and weeds. Notice the magic.

The magic is everywhere.

*Should you decide to sample the delight of fir or spruce tips (chock full of vitamin C, and lovely immune stimulating properties) then pinch a small amount of the soft, bright-green tips from a tree (that has not been exposed to sprays) and nibble away!

You might also:

~ soak tips in hot water and enjoy as tea

~ infuse in honey, being sure that all plant material is covered with the honey (turn honey over daily if it is difficult to keep the tips submerged)

~ create a syrup

~ chop fresh tips finely, and add to sugar and a small bit of oil for an uplifting bath scrub

New Green Hope

I have just returned from a walk by the river - something I haven't done in months. The flattening of the wild flora on the path and the laying of a good half-foot of rock to "improve" the road made for a depressing scene, so I left that place I love for a time.  Over the winter, the snow and ice seems to have settled the earth again, and in most places an easy walk is possible. There are even areas where grass is working valiantly to come up through the rock.

I shall shake every seed-pod I find. There will be wild things again.

I spotted the gloriously prickled pods of burdock - one of the few plants that survived the earth-movers last Fall.  Along the outermost edge of the riverbank some staghorn sumac, a few mullein stalks, and a handful of wild rose canes have lingered on, along with a sampling of other assorted plants clinging between rocks and water. These will spread this year, populating whatever spot they can, and I am already looking forward to the summer months when the barren path will have life on it again.

Where the road meets the hillside, the red willow is the showiest plant to grace the trail. Until it is covered with leaves, the red bark stands out as an emblem of February cheer.  It is ripe for cutting now - almost a bit too ripe, as the weather has perked up and with the warming, the buds are growing rapidly.  I snipped a few stems and will find some time today to carefully skin the two layers of bark off in little spiral strips to dry for a local incense mix.

At home in the garden there are little signs of life.  The chives have popped up, lime green shoots cheerfully working their way through the soil.  I planted cold weather lettuces and green onions* yesterday. It is the earliest I have ever put seeds in the earth, but with the warm weather we are having and the raised beds I garden in, these cold-loving crops will be just fine.

The rest of the yard is still a deep Winter brown. There are perennials to trim, raspberry canes to cut back and train, new flags to raise, and so much planning. But the seaons is very early yet. Imbolc marked a turning point toward warmth for us here in the West, but I'm afraid the groundhog was not so kind to those East of the Rockies.

Be warm and safe. Be well and of good cheer. Winter can not hold out forever. Sending you sunshine to warm your coldest days, and plenty of new, green hope.

Assorted ways to get a little celebratory in February:

~ Starting today, V-day chocolate is half-off!

~ Some seasonal advice from Farmer's Almanac.

~ If you are down South, Mardi Gras is about to kick off! Here's is what is happening in NOLA.

~ If you aren't going to make it to Mardi Gras, you can still have pancakes!

~ And if pancakes are not your style, a King Cake is on the menu too.
~ Chinese New Year begins February 19th - the year of the Sheep/Goat!

* I planted green onion seeds, not onion sets. Seeds will survive the few frosts we have left to come - onion sets would be too far along to survive several frosts and would likely rot in the earth. If you would rather plant onion sets - wait until most of the frost danger has passed.

Wild Rosehip Syrup

There are a few things that can make even the most stalwart summer-lover feel glad about the waning sun. One of those miracles is the wild fruit that is offered up just before autumn arrives, found in all the unruly places.  I have discovered abandoned lots that house shaggy crab-apple trees, grapevines left to wander over fences and grow down into alleyways and walking paths, and huge stands of wild rose that grow all over the valley hills.  The elderberries show off their dusty blue fruit now, teasing from just beyond my reach, and I've spotted several unruly apple trees from long-forgotten orchards still valiantly offering up their bounty.

While on a walk in the hills with a dear friend this week, we came upon a very large stand of wild roses that were boasting bright red hips.  My nieces have been complaining about scratchy throats lately, so I harvested a small amount of the vitamin C-packed fruit and headed home to make syrup.

Simple Rosehip Syrup

Wash rosehips, and remove ends and any damaged/spotted portions

I use a  1-2 -1 ratio:

1 cup of rosehips

2 cups of water (plus an extra splash)

1 cup of sugar or honey

Bring rosehips and water to a boil in a pot

Turn water down to a simmer and mash rosehips

Let simmer 30 minutes and remove from heat 

 Strain rosehip mash and return liquid to pot

Add sugar (or honey) and return to a boil

Let simmer until syrup thickens 30-40 mins or more

Store in sterilized jars in the fridge for 4-6 months

To "keep the doctor away" I have my girls take a tablespoon once a day, especially now that they are heading back to school.  I want their immune systems working well when they are sitting in a building with recycled air and multiple kids with colds.  The syrup is so good though, I have no trouble convincing them to use it.

If syrup isn't your thing (and you don't like it on pancakes or ice cream, and you are a monster of some kind) then you can harvest rosehips to make jelly, herbal teas, wine or cordials, or even infuse them in oil for a gorgeous (and astringent) facial oil.

Are you finding delights in your neck of the woods?  Do you hop your neighbour's fence in the night and "borrow" peaches?  Do you have a hog that is truffle-trained?  Do tell - I love hearing all about the (mostly legal) wild harvesting you are up to!

All Upon A Midsummer Weekend

Midsummer dawned sunny and hot on Saturday, and I had a plan.  Which of course meant, nothing would go as planned.

I took my walk beside the river, the plants growing tall and reaching for my knees after the rains of the previous week.  The Saskatoon berries were ripening and I picked as many as I could reach. It was a small harvest, but I'll return tomorrow for some more in the hopes of getting a few jars of jam out of the effort.

Upon returning home with the tasty jewels, I noticed that my dear rue had started keeling over from the winds. It was time for a trim.  A huge armfull of green-vanilla scented bliss later, I strung lengths of twine in the basement and hung the charming herb to dry

Later that morning I drove to the next town to the lakeshore in order to take part in a solstice gathering, but was turned away. There was a classic car show happening, and no parking to be found for blocks.

I carried on to the west, up the hillside and stopped at the cemetery that houses the ashes of my grandparents.  I washed their headstones, and left them the lavender that I had woven into my hair that morning.

I continued on my journey up the mountain, and found that the yarrow was ripe for picking.

A basket full of the healing herb, and dusty and dry myself, I still wasn't ready to go home, so I drove south toward the desert.  I stopped at a farm stand to pick up local honey and just-ripe cherries, and paid some silver to a favourite crossroads before moving into the land of sage brush.

I stopped to pick a handful of the fragrant plant and carried on to another cemetery to pay my respects to the goddess, in one of her many forms.

By the time I found myself back at home hanging bundles of yarrow and sage, red cheeks and arms from too much sun, I was exhausted. I had plans to attend an evening circle at the lake as well.  But the hours in the sunshine and fresh air had left me weary, and the glass of crabapple wine I was sipping was a terribly good additional excuse not to drive again.  

I spoke my gratitudes, petitions and charms that night, and toasted the longest day, and then slipped effortlessly into dreams of plants and mountains and ancestors.

I hope your Midsummer/Solstice was absolutely delightful, and everything you hoped for - even if it didn't go exactly as planned!

Please Touch

This morning I was walking beside the river, stopping to look closely at the plants just now blooming, and those releasing seeds or fruit, and I was struck at how strong the need to touch is for me.  I ran my palms over rabbit brush and long grasses, stopped to roll rose hips and wild grapes between my fingers, and pet and murmured loving words to the beloved mullein.  I delight in sight and get giddy with scent, but touch is intoxicating to me.

Rabbit Brush

We see children like this - exploring everything with their hands.  Being told "don't touch!" by their parents (or by well-placed signs) whenever they wander through stores.  My parents tried to teach us to keep our hands glued to our sides, and then they just gave up. They took us to the hills to touch and play and get dirty.  My brother had a rock collection as a child, and I was forever bringing home pine cones.  I'm sure my mother threw out buckets of each, every year, and we simply brought home more.  I never seemed to grow out of it though - that need to pick up things, touch them, and bring them home.

There is a long tree branch with a forked end that stands in the corner of my bedroom.  One day it will become a stang, but for now I admire the texture of it, having been stripped of its bark by a beaver.  I found it by the river on Christmas morning.

There is a wand, also a piece of beaver-stripped wood, that I oiled with blessed blends of oil and herbs, that sits on my altar.  There are found, shed antlers and a portion of long ago evacuated wasp nest that share space with roots and dried plant allies.  Stones picked up, pressed leaves and flowers, and still, pine cones...always pine cones, find themselves tucked into any space that will hold them.

Milkweed gone to seed.

I wanted so much today, to bring home milkweed seeds.  I lingered over them, just barely touching their silky 'wings' while a beaver slapped its tail in the river just beyond.  I longed to harvest some of the remaining Oregon grapes I spotted, but knew I wouldn't have time to process them.  I touched everything I could - barely containing myself when a gentleman and his pups walked by with raised eyes as I hovered over the edge of the riverbank reaching for the goldenrod.

There is, in humans, a biological need to touch other humans.  But in some of us - the ones who hear the plants whisper and the marsh reeds sing, and who fall prey to the sharp taste of wild mustard and the thorns of wild roses - there is nothing quite like the touch of leaf and grass and flower on our skin. Nothing like the cool hardness of river rocks. Nothing ever like the strangeness of pine tree bark and the ghostly tickle of dandelion turned to seed.

I've always imagined that at the entrance to parkland and wild spaces, there should be a sign that reads: "Please Touch."

To Make the Wounded Whole

"There is balm in Gilead,

To make the wounded whole;

There's power enough in heaven,

To cure a sin-sick soul"

~ African American Spiritual

In the last twelve hours, a great snow blew into The Valley and then melted again.  It was quite the blizzard as I drove home yesterday, and I woke to nearly an inch on the yard this morning.  But it was light and fluffy, and the warm winds came in shortly after dawn, and soon it was gone.  There is still the ice and deeply packed places in the corners of the yard that get little sunlight this time of year.  But for the most part, the end of the constant snow is near.

Today the librarian told me that her irises were coming up.  I've not checked mine - I haven't had the heart to go searching for life around the bulbs yet.  Tomorrow perhaps.  The most vibrant green I see this time of year is the moss that grows on the large boulders by the river.  I often stop and run my hands over the little green blankets.  It's the closest I get to new plant growth this early in the season.

The other item that peaks my interest this time of year is poplar buds.  After a few good winter winds, many little twigs fall from the poplar trees by the river, and the sticky buds on the branches are a prize!  The resinous material that seeps from the buds is nicknamed "Balm of Gilead" and is wonderful infused in oil and used in salves that are dabbed on wounded skin and rubbed onto inflamed or arthritic hands.  There are a couple great posts on using Balm of Gilead here and here.

In the Pagan-osphere, the first big festival of the season just ended.  After two years of tension surrounding Pantheacon, many hurt feelings and much confusion, it seems that the festival bounced back wonderfully.  Reports are coming in from blogs and social media that this was an incredible return to point for Pantheacon.  People came away feeling a sense of community, even with those whose practices were entirely different than theirs.  I'm looking forward to reading more as the attendees continue to blog about their experiences.  This is a festival that I plan to attend in the future.

Speaking of festivals/conferences, I've started booking my own tickets to events - the first two being Spark & Hustle (a business conference)  in Seattle in April, and Faerieworlds in Oregon in July.

February for me has been about shaking off the last of 2012.  Finishing old projects, filing papers, giving back that pile of books/movies that friends lent me that I was going to get to, but are still sitting in a pile on the bookshelf/beside the tv.  A good re-arranging of the living space while making use of some of my friend's mad Feng Shui skills, was also accomplished.

Thus far, 2013 seems to be the year of shaking off what doesn't work, repairing what is wounded, and getting things done!

Whether you have been hibernating (like me, last year) or hell-bent on clearing shit out, I hope February has been good for you.  March is nigh, ya'll.  Once my peas and lettuce go in the ground, it's all dirt, all the time for me, so getting my indoor world addressed now is a must!  The sun is coming...

Found Animal Objects

Being a wild-crafter and forager, I come across more in my travels than just amazing local plants that heal and uplift and smolder gorgeously on charcoal. While walking beside rivers or through woods, I find the occasional animal offering. Feathers, foot tracks, nests, and sometimes shed hair or antler are discovered. Some items are collected and brought home while others remain where I found them, gifted with whispered acknowledgments to the fauna that deposited the evidence.

I have found my share of blood and bone too, but I am not experienced with bone collecting or flesh removal techniques, so I leave that to the ones who work in those mediums.  You can expose yourself to some nasty bugs if you are not vigilant while working with animal remains.  I’ll note a few links down below - there are some very talented hide and bone workers out there.  To these practitioners, working with the dead is a sacred act - one that they take very seriously.

I have a small collection of feathers, antlers and assorted oddities like some wasp paper salvaged from a huge nest that was knocked free from a tree last winter.  Last week I brought home some wood chips carved out from one of several trees that were downed by the beaver population.  The teeth marks in the wood are fantastic, although I’d have preferred to not see half a dozen large trees come down in the space of a month.

When I bring home animal materials, I make sure they are not wet or bloody.  Covering your find in salt for a time is a good remedy for any lingering dampness.  I have a friend who microwaves feathers for 10-20 second intervals (keeping watch) and says it works great for her. I don't have/use a microwave, so that's not even something I would consider.  I prefer to leave mine in the freezer for a few days to make sure there are no bugs hopping a ride into my house.  Use common sense.  Anything that looks like it is decomposing or has a questionable substance on it, should be left behind.

Will you display your finds?  Do you have an animal altar to house items and offerings for a multitude of animals or for one specific one that you work with?  Will you use the animal materials in ritual or spell work?  I change my altar seasonally.  Sometimes antlers appear, sometimes feathers.  The wasp paper is being saved for now - I have few ideas on what I might want to do with it.  The beaver chips…who knows?  To me, beavers are hard-working, familial, nesting animals that are charming but fierce if cornered. Perhaps I'll use the wood as an addition to a special incense, or as an ingredient in a working where I’m wanting a little tenacity or persistence.

Research animal symbolism, but also take time to ask yourself what the animal that left your find means to you.  Bringing home a treasure like this can simply offer you something lovely to display, or move you more deeply into connecting with nature and the spirits and animals that reside there.

Do you collect animal objects? Are there any particular animals you work with?



For more information:

Lupa has a new book out on animal totems.  She also works with animal hide and fur (re-purposed fur from coats and hides that were already out in circulation. She doesn’t support trapping.)  She sells these items in her Etsy shop.  Her blog site Therioshamanism is a wealth of information about working with animal spirits/totems, ecoshamanism, and a host of other topics.

Sarah Lawless works with animal materials to create fetishes, flying ointments and more, and continues to build her own personal collection.  She blogs at Witch of Forest Grove and sells her products at The Poisoner’s Apothecary.  Her article in the latest Witches & Pagans Magazine, The Girl Who Found a Feather is a fantastic read.

Ms. Graveyard Dirt is a bone collector (with a fabulously foul mouth) who works with found dead.  She can be found on Tumblr where she has links to her other haunts, as well as a search bar on the right that will take you to posts on her bone and blood work.

Bewitching Home - Fire Bundles

Today is "The Bewitching Home" blog party over at The Witch of Howling Creek.  The theme of the blog party is domestic witchery and Hallow's Eve party ideas, recipes & more.  Head over to see Tenae and the other party goers for some creative ideas and clever posts!

This is my project today for my own bewitching home:

Herbal Fire Bundles

These scent-sational bundles are simple to put together and make use of the 'waste' material from your dried herbs that might normally go into the compost bin.

I love a good fire at Samhain/Halloween (and just about every other day during Autumn & Winter,) and the only thing better than a nice crackling blaze is a heavenly scented bonfire.

After hanging your herbs to dry throughout the Summer and stripping the leaves, keep the stems!  If you toss them all in a bucket for convenience and don't remember which is which - that's just fine.  You'll have lovely surprise fire bundles.  But if you do remember, or keep the herbal sticks separate, you can create bundles for specific purposes.

I've created a garden sage and sage brush bundle for purification.  Yarrow sticks (which were used for divination in days of old) are burned for insight and fire scrying.  Lavender and lemon balm stems are burned for health.  And I made several multi-herb bundles for lovely-scented fire offerings.

Know anyone else that likes a good fire?  Give some away as gifts!  A very simple and pleasing way to use up the last herb material of the season.

Enjoy your All Hallows fires!

Wandering Into September

The last week and a half have had me hopping.  A camping trip, back-to-school shopping with my niece, finishing off my summer artisan fair and planning for a September festival, plus playing catch-up at the office have all worn me a little thin.  Not surprisingly, a tickle has developed in my throat and my lungs are feeling a bit tired.  So, out comes the elderberry tincture, the rosehip tea, the garlic and a good dose of vitamin C.

Mostly, some time in the fresh air is what I crave.  Yes, camping afforded that - somewhat.  I was in a pretty commercial campsite with some construction going on, so there wasn't much nature communion happening.  Luckily, I don't have to go far to get some tree-hugging time.

I find that I take off for the hills more often now than I ever used to.  Being so close - it's like a tease for me.  Whether I'm with friends on a planned outing or just hearing the call of the forest, I love jumping in my car and driving 10-20 minutes up the road into the embrace of pine and fir and juniper and so many other plants and trees.

There are rose-hips to pick now.  Wild elderberry, Oregon grape berries and more.  Too much for me to take on at once.  I am focusing on rose hips this week.  It's a good time to make syrup for the cold and flu season ahead.  All those red dots on the bush in the below pic - rose hips!

The garden is winding down and a few tinctures and infusions are ready to strain and bottle.  Although the busy summer is all but over, there is still much to be done.  I'm grateful for the cooler nights now and the crisp mornings that allow for me to be back out walking by the river without fear of sunburn or bug bites.

September is showing up beautifully!

"By all these lovely tokens

September days are here,

With summer’s best of weather

And autumn’s best of cheer."

~   Helen Hunt Jackson, September, 1830-1885

Goodbye Rain, Hello Cinquefoil

 The rains have been in and out of the valley for a week, but seem to have finally let up.  Not before causing some serious flooding in some areas and a slide in a valley north of us.

I am hoping that the rains find Colorado this week - the wildfire reports from that state are terrible.  We've had our share of experience with wildfires here, being at the edge of a desert scrub area to the south and surrounded by forest in every other direction.  It gets very hot and dry here in July and August so we are always on wildfire watch.

While wandering the hills a few days ago, I spotted an area dotted with Cinquefoil.  This isn't a plant I've spent much time with so I'm planning on going back there to sit with it for a while.  In the meantime, I've scoured my books and found some information on the pretty plant.

Cinquefoil, also known as “Five Finger Grass” or “Crampweed,” is a wild perennial found across the US and Canada.  The serrated leaflets can number from 3-15 depending on the species.  When they appear with five leaflets, they look like the fingers on a hand .  Cinquefoil grows either upright or low and sending out runners like a wild strawberry plant.  The flowers also look a bit like wild strawberry flowers, but are usually yellow.

Medicinal Uses:

Being that it is of the rosaceae (rose) family it is not surprising that Cinquefoil is astringent, anti-inflammatory and diuretic.  Used as an infusion, it is wonderful as a surface wash for many skin conditions and can be used as mouthwash or a gargle for toothache, bleeding gums or a sore throat.  Because it contains tannic acid, it is considered helpful to stop bleeding.

Magical Lore:

Cunningham states: "The five points of the leaves represent love, money, health, power and wisdom, and so if carried cinquefoil grants these."

Illes's "Encyclopdedia of 5000 Spells" has two uses for cinquefoil.  Burning powdered cinquefoil in the bedroom will allow someone to dream of their true love, and carried by a fisherman, it is said to impart luck.

"Hoodoo Herb and Root Magic" lists money, love and warding off evil as five fingered grass's attributes and has a host of tricks associated with it.

Christopher Penczak, in his marvellous book "The Plant Spirit Familiar," has this to say:  "Cinquefoil is a common ingredient in classic flying ointments, though it is not known for any particularly narcotic or psychotropic properties.  As a flower essence, it helps clear any unwanted imprints and protects us during psychic experience, which may explain it's use in flying ointments.  Generally, the spirit of cinquefoil tends to energetically support us in whatever we do."

If you use cinquefoil for any medicinal or magical purposes, I'd love to hear about it!

Sweet Dandelion

My never-ending love affair with dandelion had me making a gorgeous, sweet syrup last week.

There seem to be a handful of different ideas on how this is done.  I read about a dozen recipes and then decided to wing it.  Here's what happened:

I picked a ridiculous amount of dandelion flowers and then separated the yellow petals out.  Several recipes mentioned that the bitterness of any green portion of the dandelion will give a bite to the syrup.  I have since found that this is not really the case.  My friend the Eco Diva has been making a ton of syrup and used the entire flower head.  I tasted her version and it was lovely.

My Version:

1 good cup of dandelion petals
3 cups of water

Bring water and petals to a boil in a pot and then turn off heat, cover and let steep overnight.
The next day, pour the dandelion infusion through cheesecloth or an unbleached coffee filter.

Return infusion to your pot, add a few slices of lemon and orange.  Bring to a slow boil and then remove the citrus.  Add 1 cup of honey and simmer until the syrup thickens. (About 1.5-2 hours)

Pour into sterilized jars and enjoy!

Eco Diva's version:

250 dandelion heads plus 4 cups of water to create your infusion.
The next day (after straining) add citrus slices or cinnamon & clove to the infusion.
Bring to a soft boil and then remove the citrus or cinnamon.
Add 2 lbs raw cane sugar & simmer 2 hours until thickened.

After spending an hour removing petals, I like the idea of using the entire heads.  I'm going to try her version this week.

Now that dandelion flower season is here, get out there and pick like crazy.  The smaller leaves are wonderful in salads.  The flower heads can be used fresh or dried in tea blends or infused in oil and used as a lymph massage oil (great for breast health!)  Even the milky sap is said to remove warts and corns if applied topically.  (I've not tried it - let me know if it works.)

There is no reason not to go out and enjoy those lovely yellow flowers in your yard.  Happy picking!