A new beginning: Imbolc in the witch’s garden

Imbolc was the time in the Irish calendar when you’re hoping the sheep do what sheep do best, and that there are little lambs gestating in woolly bellies. It’s a time for celebration, for spring has begun in the pagan world, and it’s time to start working with nature to ensure the harvest. Because that means survival. 

Or if you’re me, here in the midwestern United States, you look over the remnants of the disaster I’ve called a garden the past few years. This year I’m looking to get more in tune with my ancestors, pagan and otherwise. As I come mainly from rural stock, there’s one thing for certain. My ancestors were gardeners. And were all the way into my grandparent’s generation. My Granny Bert kept a garden till later in her life, and even then enlisted my mother to help. She didn’t need a garden by then, but it was something you did every year. Because you never knew when you’d need to raise your own food for survival. She wasn’t a prepper. That was her experience in life.

Then the chain stretching back god only knows how long was broken. 

Till I picked it up here in the family home, with decidedly mixed results. That’s something I want to fix this year, because I see what my wife and I are doing here is connecting the link to the ancestors. Even my parents did some gardening after all. Some of the plants in the yard were planted by my mother, and of course some of the trees were planted before my family moved in, sixty years ago. It’s a safe bet that where my garden is now, the original builder of the house had one as well. When you’re lucky enough to live in a family home, you’re a custodian of history. So there’s an obligation tying you to the land, if you choose to accept it. 

And that’s a very pagan thing indeed. So it’s befitting that at Imbolc, when my ancestors were bringing their plot of land to life, we finally put the garden in order. 

Inspecting your bit of nature

We’ve got a lot of lawn here. There’s a flower garden in the front, a miniature stone circle and a few small trees. There’s an ancient Magnolia tree along side the house, then an open area off the kitchen. It’s where the Moon Garden has been the last few years … patio blocks, two inches of gravel and a large fire pit. It’s bearable at night, but on a summer day you wilt as quickly as the Brugmansia. 

Meanwhile the vegetable garden, at the back of the house is now shady. When I planted the witch’s garden against the garage, I had need of a bit of shade, for the woodland plants. A small Mulberry tree had sprung up which did the job perfectly. And even more so as it grew, till nearly the entire witch’s garden was in shade. And most of the vegetable garden as well, for a second one sprung up along the fence. 

The shade was a good environment for leafy vegetables and broccoli, which a groundhog I’ve yet to be rid of fed heartily on. We did have a few tomatoes, which the raccoons from the garage took advantage of. The cucumbers, peppers and bush beans were doing well, till a summer storm brought a tree down on top of them. 

With that I decided the signs are right for a move. 

The obvious thing to do is swap the moon garden and vegetable garden. That puts the moon garden beside the witch’s garden again, as it was several years ago. And puts the vegetable garden in the sun.

The reason for gardening? The same as our ancestors

The world is a funny place of late. I remember during the pandemic that sense of panic that come over us when products started disappearing from the grocery shelves. Look at the labels for where it was grown. Chances are it’s not nearby, and is likely thousands of miles away. There are countless ways to trip up the supply chain, and we started seeing them in the pandemic. We see some of them still. In the history of our country, every sixty to eighty years brings on some catastrophic change to our society. The revolution, the Civil War, World War I, the Great Depression, World War II. These weren’t just societal upheavals, these were situations which made starvation a real possibility. 

And we haven’t had one for eighty years. 

In many ways, our food supply was safer and more robust then than it is now. So in short, one of the best reasons to try your hand at gardening is survival. Just as our ancestors had to feed themselves, it’s entirely possible that the time could come that at least being able to partially feed ourselves would be a good idea. 

Plus you save money, get outside and get exercise, get more in tune with nature and can even feel a bit pagan if you like. Whatever gets you outside and dirty. Cannabis is legal in Illinois. So I ingest a bit of pipeweed, play some ISB in the AirPods and out in the garden I’m Bilbo Fucking Baggins. 

It’s a long tradition.

Most societies ancient and modern have discovered plants that get you high. I have a cannabis strain on my shelf which was native to ancient Persia, now Iran. The native Americans here ingested a bit of Woodland Tobacco and even Datura. Both of which are particularly mind melting. 

And in the interest of full disclosure, even though I’ve grown many plants which carry the ability to open the mind, I’ve never tried any. I’ve opened my mind plenty, but after doing the research on these plants, I chose to pass. There are too many stories … lives ruined overnight, self castration and of course, an ugly death. 

If you’re looking for survival, you also need to keep in mind plants that can heal. Those are essential for a witch’s garden. Luckily native plants fill the gap. Our early settlers adopted Native American cures for many common ailments, and the good thing about them is they grow naturally, often self seeding year after year. Some of them you don’t even have to water. One of the first plants I grew was St. John’s Wort, over ten years ago, which still comes back every year and requires nothing but a bit of weeding. And that worked as advertised to keep you mellow. 

For the past couple of years I’ve experimented with an Ayurveda garden, with medicinal plants from India. The ones I’ve tried so far adjust well to the summers here.

This year I’d like to find plants that might take the place of heart medication, which I’m now cursed with. Just in case that if for some reason it was no longer available. 

Matching the garden to the sun and moon

The landscape around the vegetable garden now is mainly clover, soft and squishy. Ideal for converting into the moon garden, plants which open at night and put off intoxicating fragrances. Which also contain a healthy number of plants once considered witchy. 

All that’s required is moving out two 8’ x 4’ raised beds, and three 2’ x 4’ standing beds. Plus digging a small fire pit. 

Unfortunately, where the garden is moving to is covered with two inches of rock, with a fire ring in the middle. The last five foot of the space is covered with concrete patio blocks. So there’s a lot of raking of rock to get to bare dirt for the raised beds. Luckily the standing beds will do fine on the gravel. The rest of the vegetables will go in a few large containers I use each year.

Once the rocks are raked, concrete blocks removed and hardware moved into place, I have about 120 cubic feet of dirt to shovel and move. Plus the rocks for the fire pit, which also needs dug. I should toss in that I’m a little over halfway through physical therapy for three pinched nerves in the neck. I’m almost pain free for the first time in months, but progress will be slow. Or if I screw up, I’ll likely be doomed before I start.

The first seeds go in the ground in seventeen days. 

It would be more convenient in March or April, but nature goes on its own cycle. You meet it or miss it. For me, that’s Imbolc. The preparation and then the moment. The first seeds here are lettuce, tiny little things that require delicacy. A fine shower of soil over the top so they don’t blow away as winter isn’t finished yet. From that moment on, life in the garden is continuous till the first frost kills off all but the most hardy. 

It’s not enough space to survive on certainly. But if I needed to expand quickly, I now have four sections of the yard which have served that purpose in the past, and could be quickly brought back. 

A self reliant witch’s garden with perennials

What I’ll have in the end is three gardens, flowing from one to another. Walk out the back door and you’re on the porch overlooking the vegetable garden. To your right, off the back of the house is the open area where the garden was, now the moon garden. 

And adjacent to that, leading up to the barn is the original witch’s garden. Most of the plants that grow there now are perennials … Belladonna, Monkshood, Tansy, Castor Bean, Wormswood, Valerian, Elfwort and a variety of ground covers. There’s a seven foot tall fence along the back, which works for vining plants. At the front of the sitting area are tall posts, for netting which grow pole beans and makes a nice green curtain for summer nights. And there’s a deck which needs to come down, which will provide more area for planting, hopefully for melons and corn. 

Relying on perennials in the witch’s garden means less work on plants which let’s face it, I don’t have a lot of use for. I seldom need to poison my enemies, and my days of flying on broomsticks never came to pass. And besides, with the perennials I could still whip up a batch of flying potion, without the baby fat obviously. 

Over the years I’ve grown most of the traditional plants for a witch’s garden. As many of those were annuals, I got the process down, took the photos and was happy enough to let them go. The one I’ve yet to successfully grow is Mandrake. From what I understand, it’s easier to raise a child here than a Mandrake. But I’ll keep trying. 

For me, growing a witch’s garden started as a project. A way to make gardening more interesting. Over time it took on a life of its own, a little bit of wilderness in the yard. A secret garden if you will, a place for the wife and I. And our friend the groundhog.