I’ve always foraged for my witchcraft. Even when I was a child, and I felt magic inside myself but didn’t know what to call it.
My grandmother had a large garden bordered by currant bushes. It had a tiny orchard with elderberry, cherry and plum trees. In her yard she had chinese cherry bushes that yielded sweet berries every summer. My grandmother would preserve everything from her garden. It is from her that I learned about the earth’s bounty.
I’ve always been drawn to weeds and wildflowers in my witchcraft. Part of this is due to not having the money to spend on exotic or fancy materia magica. The other part is due to my desire to work closely with the land.
When I moved to Chicago from Wyoming I set myself to learning as much as I could about the local wild plants. Some were familiar, like woody nightshade with its purple flowers and red berries, while so many others were new to me.
I’ve made great use of my Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs over the years. There’s a wealth of information in its pages. But every book has its limits and I have often found I need to listen carefully to plants to discover their secrets.
I spent nearly twenty years in the Chicagoland area, learning to work with shepherd’s purse and chickweed, pennycress and wood sorrel, among other wildflowers. I learned the lessons of mock strawberry and garlic mustard while making salads, teas and tinctures. After all that time I said goodbye to the midwest and returned to Wyoming.
I’m starting out all over again, refamiliarizing myself with plant allies I used to know. And I find some that I am old friends already with such as plantain and curly dock, the ever present dandelion and clover. I have new books to consult when I am faced with unknown plants.
I am lucky to have mountains and wild places just minutes from my doorstep. After so many years spent in urban and suburban environments, there is so much more room to breathe and move and explore. I have reacquainted myself with sagebrush and currants and bearberries. My nightly walks bring me into close contact with dozens of different plants.
It’s not all new. The rules of foraging remain the same. I take more photos than material. And I pause to ask permission and give thanks when I do collect something.
Over the last two years I have been slowly rebuilding my apothecary. I have supplies for tea and tinctures, smoke cleansing bundles and incense. My altar hosts several rocks that I’ve gathered. My photo albums are filled with scenes from hikes and camping, everyone is smiling and at peace.
Through all the years I can trace the line from my present, through the midwest, back to my child self working in the garden with my grandmother in the middle of Wyoming. That line carries a singular message: The land will provide. Whether it is food for our table or components for our magic, the land will provide. All we have to do is work with it.