Elements, Expanded: A Kitchen Witch's Junk Drawer Tour to Working with Earth, Air, Fire and Water.

I've got dirt under my nails again — story of my life. (I'd love to be the kind of witch with a beautiful manicure. I am not that witch. Maybe I'll manage one in around the Holidays, when it's too cold to be outside digging in anything.) But - more importantly - why do I have dirt under my nails? I was working with earth.

Lately I keep coming back to the same thought: water, fire, air, earth aren't props. You don't need a special altar or a shopping list to work with them — that's the whole heart of being a kitchen witch, really. They're already in your kitchen, your yard, your pockets. The only trick is noticing what you're already reaching for.

So let's talk about how to actually work with them. (And not become total hoarders of all the jars.)

Start With the Why, Not the Which, Witch.

Pick your intention before you pick your element. What are you actually trying to do — ignite something/push it forward or burn a bridge (figuratively), release something or invite it in, speak it into being or say goodbye, let something root or let it rot? The intention leads. The element's just the tool that gets you there.

So start by thinking about the intention behind your working, that will help you pick the stage for the magic.

A Quick Word on Language

You'll sometimes hear people in this community talk about “high magic” and “low magic.” I don't really use those terms myself — mostly because “high” and “low” imply one's better than the other, and that's just not how I see it.

What folks usually mean by “high magic” is more accurately ceremonial magic — the kind that's planned, deliberate, time-intentional. Think a perfectly set table with the right silverware in the right order, a specific dance with specific steps that have to happen in a specific sequence. If that's how you practice, genuinely, that's beautiful. I'd love to watch sometime — I imagine it's a little like magical ballet and extra points if you coven has matching cloaks. That deserves a photo shoot.

Unfortuantely, I am not that. I am messy — I've also got kids, so things are always a little rushed, a little late, never quite on the tidy schedule I meant for them to be on. What people call “low magic” I'd rather call basic magic, common magic, folk magic — magic built from what's already within reach. No fancy ingredient list, no waiting for the exact right moon phase. Approachable, right here, right now. Junk drawer magic, through and through. Because magic is for everyone so you can use whatever you have, even if that is nothing, however if you are in a place of abundance you should celebrate that and give when you can (this is just a gentle invitiation, not a command or order).

Neither one is more real than the other. They're just different tables, set differently, for different kinds of witches. But as I go through these elements, some of these idea can be used in both ceremonial rituals and last minute conjurings. Take what resonates, leave what doesn't.

A Little Astrology, Just for Fun

I'll be honest, I am not the best with astrology. To me it's like a PhD in the esoteric world, and I'm more of a bachelor's with a couple of interesting electives. If you also have a hard time with astrology, I highly recommend Chani Nicholas. She is a down to earth astrologer with an easy to navigat website, go check out your birth chart at Chani.com. But here's the one thing in my chart that always jumps out: I'm a Pisces sun — water sign, water's where I do my recovering, my healing magic.

But when it's time to take action? I look at my Mars — in Aries (a fire sign). You know what else I have in Aries? Mercury and Venus, plus my Uranus is in Sagitarius so thats 4 fire signs. Are you even a little surprised that most of my spellwork runs on fire? Check out your Natal Chart to see if you have any elements that stand out, it may be time to try something different when it somes to your spell work.

Water: Release, and a Little Rinsing Off Too

Water doesn't just carry things away — it cleanses. It clears space for something new. So don't think of it as a one-trick element; it's release and renewal, depending on what you need.

There is the standard water working: you can write down what you're releasing on something water-soluble — toilet paper, a coffee filter, even loose salt scattered before a rain works beautifully — and let the natural water take it. (And don't get me started on toilet paper. Name the problem, write it down, wipe, flush. There is something deeply, deeply satisfying about that particular release. No judgment if this becomes your favorite.)

Not everyone's got a creek out back, and some days — a low spoon day, maybe, or just one of those days — you're not making it further than your own front door. If that's you, here's the low-key version: write it on your palm (washable marker, please — a permanent one raises questions), then wash your hands. Same release, same intention, zero commute. A bath bomb works the same way — drop your intention in with it and let the water carry it as the fizz does its thing.

If what you're actually after is cooling a situation down rather than releasing it outright, try this: catch a jar of snow from a blizzard that really had good memories of hot chocolate, reading together, crafts or sledding. Write down what that stretch of time at home felt like while it was happening and the date, throw the jar in the freezer. That jar becomes the base for blessing water — defrost and add a splash to your floor wash when tempers are high or someone is sick to bring back that equilibrium in the house.

One thing I have loved lately is collecting storm water for wax divination, hear me out. There is nothing more cleansing than a summer thunderstorm, the temperture drops and the heat becomes bearbale for a day or two. Collect that water for an onset of clarity and drizzle some melted wax into the water asking for a sign or singal to a question. Take the wax out of the water, squint your eyes, and describe what you see.

And here's where I have to say it plainly: label your jars, and don't become a hoarder of all the jars. I know the pull — every jar feels like it might matter someday. One of my favorite ways to keep the shelf moving: fill an empty jar with soup or tea and gift it to someone who needs it. You're not just clearing space — you're handing someone a jar of good health and good wishes, put to use instead of sitting on a shelf. If a jar's not actively serving a purpose, it's time to let it go — or let someone else take it from here.

Fire: Endings, Ignitions, and the Occasional Do-Over

Fire's the most obvious element in most people's minds — and honestly, the one that can do the most damage if you're not careful with it. More on that in a second. But first, let's talk about what it's actually good for.

Fire isn't just about endings. It's an ending, sure — but it's also an ignition, a jump-start, a rekindling. Sometimes you're burning something away. Sometimes you're lighting the very first spark of something new. Same element, opposite direction, both completely valid.

For the “ignition” side, candle magic is hard to beat. Scratch a rune or a single word of intention into the wax before you light it — a small candle for something quick, a larger one if you're settling in for a longer working. The bigger the candle, the longer the burn, the longer you're keeping that intention lit (I never recommend burning overnight but relighting as needed). It's about as literal as spellwork gets.

And if you want to bring fire into your community instead of just your own kitchen table, make a batch of campfire fire-starters — pinecones, wax, a little herb blend rolled in — and hand them out to your witch friends. Or even make a batch of candles for your coven for solstice if you are crafty. Nothing says “I see you and I want good things for you” quite like handing someone a tool for their own next fire working. Hand made tools tend to have more oomph when it comes to spells but a store bought tea candle will still get the job done.

My favorite version of the “ending” side: burning old meeting notes or last years planner — after they've been digitized, obviously, you're a witch, not reckless — once everything they were tracking is fully closed out. There's something satisfying about watching a to-do list actually become ash instead of just getting buried in a drawer. I also enjoy working with spent match sticks and empty matchbooks, small piece with big impact again depending on your intention.

One more I love: once your ashes have fully cooled, don't just toss them. Line them along the edge of your property — a thin trace along a fence line, a threshold, wherever your space starts and the rest of the world begins. It's old energy doing new work, a little barrier made of everything you've already burned through. Waste not.

Not everyone has a fireplace, a fire pit, or even the option of an open flame — maybe it's a fire-safety thing, maybe it's a roommate thing, maybe it's just an apartment thing. That doesn't lock you out of fire work. A battery-powered candle still gives you the shape of the ritual — light it with the same intention, let it “burn” for as long as you need, blow out the button instead of a flame. You're not burning anything, but the intention's still doing the work; the flame was never really the point. And if what you actually need is fire's ending energy without any fire at all, the trash can will do it. Write it down, tear it up, toss it, and let it go out with the garbage. Work with what you've actually got — the element doesn't care how literal you get with it.

A quick, unglamorous safety note, because I'd rather be boring than responsible for singed eyebrows: always burn in a fireproof dish, keep it away from anything that isn't meant to catch, and never walk away from an open flame. Fire's a wonderful teacher, but it is not a patient one.

Air: The Most Versatile of the Four

Air is the one that does a little of everything — because air is voice, and voice can carry any intention you hand it.

Speak your wish out loud, as many times as you want, as often as you feel called to — or say it once, powerfully, and let that be plenty. There's no required number here. Air isn't picky about repetition; it just wants your breath behind the words.

Sound counts too. A singing bowl, a bell, a few sharp claps — sound moves through air, and a good clearing can shift a whole room's mood before you've even finished the playlist. Speaking of which: I typically smoke-cleanse my house to 90s rap, dancing through every room like I'm auditioning for something. My friend Maria can attest to this. It's not exactly traditional, but air doesn't care what's on the speaker — it just cares that you're moving through the space with intention, not tiptoeing through it.

Speak your desires or say goodbye, blow out a candle to end a project or passion.

Whistle to the birds when celebrating, sing your car to call for a safe trip. Rap terribly, smoke cleanse, ring a bell, clap the corners of a room — it's all air work, all leaning on the same swiftness. Air moves fast, clears fast, and doesn't ask you to sit still while it does it and loves to be formed on the go. If you are breathing - air is always with you.

Earth: The Slow One, and the One Most Worth Revisiting

Earth doesn't rush. Bury it, plant it, let time do what time does and watch your intetnion bloom into reality. A written wish tucked under a new seedling. A small wooden charm buried at the base of a tree you plan to watch grow for years. Earth work isn't about instant results — it's about trusting something you can't see yet.

A practical note, and I mean this one seriously: its best that whatever you bury is compostable — paper, natural fiber, herbs, food scraps. No glass, no plastic, no metal charms. Not just because it's kinder to the earth holding your intention, but because somewhere down the line, a poor gardener — maybe even future-you — is going to be digging in that same spot, and the last thing anyone needs is a fistful of broken glass where a spell jar used to be.

One thing worth being intentional about, though: match the plant to the spell if you are buring a spell under a plant. An abundance working tucked under a carnivorous plant is going to send some mixed messages — the vibes just don't line up. Pick a plant that actually wants to grow toward what you're asking for, like a pothos for an indoor plant or mint for outside (in a container though, never straight into the ground or all the money from the abundance spell will be used on landscapers.)

This is all, admittedly, pretty beginner-level stuff — the kind of thing you learn in your first few months of practice and then mostly stop thinking about. But that's exactly why it's worth revisiting. Going back to something simple or basic, with a more intentional eye than you had the first time around, is often where practice actually deepens. You're not learning something new. You're finally paying attention to something you already knew.

A Word From the Elders of the Craft

None of this is new — folks have been working with the elements this way for a long, long time. Scott Cunningham, one of the most widely read voices in natural magic, spent his career writing about exactly this kind of practice: pulling everyday materials — leaves, water, flame, dirt — into simple, accessible workings rather than anything locked behind ceremony. His well-loved guide on the four elements is still one of the best starting points if you want to go deeper on any of these four paths. My favorite is Earth, Air, Fire, & Water -it's an oldie but a goodie.

Closer to home, folklorist and podcaster Cory Thomas Hutcheson has spent years documenting exactly this kind of everyday, junk-drawer folk magic across North America — the kind that doesn't need a formal altar, just what's already in your kitchen or your yard. His book called Complete Work of North American Folk Magic is a genuinely wonderful next read if this kind of practice speaks to you. He also co-hosts the podcast New World Witchery (recently changed to the Folk Magician's Notebook) with his cohost Laine, which is well worth a listen if you want more of this same folk-magic energy in audio form.

And if you'd rather listen than read, two more worth your time: Invoking Witchcraft, hosted by Britton Boyd and J. Allen Cross, ran a couple of fun episodes specifically on elemental magic before the show wrapped — the back catalog's still up. I loved Britton's book Earth Witch which leaning into her animisit practice, working with the land and ancesters. Plus J. Allen Cross wrote a fascinating book called American Brujeria where he dove into Mexican-American folk magic.

And Betwixt and Between, hosted by Christine Grace and her co-host Marijean, often talk about different ways to work with nature and the elements in their conversations; Christine also wrote The Witch at the Forest's Edge, grounded in her own hedge-walking tradition, if you want to go even deeper on that side of the craft. All are fantastic reads/listens from some wise people in the magical world.

The Real Magic Is in the Noticing

That's really all this was — a junk drawer tour. Not a shopping list, not a syllabus. You've already got water in your sink, fire on your stove, air in your lungs, and earth right outside your door — or in a pot on your windowsill.

There's a second layer to that noticing, too: knowing when a moment matters enough to keep a piece of it. Not everything needs releasing or burning or burying right away. Sometimes you catch a jar of that storm's snow, or you press and keep a flower someone gave you during a moment that made you feel truly loved — tucking it away for an abundance or glamour spell down the line — because some part of you knows you're not done with it yet. That's fine — that's actually the practice working. Just label it — future-you will not remember what “that one jar” was for, promise — and you still can't keep all of it. My rule of thumb: if I haven't reached for it in two years, it goes into the compost or the trash. If it still feels like it deserves a proper send-off rather than just the trash, save it for a gratitude burning at the next solstice or equinox — let it go with a little ceremony instead of just tossing it out.

The keeping matters. So does the letting go eventually. That's the whole job of a kitchen witch, honestly — not conjuring something out of nowhere, just paying good attention to what's already here.

Pick your intention first. Let the element follow. And if your gut — or something in your natal chart — nudges you somewhere unexpected, follow that too. That's kind of the whole point.

Go put the kettle on. You've got some elements to work with.