We hope you’ve survived the eclipse in one piece and are looking forward to the moon waning again.
Since we’re in the celebrating spirit and all, we wanted to share with you that we’ve got something new going on. For those of you who support us on Patreon, you know that we usually produce something called an Annual ‘Zine for our patrons (typically sometime in the Spring, and yes, we know what 90s kids we are). Patrons at the $5 level get a digital copy of it, and patrons at the $10+ levels get a physical copy mailed to them. We’re in the midst of sending out our 2023 and 2024 ‘zines (we missed last year due to life circumstances but did a double ‘zine this year to make up for it), and until now we’ve made the ‘zines something available only to patrons as a bonus perk of supporting us. However, in order to support some of our efforts and the rising costs associated with our work, we have decided to put ‘zines from previous years on sale in case anyone in the general public is interested in acquiring them.
We are selling both digital copies of the ‘zines (for $5 each) and physical copies (price varying by materials). The physical copies are from our overstock, so quantities are limited there and once they are gone, they are gone. They are available on our Etsy shop (just because that’s the easiest place to sell them from). Right now we’re selling two Annual ‘Zines:
Fur, Fang, & Feather (2021) – A look at animals and magic including a personal essay from Laine, some bird folklore, animal-based charms, and a “trash familiar manifesto” from Cory. It’s 23 pages long and the physical copy is printed on good ole standard ‘zine copier paper. Digital copies are $5 and physical copies are $10 plus shipping.
RED (2022) – Our look at the folklore and magic of a crimson hue. We talk about red thread in magic, review some red-themed divination decks, look at a few (in)famous red books in magic, examine the housle or Red Meal in traditional witchcraft, and more. It’s a 31-page long ‘zine printed on recycled 80lb paper with a red paperboard cover. Digital copies are $5 and physical copies are $13 plus shipping.
These are definitely a limited-quantity offering, so if you’re interested in them please check them out sooner rather than later!
We will eventually make our 2023 and 2024 overstocks available, too, but we’re making sure everyone who was a supporter prior to the cutoff date gets a copy first. If you want to make sure you don’t miss a future ‘zine (and that you get a discount on purchasing past ‘zines), you can always join our supporters on Patreon, too!
Even if you don’t buy a ‘zine, we’re grateful to you for being a part of our readership and listenerhood (is that a word? well, it is now…). Thank you for your ongoing encouragement and support, and happy reading!
Doomsdays, weather forecasts, making noise, and hidden treasures
(Image source: Conrad Heingartner (Main), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)
On April 8, 2024, contiguous North America will get its last glimpse of a full solar eclipse for twenty years (the next one is due 2044). When we last had the opportunity to glimpse this astronomical wonder in 2017, Laine and I put out an episode focusing on some of the lore and significance of eclipses, and we just released an episode of our Folk Magician’s Notebook that features a lot of eclipse lore as well. We thought it might also be a good idea to compile some of that lore for readers, too, who would be interested in having it to hand as the big day approaches (or just in general out of folkloric curiosity, which is often the best reason to do anything!). So today we’re sharing a few of our favorite tidbits of eclipse-based lore. We should note that much of this material will reference eclipses broadly, so they could be solar or lunar, although we’ll try to be as specific as we can when sources allow. Let’s do some shadow-dancing, then!
Probably the single most pervasive belief about eclipses is that they are portents of some kind. In most cases, they seem to be viewed as fearsome ones, forewarning of doom or calamity of some kind to follow. Biblical prophecies regarding eclipses lean into this, as any Ghostbusters fan knows:
And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood (Revelation 6:12, KJV)
And when I shall put thee out, I will cover the heaven, and make the stars thereof dark; I will cover the sun with a cloud, and the moon shall not give her light. (Ezekiel 32:7, KJV)
In these contexts eclipses are associated with wrath and judgment and destruction and just generally a bad time had by all. It’s important to note, though, that Christianity hardly has a monopoly on eclipses and doomsaying. According to Joshua Trachtenberg’s book, Jewish Magic and Superstition, the Jewish people also get quite anxious about eclipses: “Eclipses of the moon were taken to be especially ominous for the Jewish people. Eclipses of the sun which occurred on October 26, 1147 and September 4, 1187 threw German Jewry into consternation; later it was learned that on these days German crusaders had suffered serious reverses in Palestine” (pp. 251-52).
One particularly colorful Christian belief about eclipses has to do with a secret planet full of saints:
“There is a planet called Adamida, on which reside the unborn spirits of saints, martyrs and believers. There they remain, awaiting their time to be born into this world. When a martyr is recognized by us, we know that he came from Adamida, the planet of unborn souls. At the crucifixion, Uriel, the angel of the sun, was ordered to interpose this planet between the earth and the sun, thus producing a total eclipse. This is mentioned in the description by the apostles. They say ‘the sun was darkened’”
That may seem like a LOT to derive from a four word biblical passage, but then there has been plenty of ink (and blood) spilled over any number of scriptural excerpts, so a magical planet full of holy people that occasionally blocks out the sun seems somehow almost charming.
Less charming, of course, is the end of the world. Norse mythology features an eclipse event associated with Ragna Rok, or the Doom of the Gods, in the Prose Edda. A volva (seeress) prophecies that as the gods begin to clash with one another, “Then happens what will seem a great miracle, that the wolf devours the sun, and this will seem a great loss. The other wolf will devour the moon, and this too will cause great mischief. The stars shall be hurled from heaven. Then it shall come to pass that the earth and the mountains will shake so violently that trees will be torn up by the roots, the mountains will topple down, and all bonds and fetters will be broken and snapped” (Abridged from the Prose Edda, Penguin Edition, Trans. by Rasmus B. Andersen). As we pointed out during the reading of this passage in our podcast episode, though, the Ragnarok section is immediately followed by a Regeneration section that foresees a renewed earth emerging “green and fair.”
(Image source: Friedrich Wilhelm Heine (1845-1921)., Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)
Other religions shared this approach, connecting eclipses with mighty powers but not dwelling on them as fearsome. In Islam, a sunnah (saying of the Prophet Muhammad) collected in the third century by an historian named Bukhari noted that the Prophet once said that “The sun and the moon do not eclipse because of the death of someone from the people but they are two signs amongst the signs of Allah. When you see them stand up and pray” (Volume 2, Book 18, Number 151).
Still, in the minds of the folk, eclipses frequently meant one thing: trouble. In the Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore, one entry puts it quite succinctly, saying “When the sun goes into eclipse, it is a sign of some great disaster.” This sentiment gets echoed in folklore collections from Canada to Mexico and back again, although the nature of the disaster is often not specified. In at least one case, an eclipse on 13 April 1140 was taken as a portent that the current king, King Stephen, would soon be removed from rule. An eclipse followed by a “halo” around the sun or moon in the following days was also thought at one time to portend diseases soon to follow (Daniels 941-43).
(Image source: By Ji-Elle – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, Wikimedia Commons)
Some of the lore, however, does tie eclipses to specific events, namely weather-related ones:
In addition to an association with storms, there’s a rather “stormy” character associated with eclipses in North American nautical lore (do eclipses also improve segues? So it seems!). In tales of Alfred Bulltop Stormalong, also known asOld Stormy, a character who was the sailing equivalent to John Henry, the legendary mariner is said to continue working the docks and seas well into the afterlife. According to the Encyclopedia of American Folklore:
Even in the afterlife, Old Stormalong is said to be building ships in the sky, where he carries on his maritime career navigating the heavens rather than the oceans. For this reason, some tales explain that an eclipse is caused by the shadow cast by Old Stormalong’s great ship, and shooting stars occur when they are struck by the movement of Stormalong’s harpoon (Watts)
Leaving aside Old Stormy, what could a person do if an eclipse did seem like a portent of doom to them? Fortunately, numerous cultures came to the same conclusion about what to do: get loud. To forestall any negative eclipse effects, you can beat your pots and pans loudly and shout to scare away anything that might be trying to unleash some wickedness in your home–this is a method used in Ancient Rome, Ancient China, France, Ireland, and Wales. In at least one account of Hindu eclipse beliefs, the text notes that eclipses were a time to give alms to the poor, which would help “relieve the pain which the sun and moon [endure] while being swallowed” (Daniels 943).
(Image source: Joseph Norman Lockyer, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)
There are also a few activities that benefit from eclipses. The same source that describes Hindu almsgiving and the pot-and-pan noisemaker methods also says that while starting a lawful enterprise during an eclipse would doom it to failure, starting something illicit would ensure its success. Additionally, beginning a journey during an eclipse (lunar or solar) ensured its success. And finally, you might just get rich if you had the right bouquet on you:
“During an eclipse, all hidden treasures are open, and if you are wise enough to carry a primrose with you, you will be able to help yourself to any of them”
(Daniels 941)
So that’s a brief look at some of the widespread folklore around eclipses. We hope that you’ll go enjoy this year’s celestial obscuring with care and caution, but also a bit of wonder as you think about what they might mean to you as well. And maybe keep a primrose or two handy, just in case there’s some buried treasure nearby.
Thanks for reading!
-Cory
References
Anderson, Rasmus B. The Prose Edda. Penguin Books/Sacred-Texts, 1936.
Our book, Conjuring the Commonplace–which looks at the folklore and magical uses of a wide variety of household objects–is now available for e-book preorder!
It’s a very cottage-y, cozy sort of book that will let you see the magic in a cup of tea or a butter cookie tin full of buttons, and we’re incredibly proud of it. If you’ve ever wanted to know about fortune telling based on falling silverware, love divinations with burning matches, or the myriad portable spell ingredients in your purse at this very moment, this book will be one you want to pick up. We collaborated on every chapter and Cory did most of the internal illustrations, too, so this is really a labor of love (and maybe a hint of enchantment).
You can order e-book copies during pre-release from:
Some time ago, I received some delightful news about a friend who will soon be a proud parent to a bouncing baby braucher (Pennsylvania German folk healer). As part of that news, my friend also requested any potential knowledge I might have about protection and safe delivery charms for the wee bairn and their birthparent. That project became a bit more extensive, and I realized it might be information that others are curious about, too, so with their permission I decided to turn it into our article this month!
A brief note and content warning: NONE of this is intended as medical advice. It should be understood as an examination of the folklore of pregnancy and birth, rather than anything to be attempted. Please listen to your medical professionals regarding accurate pregnancy and birth care! Additionally, some of these folkloric tidbits will get a tad unsavory. Animal deaths and bodily fluids are a key part of this lore, so please be aware of that before reading any further.
Rabbits paid a hefty price for human pregnancies in the mid-20th century (image by Cory Thomas Hutcheson (c) 2023 – CC 2.0 Attribution license)
What to Expect when you’re Hex-specting – Pregnancy and In Utero Protection
The state of pregnancy is often treated in folklore with some degree of delicacy, both in terms of the physical aspects of carrying and birthing a child and in the very language we use to talk about it. Many folk sayings go to great lengths not to specifically say “pregnant” or even “with child,” but rather use euphemisms like “a bun in the oven” or “in the family way” to refer to someone while they are expecting. One of the more potent phrases, though, was to say “the rabbit died.” Why a rabbit? In the early-to-mid twentieth century, one of the more accurate pregnancy tests involved injecting urine into a rabbit’s kidneys. If the rabbit died, then it was confirmation that the person providing the urine sample was indeed pregnant. (Rabbits by and large get the short end of the stick in folkways–rabbit brains were used to help with teething babies and rabbits were often thought to be witches in disguise, not to mention the famous “lucky rabbit’s foot”). Another rabbit-based charm involves taking the rabbit’s foot and placing it under the expectant parent’s pillow while giving them a rather stinky asafetida bundle to wear around their neck, thus staving off any malevolent spirits during the birth process.
Much lore is devoted to concerns over “marked” babies, who will have birthmarks in the shape of something traumatic from their birth parent’s pregnancy. Usually this takes the form of a simple craving that goes unfulfilled, such as strawberries or apples, which then take the form of red marks on the new child. One account from Tennessee says that a woman who went to see a movie was frightened at one point, and her child came out with a “birth-scald” on its face. At other times, the marking can be more serious. Lore collected in the Ozark Mountains says that a pregnant person should avoid looking at corpses, lest they pass that condition on to their child. A similar bit of lore from the upland Southeastern mountains in North Carolina and Kentucky notes that seeing dead or skinned animals means that a pregnant person will be “confined” soon (on mandatory bed rest).
Many folk groups believed that a fright could mark a baby in the womb (image by Cory Thomas Hutcheson (c) 2023 – CC 2.0 Attribution license)
One exception to the dead animals rule comes from a Central European Romany spell. In that case, a crawfish shell can be emptied out (the meat should be eaten by the one who is pregnant), then cleaned and dried. The shell can be kept in a little bundle on the person’s body or pinned to their clothing as a protective charm (Illes 838). Another amulet involves taking a sturdy cord and making knots in it to “hold” the baby in place and avoid any harm to it. Even wearing one’s hair in braids can be used to accomplish this.
A few other rules apply to the gestation period, too. One rule states that you shouldn’t make any kind of cap or headpiece for a baby before it is born, or it can cause the delivery to be incredibly difficult and painful. Expectant parents in the Ozarks will even take hats and caps given as gifts and burn them right away to avoid any unpleasant outcomes (Randolph 199). Another piece of lore from Kentucky (and one that I would say we have a different medical perspective on now) notes that Communion wine is thought to be vital to a pregnant person, and that they should be allowed to take it whether they are a member of the Church or not (Brown, NC Folklore v6, p.6).
Talking about a pregnancy is also taboo. In one bit of Italian lore mirrored among several cultures, the pregnancy should not be announced until at least the first trimester has completed, and even longer if possible. Hair is also guarded carefully in Italian folk belief–an expectant parent should only get their hair cut while pregnant on the first Friday in March.
Doing More than Boiling Water – Delivery Magic
Pregnancy is seen as a time of joy and vulnerability, and that comes to a head during the process of childbirth. Even in our modern age, there are still numerous risks to parent and child during birth, and mortality rates for births are still fairly high, ranging from around 20 deaths per 100,000 births on average to a high-end around 55 per 100,000 births among Hispanic parents in 2020.
An axe or knife under the bed was thought to ‘cut’ the pains of birth (image by Cory Thomas Hutcheson (c) 2023 – CC 2.0 Attribution license)
With that risk in mind, the immediate before-during-after birth period is loaded with folk magical beliefs and practices. One of the most widely distributed is the use of sharp objects to “cut” birthing pains during the process (Brown, NC Folklore p.10-11). Mostly these involve bringing in an ax or knife and placing it beneath the bed of the one in labor. At least one bit of Southern folklore also indicates the use of a plowshare for the pain-cutting implement, too. Some additional charms, talismans, and rites to ease the pain of childbirth include:
All locks in the house should be opened, according to English folklore, in order to make the birth go smoothly (Opie & Tatem, p. 27)
Similarly, untying knots can be a way to make labor go smoothly as a sort of corollary to the knot-tying charms used during the months of pregnancy. A red string can be tied around a person’s waist to give them strength during the delivery, too (Botkin p. 627)
Keeping silver coins stolen from a church in the bed is done to stave off both venereal infections and childbirth pains (Randolph p.199-200)
It’s ideal to have a hornet’s nest kept somewhere in or near the house (it can still house hornets if it is outside, although a dried and empty one indoors can work well–as a bonus, if you hang an empty hornet’s nest it will usually discourage new hornets from building a nest near your home) (Randolph p. 200)
It’s bad luck to hear the call of the mourning dove while in labor, but you can speed and ease the delivery by wearing a shed snakeskin as a garter around the thigh (Brown, v6, p. 9)
A holey stone (hagstone) hung over the bed where the birth is taking place will make the delivery smoother and less painful (Brown, v6, p. 10)
The best time for birth is right before or right after the new moon, according to one bit of Southern lore (Botkin p. 627)
One charm worth noting is a specific himmelsbrief (“heaven letter”) used in Pennsylvania German folk magic to offer protection or blessings when carried or worn. I talk a good bit about these in my book, but the application of one of these written charms to childbirth is noted in the Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina folklore, which indexes it to both the German American settlements and to Newfoundland. The specific letter in question is known as the Iconium letter, which purports to have been written by Jesus himself sixty-five years after the crucifixion. The letter has been copied, translated, and shared often, and you can even find a decent copy of it online (in English) through the Library Company of Philadelphia. The Brown Collection entry also mentions that those coming from an Islamic background might use Chapter 84 of the Quran, known as “The Rending Asunder” or similar names. A Jewish tradition of a letter regarding protection from Lilith is mentioned, too, although I found this variant in Joshua Trachtenberg’s Jewish Magic & Superstition:
“A circle was drawn around the lying-in bed, and a magical inscription (reading ‘Sanvi, Sansanvi, Semangelaf, Adam and Eve, barring Lilit’) was chalked upon the walls or door of the room” (p. 169).
Trachtenberg, Jewish Magic & Superstition
In Appalachian lore, a number of plants were used to help with the childbirth process to ease the pains:
Golden Ragwort (Senecio) can be made into a tea using leaves and roots, which was done by Indigenous peoples to help with childbirth complications. (Foxfire 11, pp. 131)
Partridgeberry (Mitchella repens) – This evergreen fruiting plant was used by Tsiligi/Cherokee peoples, who made it into a tea to be taken in the weeks before a baby was due in order to make the birth go more smoothly (Foxfire 11, pp.138)
Red Trillium (Trillium erectum) – This low-growing tri-leaved plant with funky-smelling flowers blooms in the mountains from April until June, but the root was the valuable ingredient. It could be brewed into a tea that treated all sorts of reproductive issues including birth and labor, menstruation, and even menopause (Foxfire 11, pp. 142)
Spikenard and Sweet Flag (also known as Calamus root) – This marshy plant was used in the Ozarks as a treatment to ease childbirth (Randolph p. 199)
A final protection involves the burning of chicken feathers, then fumigating the room where the birth will take place, which is said to ease the process (found in both Randolph, p. 201; and Brown, v6, p.9).. Interestingly, there are also charms that involve symbolic images of chickens or other fowls as protective amulets for those giving birth (Trachtenberg p. 169).
Burning chicken feathers was thought to aid in delivery (image by Cory Thomas Hutcheson (c) 2023 – CC 2.0 Attribution license)
After-Birth Blessing and Post-Partum Protections
The baby’s safe arrival and the parent’s stabilization was only the first part of the magical process, of course. After the birth, a number of folk practices and traditions focus on protecting the new family, establishing a connection between child and place, and other necessities of folk life.
Some folklore prognosticated on the child’s future. We’ve written especially about the presence of a caul or “veil” around a child’s head during birth–a thin amniotic membrane that was thought to presage a life of Second Sight or connection to the Otherworld. I also talk about the “calling circle” ritual done around a child’s first birthday to determine possible future careers in the New World Witchery book, too.
Many people are probably also familiar with the famous “Monday’s Child” rhyme which promises to tell the child’s future based on the day it was born:
Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace, Wednesday’s child is full of woe, Thursday’s child has far to go. Friday’s child is loving and giving, Saturday’s child must work for a living. A child that’s horn on the Sabbath day Is blithe and bonnie and rich and gay.
This is where the Addams Family chose their daughter’s name, as she seemed a child “full of woe.” There are variations on this, of course, as in this version recorded by Vance Randolph in an old manuscript owned by a woman in Notch, Missouri:
Sunday never to want, Monday fair in face, Tuesday full of grace, Wednesday woeful and sad, Thursday a long ways to go, Friday loving and giving, Saturday work hard for a living. (Randolph 206)
One tradition that made a comeback in the twentieth century (if indeed it ever went away) was the treatment of the placenta after the birth completed. Many people will retain the placenta and either eat it to ensure healthy nursing and a quick return to strength for the parent (it can be eaten raw or cooked, and many mammals do this), or bury it at the base of a new tree to grant the child long life (Randolph p. 202). Another bit of Southern lore says to save the water from a baby’s first bath and use it to water the “name tree” (usually also the tree where the placenta is buried) to link them and make them “blood kin,” so that both will thrive (Botkin, SF, p.627). On the other hand, some lore says that the parent should never be fully bathed/submerged nor their bed linens changed for at least nine days after the birth to protect them from infection and misfortune. That same line of lore says to avoid bathing a child completely until at least three days old, and to avoid washing the palms especially to make sure not to wash away any luck the child may have. Ozark lore indicates that the best water to wash a baby’s head is “stump water,” or the rain that collects in the hollow of a stump, so that the child will not suffer from premature baldness (Randolph p. 204-5).
Planting a placenta at the roots of a sapling brought health and protection to a baby (image by Cory Thomas Hutcheson (c) 2023 – CC 2.0 Attribution license)
A few other charms and practices are worth mentioning, too. For example, in many places it’s customary for new parents to receive help from their family or community members in the form of food or services–laundry and cleaning especially. Washing and cleaning the house is usually done by older people, however, because any person who can give birth that helps clean the house of a newly-delivered parent will be the next to become pregnant (Opie & Tatum, p. 27). There’s also a taboo against calling a baby “angel,” for fear that it will think itself belonging to the heavenly host and not stay with its mortal family.
The clothes a newborn wears can also impact its future, according to some lore. In Ozark belief, wrapping the baby in a garment of the parent’s–such as a shirt or petticoat–as a swaddling cloth is thought to bring good luck. Clothes worn previously by another baby (who lived) are also good luck and ensure healthy growth, so long as they are never returned (Randolph 205-8).
A few place-specific beliefs also factor into the new life of a child. The parent of a newborn should avoid crossing running water for the first month to avoid bad luck. They should also avoid cutting their hair for at least nine days following the birth (Brown v.6 p.15). Honey and fish should be avoided (interesting, given their connection to Hekate as offerings). Walking the baby around the house/property so that it will “stay” (not die) and know its home all of its life, too.
A Note on the Evil Eye
It would be entirely remiss of me to do anything on pregnancy and childbirth lore and not mention the Evil Eye (or malocchio, mal ojo, or other similar names). This is probably the single most widespread and pervasive piece of folklore connected to children and pregnancy, and is found on most continents among many communities ranging from Turkish, Greek, and Syrian peoples to English, Spanish, Irish, Italian, and African American communities. It has a number of variations, and more than a number of remedies that can involve everything from the famous Hamsa hands and blue eye Nazar amulets to bowls of oil and water and looking at the end of one’s nose. To treat the topic of the Evil Eye is worthy of much more than a small mention in this article, however, and entire books have been written on the subject. I may one day come back around to covering this, but since it’s important, I thought I’d share tips from two recent publications dealing with the topic.
The first is an excerpt from Antonio Pagliarulo’s forthcoming book The Evil Eye: The History, Mystery, and Magic of the Quiet Curse(Weiser Books, 2023): “Take an example from my childhood. When I was a kid, a pregnancy was never announced outside of immediate family
members; it wasn’t even discussed until the expectant mother was clearly showing. I remember my own mother’s reaction whenever she received an invitation to a baby shower. She was confused. She didn’t understand why any woman would risk putting herself and her unborn child in the path of malocchio. To celebrate an event that hadn’t yet occurred—especially an event as delicate as childbirth—was like standing directly in front of the Eye while waving a sign that read: Look at me and how happy I am! If ever there was a way to court danger, it was having a baby shower.” (Pagliarulo pp.6-7)
Here we have echoes of lore we’ve already seen about not announcing a birth too early and avoiding inspiring jealousy, which is usually at the root of the Eye. Pagliarulo’s book contains a great deal more lore on the topic, so I’d recommend seeking it out for more depth.
I also want to mention Laura Davila’s anti-Evil Eye charm for both babies and parents: a mixture of rosemary, basil and oregano steeped in a strong alcohol. This would then be used to mark a cross on the person’s forehead while praying that they be healed from or protected from the Eye, and asking that any such connections to harmful witchcraft be severed. This working, called an ensalmo in the brujeria de rancho tradition, specifically draws upon existing Christian prayer forms, as do many other Evil Eye countermagics (Davila p.125-26). This is one of many simple remedies one can use to protect from the Eye, and it echoes a lot of lore found in other places, too.
There is truly so much lore about pregnancy and childbirth that covering it in this short(ish) entry is a Sisyphian task. I hope, though, that what you’ve read here will offer you some insights and guidance in researching the topic further for yourself. As always, I recommend turning to folk practitioners for their original insights on the subject. Ask those who have helped with births about things they do to ensure a safe delivery and to protect parent and child following the pregnancy and birth, and you’ll probably open up a whole treasure chest of folk knowledge.
As a very final note, I can’t let this article end without mentioning one of my favorite books, Laurel Thatcher Ulrich’s A Midwife’s Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, based on her Diary, 1785-1812. It’s a magnificently annotated and transcribed account of a late eighteenth/early nineteenth-century midwife’s work, and how integrated she was in so many aspects of her community. Bits of folk knowledge come through, as well as a much deeper understanding of the contexts connected to birth and daily life. Do yourself a favor and find a copy if you can.
For now, though, I think I’ve labored long enough on this one, and I’ll place it safely swaddled in your arms to take with you.
Wishbones for love? Talking to bees? Ozark folk magic!
In which Cory gives a brief (and VERY high-level) overview of Ozark folk magic, along with a few suggestions for further research and learning. Turkey wishbones for love? Talking to beehives? Moon signs and body parts? All that and more in this video!
Please note that I am NOT a native Ozarker, and can only speak as someone studying folklore. Those who would like to know more should definitely seek out the expertise and knowledge of Ozark residents over what I say here.
Images are designed by Canva. Images from Vance Randolph’s article from Life Magazine are used under the presumption of Fair Use for educational and critical purposes. Additional images via Wikimedia Commons (Public Domain).
image by Cory Thomas Hutcheson (use under CC 2.0 license)
Readers, I am probably not the person you want to invite to parties. Unless you happen to be playing Trivial Pursuit at your gathering, I’m inclined to become unnecessarily excited by any subject an unwary guest might bring up in a casual manner, and then—well, it’s all over. I’ll go on an infodumping share that can be, frankly, a lot.
One of the topics that’s sure to send me on such a tear is mushrooms. I have had a long-standing love of fungi ever since my youth. They were a favorite food growing up (along with spinach, and again, I am quite an oddity I know). They went into Italian pasta sauces, topped mashed potatoes in sautéed form, were a prime pairing on my favorite pizzas (along with pepperoni), and made a perfect substitute for French fries when fried and served with a horseradish cream sauce.
A little over a year ago, I read Merlin Sheldrake’s astoundingly good book, Entangled Life, which looks at the simply unfathomable ways that fungi impact the world in which we live. They are essentially why plants can and do live on land, provide a sort of organic internet between organisms of vastly different species, reshape our brains in both positive and terrifying ways, and lead to violent conflicts among truffle hunters in France (please do not kill dogs over mushrooms, even fancy ones).
I’ve also long known there were a few connections between fungi and the world of witchcraft. One of my favorite witch stories, “Meadowsweet’s Red Chaplet,” by Robin Artisson, is sparked by an experience with hallucinogenic mushrooms. The best example of this is the Amanita muscaria, also known as the fly agaric or red-cap mushroom. It’s ubiquitous in fairy tale illustrations with its ruddy top and white spots (and even makes a major pop culture appearance in video games via the Super Mario franchise, which does make you wonder just how real our favorite plumber’s adventures are). There are speculations that Amanita was an ingredient in witches’ flying ointments (and I’ve used some very good flying oil made by Sarah Lawless which included it as an ingredient–you should also consider listening to our interview with her on folklore and fungi from last year, too). It most certainly produced hallucinogenic effects in those who consumed it (although it can also cause violent vomiting, too). Some research suggests it was a major component of the shamanistic practices of the Northern European indigenous tribes like the Sami, too, although it is worth remembering that many of the claims about fly agaric’s ubiquitous use and powers are overstretched or impositions from the present onto the past. But red-capped agaric mushrooms do make appearances in witch lore at times. For example, I’ve identified a pair of stories from Irish and Appalachian lore that seem to point to the use of fly agaric in witch flight there, too (I write about it in my book, New World Witchery, as well).
Today, though, I want to look at some of the other mushrooms that show up in folk magic and lore, because when is it not a good time to talk about fungi? (the answer is: trick question, it is always a good time to talk about fungi).
Probably the mushroom most directly associated with folklore and magic other than the fly agaric/Amanita red-cap would be the “toadstool.” This is a bit of a misnomer, as a toadstool is a folk name given to several different broad-capped mushrooms (including Amanita at times). The name, which implies an affinity with toads of course, may also contribute a bit to some toadstool lore. In fact, a bit of lore from the Frank C. Brown collection notes that “The handling of large species of toadstool, sometimes popularly called ‘wart-toadstool,’ will cause warts to grow on the part of the hand coming in contact with it” (p. 311). Toadstools and toads are not particularly likely to give you warts, but the shaggy wart-like appearance of toadstool spots likely influences the sympathetic magical thinking here.
Toadstools also appear frequently in fairy lore, often influenced by Victorian ideas about fairies as diminutive creatures who might use such natural items as tables, umbrellas, or, of course, stools to sit on. Seventeenth century proto-science fiction author Margaret “Mad Madge” Cavendish once wrote a poem in which the Queen of Fairies used a toadstool as a banquet table, for example. Dancing or laying in a fairy ring of mushrooms was a surefire way to end up in the Otherworld, or catch the attention of the Good Folk. One of the most famous “Otherworld” journeys in literature, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (and Through the Looking Glass) feature the use of mushrooms to change size, although it is possible that author Lewis Carroll did not intend any psychedelic or magical connotations in his stories.
One other bit of lore about toadstools, however, gives them a slightly divinatory property. According to lore found in the mountainous regions of southeastern North America (such as the Ozarks and Appalachians), the appearance of toadstools predicts rain. Vance Randolph even says that the “sudden appearance” of such mushrooms is a “sure sign” that rain will come within the next twelve hours (p. 17).
The common puffball (Lycoperdon perlatum), sometimes called “devil’s snuffbox” in folklore image by Cory Thomas Hutcheson (use under CC 2.0 license)
Another mushroom that makes frequent folkloric appearances is one known as a “puffball” or sometimes a “devil’s snuffbox.” This is usually the common puffball (Lycoperdon perlatum), although it can be one of a few look-alike species as well. One account of lore collected in Georgia links the term “toadstool” with this mushroom, showing how folk terminology can sometimes apply to a wide variety of species:
“A toadstool is called the Devil’s snuff-box, and the Devil’s imps come at midnight to get the snuff. In the morning you can tell when the imps have been for the snuff, as you will find the toadstool broken off and scattered about. The snuff is used as one of the ingredients of a ‘cunjur-bag.’”
The “snuff” here are the powdery spores from within the puffball mushroom. If you’ve ever touched a mature puffball, you’ll know these spores can spray out in jets of powdery dust, which is the fungus trying to make more of itself. The snuff-powder clearly draws the influence and attention of devils and imps, which makes me think that the implication here is that these spirits will treat the conjure bag like a kitten would a catnip filled toy. By offering them something they want, they might be compelled to do whatever task the bag was created for.
Another bag-based spell makes use of a toadstool called “frog bread” (possibly also “frog’s bread” or “frog’s breath” based on a later entry in the same volume of lore, which also seems to indicate this is an immature form of the puffball mushroom, too). This fungus gets sewn into a sack with a frog (possibly alive, but most likely dead/preserved) along with a few other ingredients like pins, hair, and finger or toenails. In the narrative account, this bundle was then put into the bed of a woman who was suffering from a wasting sickness of some kind, and it evidently revived her enough that she was “jumping” from the bed (although this may just be the informant having some fun at the expense of Hyatt and playing off the idea of a “frog” cure making someone jump). (pp. 72-3).
Mushrooms also have a place within the healing work of at least one curandera, a woman known as Maria Sabina from Huautla de Jimenez, Mexico. She used psilocybin mushrooms during nighttime rituals, referring to both the mushrooms and the spirits with whom they connected her as “spirit children.” These rituals would likely have involved dealing with disorders such as susto, a sort of semi-catatonic state requiring a person’s soul to be reintegrated with their body. Unfortunately, Maria Sabina was “discovered” by an American anthropologist named R. Gordon Wasson, who then drove a sort of frenzy of celebrities in the 1960s to her doorstep, eventually overwhelming her and destroying her ability to do her curandera work with the fungi any more.
My family has no idea what they’ve done… image by Cory Thomas Hutcheson (use under CC 2.0 license)
Fungi have a lot to offer us, but they remind us that every boon comes with its potential bane, too. In my case, my obsession with mushrooms has grown more intense since reading Sheldrake’s book, and I’ve started identifying wild mushrooms on walks. I’ve had the privilege to read an advance copy of Nathan Hall’s The Path of the Moonlit Hedgein which the author recommends a ritual for connecting with local fungi as an animistic practice, something I’m deeply interested in trying. My family, in what can only be described as a fit of folly which they will almost certainly regret, purchased some at-home growing kits for oyster and lion’s mane mushrooms over the holidays. Already I speak to my beautiful boxes of inoculated sawdust and mycelia daily. This will not end well, I fear (although hopefully with less mind control and zombification than in other mycelium-laced stories like Mexican Gothicby Silvia Moreno-Garcia and Naughty Dog’s The Last of Us video game series).
But possibly I will convince a few of you to give mushrooms a second look when it comes to magic. They are a part of the deep history of earth, and they transcend the boundaries imposed on them. They connect with the realms of dreams and madness and death and hunger, and send shivers of flight and transformation through us (if they don’t kill us first). They are, in a word, magic.
Cory shares some thoughts on being a published author one year (plus a bit) after releasing New World Witchery, why publish witchy books in general, and what’s coming next from him in terms of writing.
It’s getting to be the time of year when we start stockpiling a hoard of sugary treats, most of which will be making it into the plastic pumpkin pails of princesses, pigmen, and pirates. Alternatively, many sweet delights will soon be festooning gingerbread constructions as roof tiles or patio pavers, as well. By which I mean it is, of course, Halloween-to-Yuletide season, a prime time for candy, especially CHOCOLATE!
This holiday gets a lot of attention for its connection to various death festivals, guising, and deals with the darkness, but I thought I’d briefly look at an aspect of the shadowy season with a sweeter side. I’m mostly going to focus on chocolate—largely because it’s a food indigineous to the Americas but also because it’s just yummy—but I will also detour a bit into sugar-based folk magic and lore as well. We covered some of these elements on a special episode for our Patreon followers a year or so ago (a sort of “dessert” episode for our Cornucopia of Magic show), but there’s still lots of good stuff I had to leave on the plate even back then.
In Mesoamerican culture, cocoa was used as a ceremonial drink and was almost exclusively brewed by women.
I’ll start with a bit of the better-known but still endlessly fascinating lore of the cocoa bean. Many people know that it was used as a strong drink even long before we started piling tiny marshmallows into steamy mugs. The Aztecs and Mayans both brewed it for use in domestic life and rituals, often using a specific device called an molinillo to stir the unsweetened beverage into a heated froth. Importantly, in parts of Mesoamerican civilization, the brewing of cocoa was reserved for women, and through that association (and the frail fears of insecure men) sometimes accusations of witchcraft would surface. In one case, a construction worker believed his wife was using magical poisons on him to make him more complacent, because he suddenly found himself compelled to make the morning chocolate drink for both himself and his wife. He went to local Inquisition authorities, also noting that he could no longer, um, “stir his cocoa” in other ways, and they responded by claiming “All this cannot be a natural thing,” and sending his wife, Cecilia, to jail. Mixing magical ingredients into cocoa seems to have been a common fear, but not without foundation, as at least one recorded curandera recommended that a woman named Doña Luisa de Gálvez wash her nether regions and then use the water to brew her husband’s cocoa. She had a good reason, though, since Doña Luisa’s husband was apparently physically abusive.
In another case, a woman named María de Santa Inés (also called “La Panecito,” or “the little bun/pastry”) was thought to serve her enemies with pastries stuffed with chocolate, leading them to act out of character.
Chocolate was long regarded with fascination and suspicion by Europeans, and eventually became associated with concepts of decadence and luxury. Through that connection, it also became associated with concepts of “sin,” as evidenced by treats such as “death by chocolate cake” or “devil’s food cake” (Watts). That connection between the indulgent nature of chocolate was also what led to suspicions among Catholic priests and Church officials during the days of Colonial subjugation of the Indigenous peoples. As the Inquisition spread among these Colonizers, the connections between women, chocolate, and poisoning and magic became a frequent focal point of legal and ecclesiastical trials, such as the cases of Cecila, Doña Luisa, and Maria de Santa Ines.
Women attending colleges like Vassar in the 19th and early 20th centuries were known to have illicit “fudge parties” where they socialized and made pans of chocolate fudge.
Mesoamerican women weren’t the only ones to be associated with wrongdoing because of chocolate, either. It turns out that a number of young women at schools like Vassar in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries would hold illicit “fudge parties,” at which they would use heating lamps to bake up trays of fudge in their dorm rooms. There are legends that link Vassar alum Emelyn Battersby Hartridge (class of 1892) to the creation of fudge in the first place. The late-night snacking was officially forbidden but the young ladies made so much fudge that eventually, schools like Vassar became famous for their chocolatey treat. The fudge parties had the air of a seance at times, with one New York Times article describing them as “sitting on sofa cushions…in a mystic circle around an alcohol stove, from which the odor of ‘fudge’ rises like incense.” The food became a symbol of education and liberation among college women during the late Victorian period.
The power of chocolate is not only in its taste, however, as any realtor knows. Frequently, they will bake a tray of chocolate chip cookies in a home they are trying to sell. It provides a nice treat during an open house, of course, but the scent of sugar and chocolate in the air adds a sense of domestic bliss and is thought to stimulate feelings of joy and pleasure among prospective buyers. Draja Mickaharic mentions a similar trick in his Spiritual Cleansing and recommends burning a blend of sugar (usually brown sugar) along with spices like cinnamon and clove to create a happy atmosphere in a home. Using a bit of brewing cocoa could help add a sense of uplift, warmth, and coziness to a space relatively easily. That meaning also appears in the lore of dreams, with the famed Aunt Sally’s Policy Player’s Dream Book saying that a nighttime vision of chocolate “fortells good health and a happy life.” I’ve found that drinking an infusion of cocoa, cinnamon, and chili peppers with a touch of honey before bed seems to stimulate dreaming for me (although your magical mileage may vary).
Halloween is hardly the only holiday we associate with sweets and chocolate, either. We all know about the cookies of Yuletide or the candy in heart-shaped boxes on Valentine’s, or even the molded chocolate bunnies (shudder) we find at Eastertide. In 1922, however, Cleveland, Ohio began observing another sugar-infused holiday called “Sweetest Day.” The story goes that an employee of a local candy company thought there needed to be a day when people would take treats and spend time with the “forgotten” of society in order to add some sweetness to their lives. The employee, allegedly a man named Herbert Birch Kingston, would visit the elderly or orphans and bring them little tokens and treats to lighten up their day. The holiday caught on and became a local favorite for a while. Even silent screen starlet Theda Bera got in on the act, reportedly delivering ten thousand boxes of chocolates to hospital patients. It’s celebrated on the third Saturday in each October, which puts it right up against Halloween, but adds an element of community care to the mix that makes it quite sweet indeed (Watts).
Because of chocolate’s status as a luxury item introduced late to Europe, the magical lore connected with it among Europeans and European Americans tends to be more recent. A widespread belief among people in the twentieth century (and even today) claims that chocolate is a potent aphrodisiac. While some investigations have found it can have stimulating and circulatory-improving effects (which might indirectly influence some people’s sexual interest or performance), there’s not a direct 1:1 connection that is scientifically observable. That doesn’t stop it from being associated with sex and romance, of course, and we still see plenty of people offering up their paramours decadent chocolate treats to cap off a sensual meal (and there’s always the traditional heart-shaped cardboard box stuffed with a variety of filled chocolates on Valentine’s Day, although you can frankly keep that weird mint flavored one).
Chocolate’s extreme moldability makes it ideal for figural magic.
One of chocolate’s other advantages is its extreme moldability. Acquiring a silicone or plastic mold in almost any shape makes creating magical effigies very simple, and if you’re using chocolate to make a magical treat the shape can be matched to the intention very easily. Similarly, filling a piping bag with chocolate makes for an easy way to write magical words that can then be consumed by the intended subject of the spell. Thus, if you were trying to bring some romance into your life, you might create a heart shape, fill it with your name and a few words describing an ideal lover or partner, and consume that before heading out on the town for the night (or, in more recent years, before browsing your Tindr or Grindr app). You could also try carrying little “kiss” style chocolates with your phone number on the paper flag (or other interesting spells) as something to hand out to potential partners.
And, of course, if you just want to make your words a little sweeter, having a bit of chocolate before any situation seems to help. Because at least you just had chocolate, right?
It’s been a loooooong time since I did one of these (like seven years!). Partly that’s because a lot of our social media now fills the purpose that these cartulary posts used to, and partly it’s because I usually wind up trying to write more in-depth examinations of folk magic for the website that are finished and complete, so these peek-behind-the-curtain posts slip my mind. Oops, my bad, and sorry in that order!
For those who haven’t run into these before, a cartulary is essentially a scroll of information where new material gets added by attaching it to the bottom of existing scrolls, functioning as a sort of hodgepodge of ideas that get rolled up together because they don’t belong anywhere else. Given that the dominant reading mode for the internet is scrolling, I use these posts as a sort glimpse into my working notes on current witchcraft research, as well as showing you some things that may be of interest to you as well (since you’re here, you probably like at least some of the same witchy things I do, right?).
A lot of what’s here is piecemeal and incomplete, or at least a bit rough and unfinished, and some of it may not have to deal with witchery directly but will give you a sense of what’s going on behind the scenes between episodes/posts/books/etc. And you may discover something new that you love, too!
Let’s start with what I’m reading, which is always “everything,” I suppose. More specifically, though, I’ve got a slew of witchy books in my “just-read,” “now-reading,” and “soon-my-preciouses” piles. I was gifted a book from the Ackerly Green publishing house called The Book of Briars by my friend Heather, and I’ve been exploring the tangled world created by author C.J. Bernstein (essentially the engine behind the press) through the book The Monarch Papers: Flora & Fauna as well. This whole press and the world it’s creating are INSANE and delightful. It’s a fusion of fairy tales, lost magic, Mandela effect, murder mystery, and more. There are elements of Neil Gaiman, John Bellairs, Margaret Atwood, Charles de Lindt, and Diana Wynne Jones in these pages, and what’s even more wild is that you, the reader, can directly interact with the world as it is being written, helping to shape the story that already exists and the books yet to come.
I’ve also been working through some folklore collections that I’ve loved a lot lately. I picked up a really interesting collection called Myths of Magical Native American Women by Teresa Pijoan, who worked with tribes like the Lakota, Hopi, Cheyenne, and Creek to retain some of the tales that were potentially about to be lost with the passing of elders. Most notable are the “Salt Woman” stories, which can be very hard to find and which tell of the tragic-but-generous figure of the Salt Woman in several tribal mythologies who brought the gift of salt to the people. I also received a wonderful signed copy of the Tel que Dit stories done by podcast guest Erik Lacharity, which recounts a number of magical tales and legends from French Canadian history and lore. Many read like fairy tales, and there’s a wonderful series of stories about the folk hero/clever trickster Ti-Jean as well. For my birthday in June, I was incredibly happy to finally receive a copy of the Greenwood Handbook on The Pied Piper, which is one of my all-time favorite fairy tales/legends (it has some very strange elements of historical fact within it). It was edited by my folklore colleague Wolfgang Mieder, and goes through dozens of variants, sequels, artistic representations, and the historical context of the story as well. Finally, my kids turned me onto a whole series of graphic novels that are collections of world folklore, called the Cautionary Fables & Fairy Tales books. They feature collections like The Night Marchers (Oceanian lore), The Nixie of the Mill-pond (European lore), The Girl Who Married a Skull (African lore), and The Tamamo Fox Maiden (Asian lore). They are SO GOOD, and each volume features a variety of storytellers and artists to keep things varied and interesting. Great for both adults and kids ages 8+ (some stories are a little spicy or scary).
I also should mention that I’ve been on a bit of a mushroom kick lately, too. I’m enthusiastically listening to the audiobook for Merlin Sheldrake’s Entangled Life, which explores in depth how fungi are inextricably interwoven with every aspect of life on earth. It’s a science book, but it reads like a travelogue, a meditation, and an adventure tale at times, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. I…I think I might be bordering on obsessed with mushrooms and fungi, and actively looking to join a lichen cult if possible. In that same vein, I recently watched the Netflix documentary called Fantastic Fungi, which does a nice job giving a mile-high overview of some of the same things Sheldrake explores in much more depth.
On to the world of witchy books, of which there are so many in my life right now, I have to say I’m delighted at how many people I consider friends or colleagues are putting out good work at the moment. I’ve read and recommended Fire Lyte’s forthcoming book, The Dabbler’s Guide to Witchcraft, which essentially takes his skeptical, critical eye and looks at witchcraft in a way that can help a newcomer to separate the useful bits from the bunkum claims and absolute dreck that sometimes winds up in intro-to-the-craft type books. In a similarly scientific vein, I am absolutely in love with J.D. Walker’s book A Witch’s Guide to Wildcraft, which walks the reader through exploring their local flora both as a witch and a gardener (she’s a Master Gardener and spent thirty years running her own landscaping business, so she knows what she’s talking about).
On the more esoteric side of things, I also really loved Star Child, by Bri Saussy, which demystifies some of the complicated elements of astrology by also looking at what a parent might be able to glean from looking at the astrological placements of their child. There’s also Anatomy of a Witch, by Laura Tempest Zakroff, which dives into the sort of visceral experience of witchcraft by looking at it through the lens of a person’s body, breath, and movement (Zakroff is also a long-time professional dancer, so those elements are very important to her and it shows!).
I have to say that I wish I’d discovered Moon Dust Press long ago when my own kids were little. They didn’t exist then, but if they had my kids would have been getting lots of witchy, magical kids’ books like Sunday the Sea Witch and Brina: A Pagan Picture Book.
In terms of books in my “I shall devour you soon” pile, I’m really excited about a couple of new releases I hope to get my hands on in the next month or so. Thorn Mooney has just released her latest book, The Witch’s Path, and it aims for an audience that is a little different than most witchy books: advanced practitioners. Mooney looks at everything from group leadership to burnout, and apparently provides guidance based on individual learning styles, which I’m very excited about! I’m also hungrily eyeing Lisa Marie Basile’s latest book, City Witchery. I loved her Light Magic for Dark Times so much, and this one is tackling urban witchcraft, which I don’t see done nearly enough. I’ve got them both on pre-order so….soooooooon.
Our latest live cartomancy session!
I’ll close up with a couple of other witchy bobbins that I think are worth spinning. Firstly, for those who haven’t been watching our live cartomancy sessions, you’re missing out! They’re a load of fun! And we’ve discovered the wickedly honest power of the Mildred Payne’s Oracle of Black Enchantment from Deviant Moon. These cards are designed to look like woodcuts taken from a nightmarish and gleeful history of witchcraft, and they do NOT play around (well, they DO play around, but in the same way a cat plays with a bird it’s just caught)! We’ve gotten some of our most honest readings from them!
I also have been falling back in love with witchy podcasts, because there have been a whole spate of amazing new ones to come out this year. I can’t get enough of Invoking Witchcraft, featuring Britton and J. Allen, who remind me a lot of Laine and me because they are exploring folk magic through ongoing conversations and interviews. I was a guest on there a while back, but I’ve been totally hooked on them for months as they cover things like shoe magic, magical bathing, and whether or not to join a coven. I also ADORE the Southern Bramble podcast, which brings traditional folk witchcraft out through a queer perspective while also digging deep into its southern roots (and getting dirty and dangerous in the process). Austin and Marshall are just so engaging, funny, and also wicked that I can’t help but be drawn in! And finally, I’ve fallen for the Jewitches podcast, exploring Jewish folk magic and witchcraft with host Zo. This is a podcast that is built upon research and cultural investigation, and it deals with topics both delightful and very, very heart-breaking. Zo explores the overlap between Jewish persecutions and the early witch trials in Europe, the myth of the dybbuk box, and the horrific Blood Libel legend (which is still in circulation today). It’s really thought-provoking and also highly informative!
So those are the things that are currently getting free rent in my brain, and that are likely to influence some of the research and show-planning I do over the next few months. You’ll probably see some of these authors show up as guests on the show, or hear me talk about topics involving new veins of folk magic or curiosity that these little rabbit trails open up (who knows, maybe I’ll even have something to tell you about fungi and folk magic someday!).
New World Witchery - The Search for American Traditional Witchcraft 
