At one point in time, we were all earth-worshippers and heathens. And it's no wonder – from clean air, water, and sunlight, to nourishing food, we depend on Earth for our survival. The beauty and sustenance of local ecosystems fuel our very existence.
Heath refers to a type of open, uncultivated land dominated by low-growing shrubs and heather. Originally, "heathen"1 described someone who lived on or near these wild, uncultivated lands, associated with rural populations. Early Christians used the word to describe animists and polytheists who worshiped nature deities, and over time, 'heathen' acquired negative connotations, associated with ignorance and barbarity. Yet, the core meaning – a deep connection to the natural world – resonates with me. Perhaps it's a genetic memory of deep kinship that I feel with all living beings. An interdependence that informs my way of life and inspires me to observe celestial nature-based rituals like summer solstice. For this reason and many others, I'm still a heathen2
The summer solstice, the longest day of the year (usually June 21st in the Northern Hemisphere), has been observed for centuries. The word solstice comes from Latin sol “sun” and sistere “to stand still.” For a few days before and after the solstice, the sun appears to pause in the sky, marking the start of a new season. This celestial turning point influenced the mythology and agricultural practices of our early ancestors and is marked by diverse celebrations around the world, from Stonehenge's rituals to the fire purifications and herbal gatherings of Ivan Kupala Night3 in Slavic countries. For Indigenous peoples of the U.S. and Canada, particularly those of the Upper Plains and Rocky Mountain regions, the summer solstice is associated with a ceremonial Sun Dance.
Archaeologists believe many Neolithic and Bronze Age monuments, like Stonehenge, were built around the summer solstice to serve as gathering places to witness this astronomical phenomenon. In Scotland, sites like Machrie Moor, recumbent stone circles like Loanhead, and Kilmartin Glen in Argyll (a place of ancestral significance to me) with its standing stones dating back to the Neolithic period, all hold special meaning during this time. Evidence of feasting and celebrations near these monuments suggests the summer solstice held deep significance for these communities. These traditions continued into modern times, with many practices absorbed and subsumed by Christianity into holidays like St. John's Day, which celebrates St. John The Bapist and coincides with summer solstice.
For me, summer solstice is a time to gather with friends, celebrate the abundance of summer and connect with ancestral traditions by honoring the power of nature. St. John's Wort (Hypericum perforatum) is blooming here in rural landscape of Heath, Massachusetts and one of my favorite ritual practices is to make St. John's Wort tincture. A practice that echoes herbal gatherings of old. Much like the earth-based celebrations, the names of the plants were also co-opted by Christianity. And since the Christian calendar designated June 24 as the feast day of St. John the Baptist, this long-revered plant that blooms around summer solstice became associated with the saint.
The plant’s bright yellow flowers bloom at the peak of summer when the days are longest, and as treatment for seasonal affective disorder and depression, Hypericum perforatum literally lets more sunshine in. As Ray Bradbury writes in Dandelion Wine, "The wine was summer caught and stoppered...sealed away for opening on a January day with snow falling fast and the sun unseen for weeks..." In the same way, the plant’s tincture captures the peak of summer, a vitality and warmth that can be harnessed for winter when nights are long and cold.
Making a Wildcrafted Tincture:
Many herbalists, including myself, believe in asking permission from the land and plants before harvesting (I wrote about this practice in a previous newsletter). Asking permission offers a moment to pause and survey the ecosystem in which the plant grows to see if there is enough. It is also a moment to acknowledge the original stewards of the land and consider other species we might impact when harvesting. And of course, before foraging, ensure you can safely identify the plant and that the area you're harvesting in hasn't been sprayed or contaminated in any way.
Here's a basic guide to making a tincture:
Gather your materials: a glass jar, plant material, chosen spirit (I often use organic vodka), cheesecloth (optional), tinted glass bottles, dropper top, and labels.
Fill a jar 2/3 to 3/4 full with plant material.
Cover the plant material and fill the jar to the top with your chosen spirit, ensuring everything is submerged.
Label the jar with plant name, plant part used, spirit type, and date.
Cap the jar tightly and let it sit for at least six weeks in a cool place away from direct sunlight (this is different if making an herbal oil).
When you’re ready to use, strain the tincture through cheesecloth to remove plant material and squeeze every last bit of medicine out. Then compost the plants by giving them back to land. Decant the tincture into a tinted glass bottle and label it with the same information as the jar. Use only glass bottles droppers for tinctures.
Remember to research proper identification and safe, ethical use of wild plants before harvesting. It’s important that you understand the plant's medicine and contraindications.
I wish you a magical solstice weekend, and a peaceful transition into the new season. I hope you’re able to get outside and enjoy the sun. ☀️
An invitation:
Join me for a 4-week wildcrafting course with Atlas Obscura, where we'll explore the fascinating world of "weeds," invasive plants, and overlooked abundant species. Learn to identify these common plants, discover their medicinal uses, and create sustainable herbal remedies. Our online course begins on July 9th
The word “pagan” has a similar origin. The Latin source of pagan, paganus, originally meant “country dweller.”
My partner and I also happen to be renting a house in Heath, MA at the moment.
Also called “Kupaija” after the god of fertility and harvest.