Grandmother Elder, that’s what they call me.

They can’t seem to agree if I am a tree or a shrub, which is fitting really—I’ve always dwelled on the edges, the boundaries between the wild places and where you humans live. A weed, that’s what they say—dig me up, rip me out, but once … once I was a fairy queen. I’ve always been silver-haired, gnarled, but beautiful nonetheless.

Hyldemoer, they named me. Radiant queen of Midsummer, ancient queen of Samhain. I’ve been a shelter for witches and a healer of the folk—they named me the Medicine Chest of the People, did you know that? I’m the Mother of Life, Death, and Rebirth—the Great Wheel, though you’d never think it to look at me. I can help you see into Faerie, but remember: If you look into Faerie, Faerie looks into you, and you may never be the same again. My blooms bring visions. When you become trapped in a maze of thoughts with no way out, you may call on me. If you need healing, I can help. I can bring fire and channel water, just another example of my duality. Just like you, I’m not all good or all bad, but a harmonious blend of both. Speak to me gently and I’ll guide and guard you.

They say I dwindled after Judas was hanged from my branches. Don’t believe everything you hear though—I’ve always been this size. Closer to the underworld, and why not? That’s where my power comes from, after all. There are so many tales about me, and some of them even hold a grain of truth. They say I’ll pull out any babies laid in a crib made from my wood, and while that’s not absolutely true— I bear them no ill will after all, poor wee bairns—it’s not entirely false either. I’ve always dealt with death and rebirth and wisdom, and babies are too close to the source.

I’ll give you my wisdom, if you ask me—but be polite, child, always be polite. I’ll tolerate no disrespect. I’ll give you my berries and my flowers, if you ask me nicely—I’ll take some of your berries and flowers and wood when you become a tree, and consider it a fair bargain. I’ll watch over a family from the shadows and protect them without them ever knowing about it. I’ll protect your beasts from being hagridden too, if you ask me. I’ll reach into the underworld and speak to the Norns and bring back fairy wisdom, but I’ll only share it sparingly with you mortals—you live such fleeting lives, after all, and some of their lessons are too deep and wide and wild for most mortals to bear. Speak to me at the full moon and the dark, at dawn and dusk, when the sun is not fully up and the moon has yet to retreat.

Illustration by Rachel Oakes

Rachel Oakes is a fairy and folklore artist living in Cambridgeshire, U.K.—a county of ghost stories, witches, and wild-eyed hares. To see more of her work, visit @enchantedoaks on Facebook or Instagram as well as etsy.com/uk/shop/enchantedoaks.

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How to start an article about fairy tales and spring’s fairy herbs? As it’s a discussion rather than an archetypal fairy tale, one cannot exactly begin with the eternal words “Once upon a time.” Yet one has to approach this subject somehow. Perhaps it should be done in a similar way to fairy tales themselves—obliquely, sideways, craftily, the way winter slides slowly into a brighter season. Spring itself often seems to be made wholly from the fabric of faerie, with its lengthening days, the slanting sunlight like pure gold, and the gorgeously vivid greens and honey shades that adorn the earth, dotted with the brilliant colors of the first blooms of the season. The flowers, too, are often linked with faerie, with entering Under the Hill, with chancy bargains, forbidden revels, and fabulous feasts.

Here in my native county of Lincolnshire, an old legend speaks of a girl whose life became bound to the cowslips that flowered around her home. She fell ill in the winter, and though her family hoped she would live to see the spring arrive, there was still no sign of it in April. Finally she told her mother that she would be dead by the following day if the green mist heralding spring had not arrived. Fortunately for her, the green mist did indeed arrive the following morning, new buds of brilliant peridot dotting the birch trees, and the girl was able to sit out in the sun and gradually recovered her health, growing more and more beautiful as the days passed. Strangely enough, on the days when the sun did not appear, she became pale and ill again. When the cowslips finally flowered, her beauty became so ethereal and fey that she greatly unnerved her loved ones—probably even more so when she warned them against gathering any cowslips. Unfortunately, one day a young man visiting the cottage picked a cowslip to give her, hoping to woo her. Her family watched her fade all the rest of that day, the cowslip held to her breast, until finally she died the following morning, becoming one with the season.

Other tales gathered from around the world are linked with the primrose, that gorgeous coin of sunny yellow shades. In Germany there’s an old tale that features a young girl and
a handful of primrose flowers. She stumbled across an old doorway covered with an astonishing array of blooms and touched a primrose to it, after which the door creaked open and a passage to an enchanted castle appeared. One rather has to wonder if she entered the castle or ran as fast as her legs could carry her in the other direction: Enchantment is, after all, a perilous thing, and sometimes the gifts it gives come with rather large burdens attached. Other primrose tales speak of doors opening and a host of fairy folk bearing gifts spilling out, showing the child how to get home and sending her along with heaps of gold for good measure. Some versions of the tale hold that a miser, observing from a distance, tried to do the same thing but had the wrong number of primroses in his hand. He was never seen again. It would seem the Good Neighbors do not care to have their generosity abused.

Another tale that features a gorgeous spring flower and a miser is that of the humble dandelion. Many gardeners lament the presence of this sunny flower; however, it has a rather illustrious origin tale. Many years ago a man was making his way home from market and happened to chance across the end of a rainbow, with the expected cauldron of coins there. He gathered them all up in a sack and carried them home as fast as may be, gloating at his good fortune, but the fairy folk, listening to what he planned to do with the gold and noticing that none of it would go to help his fellow men, decided to prepare a small lesson for him instead. When he took a shovel and the sack of coins out to bury them, they unraveled a corner of his sack. A small enchantment later, and the man in question didn’t notice the coins dropping out one at a time as he crossed several meadows. When he realized what had happened and tried to return to collect the coins, they had all been turned into the sunny gold flowers that adorn verges, meadows, grass, and gardens alike, full of medicine and food for any who needs it. Certainly a fitting reward for gold sickness!

Ground ivy is another spring herb with a beautiful story behind it. This one comes from Ireland originally and features a young woman who, when out collecting water one evening, tripped and fell down a hole that appeared out of nowhere. When she came to, she found herself in Fairyland, surrounded by the host themselves. One of them asked her to dance, which she did with great pleasure. Later there was a great feast with a beauteous array of fruits and breads and nuts and wild-tasting wines of varied hues. Had she accepted these delights, she would have found herself bound Under the Hill at their pleasure. However, a red-haired member of the company wound a band of scented herbs with beautiful purple flowers around her wrist and told her to run for home, the herbs would protect her. So she did, the host running at her heels, and when she arrived home and barred the door behind her, a voice through the door told her that had she not worn the ground-ivy bracelet, she would have been bound to their company for eternity. A guardian and protector indeed!

Still another tale speaks of the hawthorn, that noble tree long associated with faerie. This particular old specimen was growing in gnarly splendor in the middle of a field that two boys had been set to plow. One of them drew a circle around the tree to mark the ground that should not feel the touch of the iron, and then a table laden with an incredible feast appeared there. The lad who drew the circle partook of the food offered while the second boy ran for home, scared out of his wits. The lad who remained and ate of the fairy food was wise for all the rest of his days, a fit reward indeed, though one has to wonder if he already had some measure of wisdom, choosing to avoid angering the Good Neighbors!

Looking back at the tales covered thus far, what is the one commonality that herbs seem to share with fairy tales? They bring about change. Herbs almost always facilitate a transformation of one kind or another, whether it is from life to death, in the case of the poor lass and the cowslip, or from a mundane existence to a magical one, or even on a more mystical level, a change of perspective and the gaining of wisdom. Herbs and plants are the agents that allow the spells to be spun, the tale told, the web woven.

Ali English has been fascinated by herbs, folklore, and fairy tales from a very young age, and, since qualifying as a medical herbalist in 2009, now spends all her time painting, writing, teaching, and working with plants in the hills of North Lincolnshire, U.K. Her blog can be found at eldrum.co.uk and a portfolio site can be found at eldwolf.co.uk.

Article From 2017 Spring Issue #28
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Practical magic is, by its very nature, practical, as can certainly be seen by some of the many, many wondrous herbs mentioned in Alice Hoffman’s The Rules of Magic. Many of the plants in the Owens sisters’ pantry (and repertoire) are common and easily obtained from shops and stores, or grown in your own garden, or can be sourced from the hedgerows—preferably while wearing a wonderful hat and suitably impractical clothing! Any self-respecting witch must also possess a mortar and pestle, appropriate jars and bottles, and of course a book to write any and all recipes in. Why not add your own sketches and drawings of the plants you have been working with as you go along? The tales and folklore of many of our herbs are strange and lovely, and here we’ll look briefly at a few of the herbs found in the book.

Mustard comes in several different forms, but in this case we’ll look in particular at the standard white mustard grains that are often used as a seasoning. When used for magical purposes, mustard is one of the wide range of plants that confers protection and is linked with the ancient physician Asclepius, who was trained by Chiron the centaur. It can be added to incense blends as whole grains, or made into a tea or infusion for sprinkling in the corners of rooms. Garlic, that fiery, much loved ingredient of many different recipes, has long been associated with witches, in particular that ancient witch queen Hecate. It links us with the underworld and can be used in recipes where information from the underworld is required. The ancient Greeks used to place cloves and bulbs of garlic atop piles of stones at crossroads as a gift and meal for Hecate. The Egyptians used to link it with divinity. Later on, there was a belief that when the devil first stepped out of Eden after the fall, garlic grew where his foot fell.

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Rosemary is a Mediterranean herb by nature and thrives in hot, sunny spots in the garden with fairly good soil drainage. The bright, zesty scent of the leaves clears the head and encourages direct thinking, lifts poor moods, and has effects on the heart and circulatory system as well, so truly an herb that will do many things! To bring the clarifying effects of
rosemary into your life, try chewing a single leaf to clear the head, or apply a few drops of the essential oil to a tissue and inhale the scent regularly to improve memory. Rosemary brings remembrance, as the old saying goes, and it has long been a funerary herb dropped onto coffins and graves in symbolic remembrance of those who have left us, as well as acting as a token of immortality. It has also been linked with weddings and fidelity. Magically it has been considered an herb of protection for countless centuries, and wreathes and branches of it can be hung around the house for this effect. The dried leaves can be added to incenses, which, when burned, give off a pungent smoke. Sicilian legends reckon that fairy folk hide beneath rosemary bushes. Another old piece of folklore held that where rosemary was dominant in the garden, the woman ruled the house!

Myrrh has been used for both medicinal and sacred purposes for many thousands of years, and the scented resin grains are still a common ingredient in many incense blends. It is linked with sacredness and sanctity and is often used to “set the scene” for spellcraft and magic. Often connected with any kind of work with the shadows and darkness in us, it is linked with death and dying and facilitates the transition between the two and as such can also be used to act as a kind of conduit to the underworld. Often used in divination as an incense, it brings clarity and the link with intuition often needed to divine successfully and was an important ingredient in the ancient Egyptian perfume kyphi.

Star anise has traditionally been used in Japan as an herb for the sacred and is often found on temple grounds and burial sites for this reason. It brings comfort and positive energies, as well as having a protective influence. It is often used as an incense either as part of a ritual or as a way of banishing negative energies and influences from a place. I like to think that it brings bright, cheerful light into a room, much like that of a hearth fire on a cold night. It can be used as part of a practice to transition from life into death.

Mugwort’s long, traditional usage has been as a herb of prophecy and divination, and it has been used as an ingredient of incenses, sleep pillows, teas, baths, and oils, and was originally one of the nine sacred herbs of the Anglo-Saxons. It can be used to bring dreams and prophecies, in particular during divination and in conjunction with lucid-dreaming practices. It can, conversely, also be used as an herb to chase away nightmares. Linked with moon goddesses, it has the energy of a calm, powerful grandmother, like the focus of a hearth fire in the darkness, with stars high above. The use of mugwort both grounds and elevates, helping us reach that point between heaven and earth where we are most at peace and most creative and intuitive. It is a wayfarer’s herb and protects those who journey.

Yarrow is another herb with a long history of both magical and practical uses. Traditionally linked with Chiron and Achilles, it was given to Achilles to heal his wounds on the battlefield. Magically and spiritually it is often used these days as a protective herb to reduce the likelihood of negative energies affecting a person’s psyche. It, like mugwort and vervain, has also been linked with divination, being sewn into sachets and placed under the pillow. The I Ching was traditionally made from yarrow stalks, according to some histories.

Holly is a tree that has long been linked with winter, the Holly King being perhaps the most noteworthy piece of folklore around it. An old wives’ tale reckons that if there are many berries on the holly tree, the winter will be hard, and another old snippet states that bringing holly indoors in the winter will protect the house and bring cheer to it—possibly due to the amount of light that bounces of those beautifully shiny leaves. And of course the points of the leaves themselves are rather off-putting if you snag yourself on them. The druids used to decorate their huts with evergreens to provide a warm place for the local Good Neighbors during the cold part of the year. I leave it to you to decide if this was a good idea or not! When holly is planted outside the home, authors as far back as Pliny have associated it with the ability to deter poisons, lightning, and witches from livestock and homes. It was long held that holly leaves thrown at water had the power to make it freeze, and that splinters of the wood when thrown at livestock would make the animal come and lie down by it.

Hyssop has long had a history of use as an herb of purification, and is often used as a sprinkle or incense to cleanse and clear sacred spaces. It also can be included in incense blends before spellwork. It does have some affinity with the winter solstice and as such can be used in combination with holly. Small bunches of hyssop and holly can be gathered in the summer, bound up with a suitable colored cord, and hung around the home to guard
and protect the abode and all who dwell within it. A strong tea of hyssop can be added to ritual baths to purify and encourage access to the more spiritual self.

And, finally, vervain, one of the most sacred herbs, has traditionally been one of the main herbs used by all sorts of sorcerers and magicians in their rites. It was gathered by the druids for use in their workings as well, most notably perhaps in the creation of Lustral water. It was hung around the neck as a protective herb against snake bites and to bring good luck, and it was also used as a dreaming herb, added to sleep and divination teas and sachets to encourage lucid dreaming and clear divination. It has also long been used as an herb to encourage joy in life, to help prevent a person from being dragged down by their circumstances, and it’s also been included in love potions and rites. Use vervain to encourage and foster creativity and intuition.

Rachel Oakes resides on the outskirts of the historic city of Cambridge, England, and divides her time between sculpting fantastical figures wearing sumptuous velvets and silk and drawing lush illustrations often inspired by her love of folklore, period films, and literature. Her Enchanted Oaks collection can be found on Etsy @ etsy.com/shop/enchantedoaks.

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