Celery with Attitude
June 7, 2026 • No Comments
‘Tis the season of rhubarb. That means rhubarb pies, jams, crisps, and all kinds of baked goods until, for those of us that grow it, we’re tossing bagsful into the freezer because we can’t face one more mouth-puckering stalk.
Some call it celery with attitude. It is insanely resilient once established, barely needing humans to do more than turn the hose on it once in a while. Where entire settlements have vanished, patches of garden rhubarb have gone wild, providing archaeologists with reliable clues where to start looking for signs of forgotten habitations. More than one Gold Rush ghost town in the Pacific Northwest can be identified via a trail of the plants. When humanity ends, it will still be thrusting its plate-sized leaves into the apocalyptic light.
It’s been used for medicinal purposes since time immemorial, starting in China and traveling the Silk Road to eastern Europe, where it rapidly marched westward all the way to North America. The only limitation on its spread is that it likes cool winters, so it’s most prolific in the north. It is still used medicinally for digestive issues, essentially as a purgative (note: the leaves contain oxalic acid, which can be poisonous, so only the stalks are used). It also makes frequent appearances in “spring tonic” recipes as it’s one of the first fresh vegetables (yes, it’s a vegetable) to show up after the snow melts. It’s high in Vitamin K, C, and calcium.
Sometimes called the pie plant, it frequently co-stars in the kitchen with strawberries. I like it with ginger. In any event, rhubarb wasn’t regarded as a culinary option until the advent of the sugar trade in the eighteenth century, when there was sufficient sweetness available to balance out its acid personality.
Paradoxically, rhubarb is associated with the goddess of love, Venus, and her son Cupid, presumably because it’s a Valentine-y red. Or maybe the link is the sharp sting of arrows? In other folklore, it features in cleansing spells, for getting rid of whatever has outlived its usefulness. That, at least, makes sense to me. Rhubarb is all about the pleasant pucker that chases away any other lingering flavors.
Here is a recipe that makes the most of rhubarb’s tartness.
Strawberry Rhubarb Muffins
Yields 1 dozen
Sift dry ingredients:
2 cups of flour*
1 tsp baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup of brown sugar (packed)
½ teaspoon cinnamon
*The type of flour is flexible. 1 for 1 gluten free, half white/half whole wheat, or spelt all work
Whisk together:
2 eggs
½ cup melted butter
½ cup kefir or buttermilk
Tablespoon lemon juice
Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and pour in wet mixture. Mix lightly and fold in:
½ cup chopped strawberries
½ cup chopped rhubarb
Divide into greased muffin tins and bake for 20 minutes
Enjoy!
Come to the Arcadian Delights
April 26, 2026 • No Comments
Spending a night on the tiles is an old reference to cats prowling the neighborhood roofs and getting up to no good. When a human
spends a night on the tiles, we don’t think of them as literally prancing from rooftop to rooftop, unless one lives in the Hellion House universe. There, anything can and probably does happen, sometimes with unexpected consequences.
In the walled city of Londria, space is limited and wandering beyond the city gates is likely to get one eaten by monsters. Rooftop gardens connected by aqueducts that supply the domestic needs of many citizens. In turn, the aqueducts supply the needs of characters in need of high stakes acrobatics, but more on that later.
Gardens can be for more than food production. There are those dedicated to medicines (and poisons), those that cultivate the rare and the beautiful, and there is plenty of historical precedent for pleasure gardens.
Readers of historical romance will know all about Vauxhall Gardens, which was established before the Restoration and reached its commercial peak in the late 1700s and early 1800s. It offered music, entertainment, food, and endless rambling pathways where one could see and be seen in the latest fashions. There was a whiff of scandal, too, as it was the perfect setting for secret assignations amongst the shrubberies, especially since it was famed for its nighttime displays.
Londria has its own version of Vauxhall, the Arcadian Delights. As an outdoor entertainment, it has many of the same features, with the added hazard that those shrubberies end in a very long drop to the pavement below. This adds a soupcon of excitement to any heated disputes that arise between rivals, not to mention a cautionary tale for those who like their wine a little too much.
Naturally, without hundreds of acres to work with, the architects of Londria’s garden had to get creative. It spreads over numerous rooftops in the prime shopping districts, spanned by ornamental foot bridges. The irregular rooftop levels are thoughtfully harnessed into the design, providing a platform for aerial acrobats, exotic aviaries, and artfully framed spreads of flowering trees. Platforms of ornamental ironwork are worked with jewel-like lights, the better to enjoy night vistas of the city.
Of course, gardeners can’t just replicate a regular garden. This is essentially container gardening on a grand scale. And, although most species could flourish many stories up, not all pollinators fly so high. Nature has adapted for such issues before—magnolias have existed longer than bees and butterflies and developed thick petals to accommodate beetles as their primary pollinator. However, given a much shorter historical timeline, species adaptable to heights are selected. The gardeners keep bees and bats as well as vivariums for the butterflies, thus establishing an entire ecosystem far above street level.
Given the views, and the safety of the rooftops, the Arcadian Delights are particularly popular at night. Besides the entertainment and lighting displays, night blooming plants are on display—moonflower vines, night phlox, and a variety of succulents brought by airship from far-off lands.
It might seem odd to think of such an extravagant pleasure garden in a city constantly battling for survival. And yet, there are those who always put their own enjoyment first, and ensure that they are seen doing it. Historically, such places were made by and for kings—think of the Sun King and Versailles. For all their loveliness, ornamental gardens have a meaning beyond beauty. Their very existence is a symbol of ascendancy, of creating a playground for those who can afford power.
And where there is power there is implicit danger for the unwary. Not just anyone takes the steam-powered lift to reach the Arcadian Delights. There are gatekeepers, and there are rules one is wise to obey. Putting a foot wrong could mean a long and literally fatal fall from grace.
A Witch’s Garden
May 24, 2025 • No Comments
This is one of those topics that comes with caveats because, I am sure, a witch’s garden is whatever the witch wants it to be. Gardens are reflective of their caretaker’s personalities and therefore as unique as each individual and purpose. And, as with a witch’s cat, a witch’s garden (any garden, really) will have its own agenda.
The Basics
That said, there will be guiding principles. In traditional folklore, witches lived in an agrarian setting, either as part of a community or adjacent to it. It stands to reason that, whatever else the witch was up to, they most likely planted a kitchen garden: herbs, vegetables and, if they were fortunate, a few fruit trees. There were likely some pretty flowers to attract pollinators and ensure a fruitful harvest.
Does that sound disappointingly mundane? It shouldn’t. Just because plants are well-known to us, don’t assume they are without enchantment. Apples have long association with myth and magic—from Snow White to Avalon, they are the go-to item in the fairy tale produce aisle. Helen of Troy might have been the face that launched a thousand ships, but it was the prize of a golden apple that started it all.
Sadly, I’m short of heroic legends featuring kale.
Medicinal Gardens
It’s fairly well-established that historically witches tended to be older single women with opinions and, more notably, land and fortunes the male elders felt would be better off in other hands. Say, their hands. As part of the property transfer process, these troublesome females were accused of concocting poisons, curses, and spells. Noxious herbs were prominently featured.
A knowledge of healing herbs was part of any housewife’s toolkit. They would be grown or gathered in season and preserved for future uses. What those herbs were varied depending on local practice, but a few are easily identified. Eyebright, for instance, is easy to use for making an eyewash effective for seasonal allergies. Heart’s ease, also known as wild pansy, has been used since the Middle Ages for cardiovascular and autoimmune issues. These plants were used so widely they were named for their healing properties.
Danger Gardens
What can cure, can kill. Plants are at the front of this line. An easy example is digitalis, or foxglove. While it’s the basis of an effective medication, it features in dozens of mystery novels as the heart-attack-inducing herbal slipped into a victim’s tea. Similarly, the right kind of eucalyptus infused in honey is a great cough syrup. The wrong kind is only good for koala bears. Even common culinary herbs, like thyme, can have adverse health effects in the wrong doses.
This is the territory of the Hollywood witch’s garden. Or, in more of a real-life setting, the Alnwick Poison Garden. On the surface, it might look fairly ordinary—mandrake is highly poisonous, but is just another bushy green thing to the untrained eye. Whether a curse or a cure, who needs magic when botany can do the heavy lifting?
To understand how to prepare and deploy the garden residents is the practitioner’s true power. A well-tended plant is very willing to show just how capable it can be. It’s only sensible to be cautious and very, very polite to whatever witches, fairies, or other garden keepers are about.
Magic Gardens
While gardens can feed, cure, or kill us, is there room for a magical element that would set a witch’s garden apart? Yes, I’m sure there is. I’ve been to gardens that felt special in a way that’s impossible to describe. I was taught as a child to leave a corner of the garden wild for the nature spirits, so maybe that makes the difference. The best words I have for those gardens with a little extra is harmony. They’re functioning as an energetic whole instead of a collection of manicured parts.
The witches in my books don’t always have gardens like the Carvers in the Dark Forgotten series do—some do live in apartments—but they do have an understanding of the energies that guide the botanical world. Healing is about restoring nature’s design. Evil is disrupting it. Vampires are in some ways outside nature—they have stepped beyond the norm into a kind of suspended state.
What kind of gardens would vampires have? I found this post from the National Garden Bureau on goth gardens. I’m enchanted by the blenderized concoction of yogurt and moss that can be painted onto objects to encourage insta-mossy hardscaping.