Turning the Celtic Wheel
On Sunday afternoon I went outside in my bare feet and walked across our lawn to one of my favourite places. The edge of a hawthorn hedge, where it meets the farm gate that divides our garden from the fields.
The land drops away steeply from the gate and you get a broad view – beds with this year’s vegetables and beds just newly planted with next year’s garlic. And beyond that the rest of our uncultivated field, the willow patch (almost ready to be harvested), grazing cows and a glimpse of Slieve Croob in the distance.
The moss was spongy and damp beneath my feet. Ruby red haws hung on bare branches and soft, plump drips of water plopped from wet leaves overhead. I put my hand on the trunk of the hawthorn tree. I gave an offering of wholemeal Irish flour and a few calendula flowers, and I thanked the land for its bounty this Summer.
This ritual was the beginning of a journey to reconnect with my Celtic roots. I have joined a year-long course called Belonging: A Celtic Spiral. By giving myself this time and opportunity, I’m seeking to connect with the wisdom of the land, with my ancestral roots and my own spirituality. Spirituality is not something I’ve given much thought to for many years. It’s exciting. And a little unsettling.
Reconnecting with my Celtic roots is important to me. When I was a little girl my Dad loved to tell me stories of Celtic warriors and Queens, of faeries, the sidhe and the Tuatha Dé Danann. Of Tír na nÓg, changelings and banshees. He was a brilliant, if slightly terrifying, storyteller. I remember many nights huddled in my sleeping bag in our caravan unable to sleep as I was absolutely convinced that I could hear the bean sí (banshee) outside! He was so interested in our Celtic heritage and bringing it to people, through stories, so they could understand the context and mythology of the place they were from.
My Dad joined the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) when he was 18 – in 1972 – a slightly terrifying time to be involved in any type of law enforcement in Northern Ireland. He was a protestant policeman in Belfast in the 1970s, but he felt strongly connected with his Irish roots. He was open-minded about the future of Ireland and as he rose through the ranks, he had more and more opportunity to share his knowledge. He ran courses on Irish history within the policing community, he wanted others to understand how recent and ancient history had shaped the land we live in. To give context and understanding to the conflict. I think it was important and brave work. Not everyone would have looked kindly upon it.
And then my father died suddenly when I was 12. And I feel like I lost my connection to those stories, to that deep interest in ancient Irish history and mythology. Maybe I would have lost is anyway, I was becoming a teenager, perhaps it would have just fallen way.
At school I studied History and Politics up to A-Level – I learnt much about recent Irish history. But though we spent a lot of time on Roman and Greek mythology at school our own Celtic mythologies and stories were missing. It’s a pity that they aren’t more widely taught, because as well as being powerful, compelling stories they teach us so much about the importance of being in the right relationship with the land. How to cultivate respect and thanks for her gifts and how to live within the rhythm of the seasons. There are examples of powerful women who are agents of their own destiny. Stories that are often lacking in the more recent histories we are taught.
Having lived here on our rural small-holding and farm for six years now I find myself increasingly spiritually and emotionally connected to the seasons. Anyone who grows or forages for their own food and uses that food to feed themselves and others will surely feel innately connected to the changes in the seasons – there is an unfettered joy in those first primroses and mint leaves pushing through the cold earth in early Spring ready to freshen a salad or beautify a cake and there is a sense of loss in Autumn as growth slows and then the sudden destruction of that first frost as the cheery nasturtiums turn to mush overnight! And in-between there is the abundance of harvest – August and September – when you can’t keep up with the produce and there are armfuls and basketfuls of everything. The rhythm and festivals of the Celtic year are now more relevant to me than traditional holidays I had been brought up celebrating.
Samhain is one of the most important festivals in the Celtic wheel, perhaps THE most important one. The Celts believed it was when the veil between our world and the otherworld was at it’s thinnest and most permeable. It was a time to remember ancestors and to acknowledge the unknown, the magical and supernatural. It also marks the Celtic New Year. An auspicious time to start a new journey of learning and exploration. The Celts (and other tribes who lived on these lands – because Celt is somewhat of a catch-all term) divided the year into two halves, the dark half, and the light half. Samhain marks the beginning of the dark half of the year; the descent into Winter, into rest and dreaming, creativity and planning.
We mark many to the Celtic festivals with our supper clubs. This week we have been celebrating Samhain. Our ancestors would have observed these festivals with community gatherings, feasting and fire. Our supper clubs which bring people together to feast and connect, to share stories and to sit round the fire pit seem an appropriate tribute.
So wherever you find yourself this Samhain I encourage you to take time to acknowledge this shift in the seasons. Take time to remember loved ones who have departed, light a fire, bake barm brack, carve a turnip or a pumpkin and maybe tell a ghost story or two.
Photo credits: The first beautiful photo is by Sharon Cosgrove Photography. The other photos are our own
