Monster. Mother. Helper.
She gathers lavender and thyme, hangs them in bundles in her windows. She wears shredded black silk or neat houndstooth suits or jeans with quiet confidence and a wicked smile. She lives on the margins, in cottages at the forest’s edge, in tiny apartments papered with Morris vines. She beguiles, she enchants, and she makes your life pulse and sparkle when you need her most.
The witch is a polarizing figure, inspiring fear, fascination, and curiosity with the invocation of her name. At the heart of these responses is the simple recognition of her power: she represents freedom from everyday rules and knowledge of the forbidden. She is loved and hated, a shadowy presence on the margins of society, and yet she also possesses the ability to hold communities together, to speak to those of us who long for something more.
She is, quite simply, magic, powerful and strange.
And she is at home in Carterhaugh.
For us, real magic – gritty, sink-your-teeth-into-it, beautiful magic – is in story, is in art, is in folklore. It’s in an ancient charm for protection against storms, and in the crafting of a poem that captures that power. It’s in the garden you keep, in the silver on your fingers, in the fairy tales and legends you still remember, and tell again and again, because you need to. Witches know this, and they dance through your garden and through your tales, telling you with their footsteps and songs what you need to know.
But how do we learn to hear them, understand them, or even become them? How do we find enchantment? How do we find our way to the margins of story and back again to the center of our (everyday) (magical) lives?
Let's find out together.