Palm Sunday

Sacred palm, blessed branch: something ordinary made holy.

Whatever could be cut and gathered was laid in the road, a path of victory and triumph. Just as the crowds welcomed a savior, families have long taken up the consecrated branches and welcomed him into their homes. A simple, unassuming ritual (fitting for Appalachian folk magic). 

Too far north for palm fronds, we'd collect pussy willow branches instead. These were among the first to bloom, their abundant catkins signaling spring and new life. My grandfather had a small tree and would cut the branches on Palm Sunday, adding them to the offerings brought to our church altar to be sanctified.

Once home again, they were saved in vases and tucked behind mirrors and picture frames. The rest were burned, their ashes kept for the following Ash Wednesday, another transition from celebration to sacrifice.

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I’ll be releasing a small batch of folk Mary statuettes and copies of my zine, Riverbank Saints, on Monday, 3/10, at 2:00 PM EST. As always, a portion of sales will go toward community outreach in southwestern PA.

As a thank-you this round, I’ll include a distelfink sticker—a hex sign I drew a few years ago, inspired by Pennsylvania Dutch folk art, and printed in my zine as a blessing for luck.

Today I’m planning my Easter baking and visiting the community garden (picking up my pawpaw!). If you’re local, the Audubon Society center for native plants is having their spring sale on May 9th this year. On my list: boneset, hyssop, purple bergamot.