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I’ve always been someone that enjoys taking walks at night under the moonlight, or at sunset when the light fades away and the darkness starts to take over. There is a moment when the light and the dark meet where everything seems to be still. As if everything all at once is holding its breath. The feeling in the air is still, yet has fluidity that can feel otherworldly and magical. I often feel a sense of curiosity with hints of maybe fear or caution, of what I can’t see or, possibly, of what I might see.
As a farmer, I have become attuned to the seasons. To me, they all carry a different feel and energy. When autumn settles in on the farm, it brings a sense of grief, curiosity and staying connected to what I can no longer physically see, such as loved ones, ancestors and beloved animal companions that have passed from this realm.
As I watch the plants around me transition from vibrant life to decay, I hold their life cycle close to me. Some die, while others retreat into a place of preservation or hibernation, so to speak. This visible shift brings me closer to what I can no longer physically see. To the people, animals and plants I continue to hold close.
Through dreamwork, meditation and imagination, or simply calling to them, I keep these relationships close by. I also work with herbs like mugwort, which I actually like to use sometimes while it’s in transition from vibrancy to dying off for the season. I find that using mugwort at this stage in its life adds another layer, for me, of being in touch with my fears and grief while guiding me into openness to the cycles of life.
The veil has a number of meanings to me. A place and time that we call upon to remember those that no longer physically exist. It’s also a place of working with the different aspects of ourselves, our shadows and subconscious. Through these practices, I make space to explore what I might not see or hear in my waking life.
I find mugwort to be intriguing, maybe even a bit seductive. It’s a plant I like to use to dive deep into unknown parts, blurring the lines of reality and helping me tap into the deep subconscious.
I love working with mugwort in a number of different ways, from harvesting and drying it for tea to making fresh tinctures, planting magical moon gardens and bundling dream sticks/wands.
I can still remember the first time I started working with the smoke of mugwort for dreamwork. I was living on a farm in a cabin that was easily a mile walk in the wintertime. It was nestled right on the edge of the field and woods. It had propane lights, a wood cook stove for heat and to cook on, a hand pump for water and a loft. My cat Mozes and I lived there on and off over the course of a few years, and during that time I cultivated many plant-based rituals, including the burning of mugwort.
I would use the smoke to prepare me for dreamwork or meditation, to help call on the spirits that I needed to hear and protect me on my journey into the subconscious. I also used to sleep with a bundle of mugwort under my pillow. Every season since, I still make bundled mugwort dream wands, and now enjoy making them with my nieces.
Mugwort belongs to the genus Artemisia, which is believed to be named in honor of the Greek moon goddess Artemis, also known to the Romans as Diana.
In the beloved book The Complete Floral Healer by Anne McIntyre, she shares the tale about how, as the goddess of the moon, Artemis would revive the plants at night with her dew, and in the day her brother Apollo, the sun, would shine his warming rays down onto the plants, both working together to help grow and nourish the plant world.
Mugwort has long been revered as a magical herb. In A Modern Herbal, Maud Grieve describes the belief that wearing a crown of mugwort on St. John’s Eve offered protection against evil possession.
Mugwort is also used today in dreamwork and contemporary magical practices associated with astral travel and working with spirits. The Herb Society describes dried mugwort leaves being placed in sleep cushions or slipped under a pillow as part of its connection with the dreamworld.
Here on the farm we intentionally grow mugwort, along with other members of the Artemisia genus. I just love how mugwort looks amongst the bright colors of summer, for its texture, height and color. But I keep an eye on those plants, making sure they don’t take over the bed.
Even though mugwort is often referred to as a weed, and an invasive weed at that, I revere it as a very sacred and deeply magical plant. A plant that is often open to teaching us many things if we take the time to cultivate a respectful relationship with it.
When I was in my twenties, I lived on an island off the coast of Maine. I loved this island, the people, the land and the plants. I worked as a landscaper and stone worker for a badass woman and a crew of people that I will love forever.
My job brought me to many different places around the island, and over those years, I developed an intimate connection with the land and the plants, both wild and the ones we planted. I had many special places I liked to go to harvest or to just be with the plants. During this time, yarrow was a plant I felt deeply for. It was growing wild on the island and was also one that we planted in people’s gardens.
The cultivated yarrow and the yarrow that grew wild, although the same type of plant, had very different energetic qualities and even physical features. Often the wild yarrow that grew closer to the shoreline and even on the rocks was much shorter, and had a condensed feeling to it. The scent of its feathery leaves and flowers was a bit more aromatic and concentrated than the ones growing wild out in the fields or planted in the gardens.
During my years on the island, I was deep into learning and building the foundations of working with plants and the medicine and power they hold. I felt like I was unlocking secrets. Secrets of the past that weren’t as widely known as they once were.
I was also exploring and learning about the world, past and present cultures, alchemy and mysticism, including the I Ching. The I Ching, the Book of Changes, is a Chinese text used for divination through symbols formed by six horizontally stacked lines, called hexagrams. One traditional way of consulting it uses yarrow stalks. Of course I was interested in working with the yarrow stalks. My I Ching book is now old and tattered and the bundle of stems I used to use has long since disappeared, but I still fondly and vividly recall the day I gathered my bundle of yarrow stems to use.
Over the years, my relationship with yarrow has grown and my work with its energetic and mystical powers has deepened.
I can still remember the tingle of excitement and mystical wonder I felt as I began working with elder. I must have been in my late teens or early twenties.
This was a time with no cell phones. No Google. No Facebook, Instagram, etc. But, books. There were books. And I was reading all the books I could get my paws on. And learning. Learning from those around me that would teach me.
The uncovering and exploring of the magic all around and within me left me feeling giddy, intoxicated, expansive and untethered. So when I came upon elder in my readings, I couldn’t get enough. Elder is a plant that has been revered as a medicinal plant, but also a sacred and magical plant, for centuries.
I will never forget reading in the book Opening Our Wild Hearts to the Healing Herbs by Gail Faith Edwards that if you slept under an elder during the full moon, magical woodland deities and faeries would communicate with you. Can you guess what I was doing the next full moon after reading that?
I read some years later in Anne McIntyre’s book The Complete Floral Healer that if you slept under an elder on Midsummer’s Eve you would see the Elder Mother or be shown into the otherworld.
The elder I slept under lived next to a handmade pond that I walked by to get to and from my cabin. It was a lovely plant that was about 5–6 feet tall, growing in the full sun along the edge of the pond.
Elder stems have a soft central pith that can be removed to make whistles and flutes. I always imagined these magical elder flutes would sound like the enchanting song of the wood thrush.
In A Modern Herbal, Maud Grieve shares accounts of Hylde-Moer, the Elder-tree Mother, who was believed to live in the elder and watch over it, particularly in Danish folklore. She also records the name Lady Ellhorn in an account of asking permission before cutting elder wood. In these traditions, permission was sought before cutting the tree or its branches.
I look back and love seeing how my relationship with elder has evolved. In my twenties, elder helped teach me to be open to possibilities, nurturing me to listen to my intuition. Now, in my early fifties, elder is teaching me how to sit back and see my life’s work and experiences thus far. To recognize where I started and to honor where I’ve come.
I am able to see all that I’ve shed over the years. The angst and fire of my youth is still honored while embracing the knowledge gained with time and experience. What an honor it is to age.
Ritual is whatever you want it to be. It can be alone and personal or it can be shared. You get to make that choice. For me, I almost always choose to be alone. Because in reality, I’m never really alone.
One simple thing I do is walk the land at dusk. I do this daily. During this time, I give gratitude to the many lineages of people, especially the Indigenous people of this land, who cared for and lived with it. I can see and feel them. If moved, I will also call upon animal companions who have passed to join Lita and me on these walks, and sometimes friends and relatives.
These nightly walks of gratitude keep me attached to the cycles of life, to the people that came before me and their struggles. They also make room for the joy and beauty of life and the ability to love and care for the land and others.
When I want to visit with my grandparents or friends that have moved from the physical realm, I like to swim in the lakes in the autumn until it’s too cold. Dreamwork is another way I work with plants, using herbs like mugwort, yarrow, cedar and pine as either an incense/smoke or hydrosol spray. I also will drink tea made with mugwort and other herbs I hold holy for this work, like yarrow, catnip, hops, skullcap and chamomile.
An easy way for you to work with the season and tap into yourself is through meditation, dreamwork and journaling. You can start by making time to remember someone you love. Sit with a cup of tea, call upon their memory and notice what comes up. Write about what you remember, what you feel or what you want to say.
For dreamwork, you can bring that intention with you as you settle into sleep, then write down anything you remember from your dreams when you wake. There doesn’t have to be a message or some extraordinary experience. You’re making space to listen.
You can also create an altar to honor your ancestors, sprinkling some of the tea on the altar or making a cup for you and for your ancestors’ altar. Both Lucid Dreams Tea and Between Worlds Hydrosol are accessible ways to work with the plants.
Our Lucid Dreams Tea brings together mugwort, skullcap, catnip, chamomile and lavender in a blend intended to bring us closer to our innermost thoughts and desires. You can make a cup as part of your dreamwork, meditation or journaling practice.
To make a cup, use 1½ teaspoons of Lucid Dreams Tea for every 8 ounces of water. Pour boiling water over the herbs and cover. Let it steep for 5–15 minutes, or leave it overnight for a longer infusion, then strain. Enjoy it straight or add your favorite sweetener.
Our Between Worlds Hydrosol is a copper-distilled blend of mugwort gathered at different stages of its life cycle, yarrow, valerian, sweet fern, Queen Anne’s lace and elderflower. Spritz onto skin, sacred objects or into your ritual space as you make time to remember, reflect and connect. Keep refrigerated and use within three to six months after opening.
We're offering Lucid Dreams and Between Worlds together as a ritual set here.
Connecting with the land, your ancestors and loved ones, and working with ritual does not have to be done in some perfect way. This is not a dogmatic practice. It’s more about tapping into seasonal changes and allowing yourself the space to feel and experience love, gratitude and openness to the possibilities of the unknown.
As we head into the colder months, our Fire Cider and Elderberry, Mushroom & Roots Elixir move to the kitchen counter, where they're always on hand for taking daily.
Fire Cider is the one I reach for first. I take a shot every morning, and I love how the warming, spicy herbs and vegetables, along with the tang of the vinegar, shake me awake and warm me up. I can immediately feel my body warm and feel energized, my digestion fire up, and the movement of any congestion.
Most herbal products start with a purchase order. Ours start with seeds and soil. Here is how keeping cultivation, formulation, manufacturing, quality, fulfillment, and sales connected shapes every Herbal Revolution product.
The Summer Solstice marks the longest day and shortest night of the year. It’s the moment when the sun reaches its highest point in the sky and the growing season feels full, alive and illuminated. For many, it’s a time of celebration, abundance and light. For those of us who farm, garden or work closely with plants, it’s also a meaningful marker in the rhythm of the year.
As a farmer and an herbalist, it marks a time when so many things are coming into life or have fully come alive. There’s something deeply magical and otherworldly for me at this time of year. The thick, humid evenings. The way the humidity hangs onto every molecule it can find. Dusk has a thickness to it, one you can almost wrap yourself in.
