About Wren

I'm Wren - a songwriter, storyteller, witch, mother, and the voice behind Wren and the Daughters of the Bear.

And the Daughters of the Bear are real.

They're my daughters.

This whole thing began because I wanted to write music for them.

My daughters are Mohawk, Bear Clan, and they're being raised as Pagan witches. I wanted them to grow up hearing music that reflected those parts of themselves - music that didn't treat their identity, their spirituality, or their connection to the natural world as something strange that needed to be translated for somebody else.

I wanted them to have songs that already knew who they were.

Somewhere along the way, I discovered there were a lot more people who needed those songs, too.

So Wren and the Daughters of the Bear grew.

My music lives where the sacred and the ordinary meet: in muddy hands and candle wax, changing seasons, old stories, grief, motherhood, love, rage, laughter, ancestors, and the stubborn magic of becoming yourself.

I write for witches. For Pagans. For people rebuilding relationships with the earth, their ancestors, their bodies, and themselves. For those who have stepped away from inherited beliefs and discovered that the forest was still there waiting for them.

I write from lived practice - the imperfect, evolving kind.

The kind where correspondences get crossed out, spells fail, herbs surprise you, children interrupt rituals, somebody forgets what they're supposed to say, grief sits down beside celebration, and somehow all of it becomes sacred anyway.

Because Paganism isn't an aesthetic to me. It's something we live.

At the center of everything I do is storytelling.

As a Mohawk woman and a member of the Bear Clan, I also understand that stories carry things. They carry memory. They carry identity. They carry pieces of people across generations.

That doesn't mean every song I write is a Mohawk song. It means I am Mohawk, and that is one of the threads that makes me who I am and shapes what I choose to carry forward.

I believe Pagan music can be funny, furious, tender, political, joyful, sensual, grieving, complicated, and deeply human. It doesn't have to sound ancient to honor what is old, and it doesn't have to hide its teeth to be beautiful.

Motherhood sits at the heart of much of this.

Becoming a mother made me think differently about inheritance. Not simply what we inherit from the people who came before us, but what we deliberately place into the hands of those who come next.

What do I want my daughters to know?

What do I want them to remember?

What songs do I want already waiting for them when they're old enough to need them?

Those questions became music.

And there's one belief underneath so much of what I write:

I want to leave the circle wider than it was for me.

That's what Wren and the Daughters of the Bear means to me.

It's my music, but it's also a love letter to my daughters. To where they come from. To who they are now. And to whoever they become.

I'm not particularly interested in creating a distant stage persona or standing above the people who listen to my music.

I'd rather be standing in the circle with you.

Because these songs aren't about watching someone else practice magic.

They're about remembering that you do, too.