What's blooming in the Witch's Garden?

Hollyhocks are one of our most ancient flower steeped in folklore. The Neanderthals were burying their dead along with Hollyhocks 50,000 years ago. 

In China, they were grown both ornamentally, as well as to eat. The Romans ate Hollyhocks as well, a practice which continues to this day. 

Fairies love Hollyhocks, hence seeing them in skirts made of the blossoms in old artwork. In fact, there’s a wealth of folklore regarding Hollyhocks and the fairy folk. 
My own luck with them is hit and miss. Last year I had a gorgeous white one, which came up for a couple years then died off. This one has been around three or four years I believe. They come in lovely colors, and whilst the white one was more showy, I love the dark red, almost black version the most. 

Click to learn more about Hollyhock folklore

Fuchsia is sometimes called Bleeding Hearts in Ireland, and across Ireland, Scotland and Britain it’s tied to the fairies. Children suck the nectar from the blooms, and make fairy people by plucking the petals and stamens.

Fuchsia is a relatively new introduction to gardens, and I have to admit that rather than folklore or occult use, it made its way to the garden because it’s pretty and reminds the gardener of Ireland, where she feel in love with it. I feel in love with her and with that, fell in love with Fuchsia. Plus it’s pretty damned psychedelic.

Ruta graveolens, or Rue as it’s commonly called has been used for medicine and magic for millennia. But one use not commonly known about is its use in fighting Bubonic plague.

Rue’s naturally pungent scent drives away bug, flies and in particular fleas, all of which helped fuel the spread of the plague. Its efficacy was an essential ingredient in the Four Thieves Vinegar, noted by M. Grieve’s in his work A Modern Herbal, which was used by grave robbers who plundered plague victims’ graves.

As for the source of the use of the word to denote negativity, such as “you’ll rue the day,” it’s believed that refers to the irritation caused by too much contact with Rue on the skin.

As I wrote at the beginning May, I had a surprise return of last year’s Belladonna plant. I’ve had mixed luck with Deadly Nightshade. Some have lived two or three years, while about half never made it beyond the first. This was a rather puny plant last year so I was surprised to see it come back.

At the end of last week I picked the blooms, about five or six. Four days later I have about ten more, with berries forming as well. All before the typical first Belladonna bloom of previous years.

There are two big differences this year. First is the amound shade being put off by a Mulberry tree. The barn behind also casts a shadow, and a couple of massive Monkhood plants shades it from the front, and so this part of the garden is truly resembling a forest floor, at least when it comes to light.

The second thing I’ve been doing is keeping it more weed free, and spraying with Neem oil every few weeks. So less nibbling on the leaves than in the past.

The result is also a much larger plant, with a spread of about three feet, and bit less tall. More shrubbish than some of the taller plants I’ve grown.

The poetic scent of Honeysuckle has inspired the poets, as well as lovers for centuries. Shakespeare wrote “Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms … So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle Gently entwist.” For Chaucer, Honeysuckle was a poetic metaphor for faithfulness in love, steadfast. 

The Victorians didn’t allow Honeysuckle into the home as it was believed it induced vivid, and highly sexual dreams. The bewitching aspect of Honeysuckle was known to the Irish, who grew it outside their doors to keep witch’s away. And young girls knew that to sleep with Honeysuckle around the neck brought on dreams which of your true love. 

My own honeysuckle bush is in a forgotten corner of the Witch’s Garden, seldom visited. When in bloom however, it makes its presence known that it’s time to come out and take a look.