Harvesting with Mom

My Grandmother died September 29, 2000. After 15 years of secretly practicing, quietly reading and studying, I attended my first public ritual in January 2001.

Mom was pissed.

She didn't talk to me for a couple of weeks.

Over the years Mom has become more accepting, to the point of celebrating Yule, specifically for me. It works out perfectly because I avoid family gatherings like the Wicked Witch avoids water.

Mom has made a concerted effort to channel her witchy ways into New Age philosophies. That is until she met her new friend.

Mom made the mistake (or misstep) of telling her new friend that her mother was a witch and her daughter is a witch. That is how we ended up in Psychic Eye on Ventura Blvd yesterday afternoon.

As we entered the shop, Mom says to me, "The spell isn't working, we need another candle." My purpose for visiting the book store for Handfasting books was immediately over ridden by my mother's new intentions. She had brought me here to tweak the spell she had been working.

Well, not 'working'. More like 'directing'. Mom and her friend use me to sound off their spell ideas. I probably should note for posterity that I do this under duress. When you have a Witch for a Mother, a Grandmother and a Sister, saying no to spell working of any kind is never permitted. We were raised ….. differently. We couldn't start a spell unless there was a very good reason, and only after long months of meditation and reflection, only then would we be allowed to consider "directing" the actions of our Querant. Being in this store, not to mention in the store together, was something Gran would highly disapprove of. As far as Gran was concerned, there was never enough meditation and reflection prior to spell working.

I started walking around the store looking at all the items. Mom gave me some details about the spell "not working". I started back tracking to 3 months ago when she first started the spell and the path she and her friend had followed to this point.  I walked past a table of books and my hand knocked one to the floor, cover side down. I picked it up and discovered the Hand-fasting book I needed. I turned to Mom and she looked at me with surprise in her eyes. "I have to find the ladies room," she said. "You get your things and when I get back we can finish the spell."

I had two very important intentions fighting for first position in my mind. Lady Sankofa's wedding in 15 days, which I was witnessing and acting as Maid of Honor, and Mom's spell. When the book hit the floor and Mom saw the title, she realized I was going to have a hard time working both intentions at once. I wandered around the store, looking, touching, reading, thinking.

I started a collection of items at the front counter, leaving my hands free to examine anything I might need. I placed one last item on the counter and saw that all the Hand-fasting/Lady Sankofa business was complete.

A note on the set up of Psychic Eye: The layout of inventory has lost all semblance of logic for a Witch. Spell working items are separated by full spans of the store. Parchment and Ink are on one side, oils and herbs on the other and candles tucked away far in the back. Clearly, a Witch had to have firm intentions to gather the appropriate materials. I'd like to believe the shop is facilitating the art of "harvesting" but we all know this is fallacy.

As I walked around the store, I realized that as the candle waned, so did the efficacy of the spell – for whatever reason. About 2 weeks prior to this day, I had the funky feeling that Mom's new friend had some very advanced training in Witchcraft. Everytime she changed the configuration of her altar, I felt it. My reasoning for this was because of Mom. I decided to "start over" by refreshing the spell ingredients – new candle, new parchment, new oil.

I had tracked down the ink and parchment and was searching the store for the magical oils when I found Mom fingering a beautiful Angel wind chime. "Ok, I have most of the stuff *** need's, let's talk about the spell." I tore Mom away from the Angels, and focused her attention on the Ostrich and Pheasant quills. "What are you doing?" Mom asked. "Foraging" I replied. "Pick a quill for her", I said.

Mom started asking what harvesting and foresting was. I told her we were City Witches, we forage in the shops because we don't have the convenience of a woods or mineral deposit in our back yard. I had a flashback to 11 years old and explaining my Algebra homework to Mom. As I said the words, I could feel Gran frowning above and behind my shoulders.

By now, we were standing in front of the herb jars. I got an oil for her friend to anoint the candle, and turned just as Mom was taking the Wormwood jar from the shelf. To my complete shock and surprise….. or is that shock and awe?

"What are you doing with that?" I asked.

"We need herbs to sprinkle on the candle," she replied.

"Oh?" my eyebrows have disappeared into my hairline. The back of my neck is set on fire as I feel Gran's fury rising.

"That's what the witches do when we go to see them," she says quietly. The look in her eyes tells me she considers them to be "Other" witches….. not like us … not like Gran.

I am frozen in place.

"What herbs do they use, and who are these witches?" I ask while examining a bundle of Sage.

"The store you sent us to!" Mom says incredulously. "You told us to get the supplies at a store and we meet at Pan Pipes."

"Meet?" I ask. "Mom that was months ago, how often are you meeting there?"

"I don't know….." she looks away and picks up another herb jar. I can't see the label but it was on the shelf above the Cornflower. Great….it was probably Belladonna. "… we meet there at least once a week."

The irony here is that Pan Pipes – the one from the early 90's – was a location I tried to get to so that I could attend ritual and "come out of the closet". My Grandmother was fiercely opposed to any of "the girls" letting on that they were, could be, or were ever thought of as witches. It was part of the family secret. We don't talk about what Granny brews in the tea pot, the only witches are from the Wizard of Oz and we all know what happened to her.

I am thinking about how pissed Gran would be if she knew Mom was going to the very store front Gran had intercepted, detoured and downright barred me from attending nearly 15 years earlier, when Mom decides to show me the witches and the herbs.

We are standing in the back of the store and on opposite sides of the room. Mom threw the images into the space between us. You have to understand that all of this happens in a matter of milliseconds, but the detail is vibrant. I recognize each of the witches from my previous trips to Pan Pipes, but Mom's friend is curiously absent. There is however, a rather obvious presence that is out beyond the line of vision. Familiar and very hostile.

Mom came around the shelf with all the candles. "You should be more careful," I said. "Don't worry," she said, "I leave when I feel them coming."

"You know it's herbs Gran told us to stay away from, do you remember?" I asked. Mom gave me a strange look, and she said no. "She didn't want me using oils," Mom said quietly. My mind started spinning. Gran kept me away from herbs and Mom away from oils. My sister was steered away from cards, and as Mom and I walked out the door with our purchases, I realized Gran was pushing her away from the Tarot.

We spoke briefly on what her friend needed to do, and what intentions Mom was helping her put into the candle. She gave me a hug and thanked me for helping her.

Mom drove away and I thought about how lucky we are. There are very few mothers and daughters who can forage in the city in this modern day. I'm beginning to feel more and more that Gran was wrong to hide witchcraft from us, especially since she was so well practiced herself.

I think about the "parties" Gran would put together for us in the Summer. The special Parties that took place on Special Days. Gran had me "set the table" with Special Dishes and Candles. Grampa would have me bring him his Special Smells from the tin can in the drawer of his desk. Gran created a new tradition for us – one that had no connection at all with Gardner's Wicca or Sander's Witchcraft. It was truly a Family Tradition, passed from one generation to the next for the last 450 years, across an ocean and traversing 2 continents.

There are times when I have to wonder if our Coven lost it's High Priest when my Grandfather died, and just never recovered from the blow. Naturally all things that would remind us of him were banished from our reality. Magic, witches, spells, candles and incense would surely have been relegated to the deepest pits of hell, simply because they were such a source of Family Joy. I also wonder if in my Grandmother's Family Tradition, the High Priest of the Family was responsible for dedications and initiations. My Grandfather was able to initiate me at age 11, 2 years earlier than my Mother and Aunt. My Sister was never initiated.

And so, it is Mom and I who forage for ingredients to assist our friends in special "prayers" to bring a new love or help find that job.