by Ellen Dugan
This is the presence, or personality, that you can sense when you bond with an older tree. For the most part, dryads are quiet, shy, and kind. They may not be very trusting of you the first time you try to connect with them, so be patient. Now, just so we are clear, I am not telling you to expect the dryad to come popping out of the tree and shake your hand. I am telling you that in time and once you build a relationship with a tree, the spirit within may send you visions, messages, and if they really like you, they can boost your green magick as well.
How will you know when that has happened? You’ll feel it in your heart center. You might get a little flip of the stomach or a pleasant tug at your heart. This will be followed by a nice little warm rush of sensation and a feeling of contentment. That’s how you will know. This type of green magick is intensely personal, so different Witches may experience a variety of sensations. You will have to carefully take notes and keep track of your experiences. Then, over time, you can see how the relationship between you and the tree spirit develops.
If, for some reason, you believe that you have encountered a cranky tree spirit—and yes, I have heard of folks who are terrified when they think they have angered a tree somehow—then casually back away from the tree, whisper a wish for the tree to grow strong and true, and leave the tree alone. I would suspect that this is your fear playing out more than a tree’s supposed bad attitude, though it could be an angry land deva who is upset that the area was disturbed.
For example, if an old, wooded area was stripped bare to make room for a new subdivision, then you bet you are going to experience some angry earth spirit energy. But the sturdy old pine, elm, oak, willow, ash, magnolia, or maple tree growing in your backyard or neighborhood park shouldn’t be a problem. If you think you have encountered an angry tree or land spirit, do not panic. Just be calm, center yourself, look around, and try to befriend a different species of tree. The tree spirits won’t mind.
Trees do mediate between the astral realm, or heaven, and the physical realm, the earth. And some would say that these spirit-bearing trees actually work as go-betweens for the gods and humanity. The oldest trees watch over the wise ones and the people who value nature as a sacred place. There are plenty of “green-souled” folks out there who are not magickal practitioners such as the naturalists, conservationists, gardeners, and activists who work to protect our environment and our natural resources. We are all connected to each other in many ways, both magickally and spiritually. As a wise man once said, what we do to the earth, we do to ourselves. Consider that while you are working to deepen your connection to the green world.
Lessons from the Trees
Nature is, after all, the only book
that offers important content on every page.
johann wolfgang von goethe
For now, I want you to go find a tree, any tree, and go sit under it for a while. Open your heart and open your mind, and see what nature has to teach you. If the dryads come out and play, then sit back, let your mind wander, and see what images and emotions you pick up from the tree spirits. I bet you’ll be surprised at what mysteries they can teach you.
When you are finished, be sure and thank the dryads for their presence. Leave a small gift at the base of the tree—a tumbled stone, a seashell, a bit of birdseed for the local birds and squirrels, or even a strand of your hair. Or, if you are in a public park, then take a moment to pick up any trash that may be laying around. Leave the area looking better than when you found it; that would really make both the land spirits and the dryads happy. Plus, it’s a great way for you to help the environment. Imagine what would happen if every person stopped and picked up trash when they found it. Think of the difference it would make.
In our next chapter, we will be taking a look at the dark side of herbs. There is a very good reason that herbal lore has been so enduring; you can thank the gothic herbs and poisonous plants of old for that. So let’s take a look together at these gothic herbs and botanicals, for these forbidden plants offer yet another opportunity to expand our knowledge of green magick, witchery, and herbalism.
[contents]
Chapter 7
Gothic Herbs and
Forbidden Plants
Oh, I have been beyond the town,
Where nightshade black and mandrake grow,
And I have heard and I have seen
What righteous folk would fear to know!
doreen valiente,
the witches’ ballad
In my previous books, I have stressed that it is not necessary to have poisonous or the classically gothic and dark herbs in your cabinet just because you are a Witch. However, I still get questions about these classic Witches’
herbs on a regular basis. So I decided it was past time to take a good look at these plants and to share some information. I suppose you could say that we are now exploring the “darker green” magick.
Please remember that the herbs featured in this chapter are classified as baneful herbs—which means herbs that can cause death. They are toxic and should not be used—or, in my opinion, even handled—by a novice or a dabbler. The herbs listed in this chapter are for informational purposes only. Plus, please keep in mind if you go to the local metaphysical shop or garden center looking for these plants, whether in the fresh or dried form, you will raise a lot of eyebrows and probably have people treat you very suspiciously.
Once, when my mother came over for a visit, she was in the kitchen with me, helping me with dinner. As I directed her to where the serving bowls were so she could help dish up the food, she opened the wrong cabinet and came nose to nose with my magickal herbs, all of which were in various funky-shaped bottles of pretty colored glass. Each of the bottles was neatly labeled. There were jars of dried lavender, yarrow, rose petals, monarda, mint, thyme, rosemary, sage, and way in the back, a prized bottle of mistletoe.
She stopped and looked over at me, aghast. “Is this your spice rack?”
With a quick glance, I answered, “No, those are the flowers and herbs I gathered and then dried from the garden.”
I watched her squint her eyes and lean in further to read the labels. Unconcerned, I went about my business, only to find her sputtering in disbelief at the jars a few moments later. She looked like she was about to have an aneurysm.
I saw her reach up with shaking hands and pull down a large bottle of dried lavender. She waved it toward me and with a red face demanded, “What is ‘eye of newt,’ young lady?”
What? I grabbed the bottle and looked at it. Apparently my husband, Ken, had decided to play a practical joke. He had relabeled all of my jars with titles like dragon’s wing, toe of frog, and, yes, eye of newt. Oh, for Goddess’s sake.
Once I stopped laughing, I explained this to my mother, who did not see the humor in the situation, that this was my husband’s idea of a joke. I peeled off the taped-on labels and showed her the real label underneath.
“Mother, it’s lavender. Smell it for yourself!” I invited. For some reason, she refused, and to this day, she will not open a kitchen cabinet door in my home.
In the past when I have done research on herbs, I often contacted a non-emergency poison control hotline. Yes, the non-emergency line—I did not want to tie up the phone lines in case there was an emergency situation and someone else was desperately trying to get through to the hotline. To say that they treated me suspiciously when I first began calling them a few years ago would be an understatement. I half expected the police to come knocking on my door, wanting to know why I was so interested in poisonous plants. But once I explained why I was gathering the information, the poison control folks enjoyed hearing from me. It got to be that they knew me by the sound of my voice.
All I would have to say was hello, and the response would be, “Hey, Ellen! What book are you working on now?”
So if I am so cautious about these types of botanicals, then why a
m I writing about them now? Am I contradicting my earlier books? No, I am not. What I am doing is diving into a topic that often gets ignored, hushed up, or makes many folks very nervous—or it makes them laugh at how overly dramatic some magickal folks can be.
What do I mean by that? Well, I have a story for you.
The Garden Witch and the
Case of the Gothic Herbs
If there were no mystery left to explore,
life would get rather dull, wouldn’t it?
sidney buchman
Back in 1999, I was working a seasonal job at a local nursery. That summer had been tough. We had endured a record-breaking high-temperature summer, and the job was miserable. The only air conditioning was in the owner’s office—a place where the employees were not allowed. The owner himself was usually off betting at the racetrack in the afternoon, so all the employees just drank lots of water and worked carefully and slowly in the heat to avoid heat exhaustion. Plus, we stayed in the shade whenever possible. I was the only female employee at the nursery that year—all the other women had quit after a week or so because of the working conditions and the fact that they had to lift, haul, and carry just like all of the guys.
So there I was one miserably hot afternoon, in the shade, drinking a bottle of sports drink with the other employees. That day it was myself and a pair of brothers, one who was in his late twenties, fresh out of a military special forces unit and learning to readjust to civilian life, and his younger brother, who was in his early twenties and fresh off his latest brush with the law. To say that they were colorful characters would be an understatement. These brothers were built and attractive, however, and that spring and summer, the nursery had lots of women customers who would stroll through just hoping that the brothers were there.
Hard to blame them, really—they were a couple of good-looking, rough-around-the-edges bad boys. At least when I worked with those two, I was never bored, though I frequently had to referee. I will admit that I often felt like Wendy with the Lost Boys, and I was crazy about them. We all got along well because I worked as hard as they did. I was married with kids and had no designs on them personally, and I didn’t put up with any crap. Over the course of the summer, we had become casual work friends—and yes, they both knew about my psychic abilities and the Witchcraft.
The psychic abilities had saved their bacon a few times, like when the usually absent owner would decide to drop by and check on the nursery. Or in the days before caller ID, I always knew who was on the phone and what the problem was before they would call. At first, they assumed I was just spooky, then after a while they figured it out and thought it was pretty interesting.
So there we were one day as the brothers exchanged their typical insults back and forth. A thunderstorm was predicted that afternoon, so the humidity was high, and it was cloudy and overcast. Business had been very slow that week because of the extreme August heat, and as the three of us stood in the shade, trying to catch a breeze, a long black car with tinted windows pulled into the nursery parking lot.
Like in a scene from a cheesy B movie, as the driver’s door opened up, a clap of thunder rolled through, and the driver climbed out of the car. The driver of the car was a young man dressed in solid black. His hair was long and obviously dyed black; his jeans, shirt, sunglasses, and long leather coat were also all black. Think of The Matrix, only this guy wasn’t nearly as trim or attractive as Keanu Reeves. Remember that it was 100 degrees outside that day, and with the high humidity, it was stifling. To say this guy looked ridiculous in the long black coat was an understatement.
Both of the brothers looked at me and in unison said, “This one’s yours, Ellen.”
My response to the two of them was rude, short, and inelegant.
As the customer in question skulked closer, I could see that he was covered in spiked metal jewelry and his fingernails were also black. Heaving a sigh, I approached him, put on my sunniest smile, and asked if I could help him find anything. He looked me over, pulled down his dark sunglasses, and dismissed me as a mundane and as a peon.
“Hello …” he began in what I am sure he thought was a mysterious and sinister tone. “I am looking for a certain type of botanical. For a—” (dramatic pause here) “certain type of recipe.”
Trying not to giggle, I stood there and radiated my “hi-I’m-a-friendly-middle-age-suburban-mom-nursery-employee” vibe. I smiled and cheerfully asked him what type of herb he was looking for as I steered him over to our display of culinary herbs.
“Well …” he dragged the word out and looked carefully around, then lowered his voice even more. “Are you familiar with the Latin names of plants? There are seven plants I am looking for, and I wouldn’t want to confuse you—” (again with the dramatic pause) “or to scare you.”
I cocked my head to the side and sent him a sweet smile. Still keeping my Midwestern mom vibe going, I told him, “Try me.”
Pulling a list out of his pocket, he read them off to me. “I need aconite, belladonna, cannabis, hellebore, mandrake, nightshade, and wolf’s bane.”
“That’s actually five herbs,” I responded, impressed that the boy even knew how to alphabetize.
“No, I listed seven herbs,” he argued back. “I know what I am talking about, and I’ll prove it.” Affronted, he frowned at me and then played what I am sure he thought was his trump card. He pulled out a big pentagram from under his shirt and dangled it in front of my eyes.
I smiled even bigger then. Did this guy need a smackdown or what? “Listen, slick,” I told him in my best mom’s voice. “Wolf’s bane and aconite are the same thing. Aconite is the botanical term, or Latin name, of that particular plant.”
His jaw dropped open.
I continued on mercilessly. “Mandrake isn’t a plant carried in nursery stock here in the Midwest, or in most of the United States, for that matter. Mandrake, or Mandragora, is native to Europe. Also, nightshade is belladonna. The botanical term for nightshade is, in fact, Atropa belladonna.”
He began to stammer.
Feeling positively evil, I continued. “Now, hellebore is also called the Christmas rose, so you may find that as a houseplant at a local florist just before Christmas. Oh, and by the way,” I took a deep breath and continued my lecture, “we don’t sell cannabis, you moron, as marijuana is illegal to grow or to possess.”
He turned beet red.
I then added the finishing touch to my lecture by looping my finger under the collar of my nursery polo shirt and pulling out my own silver pentagram. I let it dangle from my finger in his face. “Surprise!” I sang. Then I put away my pentagram and told him quietly, “Next time, save the I’m-so-scary-with-my-deep-voice-and-dressed-all-in-black crap for the tourists.”
“Oh, man, I am so sorry,” he apologized. “I wanted the herbs for magick, you know?”
I asked him for his name and patted his shoulder in sympathy. Then I asked him for his list of herbs. I pulled a pen out of my pocket, and on the back side of his list, I made him a reading list of good books on herbs and magick, many of which could be borrowed from the local library. He listened attentively, and then I took him through the herbs that we had left and explained some of the basic magickal uses of herbs like basil, rosemary, and mint.
After that, I took him on a tour of the perennials and trees and pointed out all the plants that were also herbs and what their magickal uses were. As we toured around the nursery, he took off the trench coat and started to smile and talk in a more normal tone of voice.
“Wow, so you really know your stuff, huh?” he said, impressed. “I would have never thought that you were a Witch,” he confided.
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” I asked him, even though I knew what his answer would be.
“Well, you look so …” He trailed off, stumped for the correct word.
“Normal,” I finished for him.
>
“Yeah, I mean, you look like a regular mom. No offense,” he smiled.
“Well, I am a mom, so no offense taken.”
As I rang up his purchases and helped him load all the herbs he had bought in his car, he looked at me and said, “You know, you should write a book on herbs and gardens. There are a lot of people out there who really need good magickal information.” He smiled at me and promised to read the books I had suggested.
I waved as he pulled out of the parking lot, and the two brothers walked up behind me. The oldest brother dropped his hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
I looked over my shoulder at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I watched in case there was trouble,” he said.
Now there was a sobering thought, the special forces guy ready for trouble. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.” I patted his hand and moved away.
“You know,” the oldest brother looked me over speculatively, “I knew you knew a lot about plants, but I had no idea you had all that kind of information running around in your head. Are all Witches like that?”
I only smiled.
“Remind me not to piss you off or ask you to make me a salad,” the younger brother teased.
The interesting part of this story is that I had just been contracted to write a 2001 Magical Almanac article on a Witch’s garden, and I had been putting together ideas for a book on practical garden magick and herbalism. That autumn, I began my Master Gardener training program and took the next few years working at different nurseries in the summer to get more hands-on landscaping and plant experience. I submitted the manuscript for my first book, Garden Witchery, a few years later.
So fast forward to the present day some nine years and ten books later, and we find the Garden Witch writing on the topic of baneful herbs. Right on cue, my black cat has jumped onto the writing desk and has begun to purr. She just leaned in and gave me a kitty kiss on the nose, which is unusual for this cat. The only time she is affectionate is if you open up canned cat food or let her outside to romp in the catnip. Hmmm, I suppose she approves.
