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“Do you have anything with Baba Yagá?”

I need to catch a plane, and really should have been in a cab to LaGuardia five minutes ago. But we just walked past a Russian goods shop, and who knows when next I'll be in New York?

She did, and it's a treasure: a Baba Yaga matryoshka, pear-shaped nesting dolls with three Babi Yaga.

(Baba Yagas? Babas Yaga?)

As it turns out, I make my flight after all, though just barely.

Thank you, Baba Yaga.

The new kitty is a jumper.

Within a few days of her arrival, the littlest Baba Yaga, irresistably rollable, goes missing. Hands and knees time. I look everywhere: in the corners, behind the samovar, under the furniture.

No littlest Baba Yaga anywhere.

Well, you can't blame a cat for being a cat, and in the time that she's been here, I've broken more things than she has.

Still, it's a shame to break up a matched set.

For almost 20 years now, my friend Volkhvy (“We're not reconstructing the past, we're reconstructing the future”) has maintained a shrine of Baba Yaga across the River in Pig's Eye, MN (aka “St" Paul).

(This is, incidentally, a very Slavic way of seeing and doing: if you keep the dangerous ones happy, they'll be much less likely to make trouble. Call it whatever you like: appeasement, apotropaic; it sure does seem to work.)

For about a year now, I've been going over once a week to help out. I assist with the offerings and, during the Summer, mow, weed, and prune.

You've heard of Vasilissa the beautiful, who does housework for Baba Yaga?

Well, I do yardwork for Baba Yaga.

Baba Yaga's Lawn

You can tell which house is Baba Yagá's by the lawn. The grass around it grows so thick, so lush, and so green that (I swear) you could pasture a cow on it.

It also, I swear, grows faster than that of any other house on the block.

I should know. I'm the one that mows it.

(You've heard of Vasilissa the beautiful, right: the one who does housework for Baba Yaga?

Well, I'm Steven the grounds-keeper. I do yardwork for Baba Yaga.)

Calamities

In her shrine in Pig's Eye, MN (a.k.a. “St” Paul), Baba Yaga—the fearsome old forest-witch of Russian folklore—has been receiving prayers and offerings for more than 30 years now.

Say what you will about Old Boney Legs, she's anything but antisocial. In fact, she shares her shrine with the ancestors, the Sun, and the Moon.

Also with Poverty, Famine, Disease, and Death. Really: they've got altars and everything.

In the Yard of Baba Yaga

It's not just grass that grows richly in Baba Yaga's yard.

Now, in May, the dandelions are numerous and huge, practically the size of peonies. The nettles here sting worse than anywhere else. They also make a delicious soup.

Talking with the resident priest before I begin my tour of grounds-keeping, I shake my head.

“Whatever you're doing,” I tell him, “it sure does seem to be working.”

He grins.

"It can be dangerous, being on Baba Yaga's good side," he says.

Apotropaics

It's a very Slavic way to see things, though of course Slavs aren't the only ones to think apotropaically.

Apo-tropaic: literally, “turning away, averting.”

Keep the dangerous ones happy, and maybe they'll leave you alone.

Times being what they are, it's the (I think, rather endearing) habit of contemporary polytheist cultures to name commercial products after deities.

If you don't believe me, check out your nearest Indian grocer; you'll find various Laxmi Brand foodstuffs on practically every shelf (Lakshmi being the goddess of wealth and opulence).

That's how I came by 10 pounds of Baba Yagá brand flour.

A friend of mine is priest-in-residence at a Slavic temple over in “St” Paul. Among the resident deities there is Baba Yagá, the scary old hag-witch of Russian folklore. (She's the one that lives in the hut with chicken legs and flies in a mortar and pestle.)

There Baba Yagá receives offerings daily, in a fine old pagan tradition known as propitiation. It's never a bad idea to keep the dangerous ones happy.

(I might add that the Great Recession didn't hit the Twin Cities with anywhere near the impact that it did elsewhere, and that our unemployment rate here is low compared to the rest of the country. Whether or not this has anything to do with Baba Yagá, I'm not qualified to say. It's certainly an interesting coincidence.)

For the past 6 months or so, I have been hosting a weekly Goddess Meditation at my healing centre. Using the beautiful and insightful Goddess Oracle by Amy Sophia Marashinsky (gorgeous artwork by Hrana Janto) has quickly become a touchstone in the week for many of us who gather on a Wednesday afternoon to see which Goddess will present Herself to us and listen to what She has to say of where we are or what we may need address at this particular time in our lives. It has been an interesting process to observe which Goddesses appear and to see a pattern emerge. There have been times when we have had a slew of challenging Crone Goddesses and the past couple of weeks seen such a trend. But this is not a surprise. These are challenging times for many of us and, though these Goddesses can be a bit unnerving, they reflect a connection to the inner resolve and inner strength that can help see us through. 

Recently, Baba Yaga (Russian/Slavic) came to join us in the meditation circle. Baba Yaga, who rides in a mortar and lives in a cottage that runs through the forest on chicken legs, is certainly one of those Goddesses to make you sit up and take notice. Perhaps the best known of Her tales is the story of Vasilisa, a Cinderella-type tale.

Trust Yourself

Experiencing a Myth Gives You Power

When we actually experience a myth, we find power to radically change our lives for the better. Trusting yourself—your instincts, observations, hunches, and musings—is a doorway into mythic realms, making myths not just ideas or stories in the intellect but also visceral experiences.

I had a wonderful incident about self-trust and living in myth. It made me so happy that I just have to tell you about it. It also is an example of what I mean by "experiencing myth."

Baba Yaga might be one of my favorite Goddesses/female figures from folklore. I love the image of the wild-haired Baba Yaga, living in her house perched on chicken feet, embodying all our stereotypes of the witch. The "eating children" part I'm not as down with, but I get how that is part and parcel of her image. I've been fascinated with images of witches since I was a child, and even today as a Witch myself, I collect images and figures of witches of all different kinds.

What I also love about Baba Yaga is that, in her guise as a witch, she embodies some of humanity's deepest fears. And perhaps the biggest fear we have is change.