Ansuz

Ansuz

Ancient Rune: Ansuz

My rune is Ansuz. It chose me. At first I was perplexed: why, of all runes, this ancient god? I expected a leaf, a deer, the sky--some symbol of nature--not this.

Then I began to read, and was touched: "god-breathed," it says; "the passing of breath from parent to child." Life, from one generation to the next. It is a beautiful, poignant thought. It immediately brought to my mind the image of Lily Potter giving her life so that her son could continue to live and breathe. But along with the breath of life, it is essential to pass ideas, thoughts, memories, and knowledge. 

This is the power of the Ansuz rune. It symbolizes language and creativity. I thought of Robert Frost's poem, The Tuft of Flowers. I "feel a spirit kindred to my own." I leave my mark. Another, finding it, may be inspired to leave a mark of their own. Language is a gift of insight from God. The Ansuz rune symbolizes the passage of ideas to all mankind. Ansuz traits encompass poetry, creativity, conscious thought, and inspiration. We find meaning in our universe. We create symbols and names, to share our insights. These "Ansuz" personality traits immediately resonated with me. This is surely my rune.

Interestingly, "action" is beyond the energy of Ansuz, which only inspires. A wise man once told me I think too much. "Just paint!" he said. I do tend to think and think and think. (It's a Ravenclaw thing.) Sometimes, this is good, but it can lead to procrastination--a trait I have mastered all too well. This is a blind spot for the Ansuz personality: over-conceptualization, faith in labels, casting aside essence. We must use language to further human thought, not to limit it. I was reminded of this Bible verse: “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1) To label the visible and knowable, while casting aside "things not seen" is a trap for the Ansuz personality. 

 

Ansuz: Inspire, create, communicate. 

Mossy Cave: A New Hide-Out for the Marauders

A New Hide-Out For The Marauders

    Mossy Cave Photo

The Marauders have found a wonderful moss-covered cave to use as a new hideout. It has a waterfall and fresh stream inside for drinking water and a labyrinth of branches to explore or hide in. They can easily access it by crossing a dead tree that has fallen across a creek and then climbing a narrow, winding, natural path that leads to the entrance. They have cast several clever charms upon it to keep intruders out: a charm that makes brush and weeds seem like briars and thistle; a charm that emits scary growls and ghostly moans as anyone approaches the area; a charm that obscures the entrance, making it look like solid rock; a fake entrance to a shallow cave down the path; and a charmed path that makes intruders unsure of their footing and crumbles under their feet, producing a miniature landslide, if they get too near the cave.

My Animagus

My own animagus would be a raven or hawk. I could soar above to see the landscape for miles around, find new places to explore, see intruders, and warn the others. I could swoop down close and perch on the back of Moony, Padfoot, or Prongs when I wanted to rest or communicate. I could nip Wormtail just for the heck of it.

I think of the red fox would also be a good animagus for a marauder: handsome, intelligent, quick-witted, and brilliant at eluding pursuers.

My original composition, written for Azkaban Escapees, a Facebook group. Photo swiped from Google images. 

Dinky, My Little House Elf

Dinky the House Elf

  Dinky: Art by D.K.Pritchett, blog owner

My mother was given the elf, Dinky, upon her marriage to my father. When Mother died, she left Dinky to me. I call her "Dink." Dink has curly, dark chestnut hair, big, blue eyes, and a long, pointy nose, which she pinches in hopes of making it petite. She wears a plain white-linen toga--rather amazingly white, because my grandmother long ago sprayed it with her secret "Freshina" potion. 

       My mother had hopes of expanding Dink's wardrobe to include some pretty chintz or toile, but the poor creature was mortified and thought she was being turned out of our house. It was with great difficulty that Mother convinced the poor little soul that Raven's Rest would always be her home. We think she finally feels secure, though her forever frowny forehead says otherwise, as if she has waited these decades for the other shoe to drop. Upon my mother's death, I pressed upon Dink a plain little pair of natural pearl earrings, which she had always admired. She was aghast, until I showed her pictures of muggle cattle with ear tags and of Charlie Weasley's marked dragons. I explained that it was a sign of my ownership, like a brand. She accepte that story and is quite proud to be so lovingly stamped as "owned."

Harry Potter Fan Fiction. 

Originally written for Azkaban Escapees, a Facebook group. In my original story and paper sketch, Dinky's nose was tiny. When I created the digital version, I made it big.

Winky: the Crouch Family's House Elf

Winky: The Crouch House Elf

Poor little Winky. The moon-eyed house elf wanted none other in life but to please her master, Bartemius Crouch, Sr. Like her mother and grandmother before her, Winky was a loyal servant, dedicated to serving the undeserving Crouches. It was her task to guard the favorite son, Bartemius Crouch, Jr. "Favorite" here is a term used loosely. Barty's daddy hated the boy (a nasty little Voldemort-lover, even as a teen). At nineteen, Barty turned to crime and ended up in Azkaban Prison. (Years later, much to Winky's horror, he would even murder his own father.) Barty escaped from Azkaban, but was forced into hiding--aided by the Cloak of Invisibility and The Imperious Curse, though not by his own choice. 

It was a hard life. The soft-hearted Winky saw that he was properly rewarded for good behavior. Alas, this indirectly led to her own downfall. She coaxed her master to let his son attend the Quidditch World Cup of 1994 (yes, the one disrupted by Death-Eater riots). Winky thought her elf magic could keep Barty at her side, but no! Barty, that cunning devil, used  Winky's fear of heights to give her the slip, steal Harry Potter's wand, and cast a Dark Mark to summon Voldemort. Winky was blamed by the Ministry of Magic, for she--not her conveniently invisible ward--was caught with the stolen wand, thus breaking Clause Three of the ancient Code of Wand Use; as if a lowly elf could cast a dark mark! Nevertheless, her master "freed" her. Well, to Winky, it felt more like a sacking. She fell into a depression. Not even her elf friend, Dobby, could pull her out of it, though he got her a job in the Hogwarts kitchen. There, she worked half-heartedly, but mostly drank. Ah, butterbeer, that sweet drowner of sorrows! In spite of her addiction, she bravely joined other house elves, under Kreacher, to fight the Death Eaters (Battle of Hogwarts, 1998). Afterwards, she stayed at Hogwarts. She worked, yes; but her heart just wasn't in it. Winky never got over her life's losses.

(Originally, I put this on Azkaban Escapees, a Facebook group.)

Fenrir Greyback's Wands

Wandlore

Fenrir Greyback's Wands

My thoughts on Fenrir Greyback's First Wand

*Wood: Spindletree

*Core: Dragon heartstring

*Length: Ten inches

*Flexibility: Rigid

              Backstory:

     Fenrir Greyback's first wand was bought second hand, but it chose the eleven-year-old wizard as its new owner--it seemed eager to adapt. It was very old, carved of European spindletree wood, a very dense, creamy white hardwood, often used to make spinning-wheel spindles. The tree bears pretty, poisonous berries--thirty berries is a fatal dose for an adult. The wood itself can sicken the carpenter who works with it too long. Spindletree leaves attract aphids and their predators, including hoverflies and lacewings. These juicy insects tempt bowtruckles to live in the trees. Legend is, the spindletree for this wand foretold the coming of the plague, by flowering early in 1348 or '49. 

     Young Greyback's wand was ten inches long, a good length for a starter wand. It was hard, rigid, and durable, as it needed to be for the rough, headstrong boy who was to be its new master. The core was of dragon heartstring, which produces a powerful magic, easily turned to the dark arts, if that suits its master. It suited Fenrir. The wand had a gnarled appearance. It was stained a dark, charcoal grey and had small, diagonal slash-marks carved into its hilt.

     Fenrir, unfortunately, had a dark, troubled nature even in his youth. He was a sadistic boy who like to torture insects and small animals. He bullied other children, but was weak-natured, a coward at heart. He was, however, a strong athlete and a fast runner. Perhaps his darker traits might have been softened by good mentoring, but he was bitten by a werewolf. His bitterness and his growing bloodlust fed his evil tendencies. He was not an incompetent wizard, by any means; neither was he brilliant. His wand got its fair share of exercise, but Fenrir was much more interested in sports, girls, and other out-of-school activities than he was in schoolwork. 

My thoughts on Fenrir Greyback's Last Wand

     After the loss of his first wand, Fenrir Greyback sought out the infamous "Bardawulf Wand," a dark piece of craftsmanship that he had coveted for many years. The wand was six centuries old. It was created by Anguß the Wand Wright of Lorn, in 1350, for a dark wizard named Hemming Bardawulf, rumored to be a werewolf. Bardawulf, a cruel gang leader who revered Atilla the Hun, called his own cult "The Huns." Hemming, of course, was "king." Among other indecent avocations, he dug up recently buried corpses, regardless of possible plague infection, and sold them to the village potion maker. Bardawulf himself seemed immune from plague.

      The Bardawulf wand was carved from a gnarled limb taken from an ancient yew tree that stands in a churchyard in the village of Fortingall in Perthshire, at the very heart of Scotland. The yew stands near a memorial, the "Cairn of the Dead" (used in the 14th century for burying victims of the plague away from the church graveyard). The yew wand bears an incription in runes, "Thy Hun King," homage to its original owner (dark-seeming runes, several of them, alone, symbolizing pain, suffering, or destruction). 

      The wand core was a long strand of werewolf hair, and I doubt any wandmaker living today would use such a core! The ivory handle was inset with the fangs of a wolf. It had a small wolf's head, said to have been carved by Lucas Cranach the Elder; if so, that was done a century-and-a-half after the wandwright touched it. The handle was inset with a unique large opal resembling the grayish-green eye of a wolf. This cursed stone is said to take on a weird glow under a blood moon.

      The wand had had several owners and had finally fallen into the hands of an artifact collector. It was said to be cursed. It may be that it simply wouldn't perform for anyone but its original owner. Be that as it may, it must have met Bardawulf's equal in the hands of Greyback--it leaped at his touch, clearly coming to life in his evil hands. The wand was capable of powerful dark magic. Oddly enough, Greyback rarely used it. He seemed to prefer capturing his victims by hand and tormenting them with sadistic words instead of curses; or worse, he would brutally mangle their bodies as he feasted on their tender flesh. In his wolf form, he has no use for a wand. His bloodthirsty history is well known. His masterpiece of a wand is rarely seen.

*Yew: 

*Core: Werewolf Hair (usually produces 

      powerful dark magic)

*Length: 14 inches (twice the magical

       number seven)

*Handle/hilt: Elephant tusk

*Inlay: Wolf fangs

*Carving: Wolf's head

*Inscription: "Thy Hun King"

Rune Symbolism: 

    Th (giant) danger, suffering

    y (Jera, “year”) harvest, reward    

    -----

    H (hail) destruction, chaos.

    u (aurochs) strength of will

    n (need) need, unfulfilled desire.

    -----

    K (ulcer) mortality, pain

    i (ice) unknown; perhaps icy heart?

    ng - fertilization, beginnings, the

        actualization of potential

(Harry Potter Fan Fiction. I first published this on Azkaban Escapees, a Facebook group).

Matter Grey Toadstool - a Magical Fungus

My magical toadstool is the Matter Grey Toadstool. Though somewhat rare in the wild, there is a small stand of them on a mossy, fern-covered slope in the woods at my grandmother's old homestead. The fungus thrives in a rich loam and requires cool shade, filtered sunlight, and heavy dew. My grandmother and mother found a suitable environment in the woods on our country estate and have developed a domesticated Matter Grey mushroom.

    My family's fascination with the toadstool began with a family heirloom, a potions book written out by my great-grandmother, Anner, started by her own grandmother, we believe. It had lovely botanical drawings, properties, and potential uses, including some potions. 

    The stem and cap of the Matter Grey Toadstool have very different properties. Both parts (along with all fibrous matter, roots, and juice) may be used in mixing potions, to very different effects. It affects the brain, the blood, and to some extent, the central nervous system. Effects can be positive or negative, so great care must be taken in potion mixing.

  Re the Leaping Toadstool: Baruffio had the right idea, but obviously, his original concoction was too strong. His elixir can be improved by using a bit less Leaping Toadstool and adding a good portion of Matter Grey. We have found the perfect mix. Our ultimate goal is to help people like the Longbottoms, who are lost in madness.

   The Leaping Toadstool has bounce and innate energy, but it needs clarification and dilution. Our "Matter-Grey Clarifying Potion" acts as an antidote or diluting agent for it. Together, the two toadstools also make a great love potion. Other uses: by mixing equal portions of Matter Grey and Leaping Toadstool juice, we make tasty energy drinks and extra-body shampoos, as well as a unique charmed energy dip for broomsticks, tennis shoes, quaffles, and rubber ducks.

I have included my mother's Polaroud picture of this toadstool.*

*Mushroom and tiny toad image borrowed from Okamiarisu on Reddit; altered using a 1970s-vintage color filter and adding the clipped image of a 3D-model human brain from cgtrader.

My Little Wild Bowtruckles

North American Wiggentrees are rare, but some grow in shady spots in our forests. My wiggentree is deep in our woods on an old path near some stone ruins, and is known to be over a hundred years old. The bark is quite scaly and the trunk, nearly three feet broad. The tree has grown to fifty or sixty feet--pretty tall for a wiggentree. It bears a pretty, edible berry that grows in clusters. There are a few saplings in the woods, growing in mossy places where the ferns are very thick.

Our Appalachian bowtruckles are usually quite harmless. They do not mind us harvesting the sorbus berries, and will give up bark and branches to us without much trouble. Woe to the wizard who gets too greedy, though! Our bowtruckles will scratch their eyes out. The feisty fellows keep a stock of porcupine quills to use as weapons, in the rare event they feel threatened. This behavior is protected, as cutting down a bowtruckle's wiggentree is equal to home invasion under the law.

A local Appalachian witch, Anner Dunn, has made a lifelong study of American bowtruckles. She camps out and camouflages herself, because the little beasts are very shy. Dunn once attempted to tag individual bowtruckles, but spent the next few days picking porcupine quills out of her behind. Afterwards, she just took a copious notes.

Dunn Notes:

Identified Surnames of Bowtruckles on Pritchett land: Wiggentree, Wiggley, and Wickle.

Individuals: Twiggy and Twiggley (twins), Scritch, Vertie, "Bowleg," Twogg, Cuckleburr, Suze, Gramps, Knott, and Burl. Matching given names to surnames is a bit fuzzy.

Neighboring bowtruckle branches in the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest: Bowtruckle, Bower, and Truckley.

Our bowtruckles have a long-standing though quiet feud w/the Black Walnut branch, of the nearby Cohutta Wilderness; "quiet," because they rarely encounter the enemy, since they hardly ever wander far from home. Dunn only learned of the feud when our Wiggleys attacked one of their own, a Wickle. His feet had gotten caked with black swamp mud, which they took to be the telltale black walnut stains of their enemy. Our branch has no animosity toward the American Holly, Dogwood, and Mountain Laurel bowtruckle branches. 

Food: most insects.

Seasonal delicacies: chiggers, mayflies, and wood lice. They love june bugs, which are getting scarce, and spicy fire ants. They also ferment dandelion wine, pokeberry wine, and fox grape.

Each year in season, they eat cicadas. There are feast years, due to the cyclical biology of cicada broods.

(My own observation: This summer was horrendous! It was the Feast of the Great Eastern Brood of Cicadas; they emerge once every seventeen years. Our bowtruckles partied for seven nights running and were, if possible, louder than the cicadas. Leading up to the cicada feast, the bowtruckles provoked a multitude of skunks into spraying. They like to baste fat cicadas in a brew of skunk juice and pokeberry wine. Some even pour this stinking mess into tree holes and soak in it!)

Originally composition, written for my Facebook group, Azkaban Escapees.