While many of the same willows sprawl across the globe, there are often several discrepancies in how each culture interprets them. When regarding the flowing branches of the famous weeping willow, for example, some people see a symbol of elegance and flexibility, while others see spineless subordination; “willowy” in the English dictionary means “tall” and “graceful,” but in that same culture, it often features as a withered grandfather or a night predator swallowing up travelers in the dark. Still, I think all the contradictory characteristics and mythologies of this particularly turbulent plant can contained in one story— the story of Yuhwa, the Korean goddess of willows.
It starts in the Amnok River, presently known as the strait bordering China and Korea (Yalu River), when the god-king, Habaek (河伯), is blessed with three beautiful daughters: Yuhwa (柳花), Hwonhwa (萱花), and Wihwa(葦花). Like classic Slavic folklore, the three princesses fall into a predicament when a devious god-king of the north side, Hae Mo-su (解慕漱), lures them into his palace with a banquet, gets them drunk, and imprisons them.
However, unlike in Slavic folklore, the first-born child steps in to rescue her sisters, getting herself trapped as a result. When the sisters implore their father for help, Habaek rushes to save his daughter, and from the steps of the palace, he challenges Hae Mo-su to a battle of metamorphosis, transforming into a carp, a pheasant, and a deer… only to be defeated by Hae Mo-su’s otter, hawk, and wolf, and conceding to the marriage.
The marriage itself falls apart just as quickly. In some versions of this story, Yuhwa falls in love with her captor, only for Hae Mo-su to escape on their way to the union, stealing her golden hairpin. In others, Yuhwa is the one who escapes. In both versions, the engagement disgraces the princess, and instead of returning home, she runs. And continues running until, eventually, she is found, bedraggled and deformed, on the shores of a reservoir, staring up a set of fishers in the East Kingdom of Buyeo.
Although some versions claim that the king of this region, Geumwa, falls in love with Yuhwa, in most versions he locks her in an isolated room, suspicious of her person, and she stays confined until she gives birth to a son (or an egg, which hatches into a human child) named Chumo (鄒牟) or (in the Chinese version) Jumong (朱蒙), meaning “Archer,” for the prodigious marksmanship his mother cultivates. Chumo grows up to be the founder of the Northern Korean kingdom of Goguryo.
In a way, this story is heavily integrated into the mythological foundation story of Korea. At the same time, it’s a story about willow trees. For example, like Yuhwa, the willow tree originates in Asia along the waterside. These moisture-loving plants start from light, short-lived seeds but sprout into such a formidable force that it has earned the status of a weed. Some countries (like New Zealand or Australia) insert shoots into watercourses to defend the land against tide erosion despite this feature because of its ability to thrive in unpredictable conditions of the coastline.
Where several other plants drown or dry with changing water levels over the month, the willow developed specific compounds to defend it against the stress of the droughts, overexposure, metal-poisoning, and salinity that frequent waterways; its most famous defense is called “salicylic acid.” Honest to the goddess’ beauty and the (stereotypical) modern Korean culture, this acid is used in skin care to clear dead skin cells and encourage new growth, healing it from burns or dryness, willow use salicylic acid for regular and adaptive processes. For example, while the acid regulates growth and metabolism, it converts into a sour, volatile chemical that combats pathogenic disruptions and adjusts the plant’s functions during environmental stress.
Just as the goddess’ turbulent and often tragic story still leads to the solid foundation of the kingdom of Goguryeo (the root name for Korea), the tree also thrives in a turbulent environment and protects the physical land against erosion.
This being said, the plant does thrive in luxury. Despite being able to handle most soil types and weather conditions, the house willow does enjoy well-draining soil with middling (to slightly acidic) pH, with balanced fertilizers. In colder climates, young willow shoots prefer the full sun, while they prefer dappled shade in the warmer shade to retain the moisture, which allows them to thrive. Water this plant frequently when growing indoors; it enjoys excess more than absence when it comes to water.
On the cusp of land and water, the willow often features as a liminal figure, a portal between the immortal world and this one. In Korean mythology, Yuhwa is a goddess who mingles with the human realm, even birthing an essential cultural figure, which might lead to this reputation. More generally, though, many cultures associate water with the immortal realm, and, because the willow is associated with water (hence its scientific name), it becomes a messenger or gatekeeper between the worlds.
In Celtic culture, for example, water is a symbol of divine inspiration and spiritual connection, and the association between willows and water is clear, claiming that harvesting willow during the waning moon (and the receding tide) would diminish the quality of the wood. While Scottish folklore claims that willow catkins tied in a three-ply cord can protect their wielder against unseen forces, willows themselves can allegedly enhance an individual’s psychic or supernatural abilities, making them wise and insightful.
In Greek mythology, water relates to the Underworld. Hades whisks Persephone to the Underworld through a lake (Pergusa), and Hecate, the goddess of ghosts and crossroads (often worshiped alongside the Underworld gods) relates to the moon, its tide, and the willow; Orpheus supposedly brought a willow harp to the Underworld in his desperate attempt to retrieve his beloved wife after she dies tragically on their wedding day. The Ancient Chinese, likewise, record supernatural attributions to the willow; during the Qinming Festival (Tomb-sweeping), when the underworld ruler allowed spirits to roam the land, willows would ward spirits from abodes laced with willow. In Taoist culture, witches used willow carvings to communicate with the dead; in Buddhist culture, the bodhisattva of compassion (Kwan Yin or Guanyin) is depicted on a rock with a willow branch and water, both used to keep demons in check.
Yuhwa, like the bodhisattva, mitigates two worlds, though instead of using willow branches to protect her loved ones, she sacrifices her own body. Funnily enough, people use willows to help other plants survive and thrive in horticulture because salicylic acid is an effective pesticide, a source of nutrition for honeybees, and an effective regulator for other plants; in some cases, horticulturalists combat abiotic stresses that stunt cuttings and seedlings, and tobacco farmers use it to induce flowers. This connection is especially compelling when learning that Yuhwa’s sisters, Hwonhwa and Wihwa, are named after different plant families (Hwonhwa represents the tiger lily in the herbaceous group of plants, and Wihwa represents phragmites in the family of grasses).
Funnily enough, the willow is an effective cure for hangovers, which may tie into how she saved her sisters from intoxication. Most commonly, people encounter salicylic acid through the processed pill, acetylasylic acid, or Aspirin; but the young twigs of a willow were thought to be better than Advil for hangovers because it eased the piercing headache without weakening the stomach lining to the same extent. In Ancient times, people referred to this cure for inflammation and fevers in Greece (Hippocrates), Babylon, Assyria, China, America, India, England, and Korea. In America, it was so effective that people poached beavers to endangerment because it would keep concentrations of salicylic acid (called castoreum) in glands adjacent to their tails due to their consumption of willows.
Thus, the willow becomes a figure who stands at the edge between the world of life and death, or the mortal and the immortal, manipulating or mitigating the line between them. It gives life to those who struggle with aspects of death (fever), it provides premonitions from the divine, and it transports those trapped on the other side.
On the other hand, Yuhwa herself can’t go back home after she rescues her sisters, and her condition is one of irreparable loss, a reality she can no longer reach. The plant loses parts of itself to the harvest of salicylic acid, or it might tie back to the willow’s connection to the afterlife, an unreachable divide between the dead and the living, the present and the past, or the physical and imaginary. For example, just as willows are associated with spirits and ghosts in Asia, willows often feature in murders and graveyards of England.
Just as Hae Mo-su taints Yuhwa’s relationship with her family, banishing her to a mortal kingdom, the large willow aphid ruins the willow’s relation to honeybees. This aphid is adapted to withstand the insecticidal properties of salicylic acid and creates a waste product called “honeydew,” which the bees often enjoy. While honeybees benefit from the tree’s pollen and nectar, honey produced from honeydew is sour, less soluble, and harmful to bees. It is linked to malnutrition, dysentery, and poor harvest.
If your willow attracts this aphid, sources suggest spraying insecticidal soap or apple cider vinegar (1:3 vinegar to water) consistently. However, it is difficult to completely cure an aphid infestation.
In some cases, the willow simply symbolizes the separation of loved ones. Willows signify friendship in Chinese gardens, Chinese custom uses the willow as a parting gift. Although this is partly because “willow” may phonetically resemble the word “stay,” it is also personified in the Japanese fairytale, “The Green Willow,” to represent the lady of a star-crossed romance; in the Joseon Dynasty, a Korean courtesan calls herself the willow of a parting lover.
Although many different species of plants have both their male and female parts, the willow is dioecious, meaning their male and female flowers are on separate plants; this is probably a coincidental similarity between the mythology and the real plant, but it is a notable similarity.
Despite this tragic backstory, Yuhwa’s story is ultimately about the foundation of a kingdom that leads to the country of Korea. In the story, Yuhwa loses pieces of herself but grounds herself in the human realm with the birth of a human son in a manner reminiscent of Greek mythology (as some sources claim she is impregnated by the sun and gives birth to an egg that hatched a demigod).
Thus, her past doesn’t depict a tragedy, but turbulence; this idea is likely what inspired the fluttering and conversational nature of Adolphus Hailstork’s flute solo piece, “Yuhwa.” It also reflects the tree’s adaptability. In addition to the environmental adaptability salicylic acid allows, the willow branches readily propagate when the plant is broken apart, even shooting from stumps. It spreads and multiplies through their stolons (roots), as well. Though its leaves look like tears, it always creates new growth, never-ending in a terminal bud, lasting throughout the season and continuing its progress from the previous year. Its branches are so resilient that they often used them to make woven structures, even crafting light, sturdy baskets in the Second World War.
Actually, the willow is subject to an ancient practice called coppicing, where the tree is cut at the base to encourage the thick growth of shoots, either for aesthetic or harvesting purposes.
The plant is a symbol of subordinate obedience in Japanese culture, especially when paired with the chivalrous sparrow but the artistic depiction of the willow (Yanagi) symbolizes flexibility and patience, as it does in Celtic mythology. The willow was even esteemed in the military and upright culture of ancient Rome, where one of their seven hills was named after the Latin willow, Viminia, called Viminal Hill.
This story is supposed to reflect the Confucian beliefs that sponsored its telling in the highly narrativized historical document, Samguk Sagi. Likewise, one of Confucius’ famous quotes says this: “The green reed which bends in the wind is stronger than the mighty oak which breaks in a storm.” This can be linked back to the story, through the challenge of transformations; although Yuhwa’s father is defeated through the pure aggression and power of Hae Mo-su’s transformations, Habaek’s transformations in Korean mythology symbolize perseverance (through the carp), noble or beautiful wisdom (through the pheasant), and longevity (through the deer). All of these are also features attributed to the willow, and the story’s presentation in this light suggests that the willow and her birthplace are much stronger than the brute force that defines her environmental adversaries.
Because of its resilience, the plant can last many years and grow to great ages and sizes. Along with its association with the clairvoyant immortal plane, this longevity attributes the willow with wisdom. In many cultures, people defer to the willow for advice, the way they would a grandfather figure in character archetypes. For example, a man asks advice from the tree in the Japanese story, “Wisdom of the Willow Tree” and the “willow-father” of Hans Christian Anderson’s tale, “Under the Willow Tree,” answers children who ask him questions.
More commonly, though, this longstanding wisdom, paired with its ability, gives the willow stereotypically feminine characteristics, and the tree reflects as a nurturing, wise woman. For example, in Greek culture, Helice, meaning “willow,” is also the name of Zeus’ nurse. In Korean culture, goddesses were often nurturing figures (ex. Jacheongbi, goddess of agriculture), and Yuhwa, posing simply as the mother of the founder Chumo, is no exception.
In the end, the story of the willow depicts a character who is messy and more than a little bit ragged but still pulls through with the tenacity of a rebel and the virtues of a queen, in the end nourishing a foundation that is both flexible, like a bow, but potent, like an arrow. Thriving in the inevitable tumult that life throws at everyone, the willow teaches how to pave a path and foundation for yourself in times of trouble or oppression. In this way, it can be a rewarding plant to have in your home and garden. Just as the Koreans have turned the willow into the divine foundation for its peninsula, you can see your willow become a meaningful foundation to your home.
