Witch's Garden Feature Archives - Witchery Art: A Gothic Cabinet of Curiosities and Mysteries

Starting a moon garden, to bring the senses, and memories to life

Plants for A Witch's Garden & Moon Garden, Witch's Garden Feature

A moon garden consists of plants which flower in the twilight, or at night, usually releasing a rich, fragrant scent, bordering on the intoxicating. Some are simply white, a border in the background as they stand out in the dark. But a moon garden is meant to trigger all your senses, and your imagination

I don’t live in the south, but it’s not far from it. The weather doesn’t recognize the Mason Dixon line, so summers are hot and humid. I live in an old house, built in the 1800s, and to cool it down costs a fortune. I don’t have a fortune, and I hate being refrigerated.

So you learn to let the house cool itself down, and you learn it does it on its own time. Till it does, there’s always the porch.

Something southerners are known for are their gardens. It’s hot down there, and they sit on the porch a lot as well. Many types of flowers love this kind of heat, and show their gratitude with scent.

I’d been watching To Kill A Mockingbird. It helps me remember being a kid. Back then, everyone sat out on their porches at night in the summer time. Or rather, the grownups sat on the porch, and we kids got to go out and play in the dark. Just like the film, we had our ghouls here too. So the night time was a magical, macabre time.

It’s twilight, or early in the evening when you head outside. That’s when the moon garden comes to life, the blossoms open and release their fragrance into the humid air, where they linger.

This isn’t scent out of a bottle, or burned off a stick. This comes from a living, breathing being. Intoxicating scents. I would guess, that if one indulged in intoxicants, that a moon garden would be an ideal place to do it.

Lillies in the moon garden, July 4, 2021

Right now I’m in a second floor room, the window opens out on the front garden, and out there by the sidewalks are Lillies in bloom. I can smell them from here. But up close they can make your head swim.

Moon garden plants each have their own scent, though they blend well together. Add to that the smell of old wood coming from the house which has been baking in the sun all day, an almost sandalwood scent, and it’s not far from incense.

You can tell the time of year by your garden’s scent more accurately than you can a calendar. A calendar is arbitrary. Your senses respond to the moment.

Evening entertainment also includes a black cat which has been darkening our doorstep of late. He’s a good little fellow, loves his belly scratched. At other times he sits at a distance, watching me with heavily lidded eyes. I think he’s trying to cast a spell.

That’s the beauty of a moon garden. It’s constantly changing as new plants come into bloom and old plants take their rest. You can see as well as smell the changes. Add to that the sound of the crickets and other night creatures, the muggy heat or a welcome summer breeze, and you’ve created an atmosphere.

A moon garden helps you see the world in a different way. You see things outside at night you’d otherwise miss. We forget that from when we were kids. Try to imagine what our ancestors knew about the world simply from living most of their lives outdoors. Spend a few weeks outside in your moon garden, and you find yourself getting to know nature again.

There are lights in the sky, the figure in the shadows. The black cat that strolls through the yard every night about sundown. You grapple with big questions outside at night, just as Atticus Finch did in Mockingbird.

The porch was closed in when I was a kid, which is a tragedy. There’s a back deck but it’s not the same. So I built a patio just below that. It’s a small space, with room for two or three chairs and a table. Last year I kept a Brugmansia back there, for night scent. I also had some Evening Scented Stock, Datura and Moon Flowers. For much of the summer there were antique scents wafting around the garden. I wanted more of that.

I had dicked around with a moon garden for close to a decade. This year I set out to create a moon garden in earnest.

Jasmine Blooming, May 3, 2021 in the moon garden

Know your climate

I live in Zone 6A. You can find yours by clicking here.

This is important information, for it tells you what you can and can’t plant in the ground. Or rather, what you don’t have to dig up at the end of summer and put in your basement.

That trick doesn’t work for certain plants anyway. My largest Brugmansia, if put in the ground would send deep roots out, and it wouldn’t take kindly to me yanking it up. I think it prefers its root bound pot.

That’s the problem with living this far north and trying to grow night scented plants. Whilst the summers might be ideal, the winters are too cold.

You get past that by overwintering. A lot of plants, like the Brugmansia can go dormant inside. Others need to be kept alive through the winter, in a sometimes cold, drafty and very dry environment.

That’s tricky for tropical plants. For those plants, like a Queen of the Night which I’m trying to grow from a cutting, I tend to just let them live inside year round.

Jasmine is a scent I dearly love. I’d killed three already by leaving them outside in winter, then bought one, put it in a container, built a ratty trellis and let it live outside that summer. I brought it in for winter and kept it alive. The next spring I went through the room where it lives late at night, on the way to the kitchen. There were only a handful of blooms, but the room was full of scent. Now, a couple years later, for a couple weeks each spring, I dally before bed, as the best time to catch the fragrance is the middle of the night.

Other moon garden plants self seed, like Datura or Jimson Weed as it’s commonly called. I’ve never needed to plant Datura after the first year, unless it was a new variety I wanted to try. You just never know where they’re going to pop up.

Woodland Tobacco, another fragrant night flower reseeds itself too, but not as prodigiously, or reliably as Datura. I’ve yet to have one grow back in the same spot as the previous year, except once in a container. I found one growing the following year in a hanging basket.

One issue with plants coming back after self seeding, is moon garden plants, and witch’s garden plants tend to become active in the late spring or early summer around here. By that time I’ve already gone through a couple crops of weeds. It’s easy to mistake a good seedling with a weed, and no doubt many get pulled up.

So in a climate like ours, containers become if not your friend, the only real option, unless you have an educated weeding crew.

Small spaces can be ideal for a moon garden. Growing in containers allows you to bring closer whatever happens to be in bloom. And it takes fewer blooming plants to soak the area in scent. The unmatching chair in the middle has been adopted by the aforementioned black cat.

Where to put your moon garden

Darkness is a plus. The darker the better, because there’s nothing like the sight of gleaming white flowers painted blue in the moonlight. If there are streetlights, are there angles you can sit and avoid seeing them?

I had a bit of a moon garden a few years back, combined with the witch’s garden. Then came Trump and it seemed like a good idea to grow more poisons, so I expanded the witch’s garden, and the moon garden plants were scattered.

A tree that overhangs that garden now shades it too much for a moon garden. There’s just not enough light. Nor space. And though it’s sheltered from storms, it’s also sheltered from the summer night breeze. I need my breeze.

Storms and wind can be an issue. Brugmansia in particular seems to take a nasty beating from the wind. Off the side of the house, in the back there’s a space where the original building and a later addition meet. That provides shelter from the winds that blow in from the southwest, where the nastiest storms tend to come from, as well as the south and west.

There’s a wide sidewalk, and last year I added a few rows of paving stone adjacent to it, for a sitting area. Then built a fire pit, ringed with smaller stones. It’s adjacent to an herb garden, and an eight foot by four foot bed, growing tomatoes and peppers. All that keeps the butterflies and bees fluttering about.

So the patio there is a good location. Trees and bushes on the lawn block most of the view of the street and houses beyond. Where the chairs face, you look into a huge bush and a small tree. There’s a tunnel through the leaves that unfortunately exposes the ass end of my out of commission VW Bug. But at night that disappears.

And don’t forget the night sounds. We still had an above ground pool behind the house last summer, and the frogs beat us to opening it up. For days they engaged in deviant behavior. Quite loudly. I never knew they actually made a different sound when copulating. Now I can’t unhear it when I hear frogs.

The pool is gone, so now I hear coyotes yipping and howling, the occasional cow lowing, and only a bit of night barking from the neighborhood dogs. Traffic after ten o’clock is almost non existent.

You need that silence from civilization to hear nature. So mind you don’t put your moon garden near your air conditioner.

Sun requirements are important. These plants typically want a lot of light. So you need a location that can provide at least six hours sunlight. A little more is likely better, though here you have to weigh that benefit against the damage of too much during the heat of summer.

Jasmine Tobacco in bloom in the moon garden, June 2, 2021

A moon garden and container gardening

Small spaces are actually good for a moon garden. To get a lot of scent from Datura, you either need to be close, or you need a lot of them. A lot of them takes a lot of space, which for a lot of plants means a lot of work. Datura is great in a container, and you can bring it close enough that you can get lost in the scent of a handful of blooms.

Some of these plants, like Woodland Tobacco do much better in the ground. I don’t have space for a few plants, as they can hit five foot tall. But I do have space for two or three in containers, which can be moved closer to the seating area when they’re in bloom.

That’s certainly an advantage over in ground planting. But that doesn’t take away the power of the heirlooms. These are showstopper plants when it comes to scent. I have a honeysuckle bush about thirty feet away, which fills the patio sweetly. But it’s likely ten or twenty years old. Mature plants like that are in a different league than the newer, smaller ones.

When you’re lucky, you move into a garden with plants like that already thriving. Mine are doubly precious, as they were usually planted by mother, or came from my Granny Bert’s garden. The Peonies I grow now came from the same ones I used to chop the heads off of with my yardstick sword as a child.

But containers provide versatility. There is a back deck, and we spend a lot of time on that. At the base is concrete, not exactly conducive for growing plants. But ideal for placing a couple of containers, one with Woodland Tobacco for scent, and another for climbing up the porch structure. Moon Flowers are good for this, as they are prodigious bloomers, particularly in late summer and fall, and put out a powerful scent.

A package of Moonflower seeds will usually be enough for two locations. There’s a front awning and a couple steps leading to the front door, and one side of that I cover with Moonflowers. The advantage there is the scent comes in the front door, livening the front parlor. Plus it provides a bit of shade, making the room cooler.

There’s a wooden trellis along one side of the patio where the new moon garden goes, and it fills with Moon Flowers as well. They are usually the last blooms of the year, and often survive a few light frosts. I’ve tried them both in containers and planting in the ground. In ground planting does make for a more robust plant. But if that’s not an option, then containers work just fine as well, but makes sure you keep them watered.

That’s perhaps the biggest drawback to container gardening for a Moon Garden. They do require more water, and for us, in the summer watering is usually a daily event. Unless it rains.

I usually use containers ranging from 12-18”. Last year I filled an 18” container with Evening Scented Stock, which did great and filled the patio with fragrance. As it was dying off, a Datura plant popped up. It was an unusual Datura, more purple than white. This year, both grew back simultaneously. I’ve kept the Datura thinned out, but with enough to make a show of itself. A bit too much, as it’s crowding out the Evening Scented Stock. But it’s all an experiment you know?

Choosing your Moon Garden plants

It was a spur of the moment decision. I got an email from Select Seeds, who I’d ordered from in the past. A half hour later I have my moon garden ordered.

And now it’s July. I’m going over the list and wondering how everything is doing?

Here are the plants …

I started with a couple of Heliotropes – Amaretto and White. These put off an almond scent at sunset, and attract moths. Nice, but I think you’d need more to make a show of it.

Night Phlox ‘Midnight Candy’. I likely have it in too small a pot as it’s scrawny, but it was the first to greet me with its scent … Honey, Marzipan and Vanilla. A few of these in a larger pot would be a great start to the season.

There’s a reason people think of your grandmother when you say Petunia. They’re old fashion, but also damned pretty. And some of the older varieties are pretty fragrant.

I started with an Old Fashioned Climbing Petunia. This is an old variety, actually passed on to Select Seeds from a customer, whose grandmother grew them on the porch. Most Petunias I’ve grown had no scent, but these are supposed to be sweet at twilight. It’s not an overpowering scent, but it strikes a chord.

I also got a Petunia Rainmaster, which weathers rain well, unlike some of the other varieties, hence the name. It was found by an explorer in South America in 1823, and also is a scented Petunia.

I’ve grown Woodland Tobacco for years, both in the ground in containers. They grew taller, stronger in the ground, but do pretty well in containers too. I’m hoping containers might help with self seeding as well, as Woodland Tobacco is known for that.

Also for their long, skinny trumpet shaped flowers with a sweetly exotic fragrance that doesn’t try to hide it’s poisonous nature. The sticky blooms get covered with dead bugs in the summer, which is particularly gruesome.

And I opted for variety, picking up both a Cranberry Isles and Jasmine variety. All three are doing well. Not as thick stemmed or prolific as if they were in the ground, but very strong scented.

Evening Scented Stock. I planted these seeds last year in an eighteen inch container. They grew wild, leggy and fell over, but that container put off a fragrance I could smell the instant I walked out the back door, twenty foot away. As I said, they’re being crowded out by the Datura there.

We have a bed which is notoriously bad for plants. But last year a couple managed to survive and even come back. So we scatted a second packet of Night Scented Stock there, along with three other seed packets to see what, if anything comes from it.

The three packets were:

Four O’Clock ‘Fairy Trumpets’. One of Thomas Jefferson’s favorites with an evening released orange blossom fragrance.

Pink – Fringed ‘Ambrosia’. Truly creepy looking for a pink and white flower, with a scent rumored to be intoxicating.

Sweet Scabious ‘Black Knight’. Honey scented with large, dark red heads, easily confused for black at night. Dates back to the 1600s.

As expected, the results have been dismal. An Anise Hyssop plant has self seeded a few more of its kin, which is good as I use it for cooking, and the butterflies and bees love it. A bit of Night Scented Stock came up, enough to perfume a few nights. The rest is either weeds, or perhaps a few stands of some of those seeds, yet to bloom.

Brugmansia, Moon Garden Plants, June 1, 2016

Then you need your star moon garden plants, which usually turn out to be a pain in the ass, but you’re more than rewarded for your work. These are the ones that take your breath away.

For that we have two Brugmansia, or Angel Trumpets. One is about five years old now, root bound and looking more like a small tree than a bush. It’s in dire need of work. So far this years there hasn’t been a single bloom. But it’s early for that.

The other Brugmansia is a Purple People Eater. It’s not nearly as large, grows sideways but has been putting out purple blooms ever since we got it last summer, including all winter inside. Curiously, it doesn’t have the scent the other one does, but it makes up for it in bold, purple and white blooms.

That past week or so though, it’s not been adding blooms. It could be getting tired.

The Jasmine plant has come outside for summer, and the first few weeks you still get blooms and fragrance. It’s growing wild and reaching off its trellis which is almost six foot tall, so it makes for nicely vining greenery. It’s going into a bigger pot this year. But for now it’s on the porch, reaching for anything it can find, and still putting off a bit of fragrance in the evenings.

Datura pops up in the damndest places once you’ve had it a couple years. It’s growing in the same container as the Evening Scented Stock, and crowding it out pretty fierce. But Datura, or Devil’s Trumpet is a prodigious bloomer, and with four or five plants the scent should carry.

And of course, Moonflowers which I always grow from seed. I’ve learned there’s no reason to hurry in planting them, as until the soil is nice and warm, and perhaps a bit hot, they don’t pop their heads up. Once they do they pour over a six foot trellis, and bloom all through summer, and last year almost till winter, with prodigious white blooms nearly as big as your head.

There are a couple vines already going up the trellis at the side of the garden. I planted them next to the porch in the front, for shade and scent, and they’ve popped up, but so far are getting eaten before grabbing on and climbing.

Summer begins in the moon garden

It’s the beginning of summer. Late spring smelled wonderful. The tobacco plants have been the showy ones so far. They’re a bit spindly in containers, not as many blooms and smaller ones at that. But having the ability to move the containers close to the seating area makes up for all that.

The Heliotropes and Night Flox added new scents to the garden. As I said, I need more of those to really have an impact, but their scent reminds me of old fashioned candy. Which stirs memories in the night air. .

The Lillies in front are in bloom, sweetening the air out there. Each year we had one really huge one, but this year there are four or five, all larger than usual, but none quite as large as that one. Perhaps it’s reached the end of its cycle, but left its children to take its place.

The Datura, Brugmansia and Moon Flowers are likely right around the corner. With those it’s not just the scent, but the big, bold, bright white blooms standing out in the dark that brings your Moon Garden fully into focus.

With all the containers we’ve been watering almost every day. But we put in a dehumidifier in the house, and we’re capturing about three or four gallons of water a day. Almost enough to water the garden.

We finally had a break in the temperatures, down into the sixties at night. It’s welcome to be able to breath again. But the scent lightens up, and I’m already missing the humidity, where the air is so thick you could carve it with a scalpel, and colored with the scent of poisons.

For like many beauties, the plants of a Moon Garden are often fatal when ingested. Several of these species have been used for that very purpose over the centuries. It’s the nature of beauty to be deadly, to be powerful. The feelings stirred up by a Moon Garden are ancient, and powerful as well.

Anyway, the night has always belonged to darkness.

The Witch’s Garden, Spring 2021: On light, structure, what survived the winter and the witch’s gardener’s best friend

Witch's Garden Feature

A Brugmansia early blooming, April 2021.

The hallmark of a witch’s garden is that traditionally, it isn’t really a garden. There were certain herbs that a person might have kept near the cottage door, as they were in regular use. But certainly, when witchcraft carried a death sentence, you wouldn’t cultivate plants that could land you on a pyre. Instead, the witch’s garden was found in the forests, in the meadow, amongst the plants that grew wild there.

So when creating a witch’s garden, you want to recreate the environments in which the plants you choose thrive. It’s not necessary to lay out a garden like you might with vegetables, with row upon row of plants. Unless for some reason you’re looking to grow large quantities. A cluster of two or three of the same plant is plenty for personal use, or if you’re just looking for an interesting garden plant.

Instead of a square plot, set up shop in an unused corner, or spread it out over several spots in your yard. And if you wish, have a main garden as well, particularly for some of the more deadly plants which you might want to restrict access to.

A Joe Pye Weed comes back for a second year under the dappled shade of a tree. It’s not necessary to plant all your witch’s garden plants in one spot. You can plant singularly or in groups to take advantage of features in your yard.

Take advantage of natural features when planning your witch’s garden

If it’s a forest plant you’re looking to grow, use a tree as a starting point, and build it up to match the plant, adding rock to recreate an alpine environment, or composting leaves and other vegetation to stand in for the forest floor.

Most of the witch’s garden plants I grow are forest plants, or at least do pretty well in a woodsy environment. So what I look for is a variety of light.

The most important step in planning is sitting still and watching the sun over the course of a day. But keep in mind, the path of the sun moves through the year, so if you’re planning for summer, don’t use the midwinter sun as your guide.

I use a barn at the back of the property for blocks of deep shade, and a tree which grows beside it and over the space for dappled shade, which for most plants that are part sun/shade is best. Dappled shade is like the moving shadows found under trees that let sunlight through the branches.

View from under the overhang of the barn roof. The barn casts deep shade for plants which can’t stand the light. A tree which overhangs here provides dappled light. The poison garden is to the left and beyond it, the healing herbs. In front was an attempt at a more formal garden structure which is now overrun by ivy, with a few notable exceptions. Behind the Ivy and Holly to the right is a bit of garden which has gone totally feral. The taller plants in the center/back are Tansy, which is a reliable plant that grows high enough to provide a backstop, and keeps flies down.

I also use taller plants to provide shade for shorter ones. Tall, leafy Monkshood, along with the overhang of the barn provides a shady home for a Jack in the Pulpit plant which came back this spring. It was a favorite of the native Americans, and prefers a shady, moist location. The old gutters on the barn drain near this spot, which provides an extra moist environment during the rainy spring months.

Or conversely, consider the shade cast by tall plants when planting shorter ones which require more light. One of the first plants up this spring was a Belladonna, which is on the sunny side of the Monkshood, so as not to get cheated of light. And it helps keep the Jack in the Pulpit shaded.

Jack in the Pulpit was surprise survivor from last year, as it was killed off early. It gets forest type shade from the barn, and the surrounding Monkshood and Belladonna.

Watch out for the poisons when growing medicinal herbs as well

Which brings up another consideration. The native Americans used Jack in the Pulpit as a vegetable. It’s likely not a good idea to eat a plant which grows beneath the poisonous Belladonna, or as it’s known, Deadly Nightshade. Or Monkshood for that matter, which has been known to prove fatal just by brushing up against it with an open sore or wound.

For the most part, I don’t use the plants I grow. I grow them because I want to learn how they grow, or to enjoy their beauty, or even the ambience they create. As noted elsewhere, I hate gardening, but love gardens. Or rather love natural spots. So I’m not too bothered by weeds, particularly late in the summer, when it’s too hot to be outside fighting nature.

That means comes spring it’s time to pull the weeds and see what came back. In the neck of the garden I was describing, none of the three new Belladonna plants I planted in this plot last year have come back yet. Belladonna can be finicky, so it doesn’t surprise me. The aforementioned Monkshood is four years old this year, and each year grows taller and wider, squeezing out the surrounding plants.

Plants of a less diabolical nature are kept apart from the poisons. On the left in the back is Wood Betony and Valerian. A Bloody Dock is in front of those, with Asiatic Lillies to their right. The big plant eating up most of the space in the center is Angelica, with Horehound growing in its shade in front. To the right are various ground covers, with Mugwort and Wormswood coming up behind.

Medicinal herbs and food combine well in the witch’s garden

I have a path winding through the witch’s garden, which makes access easier and gives it some structure. And creates a bit of a buffer between the poisons and the healing plants.

What grows across from the poison plot are for the most part, beneficial. And would have been stalwarts in a witch’s medicine bag.

My Valerian comes back reliably each year. Occasionally I’ll dig up part of it for the roots, as they make a nice bedtime tea. Next to that is Wood Betony, which also sprung back this year. It was widely used in Europe for healing, and also for magic. And also makes a nice tea, which is good for relaxation.

I also keep an Aztec Dream Plant in a container there, which is believed to stimulate dreams and make them more vivid in small doses. And provokes mystical visions in larger amounts.

Next to that is a Bloody Dock plant, or Bloodwort. I mainly grow it for the blood red veins which resemble humans that contrast with the bright green leaves. It makes a tasty green in salads as well. Also ornamental are Asiatic Lillies, planted years ago before this was a witch’s garden, but still come back.

Eating up the most space in this little section is an Angelica plant, utterly necessary for the creation of gin and vermouth. And martinis are at times, utterly necessary. Angelica cries out for dappled shade, and a cool environment. I can’t provide a cool summer, but I can provide deep shade for the hottest part of the day, and dappled shade for the rest, with the exception of mornings, where it gets full sun in the cooler daylight hours.

Something else to consider is as this Angelica plant is two years old, it will likely not come back next year. Which isn’t a bad thing, if you can afford to buy gin rather than make your own, as it gives you a chance to experiment with another large plant next year.

Below that is a Horehound plant, digging the shade from its leafy brethren. It fills out the space, and provides shade for garter snakes in increasingly numbers, but its primary use is it’s great for cold seasons.

White Coral Bells provides ground cover, because it was the first song I learned as a kid and introduced me to fairies. And at the back, Mugwort and Wormswood grow bushy and tall, and hide much of the ugly privacy fence.

A Belladonna native from Turkmenistan shows the value of shade in the witch’s garden.

The formal garden goes informal in the witch’s garden

A short path separates the healing herbs from the front part of the garden, which a longer section, rectangular in shape. This was my one attempt at creating a formal garden area. The majority of the ground here is covered in paving stones, with opening for plants. In the area that’s not covered, A Butterfly Bush anchors the space, planted by my dear, departed mother years ago.

In the back, Tansy seems to keep the flies at bay, and has several witchy uses, so I scatter it around the areas where I sit or work. It also makes for a nice tall border plant to hide whatever madness is going on beyond the garden.

Tansy makes a great back border plant for a witch’s garden, useful both for malicious and beneficial uses. It produces sweet little yellow flowers, and grows about four foot tall or so. Be aware that as it gets taller, and particularly after a heavy rain, staking night be in order.

The front border saw Delphiniums and Foxglove last year. Foxglove was the first witch’s plant I ever grew, several years ago, noted for its use as a poison. That first plant would bloom twice, once in spring and later in summer and lasted two or three years. Since then I can’t keep one alive to save my blackened soul. So far, the Delphiniums are taking the same route, so perhaps it’s the soil, as it’s one of the few places back here where there’s good light.

Everything else planted here last year appears to have died except for a mass of English Ivy which covers almost everything. Poking out through that is way too much Poison Ivy. And of course Mother’s Butterfly Bush is as immortal as ever.

The Belladonna native to Turkmenistan and Iran, which surprised me by coming back this spring. Belladonna can be hit or miss here, likely due to the heat of summer.

Surprisingly this spring, a plant came back heartily in the border, planted last spring, another Belladonna which had died early, swallowed up by weeds. This one, Atropa komarovii, is from Turkmenistan and the neighboring region inside Iran. Like most Belladonna, it grows best in shaded areas, and the dappled sunlight in this part of the garden seems to suit it well.

The border here consists of a monster Elfwort plant, known by its proper name of Elecampane. This is its third year, and last year it was late coming up. This year it was one of the first. A second Elfwort next to it, planted last year is yet to make an appearance. Behind that are Daylillies and Fuchsia, which seems to be growing wild and spreading. Both have fairy connotations, more so than witchy, but fairies are cool.

And of course, more Poison Ivy.

Elfwort or Elecampane on the left, some Columbine and the branches of the Butterfly Bush, along with a plethora of spring weeds, waiting to be plucked. I know, it’s best to pluck before flowering, but I find these plants as beautiful as any.

Across the path from there is a bed grown wild and untamable. The English Ivy sneaks through there, as I’m trying to train it to go up the patio windows and posts. On one end is a Holly plant, for the Druids. And casting shade and dappled light over a few Asiatic Lillies, as well as most of this garden is a Mulberry tree.

There’s a small sitting area next to it, with a roof overhanging. One branch of the tree is pushing down on the roof, so it will have to go or it’ll take it down. Climbing up one the posts that hold up the roof, and sending our runners in a few different directions is a Wysteria, which wraps nicely around the pole. It barely blooms though, as there just isn’t enough light. Wysteria can cause problems with structures like this as well, so it’s also in need of a trim.

Trees not only provide beauty, but shade, which in the past allowed people to be comfortable in their homes without air conditioning. They also make for a good environment beneath for shade loving, witchy plants.

On trees for shade and hanging out the clothes, and looking for the original yard

Adjacent to the garden, over the winter I pulled down the above ground pool. I hated to see the pool go, as summers were made bearable by floating and drinking cold rum drinks. Instead I’ve converted the area to a vegetable garden. It’s coming along, though I’m still assembling beds, filling containers and working on irrigation.

I’d prefer rum drinks.

The house was built in the 1880s or 1890s, and it’s pretty certain they’d have had a vegetable garden. I know there was a well, across from where the garden is now, and it’s possible the garden was in that area, as it would make sense to have a water source near the garden before the advent of city water and garden hoses.

When the pool came down, I also took down the eight foot, incredibly generic privacy fence. The result is an opening up of the yard once more. It’s possible to see, vaguely how the house would have operated when it was built, when the now useless back door of the basement led out to the yard, so that laundry could be taken directly out and hung on the line.

Clematis growing up a trellis, covered in English Ivy below. A sapling has grown up next to the trellis, which the Clematis merrily climbs in its search for sunlight.

Part of my work here is trying to let the house breathe on the inside. How to keep it cool in hot weather, and that means trees for shade. Today we keep trees away from the house to prevent damage in case they fall. But that forces us to rely on air conditioning. For me, having the windows closed feels suffocating, isolating. I’d rather sweat a bit and hear the sound of the birds outside the windows.

So we have shade trees on each side of the house. And wherever you have a shade tree, you have a spot for a witch’s garden.

The original witch’s garden now overgrown. We intend on cleaning it out and starting it over as a fairy garden, or barring that, just giving up and turning it into a reptile farm, as snakes have begun to call it home.

In the back of the lawn is an area, mostly hidden by a few trees, Ivy and large bushes. It’s grown wild over the past few years, and within that mess is the original patio and witch’s garden. Today all that remains are the stones and St. John’s Wort, along with Daffodils, Hyacinth and a Clematis, growing up a trellis and further up on a sapling that’s growing out of the Ivy.

Last year we tried to start a fairy garden here, but the garter snakes took it over and I refused to do battle. This year we’re trying to clear out the brush and deprive the wriggly ones of a home, and bring this back under control, so we can turn it over to the fairies.

Rue back for a third year in the herb garden.

Turning a rock garden into a witch’s herb garden

Off the back porch was a rock garden, which grew only a single rose bush, weeds and lots of small rocks. Last year we cleared half and planted strawberries, which are doing great. The other half I planted herbs … Rue, (which was actually the year before), Hyssop, Anise Hyssop, and Dittany of Crete, along with a few others that didn’t come back. The Dittany of Crete hasn’t either but the others are doing quite well.

Several of the plants here are meadow plants, and get their shade from the plants that surround them. That’s the effect we go for, making sure those that dislike light are shaded by taller, light hungry ones, as there is a lot more sun, and our summers are much hotter then the European climates where these plants originated.

The remaining area we planted bulbs and seeds for moon garden plants. Next to the rock garden I’ve built a patio with paving stones, utilizing the sidewalk and side of the house. Since it’s enclosed on two sides, and gets lot of morning sun, it’s the location for the new moon garden. But that’s another story.

The point is, don’t confine yourself to single space. A witch’s garden is wild thing, and don’t be afraid to leave little touches of it all over your yard. Take advantage of wherever you find sun or shade. Indoors as well.

Black Hollyhock is famous through folklore as it is for its beauty. This has been a reliable plant for several years now, needing nothing but weeding and water.

What is the witch’s gardener’s best friend?

For those like myself, who hate gardening but love gardens, your best friends are perennials which come back every year. Other plants, like Datura and Night Scented Stock which reseeds itself liberally. The less you have to plant each year, the lower your cost, and the less time it takes to get things in order.

And sure, you can propagate by division, or collect seeds and grow seedlings. But that’s more work. As I said, I love gardens, not the process of gardening.

This year it’s working out nicely. Which hopefully gives us a chance to catch up on the areas that have grown feral over the past few years, and get other parts of the lawn and garden setup to take advantage of plants that have a fixed home, year after year.

A garden is a living thing. When you’re really in tune with nature, or your little neck of nature at least, it doesn’t need your intervention to live and reproduce. It’s what they do naturally, when given a chance.

A garden growing naturally is after all, one of the key definitions of a witch’s garden. As I said, a witch’s garden isn’t really a garden, but a slice of nature that gives what you need to practice your craft. If the plants don’t grow freely in the woods in your area, then create a bit of woods yourself.

Henbane (Hyoscyamus niger): It gave oracles their sight and made witches fly, yellow blossoms on one of the darkest of plants inhabiting a deadly corner of the Witch’s Garden

Journal, Plants for A Witch's Garden & Moon Garden

The henbane’s first effect was purely physical discomfort. My limbs lost certainty, pains hammered in my head, and I began to feel extremely giddy….I went to the mirror and was able to distinguish my face, but more dimly than normal. It looked flushed and must have been so. I had the feeling that my head had increased in size: it seemed to have grown broader, more solid, heavier, and I imagined that it was enveloped in firmer, thicker skin. The mirror itself seemed to be swaying, and I found it difficult to keep my face within its frame. The black discs of my pupils were immensely enlarged, as though the whole iris, which was normally blue, had become black. Despite of the dilation of my pupils I could see no better than usual; quite the contrary, the outlines of objects were hazy, the window and the window frame were obscured by a thin mist.

Schenck’s pulse became rapid and he experienced a further increase in the hallucinogenic effects of the plant:

There were animals which looked at me keenly with contorted grimaces and staring, terrified eyes; there were terrifying stones and clouds of mist, all sweeping along in the same direction. They carried me irresistibly with them. Their coloring must be described – but it was not a pure hue. They enveloped in a vague gray light, which emitted a dull glow and rolled onward and upward into a black and smoky sky. I was flung into a flaring drunkenness, a witches’ cauldron of madness. Above my head water was flowing, dark and blood-red. The sky was filled with herds of animals. Fluid, formless creatures emerged from the darkness. I heard words, but they were all wrong and nonsensical, and yet they possessed for me some hidden meaning.

My teeth were clenched, and a dizzied rage took possession of me … but I also know that I was permeated by a peculiar sense of well-being connected with the crazy sensation that my feet were growing lighter, expanding and breaking loose from my own body. Each part of my body seemed to be going off on its own, and I was seized with the fear that I was falling apart. At the same time I experienced an intoxicating sensation of flying …. I soared where my hallucinations—the clouds, the lowering sky, herds of beasts, falling leaves … billowing streamers of steam and rivers of molten metal—were swirling along.

Gustav Schenk on taking Henbane
From How Do Witches Fly?, by Alexander Kuklin

It’s said that crushing a fresh leaf and inhaling the odor of Henbane can produce giddiness and stupor. I tried it and yeah, it does put a smile on one’s face. I didn’t sniff long enough to provoke stupor however. There’s stupor and then there’s stupid. And Henbane is one of the most baneful plants in the Witch’s Garden.

Henbane is a biennial or an annual herb, depending on the seed, and is a member of the nightshade, or officially the Solanaceae family, which explains its place of prominence in a witch’s garden. Prominence isn’t earned by size, but a long history of use … spiritual, occult and medical. Not to mention beer.

Witches used henbane in their midnight brews, as part of their flying potion, and and it was also used in malicious ways to induce convulsions in victims. Death by Henbane is gruesome indeed.

Curiously enough, the effects of ingesting Henbane don’t intensify as the dosage increases so much as different doses product unreliably diverse effects. Low doses induce inebriation. Low doses can also make one horny, but there are safer methods than Henbane for that.

Henbane overdose leads first to delirium, then finally coma, complete respiratory failure and of course, death.

The characteristics of Henbane, Hyoscyamus niger

Henbane has bell-shaped flowers growing both singularly and in spikes, and are typically pale yellow, lined with purple veins and throat, though variations in color and prominence of veins are common. The greenish grey have vivid, pale veins and the leaves are are covered with hairs which are sticky to the touch and foul smelling.

The fruit, blocked from view by the fused sepals is an oval, egg-shaped capsule, about an inch long and contains hundreds of minuscule seeds. Henbane has a long, mandrake like taproot but can still be planted in containers.

Henbane is positively lethal in higher doses, hallucinogenic in smaller, and can cause skin irritation just from touching the plant.

You’ll find Henbane in southern and central European countries, as well as the western part of Asia. A published work from 1672 showed it was already introduced to North America and had “sprung up since the English planted and kept cattle in New England.,” who used it for medicinal and perhaps occult purposes. It is also known in Ireland, Scotland, England and Wales.

Curiously enough, it’s said that Henbane is the plant most often found on the western wall of Herod’s temple in Jerusalem, which contains the famous Wailing Wall.

It’s considered invasive in places, as it springs up on roadsides, fields, waste places, and abandoned gardens.

Hyoscyamus niger or black henbane and H. albus, or yellow or white henbane are the types most often use for magic and witchcraft. Henbane goes by a variety of names, including Stinking Nightshade, Hyoscyamus. Hog’s-Bean. Jupiter’s-Bean, Bilsenkraut, Symphonica. Cassilata, Henbell, Cassilago, Deus Caballinus, Hyoscyamus and Jusquiame.

The name Henbane dates to the middle ages, about 1265, though it was known and used going all the way back to antiquity. There’s a debate in what the name means, but it’s often believed that hen refers to a similar word relating to death, as chickens don’t eat Henbane. It’s also been connected with Henne, a German god, and Bil, a Scandinavian goddess.

Priestess of Delphi by John Collier, 1891 depicts the Pythia in her traditional position, sitting on a tripod with vapor rising from a crack in the earth beneath her. It has been argued that what actually came through the crack was incense flavored with Henbane and other herbs.

The associations of Henbane with ancestor worship and the dead

Henbane has long been associated with the dead, including ancestor worship. Henbane along with barley residue has been found in a Neolithic necropolis in Scotland, and it’s believed a beer brewed with Henbane was drunk by the dying, or perhaps after death by those mourning.

From Persia there’s a Zoroastrian writing which tells the story of man who drank wine laced with Henbane and spent a several days beyond the veil in the afterlife, before coming back

Henbane seeds were buried in Viking graves, and there’s good reason to believe that the warriors known as berserkers reached that state of anger and fury through the plant.

The Greeks have a rich history with Henbane. They believed the dead in Hades wore wreaths made from the plant to make them forget who they were, and were left to wander aimlessly along the banks of the river Styx.

Jason and Medea, painted by John William Waterhouse in 1907 portrays the sorceress mixing a Henbane potion to mask pain for the Greek hero before he set off in search of the golden fleece.

From oracles to heroes, Henbane and the ancient Greeks

Pliny condemned Henbane as an intoxicant, though conversely it was a remedy for too much wine as well. Dioscorides, writing in the first century A.D. claimed Henbane as a sedative, which it is in small doses, effective in treating mania and madness. But madness meant something different to the Greeks. For them, madness could in fact be divinely inspired, whether by the Muses, or by gods such as Aphrodite (love, which explains the aphrodisiac beliefs), as well as Dionysus, who presided over all things intoxicating, particularly wine. And larger doses of Henbane can be quite intoxicating, with a long history of mystical and spiritual uses.

Trance like states brought on by Henbane was believed by the Druids in the Celtic lands, as well as the Greeks before them, to put you in touch with the divine, a form of sacred consciousness.

One of the most popular theories for the trance like state experienced by Pythia, the Greek oracle to Apollo at Delphi, was incense dosed with Henbane. But according to the ancient texts, the fumes came from a fissure in the ground, which recent excavations are pointing out as a distinct possibility. Being an oracle was a real job in ancient Greece. It gave women status, the ability to travel and own property, and other benefits that otherwise they might never achieve. But it could be a short career. Perhaps Henbane, Oleander or other plants were used to induce these states. Often the oracle was said to be in a frenzied state like Henbane intoxication is known for, and indeed the result of some prophecies was the oracle’s death.

In Euripides’ tragedy, Medea, daughter of King Aeëtes of Colchis, a niece of Circe and the granddaughter of the sun god Helios, mixes a potion of Henbane which she gives to Jason before he set off with the Argonauts and Ray Harryhausen to find the golden fleece.

The diabolical side of Henbane – poisons and potions

“The leaves, the seeds and the juice, when taken internally cause an unquiet sleep, like unto the sleep of drunkenness, which continueth long and is deadly to the patient. To wash the feet in a decoction of Henbane, as also the often smelling of the flowers causeth sleep.”

John Gerard, Herball, 1597

Like most members of the Solanaceae family, symptoms of Henbane poisoning include dilated pupils and heart palpitation, loss of muscle control, intense and often terrifying hallucinations, madness and then not soon enough, coma and death.

Even in small doses it can invoke most of the above, along with flushed skin, convulsions and vomiting. Plus cotton mouth. While the initial rush might only last three or four hours, it can hang on in various ways for up to three days.

Both the Greeks and the Gauls knew the power of Henbane’s poison, and coated arrows and spears with a potion to make them even more lethal.

In Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Claudius murders Hamlet’s father with a tincture of Henbane poured into his ear canal.

Even more gruesome, one account has Cleopatra, having no intention of being paraded through the streets of Rome in shame first contemplated suicide by Henbane. But after testing the potion on two of her servants, she chose snakebite instead.

One phrase often bandied about when describing death by Henbane is ghastly.

Henbane is often toxic to animals, both wild and domesticated. Birds, fish and cattle are particularly hard hit. But some creatures, including certain moths munch on Henbane with no ill results. In fact, pigs quite like the intoxicating effects.

From witch’s flying ointments to the craft of the magus, Henbane has a long history in the dark arts

“The witches drank the decoction of henbane and had those dreams for which they were tortured and executed. It was also used for witches’ ointments and was used for making weather and conjuring spirits. If there were a great drought then a stalk of henbane would be dipped into a spring, then the sun-baked sand would be sprinkled with this”

Mathias Perger, 1864

Henbane’s place in magic and indeed, the Witch’s Garden stems from its inclusion in the witch’s flying potion, as well as other diabolical uses, believed to have been in use from the middle ages.

During a witch trail in Pomerania, a woman confessed to giving a man Henbane seeds to afflict him with an undying erection, mad with lust. The transcript continues that “a witch admits having once strewn henbane seeds between two lovers and uttering the following formula: “Here I sow wild seed, and the devil advised that they would hate and avoid each other until these seeds had been separated”

Andrés de Laguna a noted physician to the Spanish Court as well as Pope Julius III in the sixteenth century, gave evidence in court that he found in the home inhabited by an accused couple “a pot full of a certain green ointment … composed of herbs such as hemlock, nightshade, henbane, and mandrake.”

It was discovered that mixing these plants with fat (of babies according to confessions and rumor) and applying it to the skin reduced the toxic side effects, a cleaner high if you will. Absorption through the sweat glands, the vagina or rectum avoided the hyper metabolism of the liver and digestive track, allowing much higher doses with fewer side effects.

Jordanes de Bergamo wrote in the fifteenth century “But the vulgar believe, and the witches confess, that on certain days or nights they anoint a staff and ride on it to the appointed place or anoint themselves under the arms and in other hairy places.”

Hence the practice of greasing up the broomstick and placing it between one’s legs.

An early example of this can be found in the testimony against Lady Alice Kyteler, where it was admitted into court that “In rifleing the closet of the ladie, they found a pipe of oyntment, wherewith she greased a staffe, upon which she ambled and galloped through thick and thin.”

Henbane intoxication is known to create the sensation of flying, and whether hallucination or not it didn’t matter. In Norway women who only hallucinated that they were flying were burned at the stake as well.

Albertus Magnus, the greatest German philosopher and theologian of the Middle Ages and a saint to boot, wrote in De Vegetalibus in 1250 that necromancers used henbane to invoke the souls of the dead as well as demons. This was a concept shared by Cornelius Aggrippa, one of the earliest writers on the occult, who listed Henbane as an ingredient in incense with the intent of raising the dead.

It’s also used as a fumigant in ritual magic.

Witches Going To Their Sabbath, Luis Ricardo Falero, *1878*

Examples of Henbane in European folklore

‘I wonder how astrologers could take on them to make this an herb of Jupiter: and yet Mizaldus, a man of penetrating brain, was of that opinion as well as the rest: the herb is indeed under the dominion of Saturn and I prove it by this argument: All the herbs which delight most to grow in saturnine places are saturnine herbs. Both Henbane delights most to grow in saturnine places, and whole cart loads of it may be found near the places where they empty the common Jakes, and scarce a ditch to be found without it growing by it. Ergo, it is a herb of Saturn. The leaves of Henbane do cool all hot inflammations in the eyes…. It also assuages the pain of the gout, the sciatica, and other pains in the joints which arise from a hot cause. And applied with vinegar to the forehead and temples, helps the headache and want of sleep in hot fevers…. The oil of the seed is helpful for deafness, noise and worms in the ears, being dropped therein; the juice of the herb or root doth the same. The decoction of the herb or seed, or both, kills lice in man or beast. The fume of the dried herb stalks and seeds, burned, quickly heals swellings, chilblains or kibes in the hands or feet, by holding them in the fume thereof. The remedy to help those that have taken Henbane is to drink goat’s milk, honeyed water, or pine kernels, with sweet wine; or, in the absence of these, Fennel seed, Nettle seed, the seed of Cresses, Mustard or Radish; as also Onions or Garlic taken in wine, do all help to free them from danger and restore them to their due temper again.

Culpeper’s Complete Herbal and English Physician, 1814

‘The leaves, the seeds and the juice, when taken internally cause an unquiet sleep, like unto the sleep of drunkenness, which continueth long and is deadly to the patient. To wash the feet in a decoction of Henbane, as also the often smelling of the flowers causeth sleep.’

John Gerard, Herball, 1597

Finding references to Henbane in writing as well as folklore, you can see that the dangers of getting your dose right was well known. ‘If it be used either in sallet or in pottage, then doth it bring frenzie, and whoso useth more than four leaves shall be in danger to sleepe without waking.’

Opposite beliefs were held regarding the nature of Henbane. German folklore in the medieval era states that throwing it to the sky will bring rain. But its natural tendency to grow in areas devoid of vegetation meant others thought it made a landscape barren and sterile.

Necklaces made with Henbane were thought to prevent fits and seizures, and take away the pain of teething.

And it was also believed in Germany that as an ingredient in incense, it helps one to shape shift.

Henbane blooms and foliage in the WItch’s Garden

Toasting a glass to Henbane in the Alps and Bavaria

In the Alps, Henbane is known as Bilsenkraut (beer lettuce), believed to be named for a goddess, Bil, who is considered to be the fairy of Henbane.

The Germans in Pilsen and other locations used Henbane in gruit, which was used to flavor beer before the introduction of hops, starting in the eleventh century. The recipe includes:

40g dried chopped henbane herbage,
5g bayberry
23 l water
1 l brewing malt
900g honey
5g dried yeast
brown sugar

Henbane disappeared from beer with the Bavarian Purity Law of 1516 which banned any ingredients other than barley, hops, yeast, and water.

Despite the dangers, Henbane was long used for medicinal purposes

Take notice, that this herb must never be taken inwardly; outwardly, an oil ointment, or plaister of it, is most admirable for the gout, to cool the veneral heat of the reins in the French pox; to stop the tooth-ache, being applied to the aching side: to allay all inflammations, and to help the diseases before premised.

Culpeper’s Complete Herbal and English Physician, 1814

All of the Henbane plant – leaves, seeds and roots contain some of the 34 alkaloids present, including hyoscine, hyoscyamine, and atropine. Which makes for a variety of uses, even today.

The Greek and Roman doctors commonly prescribed it as a sedative. It’s also been used to treat earaches, toothache, rheumatism and ailments of the bones, sciatica, insomnia, asthma, cough, nervous diseases, and stomach pain.

Along the way some doctors got the idea of mixing opium with Henbane. One recipe in the Byzantine era suggested mixing a paste of ground opium and Henbane, smeared onto a fish to alleviate earache.

And it’s said that Henbane makes for an amazing medicinal massage, but don’t try that at home kids. Remember that it can be ingested through the skin.

It’s worth remembering that unless you know exactly what you’re doing, any form of Henbane intoxication or poisoning can be lethal. And a very unpleasant lethal at that.

Early plant for Henbane potion — Henbane, The Witch’s Garden, April 27, 2019

Some tips on growing Henbane in your witch’s garden

Our common Henbane has very large, thick, soft, woolly leaves, lying on the ground, much cut in, or torn on the edges, of a dark, ill greyish green colour; among which arise up divers thick and short stalks, two or three feet high, spread into divers small branches, with lesser leaves on them, and many hollow flowers, scarce appearing above the husk, and usually torn on one side, ending in five round points, growing one above another, of a deadish yellowish colour, somewhat paler towards the edges, with many purplish veins therein, and of a dark, yellowish purple in the bottom of the flower, with a small point of the same colour in the middle, each of them standing in a hard close husk, which after the flowers are past, grow very like the husk of Asarabacca, and somewhat sharp at the top points, wherein is contained much small seed, very like Poppy seed, but of a dusky, greyish colour. The root is great, white, and thick, branching forth divers ways under ground, so like a Parsnip root (but that it is not so white) that it has deceived others. The whole plant more than the root, has a very heavy, ill, soporiferous smell, somewhat offensive.

Place. It commonly grows by the waysides, and under hedgesides and walls.

Time. It flowers in July, and springs again yearly of its own seed. I doubt my authors mistook July for June, if not for May.

Culpeper’s Complete Herbal and English Physician, 1814

Most advice regarding Henbane is in how to remove it, as it can be quite invasive. As it springs up freely in marginally desolate soils, it’s not too picky when it comes to the dirt. It doesn’t like wet legs however, hates standing in water and insists on a well drained, sandy soil. But it does love a bit of fertilizer and organic mulch as well, particularly as it starts its bloom cycle.

You can grow from seeds by scattering the seeds on the ground, leaving them uncovered, or do the cold stratification method if you want to start them inside. It quite often will reseed itself, hence the invasive nature,

Container growing is possible, but it tends to result in much smaller plants which wilts easily.

You can also purchase live plants from small nurseries online, if you want to save some steps getting started.

Pests are problematic, and in fact my entire plant was eaten by aphids immediately after blooming last year. This year I’ve used a natural repellent and have a healthy, uneaten plant, currently in bloom (June 6).

Most of all, take care when handling this plant as accidents can easily happen. It’s a good idea to keep it tucked safely away in a part of the garden which can be locked off from prying eyes. As plants of this nature should be secret anyway.

Some of the information in this article comes from this charming article I came across.

Primrose flowers in a witch’s garden: A gift to, and protection from fairies, tokens for the dead and Evening Primrose for a moon garden

Journal, Plants for A Witch's Garden & Moon Garden, Witch's Garden

Top: Evening Primrose flowers growing in the fairy section of a witch’s garden

Thinking of you while out for a ramble
Down by a cold frosty stream
Set down on a bed of hemlocks and primroses
And gently I fell into a dream
I dreamed I saw a pretty fair maiden
Such beauty I’d never saw before
Her dress was bound round with hemlocks and primroses
So green was the mantel she wore
Her hair was of a dark brown color
Her teeth was as ivory so white
Her eyes they shined like sparking diamonds
Or stars than shine on a cold frosty night
I drew her near then I awakened
With two empty arms and you on my mind
Heaven seemed so near while I was dreaming
It hurts to know you left me behind

Hemlocks and Primroses, Ralph Stanley

The Primrose flower is traditionally one of the first signs of spring. In folklore, it’s known to be a conduit to the world of faerie, and also the otherworld, as a symbol for young life cut short.

Primrose flowers come in a wide variety of colors, and in England, Ireland, Europe and parts of north America, are blooming madly, along with oxlips and cowslips, while most other plants are barely awake from a long winter’s nap.

A perennial, though they self seed so well they’re often treated as an annual – they grow 4 to 12 inches tall and wide, with oval shaped leaves about three inches long, growing in clumps low to the ground. Primrose flowers have a light, airy scent, and vary from one to two inches across, with an eye in the middle whose color differs from that of the petal. They’re typically pale yellow when found in nature, but pink and white are also common.

In nature they’re usually found in the woods, along streams, under bushes and in the shade of hedgerows. The forest floor, thick with humus rich soil is the ideal habitat for Primrose flowers, where winters are mild.

The name Primrose in Latin means prima rosa, or first rose, though it’s no relation to the rose. In Irish it’s called sabhaircín.

Primrose flowers in the wild, Wiltshire, UK

On Primrose flowers and the death of a maiden

Sweets to the sweet, farewell,
I hoped thou should’st have been my Hamlet’s wife –
I thought thy bride bed to have decked sweet maid,
And not to have strewed thy grave.

Hamlet, William Shakespeare

When I am dead, good wench
Let me be used with honour, strew me over
With maiden flowers.

Henry VIII, William Shakespeare

In Shakespeare’s time there was a form of anemia which often proved fatal, and seemed to afflict young maidens especially. Known as the Green Sickness as it gave the victim a yellow green complexion, or Maid’s Malady, it was thought that after death the lady would turn into primroses. If a woman died unmarried, a garland was made with primroses and other spring flowers as a sign of her purity, cut down in the springtime of life. It was forbidden to pluck flowers from the garland, and instead the were left to drop apart naturally, and then buried in the churchyard.

It was also customary to cover the bed of newlyweds with flowers, Primrose in particular. When a person died unmarried, the same custom applied to the corpse, where the grave was referred to as the nuptial bed. This is reflected in the traditional song, I Courted A Wee Girl or The False Bride:

So dig me a grave, and dig it down deep
And strew it all over with primrose so sweet
And lay me down easy, no more for to weep
Since love was the cause of my ruin.

On Primrose flowers and their attraction to, and protection from fairies

The Irish have a long tradition with Primrose flowers, and it’s said that those visiting the Otherworld, or Tír na nóg brought back Primrose as evidence that they had actually been there. It was also believed that the keys to Tír na nóg were Primrose or Cowslip.

Druids were known to carry Primrose flowers during some of their rituals, to protect them from evil. Primrose blooms freely in Ireland, found in hedgerows, pastures and of course, wooden glades, which Druids held sacred. Druids also used Primrose oil as a purifying ointment before rituals.

The Celts believed that a patch of Primrose growing wild could be a gateway to the realm of faerie. A posy made of Primrose, touched to the surface of a rock could open the portal.

If you wished to ask the blessing of the fairies for your home and those in it, you placed Primrose flowers on the doorstep. Hanging Primrose outside the house was considered an invitation for fairies to enter. And it was thought that eating Primrose allowed you to see fairies.

Perhaps the holiday most associated with fairies is Beltane, or May Eve. Being the flower of love (and quite often associated with wantonness, along with Beltane itself) and a good luck token, Primroses, along with yellow gorse shrubs were often laid across the threshold to welcome the arrival of the first day of Spring.

In earlier times, fairies were quite often creatures to be feared, and as they were often most active around Beltane, special precautions were taken. Primrose flowers were often used to ward off denizens of the realm of faerie, rather than trying to attract them. In the National Folklore Collection in University College, Dublin, there’s a bit of verse from county Kerry in Ireland relating to Beltane and fairies:

“Guard the house with a string of primroses
on the first three days of May.
The fairies are said not to be able
to pass over or under this string.”

As butter making season began in May in Ireland, to encourage milk production, farmers would rub Primrose on the udders of cows on Beltane. And in contrast to the practice of laying Primrose on your doorstep to ask the blessing of fairies, it was also thought to keep them from stealing the butter.

Another animal association with Primrose flowers is that of chickens. It was thought to cause bad luck to bring Primroses into the house in early spring, when chickens are first laying eggs. Fewer Primroses in the spring were also thought to be a harbinger of fewer eggs.

Primrose flowers growing wild, Wiltshire, UK

The medical uses of Primrose flowers from the middle ages and beyond

Healing properties were thought to abound in Primrose, flowers being used both fresh or dried, and the root as well which was used as a dried herb.

In the middle ages it was used for gout, rheumatism, paralysis and an infusion of the root was used for toothaches, the latter a belief which carried on in Ireland (by rubbing the tooth with the flower for two minutes.

The seventeenth century British botanist Nicholas Culpeper wrote “Of the leaves of Primrose is made as fine a salve to heal wounds as any I know.”

A remedy collected in Dorset said the Gypsies used Primrose as a cure of skin problems, and said to boil three primrose leaves in a pint of water and then drink the water. Similarly, a concoction of Primrose and pig lard was used to create a salve for burns. It was also used to cure jaundice, and mixed with cowslip, an ointment for wrinkles and facial spots.

Tea made from Primrose was a treatment for insomnia in county Cork, in Ireland.

Dried primrose roots strained through milk was used to treat the cough of horses by inhaling, and one would think for people as well.

Evening Primrose oil, a favorite of expectant mothers wasn’t known in early days, as it was native to the Americas, rather than Ireland and England.

Primrose flowers and Bluebells, two spring wildflowers in Clanger Woods, Wiltshire, UK

Growing Primrose in a witch’s garden

Primrose flowers grow in a surprisingly wide variety of situations, from shade to sun, wet to dry, though it prefers humus-rich woodland sites.

It grows best as well in soils similar to woodlands – well drained, moist and fertile. When planting, think of it in the foreground with taller spring bulbs behind, along a path or stream, and even in rock gardens. They are sometimes most effective grown in patches and clumps, as they do in nature. It’s been my experience that this is easy enough to do, as they often reseed themselves this way in areas where I formerly planted them. They can also be grown in containers.

Seeds can be collected in late summer or early fall, and stored in a cool dry place. Ideally, seeds are sown in an equal mixture of soil, sand and peat moss in the winter, either in a cold frame or indoors. Like other seedlings, once they have their second or third set of true leaves, they can be transplanted outside.

The safest bet is to plant them in lightly shaded areas, with soil rich in organic matter, four to six inches deep and six to twelve inches apart. Keep Primrose flowers moist – adding a layer of mulch to help them retain water, though it’s safe to water less frequently with the approach of the autumn equinox.

The first year sees modest blooms, with the second bringing a more bountiful display.

Plucking spent blooms and dead leaves encourages new growth and keeps your Primrose flowers tidy.

Prepare them for winter by covering with evergreen boughs.

Evening Primrose Flowers blooming in the witch's garden — Evening Primrose Flowers blooming in the witch’s garden

Primrose flower’s American cousin, Evening Primrose

Primrose is often confused with Evening Primrose, a different species of wildflower which is often seen as a weed. As a result it goes by a variety of names, including King’s Cureall, night candle, fever plant, night willow herb, scabish, sun crop, scurvish, wild beet.

Primrose is great for moon gardens as it blooms in the late afternoon and goes through the night, before closing up in the heat of the following day. The best part about Evening Primrose in your moon garden is that they appear to slightly glow in the dark. It was believed that fairies retrieved the dew from Evening Primrose to make potions, so it’s a great addition to fairy gardens as well.

It’s also very bee friendly, and its night blooming habit attract species of moths you’d seldom see without it.

A description of Evening Primrose

Evening Primrose blooms are cup shaped with four petals, typically yellow, pink, white or purple. The leaves spiral around the stem and are lance shaped, serrated and dark green with reddish veins.

As noted earlier, Evening Primrose is identified with the Americas, though there are a few species native to Europe.

Medicinal use of Evening Primrose in a witch’s garden

Evening Primrose is often used by women to treat hormonal imbalances, PMS and trouble conceiving. Pregnant women use it to ripen their cervix leading up the childbirth. Some believe it reduced the risk of breast and other cancers, though scientific evidence for this and much of the flower’s claims is lacking.

Like regular Primrose flowers, Evening Primrose is used for skin issues, such as eczema and rosacea, and to heal wounds when the entire plant is crushed and made into a poultice.

It’s also thought to encourage hair growth.

The entire plant was used by native Americans, as an early appetite suppressant and as a stimulant to get slovenly tribes people up and moving. A concoction made from the roots was used to treat boils, as well as piles.

Evening Primrose is not without its dangers though. Pregnant women shouldn’t take it during the first two trimesters, nor should epileptics or schizophrenics. It can also disrupt anticoagulants.

Magical Use of Evening Primrose flowers

The noted magician Eliphas Levi was aware of the connection between Evening Primrose and moon gardens and recommended it to decorate altars for ceremonies that took advantage of the power of the moon … “On Monday you should wear a white robe with silver ornaments, with a collar of three rows consisting of pearls, crystals, and selenites; a tiara yellow with the letters of Gabriel in silver. The proper perfumes are those of camphor, white sandalwood, amber, and cucumber seeds; the garlands for the altar should be of armoise (query, mugwort, artemisia), evening primrose, and yellow ranunculus. Avoid with care anything of black colour; use no cup or vessel of gold, silver only, or clear white china or pottery. The same hours as before mentioned for the Sun, but use rather the night hours.”

A tea made from the whole plant is thought to improve beauty, and help attract lovers.

In keeping with it’s lunar nature, the planet associated with Evening Primrose is the Moon, and its goddess is Diana.

How to grow/germinate Evening Primrose

Evening Primrose is a snap to grow in the right parts of the country, which are extensive. Plant the seeds with a light covering of soil in a sunny area, and keep them watered and they should be up within about four weeks. Quite often however, they don’t bloom their first year, but will afterwards for years to come.

Some Evening Primrose are perennials, but even annuals reseed themselves easily enough, so give them a space where they can take over and where you’re sure you want them. If you don’t want them to reseed, clip off the heads as the blooms begin to wither.

Monkshood: A deadly poison and essential ingredient in witch’s flying ointments comes back in the witch’s garden

A Witch's Garden Grimoire, Journal, Plants for A Witch's Garden & Moon Garden, Witch's Garden, Witchcraft and Magick

This was the second year I’ve had Monkshood in my witch’s garden. I tried growing it from seed with no luck. I have little patience for slow germinating seeds. But I found a source for live plants and ordered a couple. Both survived and even bloomed, unusual for Monkshood in its first year. It was the last bloom of Autumn in the witch’s garden.

This year they came back, after a pretty cold winter. With more than twice as many blooms.

Monkshood (Aconitum napellus) is a perennial wildflower, found in mountainous and temperate regions of western and central Europe, as well as parts of Asia. It grows about three foot tall (one meter), has dark green palmate leaves and produces spiky clusters of hood like flowers, ranging in color from dark to purple to blue.

It’s often confused with its yellow cousin, Wolfsbane (Aconitum lycocotonum), another Aconite, with most people seeming to believe they are the same plant. Equally lethal, Wolfsbane contains a different kind of poison and blooms earlier in the season, compared to Monkshood which blooms in late summer/autumn.

It’s one of, if not the most poisonous plants in the witch’s garden, along with Belladonna or Deadly Nightshade, another aconite.

Monkshood in the witch's garden, Halloween 2019 — Monkshood in the witch’s garden. A second year plant, it grew to about three foot tall, with considerably more blooms than the first year. Halloween, 2019

Growing Monkshood

Monkshood is particularly difficult to start. It’s slow to germinate if you can get the seeds to germinate at all. The cold strata method works best, though you can try sewing them into pots on the winter solstice. It usually takes a couple of years for the plant to bloom, unless propagating by root division. It can also take up to three years for it to reach its full height.

Monkshood grows in zones 3-7, so it’s fairly hardy once started. In the winter it will die down to ground level. A good portion of cow manure is also helpful. In essence you want to develop a rich, slightly moist soil, similar to a forest floor. You don’t have to worry about deer with Monkshood, but some caterpillars find it tasty. You want a location that drains well, as it hates standing in water.

It also hates being transplanted, hence the need to plant it in the right spot the first time. A slightly shaded, sheltered spot away from garden traffic is ideal, as you don’t want to even brush up against this plant. You also don’t want to grow it near any plants you might ingest later, for fear of contamination or accidentally eating a bit of Monkshood. If you do you will likely die and it won’t be pleasant. There is no chemical antidote to Monkshood poisoning.

How Monkshood kills

Monkshood isn’t a subtle poison. The taste is bitter, very bitter. It burns in the mouth before numbness sets in, making speech difficult. It’s an agonizing death, very painful, provoking both anxiety which raises the heart rate and lowers the blood pressure, and also causes increasing paralysis. The victim stays conscious till the end, which is usually from heart failure.

The length of time varies from about an hour to a bit longer, depending on how much poison is ingested and how long it stays in the stomach. A small amount might cause no more than a numb face and mouth and upset tummy. Less than a half teaspoon of tincture has been known to kill. A full teaspoon makes death almost a certainty.

Coming into contact with the leaves or other parts of the plant can lead to dermatitis, dizziness and nausea. If it reaches an open wound, even contact can cause death.

It goes without saying that you should always wear gloves when handling the plant, and dispose of them immediately after.

A history of Monkshood

There’s a story from Homer, later embellished by Ovid that Hecate created Monkshood from the saliva of Cerberus, the three headed hound which guards the entrance to Hades. Some sources place this legend at a now abandoned village in Turkey named Akonai, where there is a cave which is believed to have been the entrance to Hades.

Another legend has the story taking place near Mount Akonitos in Asia Minor. The common denominator in Monkshood myths is its use as a poison. Medea, a Scythian sorceress tried to use it on Theseus. Aconite is the poison Athena used to change Arachne to a spider when she dared outspin the goddess. Arrow heads were smeared with the poison to make them doubly fatal. In some cases the shafts were coated as well so anyone pulling the arrow from the body would be poisoned as well. The Romans used to poison their enemies food and water supply and even Claudius, the emperor fell to aconite poisoning.

It was still making appearances in literature when Shakespeare referred to an aconite blade in Hamlet.

A more creative technique for poisoning with Monkshood was carried out by Calpurnius Bestia, who would smear his finger with an extract made from the roots which he would then use to touch his wive’s genitalia, which absorbed the poison and led to their deaths.

Witches Broom and Monkshood — Monkshood can be one of the essential ingredients of the witch’s flying potion of the middle ages. It was thought to be rubbed on the broom handle, and the nudity of the rider allowed it to be absorbed into the body. Woodcut by Hans Baldung, 1508

Monkshood and the witch’s broom

Monkshood is perhaps best known as one of the ingredients in the medieval witch’s flying potion. You ever wonder why witch’s were thought to ride brooms? It goes back to Calpurnius Bestia and his technique for poisoning.

The flying potion is on paper at least a potent cocktail which should prove fatal, and would certainly if digested. It often consisted of any combination of Belladonna, Henbane, Datura, Mandrake, Hemlock and Monkshood or Wolfsbane, held together in an entirely disgusting paste made from the fat of dead babies dug up from the local churchyard, or procured through more devious means.

The witch was believed to lather herself up with it, which would have produced an intense buzz as it would certainly work its way through the pores. But perhaps the alternate technique would be to coat the broom handle, then place it between her legs, ala Calpurnius. That would make it work even more effectively and quickly, though would at least lead to a truly nasty rash down there.

Some believe it also contained opium poppy. It’s long been debated whether this potion made the witch truly fly, or just believe she was flying. Since we all know there were no such things as witches and they certainly couldn’t fly – right? – then it had to be merely in the head. The noted occultist and historian Carl Kiesewetter tried to replicate the potion himself in 1895, but didn’t survive to tell what he found out on this point.

Bartolommeo Spina, a dominican of Pisa wrote in 1525 of a man who came home to find his wife, naked and unconscious in the pigsty, her vagina exposed and red. Recognizing that his wife was a witch, he almost killed her on the spot. But he allowed her to regain consciousness to find she had smeared the pig with the ointment and rode it on her journey.

Difference between wolfsbane and monkshood — Wolfsbane is a cousin to Monkshood, and though it contain aconite, its a slightly different variant. It also blooms earlier in the season and is more of wildflower, less likely to be found in cultivated gardens.

The difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane

For most practical purposes, Monkshood can be replaced by its close relative, Wolfsbane. Both are equally lethal, though a slightly different form of Aconite. While Monkshood was known to be grown in medieval monastery gardens, and is in fact still a somewhat popular garden plant, Wolfsbane is more known as a wildflower. With yellow blooms rather than purple, and an earlier blooming time, it also has one quality according to legend that Monkshood doesn’t share.

Wolfsbane was believed to have been used to ward off werewolves, and in some cases act as a cure.

For its common usage, and where Wolfsbane likely got its name, Monkshood works equally as well. Wolves, panthers and other wild and dangerous creatures were often dispatched with the poison from the plant, either through baiting them with tainted meat, or shooting them with aconite coated arrows. It was even believed that rabies might be caused by dogs and other critters accidentally ingesting the plant.

Monkshood in the witch's garden — Monkshood growing in the witch’s garden, October, 2018. Blooming in the first year shouldn’t always be expected, particularly if growing from seed. This plant was purchased live, and though they can reach three foot, in the first year this barely topped a foot.

A warning

Monkshood is a lovely flower for the witch’s garden. It provides a late burst of color prior to winter, but it shouldn’t be grown without intent and consciousness. Too many people have died, and continue to die stupid because of mishandling. It can be grown safely, tucked away in a corner of the garden, locked away from little people who like to pick flowers. Be cautious because Monkshood doesn’t give you a second chance.

Monkshood, from the Witch’s Garden. A tidy little poison and essential ingredient for a witch’s flying potion.

Celebrating the Cowslip on May Day morning in the witch’s garden

A Witch's Garden Grimoire, Journal, Plants for A Witch's Garden & Moon Garden, What's blooming in the Witch's Garden?, Witch's Garden, Witch's Garden Feature

Cowslip is a staple of British folklore, herbalism and literature …

And I serve the Fairy Queen
To dew her orbs upon the green.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be.
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours.
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.

William Shakespeare, A Midsummer’s Night Dream

My mother was a real countrywoman … She spent much of her childhood at Yetminster, near Sherborne, in Dorset, where there were wonderful old meadows full of cowslips and granfer-griggles (early purple orchids). We often went there when I was a child because we could reach it by train. One tradition I enjoyed, when cowslips were in bloom, was making tisty tosties. We made balls of cowslip flowers by cutting off their heads and tying them together with wool, so that the end of their stems were in the centre. We then hung a dozen or so tisty tosties on a stick and carried them home. I recall chanting ‘Tisty tosty, tell me true, who shall I be married to?’

Orpington, Kent, February 2009, Plant Lore Archive

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It’s May Day, Beltane if you will, and I have Cowslip on my mind. I remember a piece of folklore, that if a suitor gives his love a sprig on May Day, they will be married before year’s end. In a ceremony with Cowslip strewn on the the church path of course.

Gertrude Jekyll, writing in the early 20th century recounts that children made balls of Cowslips, called a tissty-tosstie to “Bring in the May.”

One of the first flowers of spring, blooming from April into May, the sunshine yellow flowers of the cowslip are dotted with orange and are quite sweet smelling. Native to Europe as well as Asia, Cowslips can be found in meadows, clear, grassy areas and river banks as they love the sun. But they grow as well in shady areas like woods and forests.

A perennial, Cowslip flowers form a clustered bloom above a rosette of leaves on a single stalk. In Wales, long stalks are thought to portend a wet summer, whereas a shorter stem means a dry summer.

A close cousin to the primrose, it’s sometime difficult to differentiate between the two in early literature and herbals, as the names were often used interchangeably. Sometimes the two form a hybrid, the curiously named oxlip.

Cowslip springs from Old English – cu-sloppe, referring to a pile of cow dung, from which the plant often grows.

To the Christian, the Cowslip grew from the ground when St. Peter once dropped the keys to the pearly gates of heaven. This accounts for some of Cowslip’s alternative names, such as St. Peter’s Keys, Key Flower, Bunch of Keys and Keys of Heaven, which are often found in early herbals.

Cowslips are called Tisty-Tosty in the British county of Devon, and Paigles in other areas of Britain. In Lincolnshire they’re known as Milk Maidens, while in other counties they go by the name of Palsywort.

In Dorset they go by a more traditional name – Fairycup, which reflects the earlier belief that fairies use the umbrella shaped flowers for shelter during the rain.

“That they do dwell within the cowslip hollow is truth for I have seen them fly out in intoxicated abandon.”
Edmund Canterbell

The key motif pops up again in fairy lore, where it’s thought that they can be used to spring the locks that protect their treasure.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I,
In a cowslip’s bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry;
On the bat’s back I do fly
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily shall I live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
From The Tempest by William Shakespeare

One of the more famous characters associated with Cowslips is Ariel, from Shakespeare’s seventeenth century play The Tempest.

Cowslips go hand in hand with May Day or Beltane festivities, often used as garlands for maypoles. Chaucer names Cowslips as one of the flowers sought after for May Day in his poem The Court of Love, naming it there as a Primrose.

They were still being used in the nineteenth century as a key ingredient in nineteenth century May Day celebrations, as Thomas Hardy wrote in Return of the Native of having the good luck “to live in a cowslip country.”

They were also used in Britain for the making of wine.

The roots, leaves and flowers of Cowslip had many uses in folk remedies, as herbals both ancient and current point out.

From The Cloisters Museum and Gardens’ website, we learn that “in the fifteenth-century herbal Hortus Sanitatis, cowslips were warming and drying in action, and were good for headache and catarrh. Oil of primrose rejuvenated the elderly and alleviated sufferings associated with the pains and cold of winter. When given in wine or dropped in the ears, this oil was good for palsy, and restored the faculties of those paralyzed by apoplexy. The nodding flower heads of the cowslip were a sign of its usefulness against trembling of the limbs, as the freckled throats of the flowers were an indication of its efficacy in removing spots and pimples from the skin.”

The renowned British botanist Nicholas Culpepper wrote in the seventeenth century that an ointment created from Cowslip would increase a woman’s beauty. It was also used as a skin cleanser, to cure blemishes and open the skin’s pores.

The sedative properties of Cowslip are well known, and tea made from the flowers help to cure nervous tension and anxiety. As the effects are relatively mild, it was thought to be safe for children, and help rambunctious kids sleep.

The roots loosen mucus and phlegm and were often used for cold symptoms, as well as the flu.

Cowslip was also used to reduce inflammation from early times. John Gerard wrote in 1633 that
“Cowslips are commended against the paine of the joints called the Gout, and the slacknesse of the sinews, which is the palsie”, as well as for other ailments such as kidney and bladder stones!

“Primrose (hymelsloszel) is hot. All its vital energy is from the sharpness of the sun. Now, certain plants are strengthened by the sun, others by the moon, and certain others by the sun and moon together. But this plant takes its strength especially from the power of the sun, whence it checks melancholy. When melancholy rises in a person, it makes him sad and agitated in his moods. It makes him pour forth words against God. Airy spirits notice this, and rush to him, and by their persuasion turn him toward insanity. This person should place primrose on his flesh, near his heart, until it warms him up. The airy spirits dread the primrose’s sun-given power and will cease their torment.”
Hildegard of Bingen, Physica

Cowslip also finds its way into the kitchen. The Noble Boke Of Cookry names a soup recipe consisting of primerole and ground almonds. Also the flowerbuds were eaten in salads, and the young leaves boiled as a potherb.

With the prominent role of Cowslip over time, it’s no wonder that this lovely plant is now on the decline. Perhaps it’s the fading of ancient traditions which will allow this versatile plant in the witch’s garden to make a comeback.

The Tuft of Cowslips, Albrecht Duhrer, 1526, The National Gallery of Art