After the last tomato has been canned, the last herb has been dried, the last deer has been hunted, and the last jack o lantern dragged to the dump, we northern witches have a moment to put up our feet before the frantic joy of Yule magic consumes us. As the days shorten and the snow flies, we always manage to have your favorite tea on the counter, because we knew you were dropping by before you did. Sit in front of the fire for a while with us.
Grandma’s bread recipe has a permanent place of honor on the refrigerator door, anchoring the blank canvas that serves as the face of our modern crutch to use fresh ingredients. Quietly, we think about how we defeated septoria in the tomato patch, successfully begged a terrifying lightning storm not to strike our home, or made the world’s best pasta salad for a cousin’s cookout. For us, to practice witchcraft, the way of the wise, is to learn from our failings and build knowledge from it. No witch brags about how they learned how to make the perfect dish, but if you ask them, they will tell you the side splittingly hilarious time the gingerbread men had all the taste and durability of a cedar shingle, or the time the dog ran off with the roast beef.
I want to share a little of that magick with you. The cauldron I stir is a stainless steel stock pot, the flame I stoke is a pristine white enamel gas stove. Join me as I take you for a walk through the witch’s kitchen and garden, beginning with plans for the Yule season. If you’re lucky, I’ll get out a bottle of blackberry mead and share it with you while we wash dishes, and maybe even tell you the secret ingredients that keep people coming back to the table for more.