Finding the right herbal substitute isn’t just about matching magical properties—it’s about understanding the deeper symbolism, historical context, and method of use. A true replacement must honor the spirit of the original herb, not just its function in a spell. By weaving together folklore, historical research, and lived experience, I strive to ensure that every plant I work with is not only meaningful but also rooted in both tradition and my personal craft.

Tools are not the foundation of my magic, but they are the allies that shape my practice. Each item I use—whether crafted by my hands, gifted by the land, or chosen with care—carries its own spirit and purpose. Over time, my toolkit has evolved, reflecting the changes in my path and the deepening of my craft. These tools are more than objects; they are extensions of my magic, woven into the daily rhythms of my practice and my relationship with the unseen.

Magic isn’t something I reserve for special occasions—it’s woven into the rhythm of my daily life. From greeting the house spirits each morning with an offering of tea or coffee to blessing the meal my wife and I share, my routines are small but intentional acts that deepen my connection to my spirits, my home, and myself. Each moment, from listening to the crows to placing my besom against the door at night, is a quiet spell, a reminder that magic is always present, waiting to be lived.

Inspired by a dream and shaped by necessity, my magic rings are more than just tools—they are portals, focal points, and protective boundaries in my craft. Inspired by the Witches' Compass of Traditional Magic, these iron and copper rings enhance my workings, allowing me to reach beyond the physical and into the unseen. Through trial, fire, and intuition, I forged a practice that balances tradition with personal revelation, crafting rings that are both practical and deeply magical.

Magic is not just about what we do—it’s also about what we do it with. A year ago, I began rewilding my witchcraft, shifting away from mass-produced supplies and returning to historically appropriate materials and crafting methods. This meant trading store-bought candles for hand-dipped beeswax, synthetic cords for hand-spun thread, and glass bowls for earthenware and wood. In doing so, I found a deeper connection to my magical ancestors, a richer engagement with my craft, and a renewed sense of authenticity in my spellwork.

What began as an effort to stretch meals further, learn to garden, and replace store-bought cleaners with homemade alternatives slowly spilled over into my magical life. The more I worked with my hands—kneading dough, pouring candles, infusing oils—the more I realized I didn’t need to buy my magic. I could make it. Bit by bit, my practice reshaped itself, shifting away from accumulation and toward creation, until every item I nearly added to my cart made me think: I can make that.