In Search of the Flying Women of Georgia Folklore

In Search of the Flying Women of Georgia Folklore

 Laura Holt

Montezuma Jones, Folklorist and Amateur Explorer

Diary Entry # 1 – July 16, 2023

The boo hag is a winged witch, most often a woman, with the ability to shed her skin, take to the air via a pair of bat-like wings and visit the homes of her sleeping victims at night, where she sits on their chest and drains their lifeforce from them—normally, this lifeforce is energy, although in some cultures it’s believed to be blood or soul—then returns home and steps back into her skin before the sun rises. This is where the term “being ridden by the hag” comes from.

As I travel the state of Georgia hunting this elusive creature, there are three important things that stand out in this story. The first is the fear of the woman who’s more powerful than the man. The boo hag is a woman who defies the norms of a patriarchal society, which tells us that females are supposed to be submissive toward, subservient to, and weaker than males. In her true form, the boo hag has the ability to bring even the strongest full-grown man to a place of utter weakness and sickness. He has no power against her, no way to fight back in his sleeping state, which must make her a monster. Instead, he has to seek out the power of the church in order to combat her, thus better emphasizing her demonic nature. And the weapons that the preacher who comes to aid arms him with are familiar ones to those of us who have watched black and white horror films: blue paint around the windows—something that is still seen to this day on old houses in Southern towns from Savannah to Macon.

I was lucky enough to visit one such house in Savannah’s historic district, aptly named The Haint House for its bright blue shutters, while on my hunt. It’s supposed to be home to all kinds of supernatural entities. However, while I didn’t see any winged women, I did feel like quite the hag walking around the grounds.

Montezuma Jones, Folklorist and Amateur Explorer

Diary Entry # 2 – July 17, 2023

Salt covered the fried porkchops I consumed in a little diner off a state road today. In many cultures, this spice is a purification agent, a natural talisman against black magic. “Form a circle of salt to protect from zombies, witches, and old boyfriends,” Allison tells Max in the 1993 pop culture movie hit Hocus Pocus. While Pliny the elder tells us, in his Naturalis Historia if a person was to “take two dried walnuts, two figs, and twenty leaves of rue with a grain of salt while fasting, he will be proof against all poisons for that day.” Even in ancient Rome, salt was used as an antiseptic, and the Roman word for salt, sal, can be ascribed to Salus, goddess of health.

One retelling of the Boo Hag story from Cordele Georgia gives us another way to protect oneself from these salacious creatures. According to the potato farmer’s wife who told it, along with salt, she and a friend used the boo hag’s obsessive-compulsive urge to count small objects to bring about her ultimate demise.

This disorder is common in folktales about creatures who stalk the night. I think because it allows humans to use ordinary, everyday objects that they already have at their disposal to fight a supernatural entity who might otherwise not be so easily overcome. Other items that a boo hag supposedly cannot resist counting are grains of rice, a flour sifter, and the bristles of a besom broom.

The way the pioneer woman told it, the boo hag was a fearsome creature, devilish and unnatural. A thing straight out of nightmares, if you’ll excuse the pun. Many a night on this expedition before going to bed, I have made sure to double-check that the latches on my windows were locked, in case a boo hag decided to stop by and get in.

Still, I cannot help but notice the way that the boo hag appears as a beautiful, kindly woman on the outside, and only later reveals herself to be a being other and monstrous. This is strikingly similar to other folkloric female entities, like the rusalkas from Slavic lore and the huldras of Swedish mythology, which also appear to unwitting men, normally those lost in the woods at night, first as beautiful women. Then, once their victim has spent the night with them, they reveal themselves to be hideous, rotting corpses before either drowning him or devouring him. It is this part of the boo hag’s story I think we can learn our second lesson from, and that is the male fear of the unknown woman who isn’t what she seems, or what society says she should be.

Montezuma Jones, Folklorist and Amateur Explorer

Diary Entry # 3 – July 18, 2023

Today, I spent all morning and most of the afternoon interviewing a retired English teacher from Eastman Georgia who claimed to have known a boo hag personally. The way she told it, the boo hag represents that feminine unknown which men cannot tap into, either because of lack of effort, lack of knowledge, or just the sheer of amount of testosterone running in their veins. Unlike the boo hag I’m most familir with, who does a complete three-sixty, going from being the perfect girlfriend to the worst wife a man could have, once married, this one is, at least on the surface, what we have been taught to view as the perfect female. The kind that you would want to bring home to mama and marry the very next day before some other lucky fella snapped her up. Pretty, well-dressed, soft-spoken, and, honey, she can cook. Never mind that she’s a little odd, or that she has no past or relatives to speak of. Those things can be easily changed by putting a ring on her finger and giving her a nice, big house in town to have a family in.

Only like her fellow, skin-shedding wild women the selkies, the Boo Hag proves difficult to domesticate, adding one more piece to the feminine puzzle which men to this day still struggle to put together. She is still independent unto herself despite being wed, unlike other women of her time who found their identities within the matriarchal roles of housekeeping and having children, and drives away the men who would challenge this duality.

The power of the boo hag’s voice is an important element of this story to note, since it is one that makes its reoccurrence in many other tales involving the monstrous feminine. Most notably the sirens of Greek mythology, who lured sailors to their deaths with the sound of their song, and the Banshee of Irish legend, whose cry is a portent of doom to anyone who hears it. It indicates that a quiet woman is a good woman, while a loud woman, one who speaks her mind, and to a man no less, is a bad one.

In Witches, Sluts, Feminists, Kristen J. Sollee explains that, “Language is a powerful force.” But why is this side of women, this non-maternal, outspoken type of female, so quick to be categorized as a monster?

Montezuma Jones, Folklorist and Amateur Explorer

Diary Entry # 4 – July 19, 2023

Since the dawn of time, we have been taught that women need to be controlled by men because, on their own, they are unpredictable, untrustworthy, and downright dangerous, not only to society, but to themselves as well. In The Malleus Maleficarum, translated as The Hammer of Witches Heinrich Kramer presents the argument which led thousands of women across Europe to be wrongfully accused, tried, tortured, and executed for the crime of witchcraft: that women are more susceptible to demonic temptations through the manifold weaknesses of their sex. In the Babylonian Talmud, Eruvin 100b, Niddah 24b, Shabbat 151b, Baba Bathra 73a, Lilith, also called Lilit, Lilitu, or Lilis, is created by God along with Adam in the Garden of Eden as his first wife, only to be banished to a desert wasteland after her husband refused to treat her as an equal where she becomes the mother of demons, thus leading to the creation of Eve, who, through her female weakness and curiosity, brought about the fall of mankind.

This demonization of a woman who has her own thoughts or ideas, possesses an insatiable curiosity for knowledge, or is comfortable with her innate sexuality is present in numerous folklores and mythologies worldwide, and the South is no exception. Yet right alongside this negative trope is another, more positive one that cannot be ignored: the presence of an equally powerful but more trustworthy woman who, while more of a gray character by society’s black and white standards, often helps the hero, heroine, or other characters of these stories in some way.

Today, I heard a story about a swamp witch on a guided tour of the Okefenokee Swamp that reminded me of ones I’m familiar with from my studies. In this version, the magical woman is normally old, or at least past the accepted marrying age, and always lives alone in a secluded place surrounded by nature. She has many names: in Russian folklore, we call her Baba Yaga. In Celtic mythology, she is known as the Cailleach, while in Japan, she goes by Yamamba. And she, like the Boo Hag, has her own lessons to teach us, if we are brave enough to climb the mountain and wade past the gators and knock on the door of the hut with chicken legs and ask—to value the aging process and the wisdom that comes with it, and to embrace our inherent connection with the natural world by working with plants, stones, and other items.

Unsurprisingly, this parallel mythology is what most folklorists recognize as the earliest written version of the Hag Witch story. Yet the oral traditions can be traced back much further in Gullah culture, along with evidence of the Conjure Woman.

Montezuma Jones, Folklorist and Amateur Explorer

Diary Entry # 5 – July 20, 2023

Savannah Georgia is the heartland of Gullah Culture in the South. According to an artist and practitioner of the Gullah ways who agreed to an interview, Gullah is a creole culture that was first brought into the United States by African Americans who lived predominantly in the Lowcountry states, particularly Georgia, South Carolina, Florida, and North Carolina. Its roots come primarily from the Congo region of West Central Africa and contain a diverse range of beliefs, customs, and traditions surrounding the supernatural. Hags (witches) and haunts (malevolent spirits and devils/forest spirits) are believed to be as real as you and I, and twice as harmful. Therefore, Conjure Women, also called Root Doctors, Witch Doctors, Voodoo Priestesses, and Medicine Women, depending on the time period, are highly valued for their skills with herbs and tinctures because this more benevolent form of magic enables their clients to protect themselves from dangerous spiritual forces, like the Boo Hag, as well as cure all manner of illnesses.

“The Boo Hag is the spirit of an evil witch, you see, who goes into a trance state and sends her corporeal form out into the night to do malicious harm to other good, decent folk while they sleep. That’s how she’s able to get in and out of houses so easily, because she can fit through even the tiniest crack in the wall. This was a big problem back in the old days, when everybody lived in houses so close together that they were nigh cramped on top of one another, and a Boo Hag could easily visit multiple victims before the sun came up. Why, a whole village could be taken ill from a Boo Hag’s power in a single night if she was willing. And if you got wise of her, and tried to stop her, well, she’d just hop into the first critter that walked by and escape the noose slick as you please.”

The words of my anonymous interviewee weave a spell as I sit surrounded by colorful paintings and feminine sculptures in glossy matte black in her small, welcoming studio tucked away in Savannah’s art district. She was kind enough to grant me an in-person interview for this book. When I ask her why she thinks Conjure Women are treated as such powerful and respected figures, she explains, “With age comes wisdom. The media today tells us that a woman’s only value is in her beauty. That when we get old, we’re useless, dried up, and nothing but a burden on our family and loved ones. They fill the covers of magazines with young, size zero, twenty-something airbrushed blondes, market creams and dyes that promise to slow down the aging process. And what do we do? We get gym memberships and squeeze ourselves into uncomfortable pants and go to the salon or the makeup counter twice a month, terrified of spotting a wrinkle or gray hair in the mirror. But in Gullah culture, we see age as something to be valued rather than feared. A natural next step to becoming the powerful woman you were always meant to be.”

I scratch her words into my journal in a hasty scrawl, feeling a bit in awe of this woman, who appears like a goddess straight out of African mythology in her flowing, brightly colored kaftan and turban. This concept, of aged female members of a community holding positions of high authority, is one that has mostly been lost in the Anglicized world of organized Roman religion. Yet echoes of it still cling to our consciousness through people like the Gullah who still practice what I like to call the old ways. As someone who is descended from Vikings, admittedly my favorite are a group of Scandinavia women who continue the traditions of the Volva in the modern age.

These females held the highly esteemed position of spiritual leader in ancient Nordic societies due to their ability to practice Seidr, or magic, which allowed them to travel to the realm of the dead, communicate with the spirits of their ancestors who dwelt there, and predict the future. It was practically unheard of for a man to be a Volva, as it was considered unmanly. Possibly due to the fact that the Volva wore a specific type of ceremonial dress, or perhaps because she wielded a staff instead of a sword.

Volvas, like the Boo Hags described in Gullah culture, were also able to leave their bodies and enter into those of animals in order to travel great distances in a short amount of time. And, like Root Doctors, they could conduct rituals to heal wounds, create happiness, guarantee a bountiful harvest, and even control the weather. It should come as no surprise, then, that I leave the store still a bit mesmerized, carrying a fire-made, hand-painted pot and imagining ethereal beings dancing around a bonfire at every corner.

Montezuma Jones, Folklorist and Amateur Explorer

Diary Entry # 6 – July 21, 2023

As I sit on the train for the travel home, watching the rolling green hills of Georgia farmland pass by out the window, I reflect what this expedition taught me. True, I did not find a a Boo Hag. Yet the stories about her reveal more than a cautionary fable whose moral is “men, be wary of who you marry,” or legends to inform listeners about the existence of a life sucking, skin stealing monster. True or not, they are tales cleverly and wickedly devised with one goal: to teach us at a young age to behave like “good girls” lest we turn into something ugly, wicked, and unlovable. And sadly, they are not the only ones.

Our world is full of fairy tales that tell us we ought to be more like the princess and less like the wicked witch, the evil fairy, or the ogress. It’s the only way we will get our happily ever after. And who among us doesn’t want that in some form or fashion?

So, we listen.

We hang up our brooms, take off our horns, and stuff our feet into pointy, uncomfortable shoes, then sit there and wait for prince charming to show up. However, what we don’t realize, often until it’s too late to stop our impending domesticated doom, is it’s not only our physical natures we’re suppressing by giving in to this standard of female goodness. It’s our spiritual ones. Our soul songs. Our heart cantador, heart stories. Our wildest self. And we must reembrace it.

Be the witch in the forest who gets along better with animals than people. The single mom who lays on the couch once a week and does nothing but read and eat chocolates because she needs some time to herself. The working wife who hires a maid because housework isn’t her thing. The night owl who’s most awake when the moon is bright and takes pleasure in having multiple lovers. The cackling hag that keeps secret treasures in a trunk under her bed or buried in quicksand in the backyard.

Love your wrinkles, your crinkles, your laugh-lines and flyaway gray hairs. Love your body, whatever its shape, and dress it in clothes that make you feel like you. Treasure your stories, the ones that make your heart sing. Speak your mind, even if they banish you and call you difficult.

Trust me, it’s a compliment.

May a little of the wild thing, the Boo Hag that sheds her skin and flies off on adventures then returns home to rest, reside inside every one of us.