Interestingly enough, I found myself gazing at an adorable little mushroom-covered tree skirt in November, of all months. Not even a jingle bell in the air yet. It made me laugh, because when I was running my own gift business, we lived by one sacred law: Christmas did not begin until the day after Thanksgiving. That was the line in the sand. We guarded it like sentries.

But the world has loosened up… and so have I, apparently. These days, the seasons tumble over each other, and sometimes a bit of holiday magic wanders in early and taps you on the shoulder. So here I found myself, still in November, and off on a winter tale. Maybe it is the times. Maybe it is me. Or maybe it is just the mushrooms.

Normally, for Solstice time, I am writing about food, rituals, and of course the herbs of the season—simmering pots, fragrant teas, all the small green comforts that soften the long nights. But the season has a way of surprising us, nudging our attention toward something unexpected. And this year, instead of rosemary and bay, I found myself chasing down the story of a mushroom with a flair for mischief. A little reminder that the plants decide the path, and sometimes that path wanders straight into folklore’s stranger corners.

Then, as if the universe wanted to underline the point, I opened a box of Christmas decorations and there they were—delightful little red-and-white mushrooms. Hiding in the garlands, tucked among old ornaments, hanging out with my Victorian Santas, quietly waiting.

So here goes…..

When you grow up a wild child of the 70s, there are certain phrases that make your eyebrows rise the way they did back when we all thought magic was hiding behind every fern. Psychedelic mushrooms. Flying reindeer. Pagan winter rituals. You know, the usual things that pop up when you are just trying to admire a charming mushroom-covered Christmas tree skirt online.

That is exactly how this whole adventure started. I was innocently admiring this adorable little tree skirt when a Facebook commenter casually lobbed this grenade into the thread: “The mushrooms are actually a huge part of the pagan belief that led to the reindeer in Christmas tradition. The reindeer ate Amanita mushrooms and then they could fly.”

Well, that was it. My herbalist brain packed a bag and went on a field trip. If you so much as whisper “folklore mushroom” in my general direction, I am already halfway to the forest with a thermos, a notebook, and a questionable sense of restraint.

Amanita muscaria, the red-and-white mushroom every child draws when they are asked to draw a mushroom, is the real star of this folkloric bundle. Botanically, it grows in the company of evergreens: spruce, pine, fir. They are root partners. Fungal roommates. They are not just neighbors. Amanita is mycorrhizal, lacing itself into the roots of evergreens and trading nutrients back and forth like it is tending a tiny underground pantry. It is good for the trees, good for the soil, good for the whole forest. The result is that bright red caps often pop up like ornaments under the very trees we drag into our homes every December.

And yes, before you ask, Amanita is fairly toxic to humans. It’s not the “peace and love” kind of mushroom from back in the day. More the “this is going to be a very very long night” kind. Herbalists admire it the way we admire belladonna in an old garden. Stunning to look at, rich with story, and absolutely not something you ever casually touch.

Amanita is not just decorative, either. Its appearance is one of those quiet signs that the woodland is healthy and the soil is busy with its own conversations. A happy little red-and-white flag signaling that the forest floor is doing exactly what it should. And like so many plants with deep folklore, it seems to stand with one foot in the practical world and one in the mythic. Hawthorn trees guarding thresholds, elder asking for respect at every turn, rosemary keeping memory close, and then there is Amanita, pushing the boundary a bit louder and brighter, wearing its stories right on its cap.

Apparently, the reindeer up north consider these mushrooms a snack. They will seek them out, eat them, and then… let us just say they behave in a way that makes “flying” feel like a generous interpretation, but certainly an entertaining one. Leaping, staggering, bounding, chaotic holiday energy with hooves.

Shamans in Siberian and Finno-Ugric cultures also used Amanita muscaria during winter solstice rituals. They often wore red and white, dried the mushrooms in trees like forest decorations, and when snow blocked the doors of their yurts, entered through the smoke hole in the roof.

A red-and-white figure entering the home through the chimney with gifts in winter.

Folklore loves a happy motif.

Now, none of this means Santa is a psychedelic mushroom shaman, though it would make an incredible documentary. But it does mean that the roots of our modern winter imagery stretch deeper and wilder than the Hallmark version.

And just to make things even stranger, this is not the only place mushrooms slip into the holiday season. During the Victorian era, they were so enchanted by Amanita muscaria that they put it on Christmas cards. Bright red mushrooms standing proudly next to holly and snowdrifts like they belonged there all along.

So, here is what we have: reindeer captivated by mushrooms, shamans flying in trance, red-and-white winter clothing, chimney entrances, evergreen symbolism, and an entire Victorian generation sending mushroom-themed holiday greetings as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

It is not that Christmas came from mushrooms. It is that mushrooms wove themselves into our winter imagination and never left. They became a cultural echo, showing up in folklore, art, and rituals, and then resurfacing every December on quirky tree skirts and old postcards, waiting for some unsuspecting herbalist (waving hello here!) to connect the threads.

That is why I adore plant lore. It never behaves. It never stays in its lane. It grows underground, tangles with everything, and then bursts into view when you least expect it. Bright, strange, and wearing a red cap. And honestly, after following this thread through folklore, forests, and Victorian oddities, I am convinced that magic is still hiding behind every fern. It is just wearing a red-and-white cap this time.

And now I am curious. How many of you have these little red-and-white mushrooms hiding in your Christmas boxes too? Maybe tucked into garlands or perched on a branch somewhere, blending in so well you have forgotten where they came from. Maybe for some of you this is no surprise at all. If you find them, write me and show me. I would love to see what kind of mushroom magic has been sitting quietly in your holiday collection all along.

Wishing you a season steeped in warmth and wonder, with evergreens at your doorstep, good herbs in your kitchen, and small pockets of magic sprouting exactly where you least expect them.

Happiest of holidays to you and yours.

Beth