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The wren is a small, plump bird that has a distinctive way of holding its short tail upright. Even though wrens live in close proximity to us, they are most often heard but not seen. They sing trilling melodies in duets that tend to be very loud at dawn.
      From ancient times to medieval Europe and Britain, the wren was almost universally believed to have great magical power. One of its feathers was said to be powerful enough to be used as an amulet against magic spells and misfortune. According to an ancient tale attributed to the Greek writer Aesop, this clever little bird outwitted an eagle in a contest to become the king of birds. 
      The wren was an honored bird and it was considered unlucky to kill one… except between Yule and New Year’s Day or often January 6^th (Twelfth Night)—the dates provide a clue. In the British Isles and parts of France the custom was called The Hunting of the Wren, which eventually became centered on December 26th, St. Stephen’s Day.
      Although this tradition is often said to have come from Pagan practices, it seems odd that brutalizing such an esteemed bird would be cause for celebration. Reasons given for all the hoopla of hunting down wrens varies from ridding the world of evil forces because it carries a drop of the devil’s blood or because it was said to be a wicked fairy in disguise. In the early Christian times of Ireland, wrens were believed to be witches. This poor little bird was also blamed for betraying St. Stephen, thus causing his martyrdom.
      There is a theory that killing a wren at winter solstice could have been a proxy for human sacrifice to dark forces and bring back the sun, which could have gotten mixed up and mixed into evolving traditions. However, I can’t help thinking about how closely the wren was associated with the Druids. In fact, the Welsh word dryw means both “wren” and “druid.” And like the story of St. Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland—where they never existed—killing the wren was symbolic of ousting Pagan beliefs and practices. And doing it during the Yule revels that carried on until Twelfth Night was a fitting way to step on and stamp out old customs.
      The wren is a magical ally that brings strength, courage, and protection. It is an aid for opening the channels of communication for divination and is instrumental in connecting with spirits. It provides balance while awakening the power within. As a new Pagan custom, place a picture of a wren with a sprig of holly on your altar to honor this bird. 
      (Wren picture: The Avian Oracle, Crossed Crow Books.)

The first snow of the season is magical the way it transforms the world. Bare trees suddenly wear a soft white mantle that sparkles in the light. Empty gardens and city parks are transformed into an enchanted fairyland. As snow covers the ground new shapes seem to emerge — is that a gnome I see beside the bench?
     But this is just a prelude to the arrival of the Cailleach. In Scotland, she is Cailleach Bheur the crone goddess and personified spirit of winter who brings the snow and storms. She heralds the fierceness of the season, the howling winds and drifts of snow. Winter will turn from gentle to harsh, and yet, the deep-frozen landscape has a stark beauty all its own. 
     Call to the Cailleach and she will be there to guide you through the season. Listen for her voice in the wind. Her message of winter: Face into the storm, see what is coming, and know that you can hold your own against anything.
     When the snow falls and the wind rises, light a white candle in her honor. Close your eyes and feel the special magic that can be gained through winter’s lesson.

Even though the days are growing shorter and winter is on the way, autumn is the favorite season for many of us. Mornings are brisk and the air smells different. Autumn is a time of change. We change our routines and we change over our wardrobes to clothes that make us feel cozy. But, of course, it’s the colorful leaves that make the season and highlights this special betwixt and between time of year.
      From the time they burst forth in the spring until the wind whisks them away, leaves enfold the world with an aerial enchantment that is amplified in autumn. On cloudy days the bright yellow and orange leaves seem to glow with an inner incandescence. A gentle breeze lets them drift to the ground and then stirs them into small piles under shrubs or into corners of buildings. When I was growing up, raking leaves was a family affair. Working together, we created large mounds that were soon scattered as we ran and jumped into them like we were cannonballing into a swimming pool. Even though the decades have curtailed my jumping into them, I still love plowing through an almost knee-deep layer, kicking up a flurry of leaves as I go. It’s a simple joy that I will never outgrow, perhaps because it connects me with the season in a joyful way.
      Magically, leaves personify energy and growth in the spring when everything is bursting forth and new. Leaves give our magic and personal endeavors an encouraging boost. Providing protection and concealment, leaves can be used in spells for these attributes, as well. But it’s in the autumn, when leaves give us another look at their beauty and another attribute to consider. When trees let go of their leaves, it’s a sign that it may be a good time for us to let go of things that may be holding us back or weighing us down. Perhaps that’s why autumn feels so uplifting. Just let go and trust in the joyful magic that surrounds you.

On sunny afternoons a mild breeze whispers a faint reminder of summer, but the leaves are changing color and nighttime is coming earlier. As the darkness grows and the season changes, it’s almost time to tuck your garden in for the winter—a mundane and sacred act. 
      When frost starts nipping at your plants, cut back perennials that require it in the autumn, remove annuals, and turn over the soil where they grew. Set aside one small branch for ritual. Also, plant any flower bulbs or garlic for the spring. As you do this, honor Mother Earth. Think of how your garden looked in the summer and thank her for the bounty and beauty she provided. Use a stick to draw runes, ogham, or other symbols in the soil or simply write a message such as “thank you” or “blessed be.” Also thank all the creatures that may have called your garden home such as toads, salamanders, snakes, and spiders, as well as birds. Also thank the pollinators that visited, and don’t forget faeries, elves, and other magical beings.
      Autumn leaves are timed perfectly for use as a protective winter mulch around the base of biennials and perennials. Mulching will also prevent erosion from rain and snow melt. Include a few crystals, seashells, or rocks that you collected over the summer amongst the plants as you tuck them in. 
      When all is finished, walk through the garden and speak the name of each plant. Take a bowl of fresh spring water and using the branch you set aside, dip it into the water and then sprinkle it around the garden as you say:

“With rain and sun this garden was blessed,
And now it’s time for slumber and rest.
I bid you fond farewell until the spring,
And dream of the beauty you will once more bring.
As above, so below,
May this garden forever grow.”

As if to defy the waning season, summer sometimes places a crown across the tops of plants in fields and meadows. Rising like the pointed palisades on the rim of a royal diadem, the wild cucumber vine (Echinocystis lobata) lifts its six-inch flower spikes toward the sky. Clusters of small white, star-shaped flowers give the plant a fluffy appearance by day, but in the moonlight, it looks like a great feathered serpent stretching across the landscape. The shape of the bright green leaves is reminiscent of ivy and, like a grape vine, wild cucumber has curling tendrils that help it climb over everything in its path or drape like a festive garland. 
      Its various folk names refer to the fruit: balsam apple, prickly cucumber, and cactus balls. Resembling something from a Dr. Seuss book, the small spherical to oblong fruit is covered in long, thin spines. It’s not surprising that the plant’s genus name was derived from the Latin echinus, meaning “hedgehog.” Although it is related to the garden cucumber, it is not edible—even sans the spines—and while not lethal, it has a bitter taste and unpleasant side effects. 
      That said, the tuberous roots have been used medicinally by the Cherokee, Menominee, and Ojibwa peoples for several ailments and even added to love potions. The Oglala used the seeds for beads. As the fruit decays, it leaves behind a brown, papery network of fibers that have been incorporated into jewelry in Europe. Native to North America, wild cucumber was introduced into Europe in the late nineteenth century as an ornamental to decorate arbors and fences. Like many other plants, it escaped the garden and made itself at home throughout Europe and as far east as central Russia. 
      Magically, the flowers can be included in love spells as can the vine, which also works well in handfasting ceremonies. Although small, the spiny fruit is symbolically protective and can be used to ward off any form of negativity. In addition, the vine can be wound into a circle and hung as a protective wreath on a door.

Even though the daylight hours are slowly waning, the days still seem long as we drift toward autumn. The Gaelic festival of Lughnasadh, also known as Lammas in England, marks the first of the major grain harvests and is a celebration of summer and abundance. The name Lammas comes from the Anglo-Saxon term hlafmass, meaning “loaf-mass,” an event involving the first loaves of bread made from fresh-cut grain.
      Gathering bilberries (Vaccinium myrtillus) on August 1st was a traditional part of the festivities in Ireland. Also known as whortleberries and heath berries, bilberry is easily mistaken for its close cousin blueberry (V. angustifolium). Bilberries are usually darker blue, almost purple when ripe, and smaller than blueberries.
      The places where bilberries, blackberries (Rubus spp.), and other types of berries grow are generally regarded as liminal thresholds where chance meetings with faeries can occur. According to legend, suddenly hearing music while picking berries often leads to an encounter with the fae.
      As a prelude to lighting the Lughnasadh bonfire in Ireland, it was customary to pick bilberries. At the well-known faery hill of Knockfierna (Cnoc Fírinne) in the center of County Limerick, bilberries and flowers were picked on the gentle, craggy slopes and placed on the circular cairn (pile of stones) at the summit of the hill. According to legend, the hill was the home of Donn Fírinne and the cairn, his burial site. Donn Fírinne was one of the Tuatha Dé Danann and a faery king of Limerick (although some sources note him only as a prince).
      You can carry on the Lughnasadh tradition by including bilberries or blueberries in your celebration. Scatter a few berries or place a handful of them with a basket of flowers on your altar. Don’t be surprised if a faery or two join you. Since Lughnasadh is a celebration of the grain harvest and Lammas Loaf (a braided or twisted bread) is usually included in ritual, enjoy it with some bilberry jam.
      Associated with luck and manifestation, include bilberries or blueberries in spells for prosperity and success as well as love and healing. These berries are also an aid for dream work.
      Although not associated with Lughnasadh, a special treat in Scotland was made by mixing bilberry jam with whisky. Often growing amongst the heather, wine was made with bilberries and the flowers of bell heather (Erica cinerea).

The Interrupted Fern (Osmunda claytoniana) is a bit unusual as most ferns go. The first time I saw a row of them at the edge of the meadow, from a distance I thought they looked like a line of aliens coming out of the woods. On closer inspection, I saw that they were very weird, indeed.
      As it matures, this fern develops into a vase shape that reaches three to four feet tall and has fertile and sterile fronds. In the early spring, the upright fertile fronds appear first with a section near the top of the plant with brown spore-producing leaflets. After releasing the spores, these leaflets fall away leaving a gap along the stem. The sterile fronds sprout up around the fertile fronds and create the plant’s graceful shape.
      As usual, I wanted to find out more about this plant I’d never seen before. The species name honors Virginia botanist John Clayton (1694 – 1773) — standard stuff — but the genus proved to be far more interesting and a little obscure. Osmunda is in the Osmundaceae botanical family, which is also known as the Royal Fern family. It was so named because the fertile leaflets, which usually appear at the top of the fronds gives the plant the appearance of wearing a crown. Except for the species in my field, which is interrupted and not crowned.
      The origin of the genus name is not certain, but it is said to honor someone called Osmund, Osmundus, or Asmund. One story associated with it comes from Saxon mythology and is about Osmund the Waterman of Loch Fyne on the west coast of Scotland. According to the legend, he hid his wife and daughter on a small island covered with these ferns to keep them safe during a Viking raid. His daughter is said to have named the fern after him.
      Although Saint Osmund of Salisbury and the Swedish archbishop of Skara, Osmundus, are often cited as potential name sources, so too is Åsmund Kåresson. The names Osmund, Osmundus, Asmund or Åsmund have a Norse/Germanic/Icelandic origin and are composed of the word Os or Ás meaning “god” and mund, “protection.” In terms of the runes, these meanings are found in the Younger Futhark symbol As, and the Anglo-Saxon Os, which are versions of the Elder Futhark Ansuz. This brings us full circle back to Åsmund Kåresson who was the earliest known rune carver in the province of Uppland, Sweden. The eleventh-century Ängby Stone is attributed to him.
      Magically, like most ferns the Interrupted Fern is associated with protection, defense, and security. Allied with the runic interpretation of Osmund, it may suggest special protection from deities. This plant’s energy is an aid for runic study and readings. In spending some time with this fern, I concluded that its interrupted feature carries a message. Life will always throw curveballs that knock us off course and there are times when we need to put things on hold. Life interrupted. However, sometimes they can provide a meaningful break, an interlude and chance to reassess things. Don’t be frustrated by an interruption, instead, find out what it means.