Beltane, Botany, and Getting Down in the Dirt
Field notes from a witch learning to see again
This Beltane has me thinking a lot about connection. Not in the airy, abstract sense—actual connection.
Knees in the soil.
Dirt under the nails.
Face two inches from a flower trying to figure out if the damn thing has hairy stems or not.
I took a huge leap of faith and signed up to learn field botany this season.
And while it has been a challenge in main ways, it’s also meant I’m spending a lot of time crouched in the grass with a hand lens, keying out plants one tiny feature at a time.
It’s nerdy. It’s messy. And somehow, it’s become one of the most spiritual things I’ve done in a long time.
There’s something about slowing down enough to really look—like, really look—at the plants growing around me.
What I used to walk past without thinking is now a whole world.
They aren’t just “purple flowers” anymore—they’re Viola adunca, a native violet.
The little yellow ones that used to blend together? They are buttercups, and mustard, and balsam.
They each have names, habits, histories.
And once I started paying attention, everything changed.
Field botany isn’t just about names.
It’s about relationships.
About noticing who grows where, what blooms first, how the land feels under your boots that day. About seeing patterns and personalities in plants—
and realizing you’re part of that pattern, too.
This season, that’s been my Beltane practice.
Not some elaborate ritual (though no shade if that’s your thing).
Just… showing up.
Being present.
Letting the plants teach me how to notice again.
Beltane energy hits different when you’re this close to the ground.
Everything’s waking up. Things are blooming, pushing through last year’s dead leaves, stretching toward the sun.
And it’s messy. Unpredictable. Beautiful.
I’ve started thinking of keying out a plant like casting a spell.
You ask questions. You follow clues. You get things wrong.
But the more you do it, the more fluent you become in the language of the land.
And sometimes, when I look up from my lens, it’s like I’m in a different world.
One where everything is alive and speaking and connected.
Which, of course, it always was.
I just wasn’t listening.
Simple. Grounding. Real.
This Beltane, I’m not dancing around a maypole (though I’d love to one day).
I’m crouched in the grass, getting to know the tiny green lives growing all around me.
And honestly? That feels just as magical.
With ink on my finger tips and dirt under my nails,
