A few weeks ago, my mom was visiting for her birthday. She noticed a tincture I’d recently purchased on my counter. As she reached for it to put it in her water, something inside me told me to tell her not to take it. I didn’t have a clear reason. It was from a well-reviewed shop where I had purchased tinctures before. But I suddenly felt that the person who made it was going through something heavy at the time, and whatever they were going through had infused into the herbs. I did not want that going into my mother.

I would normally be skeptical of my own intuitive hunches, but I’ve been spending the last few months trying to better connect with my internal voice and to distinguish whether a feeling is coming from anxiety or from something else. This was the first time I felt it yelling, loud and clear. Kind of hard to ignore. So we set the tincture aside, and I’ve been trying to understand where my beliefs about handmade goods actually live ever since.

This is where it might sound woo-woo to some, but I feel like it’s interesting to share, nonetheless. The image that came to me in that moment was an energetic cord running from the bottle back to the person who made it, and it felt sickly. I won’t try to reason it away with science, and it wasn’t something I had read in any book about crafting tinctures or essences. But when I think about it, within my own practice, it makes sense and has a foundation in two ideas that show up all over traditions.

The first is what folk magic calls contagion, the idea that things which were once connected stay connected. It’s the logic under a taglock (a lock of hair or a worn object that keeps a living link to the person it came from). Matthew Venus writes about it in his book Ensouling The Effigy. He talks about contagion as objects that become “imbued with a person’s essence,” retaining a connection even after they’re separated. So if I’m thinking about it in relation to this, a made thing from someone’s hands would inherently carry a thread back to them.

The second concept, and a more widely known one, is animism. It suggests that our creations are not passive or lifeless. Venus describes how he imbues his work with life using the “witches’ breath,” songs, and whispered words to enspirit what he makes. Mat Auryn addresses this as well, saying that the ingredients you use in a spell are more than tools, and treating them as such is a very colonial way to see the world. If a maker breathes intention into a thing, then it stands to reason that the thing holds some of the maker.

Now none of these books explicitly state that if a maker is in a bad state, they can passively leak that state into a product. This is just how I’m connecting the dots and reasoning away the feeling that I felt.

On a personal note, there’s a very real example of why I believe this is true. I sometimes share a story about an ‘angry pie’ I made over a Thanksgiving holiday. I was not in a good headspace, and everything I tried with this pie failed. The crust shrank, the filling broke, and the timer wasn’t set, among other things. When it was finally done, there she was, a misshapen pie with no crust, slightly burnt, holding every emotion I had the night before while I was making it. Was it good? That remains to be seen. I hadn’t intended for my state of mind to seep into that pie, but you could certainly see the impact.

You might be thinking that my sharing this is a ploy to get you to purchase my own tinctures or flower essences. As wild, unhinged, and unfortunately common of a marketing strategy that would be, it’s not. I actually don’t sell anything. But as I contemplate on what the future of this project looks like and how I might one day make money from it, I feel like this is an important lesson for me to think about. How pieces of me might end up landing in your hands and what my own ethics are around that.

So where I currently stand is that if a made thing carries a piece of its maker, then who made it and how they were when they made it is not a small detail. When you buy an oil, tincture, or charm from someone, you’re buying more than a bottle of oil infused with herbs. You’re inviting a little of them into your own life. I think it’s worth considering before randomly purchasing spell kits, oils, and what have you from any old Etsy witch. Learn about the person who made it, where the ingredients came from, and how you perceive their energy beyond a marketing page. This is one of the reasons I love buying goods from my local markets. The things I buy are mostly from people I’ve been following for a while, have taken classes from, and have had many conversations with. On some level, I feel like I know them and trust the goods coming from their hands.

But on the flip side, the most reliable way to know exactly whose hands and whose intentions are in a thing is to actually make the thing yourself. I think we’re often afraid to try it because we doubt our own abilities and are looking for something magical that comes from someone else, someone ‘more powerful,” but as Auburn Lily says in Appalachian Witchcraft for Beginners, “there’s no wrong way to practice folk magic, because we are the folk.” You’re allowed to be the maker. In a lot of ways you’re the best possible one, because nobody else’s hands know your intention like yours do.

And you’ll be happy to know that the post I have planned for Friday is a get-your-hands-dirty, make-something post. We’ll be exploring the old concept of flying ointments, the historical salves witches used to anoint themselves with before trance work. We’ll be making a safer version of the traditional ones, and it’ll give you the opportunity to make something with your own hands, with no cords connecting you to anyone else.

Until then, maybe take a second to go through your witchy cabinet or drawer and think about whose hands made the things you’re ingesting or rubbing on your skin.

These are the books that provide more context for my thoughts in this edition of the newsletter and have inspired some of my posts this month.

The Alchemist Papers arrive about once a week. If it's not for you anymore, the unsubscribe link is at the very bottom, no hard feelings. Want to say something back? Just reply, and it comes straight to me.