I love building lifelong connections with plants, in part because they offer me a pathway to experience joy and connection in unexpected places.
Mugwort (artemisia vulgaris) is used in Asia and Europe for both practical and magical purposes, and one thing that brings me a lot of joy about it is that I’m always learning new things about them. It’s like spending time with a friend you’ve had since childhood, and them suddenly revealing that they have a whole skill set or identity you knew nothing about. It offers you a chance to learn about, and fall in love with, them all over again.
Recently, I watched the documentary The Last of the Sea Women, about Haenyeo, women divers off Jeju Island in South Korea. The documentary itself is a compelling watch, and taught me about one aspect of the world I knew nothing about. But as I watched I also caught a few glimpses of an old friend: Mugwort.
The divers put sprigs of fresh Mugwort in their masks before going into the water, though the documentary doesn’t touch on why, and mugwort’s appearance is fleeting at best. I was curious and, knowing mugwort’s long history as a protective charm, wondered if that might be part of it, but the reason is much more pragmatic: Divers rub Ssuk (Mugwort) on the insides of their masks before going in the water, which coats the mask and prevents it from fogging.
The on-screen Mugwort encounter drew my mind back across our long friendship. 15 years ago, appearing in a dream, then later in life, offering me lessons and a chance to connect to ancestral places and to myself in ways I otherwise could not.
Popping up in small places, between the cracks of the sidewalk just in one part of my garden, almost as a protective barrier between my home and the rest of the world. In my garden itself, Mugwort lives in one small area, without me even trying to contain or control their spread. Save for one single plant, which lives under my bedroom window. Like a protective sentinel there to guard my dreams (Mugwort, for those who’ve worked with the plant before, is often worked with for dreaming).
Mugwort is often in the corners of my awareness when moving through my days in this way. Both practical and magical, Mugwort flavors my food and drinks and the tincture supports my moon cycles and my dreams. In Ireland, I often wear a necklace my mom gave me with a piece of dried Mugwort from my Atlanta garden tucked inside.
The latter leads me to my most recent Mugwort encounter, via the Moxa sticks used by my acupuncturist, on a day recently when I needed a lot of support and care. When I stepped into her studio in Cork, she burned the bundle of dried mugwort I made and brought to her the first time we met, a full circle moment of collective and individual care.
I work with Mugwort often and, no surprise, Mugwort ends up as a regular player in some of my newsletter writing + recipes. If you want to dive down into this particular rabbit hole, here are the newsletter issues that talk about Mugwort:
Medicinal and healing vinegars (also here)
fermentation and magic/spellcraft
the history + modern collaborative practice of mead making
Flowerkraut, tea krauts, and color-changing kraut
In this recipe for wound healing salve
These bitters inspired by Stephen Crane’s poem, In The Desert
My experience cooking with synesthesia
If you want to learn more about Mugwort, I highly recommend joining Herbaria, an online herbal community run by herbalist Sarah Bobodzhanov-Corbett who wrote a well-researched and comprehensive guide to Mugwort (among many other plants).
I also appreciate that she asks us English-speaking herbalists to look beyond Western herbalism: I learn so much from her!
You can join Herbaria here, if you feel so called (you can also watch the recording of my class on place-based fermentation with Sarah here).
Edited to add:
Occasionally, there’s discourse on social media about Mugwort being dangerous. Yesterday, another round of mugwort fear mongering reared its head online, and is a reminder that our relationships to plants is and should be nuanced and personal.
Mugwort is safe for many people but not everyone (e.g. folks who are pregnant and nursing). While Mugwort contains thujone, it would need to be ingested in pretty high levels to have an effect. As always, trust your own senses and body, ask your medical care team questions, and use common sense. But there’s no need to be afraid of Mugwort, who’s been safely worked with, particularly in Asia and in some parts of Europe, for millennia. If you’re worried, just work with Mugwort externally (e.g. in salves or smoke cleansing sticks).
One thing I loved about yesterday’s rounds of discussion were how many people jumped to Mugwort’s defense, and how many people shared their own nuanced relationships to the plant. One that stuck out to me was a Japanese woman who learned to eat Mugwort in Spring and make external preparations in Fall, when the thujone levels in the leaves are higher (I can’t seem to find her post now, if you do, please let me know so I can add it in here). There’s a beauty and intuitive connection evident across many people’s relationships with Mugwort. It’s a reminder to me that our relationships to plants are deeply personal, but many people often develop similar affinities with specific plants.