Mugwort and Wormwood at the Hearth
The light leaves early now, and the rain has come back to stay. It beads on the cedar boughs and stains the bark of the firs, and the wood smells of leaf mould, cold earth, and woodsmoke drifting up from somewhere beyond the shadowed tree line. The bigleaf maples let go of their gold, and the leaves lie wide as platters on the path, gleaming and slick, as though the forest had laid a table for a guest who never came. Moss thickens on every stump and stone, and the sword ferns bow low beneath the drip. I go out with my basket for the grey herbs, the ones that keep their scent long after the garden has given up its own.
Mugwort grows where the ground has been left alone... along verges, at field edges, in forgotten corners, rooted in soil gone black and yielding. Its leaves are dark green above and silver-white beneath, so that the wind turns the whole stand pale, like a hand passing over a sleeper’s face. It flowers from August into October, which means there is still time. Herbalists gather the leaves before the plant blooms and the flowering tops once it has.
Wormwood is the sharper cousin. Silky silver hair covers every leaf, yellow flowers open from midsummer into autumn, and the scent is resinous and fierce enough to cut through the heavy smell of the soaked ground. It dries readily and holds its fragrance, which is why it is welcome indoors when the garden is not.
The Eldest of Herbs
Mugwort was once called the mother of herbs. The Anglo-Saxons set it first in the Nine Herbs Charm, copied down in the tenth century in the Lacnunga, their book of remedies. The charm calls it the eldest of worts and sets the nine herbs against venom and against the things that fly. Its Old English name, mucgwyrt, may mean midge-herb, which I will speak about in a moment.
What the Hearth Asks of Them
Shut the door against the weather and the gloaming... the house becomes its own warm hollow, with the grey herbs as its wardens. For centuries, mugwort garlands hung over doors to turn away evil spirits, and consecrated bundles of herbs hung in the rafters. Wormwood stood the same watch. In the fourteenth century, a sprig on the front door was said to guard against sorcery and the evil eye. A bundle drying by the hearth in October is in very old company, while the rain taps against the glass and the wind worries at the eaves.
They guard the cupboards too. Wormwood has long been used to drive bugs from stored clothing, and mugwort to ward off moths, a habit that makes sense to anyone who winters fleece, yarn, and finished wool... thus we harken back to "midge-herb."
Mugwort goes to the fire as well. In stables it was burned as incense to protect the animals from disease, and folk tradition sets the dried herb alight for divination and dream-work. The bundles I tie and dry for the fire carry that custom into the house.
Then there is the cup. Before hops arrived in the 1400s, mugwort flavoured ale, and in Tudor England a drink called purl joined hot ale with wormwood. Mugwort tea carries a reputation for vivid dreams, and tradition tucks the herb into pillows. That remains tradition, as no controlled study has measured it. When the day has dragged and the damp has settled into your bones, a mugwort foot bath makes a kind ending, and an old one, since Roman soldiers are said to have put the leaves in their sandals on long marches.
The Bitter Lore
Wormwood wears its nature in its name. The Greek absinthion means undrinkable, and the Book of Revelation gives the name Wormwood to a star that falls and turns the waters bitter. Folklore says the plant sprang up in the serpent’s footprints as it left the Garden. In Russian tradition, a sprig carried through the woods protects the traveller from the rusalki (a female spirit or water nymph), who are armed with iron hooks.
I think of that when the evening air comes up through the trees and fog lies low over the water. I walk then with rain on my hood and moss soft underfoot, where the Landvættir keep the land and I go as a guest.
A Word of Care
Both herbs contain *thujone, and both deserve respect. Mugwort should be avoided in pregnancy, as it may stimulate the uterus, and wormwood is not recommended either. Anyone allergic to ragweed or the wider daisy family should avoid mugwort. Wormwood is so potent that modern use stays to very small amounts. When in doubt, ask a qualified herbalist professional before drinking either.
* Thujone (THOO-jone) acts as a neurotoxin by blocking GABAₐ receptors in the central nervous system, which at high doses can cause nerve cells to fire uncontrollably and trigger muscle spasms or seizures.
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