…And why wouldn’t you? Between the world’s political situation, the patriarchy, and that guy who keeps emailing you about timeshares, there are plenty of reasons to want to get off the grid, off the mailing lists, and to start experimenting with black magic – how about a timeshare on a dark and distant dimension, buddy? But before you put any ancient gods on speed-dial — or your internet on deep Appalachian dial-up — it’s important to figure out a few of the basics.

1. Figure out your goals.

Are you becoming a hermit witch to get away from the world, or to work more on yourself? Perhaps you want to be closer to nature, or need somewhere quiet to work on your magic. In any case, determining your goals, priorities, and expectations ahead of time will allow you to make the most of your time in the deep, dark woods. 

2. Determine the requisite resources.

Sure, there are trust fund hermit witches out there, but the rest of us need to make a living. Think about your finances: can you save up money before the move, and how long will that money last you? Does growing your own food, herbs and all, sound fun to you, or would you prefer Amazonfresh deliveries? Do you need to find a supplementary form of income, and will that require internet? Determine the resources you need, and make your plans accordingly.

3. Plan your lair.

Once you’ve determined your goals and resources, you can begin narrowing down locations and housing styles. Are you more of a classic Black Forest kind of witch, or would you prefer somewhere a bit sunnier, like the Rhone-Alps or a redwood forest? If you aren’t sure yet, you may need to do some additional research on the pros and cons of various housing options. After all, you don’t want to sign up for a candy cottage only to realize that you’ll be roommates with every squirrel in the neighborhood. Are you willing to install an elevator in that obsidian tower, or do you enjoy the physical challenge of parading up and down a few dozen drafty stories with your cape flowing behind you? 

These are just a few things to consider before becoming a sorcerer recluse. For a more comprehensive look at a hermit witch’s life, please see author Bernadine “Deanie” Schmitt’s memoir, Why I Never Came Back from the Black Forest: A Witch’s Guide to Making it Work in the Woods, Dial Up and All, or read about our own experiments with the lifestyle on our blog, A Tiny House with Two Chicken Legs. Like and share!

You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?
Heard of, but never seen.
Call it a cottage, if you like,
or a fortress with four walls;
Eden is not better hidden
than the Good Lady’s house.
What doors there are, what gates,
open when and where she bids them;
no path will wend her way,
no wolf prowl, no traveler knock,
but one — the Sun himself, who
each night, bent-backed and ancient,
knocks thrice upon her door
and hobbles slowly in. Then, suddenly,
at the moment his feet touch the threshold,
he springs upright, sprightly as a colt,
glowing like honey in a red glass jar.
Such is the magic of the place, you see,
that Death himself will not enter
unless invited in.

Sometimes the path is beautiful:
ridged with wild roses, leaves
like silver coins in sunlight.
Birds twitter; the river murmurs;
far away, a woman sings.
But, sometimes, the path grows dark.
The rain beats down, the wolves howl
uncanny lullabies.
Sometimes the forest is as silent
as a scream caught in a throat,
or a cold hand
at the nape of a woman’s neck.
Then the traveler holds her cloak close,
mutters curses against the wind,
entreats signposts:
which way to a sharp knife,
a warm fire,
a companion?

Ah, Boston.
The fall, red ivy
on brick walls,
the friends I miss,
one and all.
In London I have lived
one rainy autumn;
In Madrid I have spent
a sunny spring;
In California I have lived
some twenty splendid summers,
but Boston calls to me —
of an autumn, red and gold,
across the sea.

I don’t need a god of love,
but a god of living;
perfection is
irrelevant to earthly matters.
Give me a god
with wind-chapped skin,
callused palms,
eyes like Californian wildfires
and the desert bush burning.
Let his teeth be fresh, sharp
as pine needles.
Give me a goddess
who retains her wildness,
who is dangerous in the way
that I am dangerous
when I forget
(when I remember)
what I am, I am, I am.

Be honest with yourself:
there has been no long night of the soul,
no wrenching loss – not really, not recently.
The dark has come and gone through your life,
like the light and dark of lights on a freeway
in the night, the journey
mostly routine, sometimes disorienting, only occasionally
frightful. You merely find yourself,
a traveler – by choice, you will remember –
in distant lands. Perhaps
you will find friends here. Perhaps
a home. More likely a bed, a pillow,
a place to soak a back stiff
with stagnancy, work to fill
your mind and hands with. Your fear,
always, of empty hands, open hands and
closed arms – yours or theirs, I wonder?
There are no barriers on your road,
only borders to overcome,
not an adventure,
just a journey. “I’m lucky,” you say,
and think of every other place
you could become, of –
What was that word? No no, in Japanese.
Aa, もっと, motto, more.
You remember, sip your peach wine,
remind yourself of the full table before you.
Soon, dawn will roll over green hills,
and you will be overwhelmed,
immersed
like the river
that becomes the flood,
in all you do not know.

I clasp the future close to my heart,
a robin’s egg in a child’s
sweating palms.
I hold it tenderly,
like an infant
or an aching wound.

“Modesty” is what you say
When you think
A woman shouldn’t be seen, at all,
Shouldn’t be there.
I can’t help but wonder why.
Who does she remind you of?
Who did you
So want to silence?
The woman who broke your heart,
Or the one who wouldn’t call?
Who am I kidding —
Maybe you’re just afraid
Of the competition.
But really, where do you get off, saying,
“Take her away.
I don’t like the way she
Makes me feel.
She reminds me of the things that I don’t have
And the people who didn’t want me.
Surely the Evil of the World lurks in her slim shoulders.”
How is it that logic impermissible in a preschool
Is the rule of law in congress?
Is this what your Jesus meant when he said,
“Cut out your eye if it offend thee” —
That the evil of the world was in women’s shoulders?
An imaginative interpretation. I have another:
Control yourself, and you will not need
To control others. After all, I could easily say,
“I don’t like the way you
Make me feel. You remind me
Of the respect I’m not yet given,
And of the responsibility
Men have not yet taken.
Surely the Evil of the World lurks in your eyes.
See to them, Sir; be your soul’s own custodian
— captain, if you like —
After all, wasn’t the role of government,
Of rights and of commandments,
To prevent men from imposing
Their evil on the world?”
But you don’t see me dragging congressmen
out by their collars, do you? Well —
At least not until
The next election.

Too much of you
Is showing
Your hair, your arms
Your heart.
Cover them up,
And your mouth, too,
While you’re at it —
I’d hate to hear a voice
Other than my own.
After all, modesty
Is only for women.