As my man flies over the dark and turbulent seas to his place of birth in England, I'm feeling homesick for that time in my life, the hedgerows and the forests and the spirits there. It's a very different energy to Australia - not 'better', but different, and I miss the communion of sorts I would have with the woods there. A conversation about sloe gin in Discord radio show today had me thinking of country walks across hills and down dales in the south west of England, past thickets of holly, wizened and laughing apples, rowans and oaks, and the tangle of brambles in the thick carpet of leaves at the end of summer. I was lonely then, only a few weeks away from Australia and I knew hardly anyone - my new man was out working and I was alone in a truck on the edge of a farm in Somerset - a foreign land I didn't know how to talk to, nor me it.

Source

On the white painted shelves in my man's truck sat books from Dostoyesky to Buddhist Cosmology, wisdoms of the Dalai Llama to the Koran, guides to mushrooms and toadstools and everything in between. And so it was that I found a thin green book called 'The Sacred Tree' by Glennie Kindred, and learnt of the tree ogham, where each tree had its own celtic name which linked it to a letter of the ogham alphabet, used before the introduction of the Latin A.B.C's. The book seemed a promise to me, a way of connecting to landscape. There were stories everywhere, once I started listening. I would sit around campfires where people would say not to burn elder, for witches had been known to turn themselves into elder trees and to burn a witch you'd be cursed indeed. Judas the traitor was said to be hung on an elder tree. I would find piles of books on trees in charity shops, find legends in the living landscape. This lore was both foreign and familiar to me - I'd read books on the deep lore of the land in England but never suspected it was still embedded in the fabric of the people.

Weighty with the loss of the old and assured me I'd left behind in a southern land, and uncertain about this future with a man I barely knew, all I could do was walk it off and think. To think, I carved ogham sticks with his bone handled knife, choosing a stick from a particular tree and whittling it under it's own limbs, pencilling in the rune and musing on what the tree had to offer. It was advice given to me in Kindred's book, to commune with the trees 'as spiritual teachers' so that 'a whole new world open up for you'.

Adopt a similiar attitude to trees as theirs. By forming a good root, and opening your heart. your root can begin to form when you relax and let your mind sink downward. Let the earth force flow through you, giving your nourishment, calmness and a strong centre. Once the root is strong, the spirit is more secure, as it is nourished by the root. As it is nourished, it can open safely and show it's full beauty. Let your sensitivity and acceptance open with it. Like a tree, adopt an attitude of non-judgement. When you have got this far, you can approach trees at thier own level' - Peter Aziz

I needed the nourishment, that's for sure, and so a whittlin' and a walkin' I went, meditating with child in tow, explaining to him what I was doing. 'It's just thinking', I said to the four year old who was uprooted from all he knew too. 'And working out problems by listening'. It took us weeks. The birch was about letting go, and we wrote messages on birch bark and watched them drift under stone bridges. The rowan was about protection, and we spoke of dragons and serpent under this one, for four year old boys love dragons and are happy to fight them with wooden swords. Willows by the water were about being in touch with our unconscious thoughts, and under them we spoke of dreams. I used the whip of the willow branches to speak to him about flexibility and that even when things seem sad or broken, new life can come, for when you plant a willow twig, a new tree will form. And so it went - ash and elder, hawthorn and holly, the delightful whimsical humour of an apple under which we got lost in laughing loops. 'You're right, Mum', he said 'apples are funny trees!'. We loved the apple - both ruled by Venus, it seemed appropriate we often picnicked under the wild apple trees that too had Venus as their ruler.

But still, the lone blackthorn stood atop the hill, and I drew big circles around it, in awe and a kind of fear of it's magic. That one I'd leave til last.

The Blackthorn was associated with dark superstitions, otherworldly and sinister, dark winters known as 'blackthorn winters' and even it's ogham letter 'straif' became eventually the modern 'strife'. Associated with death, were seen as ill-omen, and to draw the ogham stick meant you'd be in for a tough time. Blackthorn is associated with death quite frequently, and thus is often feared, because we too fear death.

To-night I saw the sun set,—he set and left behind

The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind;

And the new-year ’s coming up, mother; but I shall never see

The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.

- From the May Queen, Alfred Lord Tennyson

Witches were said to be burnt on blackthorn pyres. It's thorns can represent our negative attitudes, 'sharp and dangerous to our spirit and to those around us', Kindred had written. And thus I read no further, feeling rather trepidatious about that lone tree and it's darkness and spikes. In everything I had read about blackthorn, I had sensed an underworld that I was not quite prepared to enter.

And so winter came, and the depression settled on me, and I tried to hide it - when relationship are young, you do not want to reveal your darkness parts. And the old crone hag of Winter seemed to walk with me:

What’s all this merriment and cheer?
Is it not winter that you fear?
I am the old veiled one of the wood,
And my appearance shall do you no good.
My realm is cold, dead, and dark.
The ground is barren and the trees are stark.
My fierce white hounds, with eyes of red
Howl through the night, a paean to the dead.

I strike my blackthorn upon the ground!
Now nothing green or living shall be found.
I am the Cailleach Bheur, and now is my reign.
I shall not leave you until next Beltaine.
- Song of the Cailleach Bheur

Drawing on the goddesses of the British Isles to mark my path I mused on the legend of Cailleach gathering her firewood for the long winter ahead. And still, the blackthorn on the hill, staring at me as I walk past, giving it a nod, shyly at first and then more definite as the winter grew. Did I pass into the underworld, because of that tree, or was I already in it, and it recognised me? It felt portentuous, ominous. The only time I'd approach is when the dog went chasing up after a rabbit and I'd gone after it, forgetting the blackthorn in my haste and not wanting her to go into the neighbouring field after sheep. I'd returned bleeding, scratched by thorns, a reminder to keep clear.

Yet the thorn, in the way of dualities, was also a purifying needle, releasing the bloodied dark thoughts into open wounds which could then be allowed to scar over whitely. All that I'd left behind in Australia had to be left behind - there was no point dwelling. I walked up that hill on a cold day towards the end of winter and sat with the darkness for some time, riding those black energies as they flew skyward and dissipated:

Blackthorn is used for purification, as well as protection, ridding the atmosphere of negative energy. It deals the issues on a Karmic level, which cannot be avoided. Meditating on Blackthorn can purify our minds of negative thoughts and impulses at the deepest level of our psyche. It can aid us in combating fear, depression and anger. The thorns of the Blackthorn can be imagined to lance the built up abscess of negative thoughts, and release the emotional toxins, which can then begin to heal.33 Using the gentler sister tree, Hawthorn, in conjunction with Blackthorn, can aid the process of healing - Glennie Kindred 'The Sacred Tree' pp46

On returning that day, at the end of winter, I felt lighter. I returned to the truck to find my man ebullient - he'd found us a much better place to park up, with a group of other travellers we'd been trying to find for some time. It was a relief to get out of that place and it's dark energies, but I couldn't ignore the blessing of it either - I'd grappled with some stuff I'd needed to grapple with, and I'd emerged all the stronger for it.

There was sweet poetry in the move, as attuned to the trees as I was after a winter of meditating on them. Our new place was parked right by a hawthorn tree - the sister tree to the blackthorn, the tree of new beginnings, of fertility and new life, of heart openings and love, good and positive energy. At night I'd go and pee under the hawthorn tree and stare at the stars, and for weeks carried a blackthorn stick in one pocket, a hawthorn in the other, and be reminded that there was dark and light in all things, and all things made up the magic of this new life that I'd thrust myself into.

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In the coming years we'd happily pick sloe from the hedgerows, and I no longer feared it. My man would purge with the berries, believing it good for him, given the drug and alcohol use we were both coming out of in those days.

A pound of sloes, pricked with a pin
8 oz sugar
A bottle of gin

Take liberal swigs of gin from the bottle and then pour into a large sterilised jar with the sugar and sloe. Leave in a dark cupboard to gather magic, shaking when you think of it. After two months or more, strain through cloth into a pretty bottle, and just try not drinking it for at least an hour, and see how you go.

It has been years since I've had sloe gin as I can't find them here. My man is back in Somerset at the moment, and I've messaged him to bring me back a bottle. If he doesn't, I'll send him right back.

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This piece was written in response to the Natural Medicine challenge which asks 'What does 'witch' mean to you?'. You can find the challenge and the first week round up curation here - there is 20 Steem worth of prizes and engagement to be had with the @naturalmedicine crew - join us on Discord, if you'd like. Entries accepted til Dec 21st!

I thought long and hard about what witches mean to me, and it kept returning to a deep listening to the earth and the plants and herbs that the woman of old must have kept close in order to get them through ill health, disease and hard times. It's an earth based spirituality that has its roots in paganism - a quiet practice and one deeply connected to landscape. Whilst I had planned to do a deep dive into witch trials and a feminist reading of the witch in history, once someone mentioned 'sloe gin' to me I was taken on this path instead, where I was a witch of sorts, communing with tree spirits and revering the wildness both within and without.

What does 'witch' mean to you?

Have you made sloe gin?

What tree lore do you know?

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