Newsletter: Ostara 2026
- Midwest Coven Cast
- Mar 20
- 8 min read
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Rewatching Magic at the Turning of the Wheel: Ostara, Renewal, and the Many Lives of Charmed
There is something about the season of Ostara that makes me want to start things again.
Perhaps it’s the light. Perhaps it’s the way the air itself seems to shrug off winter like a heavy coat. Or perhaps it’s the particular witchy instinct that emerges every spring: the urge to sweep out the cobwebs, rearrange the altar, and revisit old magic to see what new lessons it might hold.
This year, my Ostara ritual has been less about candles and eggs and more about television.
Specifically, I’ve been on a rewatch journey. I recently finished the entire original Charmed series—the late-1990s and early-2000s classic about the Halliwell sisters discovering their destiny as the Charmed Ones—and I’m currently halfway through season two of the 2018 reinvention. Watching them back-to-back feels a bit like walking through a garden in early spring: the same soil, the same basic structure, but with very different blooms pushing up through it.
Ostara, after all, is the celebration of emergence.
Rewatch projects are, in their own way, a seasonal practice. They allow us to encounter something familiar with fresh eyes, much the way the earth itself returns to life after the quiet dormancy of winter. When I first watched the original Charmed, I was much younger. The show felt like a mixture of fantasy wish fulfillment and cozy supernatural drama: a Victorian house, a book of shadows, demons vanquished before commercial breaks, and the ever-present reassurance that sisterhood could literally save the world.
The premise was simple but potent. Three sisters discover they are powerful witches whose combined magic forms the “Power of Three.” They balance careers, relationships, and the occasional apocalypse. It was messy and heartfelt and often delightfully ridiculous.
But like many cultural artifacts of its time, the show carried with it the assumptions and limitations of the era that produced it.
Rewatching it now, decades later, I noticed things I never would have recognized before. The show’s feminism, while genuine, often operated within relatively narrow parameters. The sisters were powerful, yes—but their power was frequently framed through romantic storylines, traditional gender expectations, and the aesthetics of early-2000s television.
And that’s not a criticism so much as an observation about time. Culture evolves the same way ecosystems do: slowly, unevenly, but persistently.
Which brings me to the reboot.
When the 2018 version of Charmed premiered, it arrived during a moment that felt culturally closer to Ostara than Samhain. Social movements around gender, race, and power were reshaping conversations across media and politics. The very idea of what feminist storytelling could look like was expanding.
So when the reboot introduced a new trio of sisters—Mel, Maggie, and Macy—it didn’t simply retell the old story. It planted something new in the same narrative soil.
Watching the show now, I’m struck by how consciously it reframes the magical premise through contemporary feminist lenses. The sisters’ identities and experiences are far more diverse, and the series frequently grapples with systemic issues—racism, academic politics, immigration, queer identity—in ways the original rarely attempted.
In other words, the reboot doesn’t just resurrect Charmed. It composts it.
And I mean that in the most loving Ostara sense possible.
Spring isn’t about erasing what came before. It’s about transformation. Last year’s leaves break down so that this year’s flowers can grow. The old becomes nourishment for the new.
The original Charmed deserves credit for what it achieved in its time. Three women at the center of a supernatural action series was not nothing in the late 1990s. The show embraced female friendship and sisterhood as literal sources of magical power. It explored themes of independence, grief, and responsibility.
But the 2018 version expands those themes in fascinating ways.
For example, Mel’s character foregrounds queer identity in a way that would have been groundbreaking—perhaps even controversial—during the original series’ early seasons. Maggie’s storylines delve into emotional labor, empathy, and the psychological dimensions of magic.
Macy’s experiences often explore questions of belonging and identity within institutions that historically exclude certain voices.
In other words, the reboot understands something that modern feminist theory has been saying for decades: there is no single universal experience of womanhood.
Feminism, like magic, is not static. It evolves as new voices join the circle.
Watching this evolution unfold across two versions of the same show has felt uncannily aligned with the spirit of Ostara. The holiday celebrates balance—day and night in equilibrium—but it also celebrates the dynamic tension that balance creates. From that equilibrium comes movement, growth, possibility.
The reboot lives in that space of possibility.
One of my favorite recurring objects in Charmed—both versions—is the Book of Shadows.
Within the show, it’s a magical family archive, filled with spells, lore, and personal notes from generations of witches. But watching the series now, I can’t help seeing it as a metaphor for culture itself.
Stories are our collective Book of Shadows.
Every generation writes new entries. Every generation also rereads the old ones, interpreting them differently depending on the moment in which they live. The original Charmed wrote certain spells into that book—about sisterhood, independence, and women claiming power in a supernatural world.
The reboot flips back through those pages and scribbles in the margins.
Sometimes it expands the spells. Sometimes it questions them. Sometimes it rewrites them entirely.
And that process is deeply Ostara-coded, if you ask me.
Of course, reboots are often controversial precisely because they challenge nostalgia.
For many viewers, the original Charmed holds a kind of sacred place in the cultural imagination. It was their first magical show, their comfort series, their introduction to the idea that witchcraft could be something other than villainy or horror.
Reboots inevitably disrupt that emotional landscape.
But if Ostara teaches us anything, it’s that renewal requires a certain willingness to let the past breathe rather than freeze it in amber. A garden that refuses new seeds eventually stops being a garden.
The reboot doesn’t replace the original any more than this year’s daffodils replace last year’s tulips. They coexist in the same ecosystem.
And honestly, watching them together makes both versions richer.
One of the delights of modern witchcraft communities is how comfortable we’ve become with reinterpretation. Traditions are living things. We adapt rituals, rewrite invocations, blend practices from different lineages, and experiment constantly.
In many ways, the 2018 Charmed operates like a magical tradition that has been passed down and adapted by new practitioners.
The bones remain recognizable: sister witches, a Book of Shadows, a destiny that ties personal growth to collective responsibility.
But the details shift.
New spells appear. Old assumptions dissolve. Different voices lead the ritual.
Watching the show during the weeks leading up to Ostara has made me think about how storytelling itself functions as a kind of seasonal magic. We revisit old narratives the way we revisit sacred sites—not because they are unchanging, but because they change alongside us.
As I write this, I’m halfway through season two of the reboot, which feels strangely appropriate for this moment in the Wheel of the Year. Ostara sits at the midpoint between the introspective darkness of winter and the fiery exuberance of Beltane.
It’s a season of beginnings that are not yet fully formed.
Seeds have sprouted, but the garden is still young.
That’s exactly how the reboot feels to me right now. It’s still growing, still experimenting, still figuring out what its version of the magical world can be.
And perhaps that’s the most Ostara-appropriate lesson of all.
Magic—whether fictional or real—is never finished. It’s always in the process of becoming.
So this Ostara, while I will certainly dye a few eggs and refresh the herbs on my altar, I’ll also be doing something else: pressing “next episode.”
Because sometimes renewal doesn’t look like a dramatic life overhaul. Sometimes it looks like revisiting an old story and discovering that it has grown alongside you.
The earth is waking up. The light is returning. And somewhere in the fictional multiverse of television witches, a new generation is writing fresh spells into the Book of Shadows.
Which, if you ask me, feels like exactly the kind of magic Ostara was meant to celebrate.
Banana Bread Transformations
Every Ostara I feel the same impulse: to transform something.
Not in the dramatic, lightning-bolt sense of magical fiction, but in the quieter, kitchen-witch way—the kind that begins with a cluttered counter, a warm oven, and ingredients that are just a little past their prime.
Enter the humble overripe banana.
If you’ve ever kept bananas on the counter for “just one more day,” you know the moment. The skins freckle. Then brown. Then reach the point where eating them plain feels… optimistic at best. In many households, this is the stage where bananas begin their slow march toward the compost bin.
But Ostara is a festival devoted to the idea that nothing is truly wasted in the great cycles of nature.
Spring reminds us that transformation is not failure—it is the whole point. Last year’s fallen leaves become this year’s fertile soil. Seeds split open before they grow. What looks like decay is often simply the first step toward renewal.
Overripe bananas are, in their own small way, an edible metaphor for this seasonal magic.
Their softness, their sweetness, their slightly chaotic appearance are precisely what make them perfect for banana bread. The very qualities that make them unsuitable for snacking are what allow them to become something richer and more comforting once flour, butter, and a little intention enter the ritual.
Kitchen witchery often works like this. We take what the week has given us—leftovers, aging fruit, a quiet afternoon—and we reshape it into nourishment.
So as the earth wakes up around us this Ostara, we’ll begin with a bowl, a fork, and three to four gloriously overripe bananas, ready to become something entirely new.
Ingredients for bread:
3-4 each Overripe Bananas (approximate)
2 each Large Eggs
¾ cup Butter MELTED (salted preferred)
1 1/3 cup sugar
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
¼ tsp salt
1 tsp Maple
1 tsp Vanilla
1 tsp Cinnamon
2 ¾ cups All purpose flour
2 cups Chocolate Chips (optional)
Preheat oven to 325º
Combine all ingredients in a large bowl. Add the flour LAST, adding a little at a time.
Grease a loaf pan (butter, spray oil, shortening…whatever you’ve got) and then add your batter to the pan. This batter is a little thick, so you may need to level/even out your batter in the pan.
Cook for 55-60 minutes.
Ostara Reflections on Transformation
Ostara arrives each year as a quiet turning point on the Wheel—a moment when the light and the dark stand in balance before the growing season truly begins. In nature, this balance creates the conditions for renewal. Seeds split open beneath the soil. Old leaves soften and become nourishment for new growth. Transformation rarely begins with perfection; it begins with what already exists.
For shadow work, Ostara invites us to consider the parts of ourselves we have labeled “past their prime.” These might be habits, beliefs, fears, or old stories about who we are and what we are capable of becoming. Often we try to discard these pieces of ourselves, imagining growth requires starting from scratch.
But what if renewal works differently?
Journaling Prompts:
What parts of yourself feel “overripe” right now—ready to change, even if you’re unsure how?
Is there an old belief, identity, or pattern that once served you but now feels ready to transform?
What wisdom or strength might still be hidden inside that experience?
If this part of your life were compost for new growth, what might it nourish?
Let Ostara remind you: transformation rarely wastes anything. Even the shadows can become fertile ground.
Southern Hemisphere Shout Out: Mabon
Blessed Mabon to our witchy friends in the southern hemisphere. The witches of Midwest Coven cast hope your autumnal equinox will be accompanied by a bountiful harvest. Feel free to check out the Mabon newsletter we released during our Mabon turn for more information about the holiday and some activities.
Special Thanks
As always Midwest Coven Cast owes our work, in large part, to the wonderful Patreon coven that helps to fund the important aspects of our work. They keep our website up, our business licenses current, and so much more. Thank you for democratizing the costs of this passion project. Special thanks to anonymous and Steve D. for your continued, high-level support. You are the real MVPs!
Calendar
20 March Ostara (spring Equinox)
01 April Full Pink Moon (9:11pm CST)
17 April New Moon (6:51am CST)
01 May Beltane
Full Flower Moon (12:23pm CST)
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