It’s been snowing and raining here so it was nice to do a bit of sunny spellwork for a client for success, achievement, and prosperity. I use tarot cards to customize novena candles to a client’s petition as I’m all about simplicity and using what you have on hand. In this situation I chose the four of wands and the sun from the major arcana and bound them to the candle with red thread.

The sachet is raw yellow silk stuffed with a mix of herbs matching the desires of the petition and then stitched up inside golden felt with orange embroidery. A ritual, an offering, and some words later the candle and sachet were consecrated to their purpose. The sachet is to be tucked in the client’s pocket during the day and under the pillow at night. My sachets are good for a year and then need to be remade.

Now to let the candle burn down…

A very magical couple and dear friends (who I’ll call Thicket and Huntress) picked me up on Thursday and off we went to Granville Island to visit the market and the artisans. We saw dozens upon dozens of handwoven brooms with handles from every tree imaginable (can’t you just picture one in Baba Yaga’s hut deep in the forest?). They were so witchily tempting, but each of us already had their like at home and which we really do use to sweep our houses with. We played handmade drums and rattles in the music shop, made fun of the incense prices in the magic shop, and went to see the silk weavers’ cottage where I bought plied red silk for weaving rowan cross charms. Then we had dinner in the market and, all of us being dirty-minded, just had to pick the European sausage stall. There was bratwurst and sauerkraut and friend onions and at least half a dozen mustards to choose from.

Then it was off and away to Kits to visit Banyen Books & Sound (I’ve gone on about them before). Thicket went to look at books while Huntress and I went right to the drums and to fondle the tarot decks. It’s always so hard to leave there without a stack of books. I managed to get away with only one book, but Huntress (a herbalist) left with a good stack of books on mushrooms and Grieve’s herbal. After pawing over them, we now highly recommend The Fungal Pharmacy, Mushrooms and Other Fungi of North America (a really good identification guide), and both want (but didn’t buy) Chanterelle Dreams, Amanita Nightmares. I, of course, couldn’t leave without a book on sacred brewing that talked of a whole hive mead, the magical properties of bee propolis and combines my two loves of mead and beer; Sacred and Healing Herbal Beers by the poetic Stephen Buhner.  It is full of recipes for meads and beers: herbal, medicinal, psychoactive, and delicious brews. There are henbane recipes in it – I may have swooned.

Then we picked up their two wee ones and made the few hour drive to their place in an old gold rush town nestled deep in the mountains. The view late that night was black shadows of mountain peaks and every star imaginable shining down when far away from the light pollution of the city. I fell asleep next to a fire under a ceiling of stars. The next day Huntress and I drove through the gorgeous 360° views of impossibly tall mountains, wild forests, and a large snaking river.  When we returned we read aloud to each other favourite passages from Datura and Christian Rätsch’s Encyclopedia of  Psychoactive Plants while Thicket listened in amusement. We planned visionary plant journeys deep in the mountains’ wild forests for the spring where we will build a temporary structure of greenwood and a good fire, watch for wolves, and play our drums far away from the things of men.

What better way to finish such a lovely simple day than to drink her hubby’s 4-year old cinnamon-clove mead warmed over the stove by a roaring fire? We talked late into the dark of spirits, magic, herbs, poisons, entheogens, wildcrafting, and doing plant journeys in the forest. “My arm hurts. There’s going to be a blizzard,” says Huntress, and it snows all night long and then the next day and the next. Old Woman had arrived at last. The once-green mountains turned white, a blinding mist rolled through the forest, and everything was covered in a deep, heavy blanket of snow.

We all hid inside from the snow, watching Grimm and 13th Warrior. What do foody herbalists do when trapped by snow? We made all kinds of herbal teas – fresh lemon, fresh galangal root, and fresh kaffir lime leaves is amazing.  Huntress made us delicious lunches and snacks. Together her and I cooked a feast of roast goose with homemade cranberry jelly, bacon-mushroom stuffing, new potatoes, and sautéed mushrooms and asparagus (with more mead of course). There was so much rich goose fat you could feel your arteries harden, but it’s liquid gold and it was worth it.

Bacon-Mushroom Stuffing

1/2 loaf of sourdough bread, cut into cubes
6 slices of bacon, chopped
1 small onion, diced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
2 big handfuls of button mushrooms, quartered
pinches, to taste, of rosemary and thyme
salt and pepper
2 eggs, beaten

Sautée the bacon with the mushrooms, onion, and garlic until the bacon is crisp. Take the pan off the heat and add the bread, s&p, and herbs and mix. Beat the eggs and pour them over the bread, stirring quickly before the egg has a chance to cook – get it to soak into the sourdough. Push down the stuffing mixture into a loaf pan and baste well with roasted goose, duck, or chicken fat. Bake for 30 min. Leave it uncovered if you like the outside crispy or cover with tinfoil if you like your stuffing soft and moist.

More nights staying up late drinking perfect mead in candle and firelight talking of homesteading, gardening, foraging, brewing, beekeeping, and a thousand other magical and wonderous topics we all share a love of. But then, alas, it came time to say goodbye and make the treacherous drive in the snow back down to the city from the mountains and the forest. We passed semis and suv’s on their sides in the snow and saw many a car fish-tail and almost lose control. But we didn’t – sometimes it’s good to have two magicians in a car. It snowed and snowed until we reached the city and found clear roads and blue sky among the clouds. Old Woman’s hold is less away from the mountains and the wild. I already miss my friends, the fire, and the nights of mead and conversation, but I have a hot cup of tea inside from the snow,  there is a candle spell burning on the kitchen table, and I have my fat black cat who missed my warm lap. Life is lovely.

Moonlight streams through my windows onto the floor. Old Man and Old Woman are calling. I smudge myself with lavender and wing and walk sunwise around my home with the burning wand to cleanse and bless for another cycle of the moon’s renewal. I go to my altar of bone, horn, fur, wing, and wood and light the candles for the Old Ones.  I drop my silver ring into the dish of water from seven springs with the holed stone and anoint myself, washing my face, hands, and feet.

I burn sweet spicy sandalwood and pour the mead into the goblets – one for them and one for me. I say the words, I drink, I wait, and I listen. Oh, yes I see, that’s what that dream meant. I was taking it too literally. The bottle of mead with the masking tape labels on it saying henbane, mugwort, and sandalwood wasn’t a recipe – it was saying those are my intoxicants.

Mead brings me dreams and prophecies dripping from my tongue like honey. Henbane is my dark ally – its seeds found among the charms and talismans of buried völvas and in ancient recipes of ritual beers. Mugwort for the seer’s gifts and because thujone affects me so very easily. Sandalwood because its scent alone intoxicates me and takes me to a magical head space. I always have a large box of the best sandalwood incense by my altar and it is my daily offering.

I listen to their other whispers and then bring out the Wild Wood tarot cards for a reading to glimpse the present and the future. After, I sit with the spirits for a while and we share our mead and the heady scent of the sandalwood smoke filling the room. I say my farewells, blow out the candles, slip under my quilts, and dream of shapeshifting rituals and flying ointments.

If you want to be a spirit worker, you must die. Just like the child you were must die to become the adult, your human self must die to become a spirit worker. The initiated are half alive, half dead. We are souls stuck in between – not quite spirits and not quite human. We shapeshift between forms – now human, now animal, now spirit, now elemental force, now otherwordly being. We drift between past, present, and future knowing that time is a non-linear illusion and all is accessible.  We are possessed by spirits and the ones who possess others with our spirits. We are the dream-walkers, shape-shifters, psychopomps, seers, mediums, mystics, visionaries, and miraculous healers. We see the unseen, hear the unheard, and experience the impossible. We dwell in paradoxes within the suspension of disbelief. We dance on the dagger’s edge between life and death, magic and insanity. We are unnatural. Supernatural.

It all sounds rather romantic until someone loses an eye, or a soul, or their life. That is why we are so few – we have to die. Some don’t make it back from initiatory death, some don’t make it back in one piece, but most will never go because they fear death above all else. And we should fear it – we should respect death and fear. We should not be fools stumbling in the dark. We should know the danger that lies ahead, the pain that will come, and walk into it knowingly always pure of intent and heart. We should know why we choose to die. Is dying worth gaining power? No, it shouldn’t be about striving for power. We die to serve. Once we die we do not belong to ourselves. Spirit workers are servants to greater spirits than themselves and will always be haunted and hunted. Every spirit serves another and we too are spirits. Erase any romantic notions from your head – this is not about you or being special – you are one of many. Your body is on loan, a temporary vessel. As long as you serve, the vessel is protected from harm and from physical death. If you make it about you or about power there is no guarantee you’ll be safe or come back.

Do you really want this? Is it worth being able to see and hear spirits? Why do you want it so badly? Be honest with yourself and the spirits and maybe one day you will die and come back — joining this host of revenants called spirit workers. Some days you will wish you hadn’t and that you could turn it off and switch back to your old life, but other days your soul will sing and you won’t be able to imagine being anything else.

Truly seek the why and know you have to die.

That’s all for my full-moon mead ramblings this night. Sweet dreams little witchlings.

The witch has been charm making: stringing rowan berries, weaving rowan crosses, stitching leather and feather… Strung rowan berries are an old Scots charm to place around your neck or an object or over a doorway for protection. A cross of rowan wood woven with red wool of which no knots have been tied is another Scots charm hung in the house for protection – from spirits and spells of witchcraft. And lastly a bird foot fetiche with a feather and bone skull. These are for the lovely Snow, but I will be making more such delectable witchy things. I have more rowan berries to string, crosses to weave, and crow, wild hare, and toad feet to craft into fetiches.

The candle is lit in the window, it’s light shining out into the darkness through the droplet-covered screen onto the street slick with rain. Welcome spirits and welcome friends. It is warm inside and there is food, music, empty chairs and cups to be filled with mead.

Come all who hunger
Come ye rogue and restless souls
Come to the feast and
Let your greatest deeds be told
Raise up your voice and
let your songs be free and bold
For this night we feast with the Mighty

~ Written by Sharon Knight

Specimens of crow wings, crow claw, crow skull, and owl skull to illustrate

Inking the linework over the pencil sketch

Filling in the fine details and shading

Owl and Crow skulls for reference and inspiration

And it all results in two finished feathered illustrations with more to come for an article I’m working on for Witches & Pagans. My illustrations can also be seen in the latest Heathen-themed issue which is available for preorder now and will hit the stands in January.

The day before Christmas eve I let the shaman twist my rubber arm into going to his group’s Yule ritual. We stopped on the way at his friend’s in the steep mountains by the sea to craft crowns out of wild greenery. I wrapped a cedar bough with a vine of ivy and tucked wild goose feathers into the back for my crown while drinking my goblet of rum and orange. They unearthed defleshed wolf skulls from chicken wire in the backyard and put them in a bucket of hydrogen peroxide to clean and whiten them.  Then we all went to a pub by the sea inlet before heading to the ritual hall.

I recognized many faces from the shamanic conference, but many were also new to me – every head crowned in greenery and in every hand a candle.  There were three feast tables covered in food, big bowl of mead with fresh fruit, a crock pot of mulled cider, and evergreens everywhere. A fire was lit in the big stone hearth and in the centre of the hall was a bull hide surrounded by a large circle of evergreen boughs. Once everyone arrived, the ritual of storytelling, offering sacrifices, sharing of light, burning of the Yule log, and drumming began. After came the feast and I cracked open and shared the ambrosial bottle of clementine-maple-cinnamon mead my witch-friend had gifted me for Midwinter.

It was a good evening and a good ritual with a perfect mix of solemnity and mischief. The shaman sent me home with a large elk and smaller goat skin drums for me to paint and he’ll be making drums from a variety of animal hides to sell in Stang and Cauldron soon.

Christmas Eve I spent watching movies and wrapping smudge wands of cedar, hemlock, and juniper and some with all three. My bedroom was fragrant with evergreen oils and sandalwood incense and I was surrounded by drums as I store them in my room because I keep it warm which keeps the drums in tune. The smudge wands are in a paper bag to dry and the remaining evergreen boughs hung up to dry with the other herbs in my kitchen to be added to incense and smudge blends when ready.

Today a fierce storm is brewing, twisted over trees and beating rain in sheets against my windows. A good day to hide inside with a pot of hot tea and to work on illustrations as my deadline creeps up on me. Midwinter blessings to you all whether you are blessed to be with family or not this day.

What a Yule season this year! So busy with work and fitting social events into it all too!  Tuesday I went to Granville Island with a lovely herby witchy friend for some last-minute holiday shopping. The market smelled amazing – fragrant with evergreens in the florist stalls and spices, fruits, earthy mushrooms, coffees, cheeses, and cured meats… Then it was off to bookstores, paper stores, the music shop, and all our favourite artisans. Her hubby picked us up after and we found chocolate and then Guinness and lunch… yes in that order.

Yesterday on the eve of the Winter Solstice I went to the mountain for some wildcrafting as it was a gorgeous sunny day. I visited my favourite trees and harvested boughs of cedar, juniper, and western hemlock and also found the juniper berry motherload. Then it was over to a witch’s house on the mountain for tea to warm my cold hands and cheeks. We talked of magic and our seer’s gifts while watching the bushtits, junkos, and fat brown wrens devour suet in her yard.

That night it was off to my neighbour’s Yule ritual. A lovely gathering of witches celebrating the darkness under a dark cloudless sky full of stars. We bathed our bare feet in a bath of candles and evergreen sprigs. Our bare feet circled around a cauldron and crossed from the dark half of the wheel to the light. Our bare feet crushed cedar and hemlock, toes stained green, releasing the smell of deep forests and childhood memories of christmas trees. We scried into the fire lit in the cauldron in hopes to see visions of our futures. Then it was back to the mundane world for homemade meads and fig liquor with a veritable feast and the giving of gifts. We all left with smiles on our lips and love in our hearts.

Today, on the day of the Solstice, I made myself my very own feast. I cracked open a three-year-old bottle of sugar pumpkin spice mead (which tastes like a dry white wine) and mulled it with a honey mandarin, a small lemon, fresh ginger slices, cinnamon sticks, cloves, peppercorns, honey from a local beekeeper, and some of the Rocky Mountain Juniper I harvested yesterday. It was divine, ambrosial. I say was because I just drank the last sip. I roasted up some chicken and veggies, made myself a beet and goat cheese salad, and put together a plate of sweets – chocolates and cookies friends gifted me.

Then I lit the candles at the ancestral altar and invited the ancestors of my blood to dine with me and share in the bounty on this shortest day and longest night.

A blessed Winter Solstice to all! May it be full of love, laughter, mischief, and plenty.

Slàinte Mhòr!

December is a busy month for this witch taking me away from blog writing, but not from my art. I’ve been creating magical websites for clients, writing and illustrating an article for Witches & Pagans, crafting ritual tools, painting, sketching, packaging orders for both my shops, and subsequently running out of all my herbs and resins (everything will be restocked in January). There will be lots of Yule rituals and parties to run around to and work contracts to finish before January, so things will most likely stay low-key around here and in the shops until after Hogmanay.

Today I went to the Women’s Winter Faire in Vancouver at the gorgeous Heritage Hall with the lovely witchy Holly (and of course left my camera at home). It’s in its eighteenth year now with only female crafters allowed to vend their wares of everything ranging from clothing and accessories to soaps, jewelry, pottery, and woodwork. Hopefully I’ll have my shit together next year so I can vend there either with my art or as Forest Grove Botanica. I came home with herbal tea, a handmade makeup bag with fat little owls, cotton handkerchiefs for my grandfather, and a red moon necklace made by my friend Nikiah (which I’ve been eyeballing since she first started her silversmithing).

Nikiah also had a bag for me of two big jars of honey from the lovely beekeeper Nao (of Honey Grove Farm and co-author with Nikiah of Moon Mysteries) and Solstice gifts from her of homemade cookies of ginger and chocolate-sea salt, a jar of gooey honey from her own bees, dark honeycombs filled with dead brood (hello bee necromancy!), and to my delighted surprise one of her gorgeous new antler pendants with her own silverwork (which I’m currently wearing). After our successful shopping, Holly and I went to a little café nearby for yummy tea and dug into the cookies while chatting about life, magic, and men. Life is good and I’m so looking forward to all the Winter Solstice mischief and mead this coming week! Wassail!