This hot Virginia morning, I stood barefoot in the kitchen, slicing sun-warmed peaches into a chipped bowl I’ve carried through fifty-two houses and a year-long trip to Egypt. It was my mother’s bowl. Not many things have remained—so much was shed over the years. But this pale-yellow bowl has stayed. It holds more than fruit. It holds nourishment, lineage, family, and the memory of gatherings long past.

Sometimes I whisper things into the mixing bowl. Nothing dramatic—just a line or two meant for the world. May children be safe. May truth rise. May we remember we belong to one another.  Lammas, the first harvest, is a perfect time to incorporate some Kitchen Witchery. It doesn’t ask for fancy words, only a strong heart’s desire. I love when stirring becomes spell work and the oven becomes an altar.

Food is never just food. It’s memory. It’s magic. And it brings people together. Food nourishes the soul as well as the body. When I pause and think of food in this sacred way, I recognize that this, too, is a soft form of resistance.

This morning my intentions stretched beyond Lammas and reached toward our shared future. 

May your table stretch wide. May your words root deep. And may the harvest, even in these strange times, remind us there is still sweetness.

Kitchen Magic Tip
When I cook, I stir clockwise and whisper:
May this nourish more than the body.
May it soften the edges.
May it carry my love and healing energy into whoever eats it.