Returning to Ritual

A couple of weeks ago, we had the garden done. When I say we had the garden done, I mean we had new turf laid. Now, I knew at the back of my mind that fresh turf needed extra care and watering, but it hadn't occurred to me that it would need watering in the morning and night for several weeks to make sure that it doesn't dry up, obviously it makes sense when you think about it.

The first few days were a bit of novelty, firing the hose away and laughing to myself, shooting the fence or the barbecue, but I did think how on earth am I going to fit this in before work and when I've got meetings in the evening etc and I could see it becoming a bit of a chore. However, when you've invested quite a lot of money in something, you try and look after it so, I kept it up and I'm happy to report that the lawn, apart from a few tiny patches, it is bedding in beautifully. 

So this last week I've been getting up at quarter an hour early to make sure I've got time to go and nourish this beautiful green lawn, taking my morning cup of tea out there, usually joined by curious cats, and listening to the birds, and to be honest quite enjoying it. Himself was home yesterday, and checked the lawn and said that they probably didn't need to water it so much, so this morning. I thought do I need to go out there? 

Do I need to attach the hose pipe and do it, and it surprised me that I wanted to be out there. I wanted to be sat up there with my mug of tea, feet getting wet from the spray of the hose, listening to the birds and gently easing myself into my day, and those quiet reflective moments at the end of the day, where I sat pondering on my wild violets, which have seeded themselves in the border, the ones I have been studying and working with, in the Plant Spirit Ally Challenge throughout May. It surprised me how quickly had become a welcome ritual, one that I had happily, and surreptitiously fallen into, and one I had quietly come to love. The thought of not having to do it, was actually a disappointment. 

So I sat out there this morning, with my second cup of tea, and  Lily the cat for company and I listened to all the birds that I've learned to identify over the last few weeks; the gentle cooing of woodpigeons and collared doves, the trilling of wrens, and goldfinches, blackbird's clear tones, as well as the raucous cawing of some crows, and it occurred to me that I'd learnt something and not just the distinct and different bird calls. In these quiet moments of enforced ritual, that found there was a piece, I'd found a small sanctuary that I was missing from my busy life. 

So I suppose my point of all these ramblings, is that like many people, I sometimes struggle with the consistency and maintaining ritual or devotions, yes, I always have a quiet chat with Goddess, even if it is in my car as I'm hurtling to work or to the next meeting, yes, I do a grounding most days, sometimes more rushed than others, but I don't always have time for the sitting still and the just being, or drumming or meditating. However it seems that Goddess had a plan, and my lawn was in it. It seems that the stillness and contemplation, the rhythmic sound of the birds was a gift that I needed and She made sure it happened, She made sure that it was woven into my day, and reminded me what I needed, and for that, I am truly grateful.

                                         Have a Blessed Week x x 

A Balancing Act

The wheel turns once more, and with the harvest, comes the falling temperatures and leaves, the end of September is upon us, and the winter months beckon. This time of harvest is known by many names; Autumn Equinox, or the increasingly unpopular term of Mabon, Albon Elfod in the Druid Path, Harvest Home or In Gathering in traditional folklore and Michaelmas in the old church calendar. In fact today, the  29th September is St Michaels Day or Michaelmas. 

In fact a lovely little bit of folklore tells us that Michaelmas is when St Michael kicked the devil out of heaven and he landed somewhat unceremoniously on a blackberry bush. With not just his dignity smarting, every year he remembers and kicks, spits or even piddles on those luscious purply-black fruits, so legend tells us not to pick them after this day. I had a look at mine belatedly today, to see if there were anymore left to go with my apples, but nope, the devil has definitely got to them, and however arty the late afternoon light makes them look, there's no way I'm eating them!

Whatever term sits best with you, the significance of the season remain pretty much the same; harvest, a time of equal light and balance before the onset of winter and the fading of the light. So this biannual celestial balance of light and dark, of day and night brings harmony to us, or so we hope. Sometimes however, I suspect that it serves to show us what is not quite totally in balance, sometimes the season also serves to show us what is a bit wobbly, askew, completely off kilter or plain upside down, not just in our own lives, but in the world around us.

The sharp nip in the air and the dew on this spider's web this morning, so precariously and masterfully created between a garden chair and himself's Lambretta, could have been woven by Arachnae herself. In a moment of reflection, well wrapped up on the patio, along with a lazy morning cuppa, in my own personal bid for balance and sanity, it occurred to me to be a perfect symbol of the delicate state of everything around us right now, brave, beautiful and fragile beyond measure. This multi stranded and complex equilibrium of the world right now, which seems so shaky, unbalanced and uncertain, and try as we might, we can't seem to set it right, let alone balance or stabilise however hard we try, however loud we shout and protest, or hard we manifest or cast our quiet everyday magic. But the world somehow keeps spinning it's magic, and so must we, in whatever way we can.

Whether quietly and calmly, or loudly and bravely, we must continue to light our candles to illuminate the stealthily approaching darkness and hold those lanterns up high into the darkening corners of our rooms and our communities, to keep the fear and monsters at bay and chase the lengthening shadows away, whatever or whoever they may be. We have to allow ourselves to trust the freefall into Autumn with the leaves that dance around us, in their descent to carpeting the ground with their array of reds, oranges and yellows, before becoming one with the earth again. 

We have to remind ourselves that the decay of the autumn and winter comes with the promise of rejuvenation and regeneration, and it is a time to hunker down and restore our tired and sad hearts, souls and minds, to rebalance and recalibrate all that we need to, to explore and navigate the many things that the future holds for us, and that we can and we will spin our path to balance.

                                       Blessings of Balance To You All x x 

The River Of Stars

It's been a busy month here, so writing time has been spent on other projects, but as I've just come back in from Mum and Dad's house,  I've been gazing at the stars, and I thought I'd share this with you all, that I wrote for Camp last month. For context, it was written to share after an evening star gazing, which of course the clouds hid, but I wanted  to create a myth that my distant ancestors sat atop a hill one starry night  many millennia ago may have told each other about the constellation Cassiopeia, long before they'd heard of a Greek myth. You can Find the constellation in the East of the summer sky here in the Northern hemisphere, and it looks like giant W.

I hope you enjoy it...

 Constellation of Cassiopeia,  courtesy of https://star-name-registry.com

The River Of Stars

 

Let your minds take you to another campfire, not far from here, a little higher up on the ridge to the North, there too, the fire is roaring, and the tribe has gathered, much like it has here. There too, there is companionship, warmth and safety, so let yourself be transported back to another place in time, several millennia since.

Stelli feels the chill of the night tingling on her nose and cheeks, and she pulls her furs more tightly around her, the bone toggle has fallen off, but she has yet to tell her mother who is quietly feeding her youngest sister under her own furs. She inches a little closer to the fire.

The great sun set low in the sky earlier tonight and tomorrow he will rise a little later, for the cold months draw near, and the winter approaches. She snuggles into her Grandmother Edda, who despite her tiny birdlike frame, radiates a warmth that Stelli has been drawn to, for all of her 11 summers. The old woman smiles and manoeuvres her into her great fur cloak whilst still managing to work on the carving she has carefully been etching on a long animal tooth with a small flint. Her old, gnarled fingers slower now than they used to be, but still working in precise, hypnotic movement scoring lines and patterns.

 

Round the fire the menfolk of the tribe, her father, her uncles, brothers and cousins are laughing and congratulating themselves on the end of another season of hunting in the furthest reaches of the land. They have long since been settled here on the high ridge that they call home, but the nomadic spirit from over a lifetime ago still pulses through their veins and each summer, the call of adventure sends them to follow the herds who still take their seasonal migrations to the faraway lands towards the other sea.

 

The night is crisp and clear, and the skies are full of stars that shine brightly and Stelli traces patterns with her fingers, Edda smiles as she watches her.

“You can see the shapes and places of the stars child?” she asks quietly.

Proudly Stelli answers her, “Yes, I can. I can see the great bear that Uncle Ruud showed me”

On hearing his name Ruud joins the conversation, and everyone listens, as they always do, for he is their greatest hunter and warrior.

“The great bear” he roars and winks at Stelli, “Artur, we call him. My ancestral fathers hunted that bear and put him in the sky to remind us of our old ways!”  and the men folk roar in appreciation at the sharing of the ancient memories of their tribe.

Stelli points out a jagged line of stars that traverse the night sky “and what of those ones?” she asks her Grandmother, who knows all that there is to know.

Her Uncle’s son Haan answers first “That’s the great adder, my Grandfather told me about him when I was a boy, a giant silent serpent that slithers down from the heavens when the winter nights come, his eyes are like flames and that is the last thing you see before his fangs dig into your flesh with their deadly poison!”

Some of the younger children look scared and draw closer to their mothers, and Stelli can see that her little brother Torba’s lip is trembling.

Ruud laughs and ruffles Haan’s hair, “No son, that is the where the heavens open when the Gods are angry, like a great split in the sky, when the sky rumbles and the heavens are filled with flashes of fire. It reminds us to serve our Gods well”

This isn’t helping Torba much and his lip continues to quiver.

Ruud however is kinder than his son, and seeing Torba’s face and those of the smaller members of the tribe who look worried, he continues:

“But, we serve our Gods well and we bring them offerings, and they are not angry with us! Look at all of these hides and furs, and the winter supplies of meat that we have gathered! We still hunt the Elk, the Deer and the wild boar and we feel their hearts beating and their blood pulsing in time with our own throughout the wild hunt. We still make offerings for their sacrifice to honour the Gods, and they are not angry” and even Torba smiles a little.

“These stars in the sky, are pathways to home” he carries on “They were placed there by the Gods for our ancestors, back in the old days when our fathers walked from land to land, long, long ago, before the sea rose and drowned the pathways of Doggerland and the land split into two. These stars guided them home, from the Land where the sun sets, to where it rises, so that we could journey back to each other, and we use them still”  There is much nodding and agreement amongst the tribesmen.

“What do you see Stelli?” Asks her Grandmother,  Her voice is quiet but her presence as Elder and Keeper of the Stones means that she too is listened to and revered. The whole tribe wait for Stelli to reply.

“Well, erm ” Stelli’s cheeks flame as she mutters, but she ignores the faces that Haan is pulling  and she continues “I see,  well, I see a meandering river, like the one that weaves through the valley, down there” as she points to the darkness at the bottom of the hill towards where the muddy brown river flows  “but  it is reflected in the skies and marked out by stars” 

Edda’s face breaks into a wide smile

“You are right, my granddaughter, you are right”

Edda looks around the tribe, and gently unwrapping Stelli from her cloak, she stands up as tall as she can be for such a small woman and looks up into the night sky.

“That is indeed the river of stars, t rises with the sun and it weaves its way through the valleys of the heavens, all the way over to where the sun sets in the faraway places of the land.  And do you know why it is there?”

Some of the older members of the tribe nod, but the younger ones, shake their heads open mouthed.  “It is the river of stars and the river of life” she continues “when we walked the land when I was a girl, even younger than Stelli is now, it showed us the way back to our ancestors, and as Ruud says, it kept us safe on our journey home, and yes there were snakes Haan and your grandfather wrestled them and he fought off bears, to keep us  all safe” Haan smiles, relieved that he doesn’t look so stupid after all.

“But it is also the river of our ancestors, so that wherever we journeyed we could find our way back to them, and wherever we buried them, they could always find their way home to us, back to the rites that we speak and sing, when we honour them, and our dances  that lead them upwards to the stars, where we all go when we pass through the veil, and their spirits journey ahead through the star river to the great unknown.”

Stelli feels the hairs on the back of her neck prickling as Edda speaks and as she rejoins her granddaughter and wraps her back up in her furs, she whispers just to her:

 “It is no wonder that you know these things my child, you were birthed on a starry night like this, I helped you from your Mother’s body, and it was I, that named you Stelli, in honour of the stars that shone so brightly above us, then, and now” 

Stelli smiles with pride and Edda hands her the tooth she has been carving all afternoon and night saying “here child you need a new toggle for your furs”

And when Stelli looks at the carving, in the flickering light of the fire, she can see as well as feel, the curved groove of the celestial river marked along the whole length of the tooth,  as well as a handful of stars marking out  its journey through the night sky, and she knows in that instant that her Grandmother is full of the magic and wisdom of the heavens, and she, Stelli has inherited this deep star magic too.

 

                                               Have A Blessed Week

The Maidstone Witch Trials

So you've probably heard me mention the Maidstone Witches of late, and I thought as the anniversary of the trial is today,  now would be the time to tell you a little more about them. On 30th July 1652 six women, Anne Ashby, Anne Martin, Anne Wilson, Mary Browne and Mildred Wright from Cranbrook and Mary Reade from Lenham were all on trial at The Summer Assizes here in Maidstone, charged with murder and witchcraft. 

Not a position anyone would want to find themselves in, during this Puritan era of history. According to the records there was usually one or two witchcraft cases a year at the assizes, in 1652 there were an astonishing 18. I've been to the National Archives at Kew to see the Assizes records, and it makes very stark reading.

                                                       

                                                         The Assize Records

Their alleged crimes ranged from nearly 4 years previously, when a Lenham Farmer died, and Mary was accused of bewitching and killing him, whilst the other women from Cranbrook faced a mixture of 3 allegations, two involving children or babies that had 'withered and died', and another of a woman who had 'languished and died' all due to witchcraft. This was at a time when the infant mortality rate was 1 in 5 children  would die before their first birthday* and of those who made it to adulthood could expect an average life expectancy of around  35, precarious times for anyone who was a healer or midwife, or if you had a family with a grudge or who bore you ill will.

                                                The Old Gaol Cell, Maidstone

Details are scant, but we know that they were taken for trial at the Lower Court House in Maidstone, and held in the small wooden cell below it, the actual cell shown above was rebuilt in the new Town Hall in the roof, using the very same wooden walls. We also know from the records that they had been examined for Devil's marks and pricked, as was the advice of the leading authorities of the time, detailed in a book written by King James I titled Daemonologie published just over 50 years before. Pricking for those of you who have never heard of it, was when an instrument with a needle or a pin would be used to determine if the accused felt pain or even bled, the problem being that these pins often retracted deliberately on witch marks such as moles, scars and birthmarks, so you were stuffed either way.

                             Photo Courtesy of The Museum of Witchcraft

Some of the women confessed "that the Divell had known them carnally, and that they had no hurt by it", and several declared themselves to be pregnant by him too, maybe hoping that repenting their guilt would result in a more merciful sentence, or prevent them from hanging. It was just as likely that they were struggling psychologically after being detained and being submitted to what was effectively psycho-sexual torture or weren't well in the first place, let's face it no one at that time had heard of mental health conditions or learning disabilities. 

The Old Court House, Maidstone

These women, possibly healers and midwives, were persecuted for being odd, or different, for being troublesome or argumentative, or deemed a nuisance or a burden on their community, or maybe they were just on the wrong side of the religious and political thinking of the then climate of the Commonwealth, overseen by Oliver Cromwell. 18 people were on trial that day for witchcraft, which was a huge and unprecedented number for the Town and yes, they were a mixture of men and women, married, single or widowed, but guess who were found guilty and sentenced to hang - the single or widowed women - to a woman. 

The sentence was carried out almost immediately.

Contemporary Woodcut 17th Century

So that, in a very small nutshell is why we have been campaigning to have a small memorial for them put in place, to remember them and vindicate them, somewhere in the town so that their story is told and their voices heard even if somewhat belatedly. We created a petition that we presented to the Full Council the week before last and are looking forward to discussing taking it forward with them, and we are of course, keeping it very much in the public eye.

Despite these events happening 373 years ago, it feels that in today's current climate of tension and misinformation and of rising hatred and bigotry, where there is a worryingly similar hysteria around events and stories, this time on social media, I feel it's as pertinent as ever, and a timely warning against the power and the injustice of the Witch Hunt.

 Have A Blessed Week x x

* https://www.peterrazzell.co.uk/Papers/The_History_of_Infant_Child_and_Adult_Mo.pdf

A Weekend In The Woods

In the Northern Hemisphere camping season is upon us, and before the children broke up for school, we snuck in a cheeky camp here in our little South East corner of the UK - Camp Cantiaci, named for one of the original tribes of Kent, the tribe which gave us our county name too. So leaving aside the eternal cry of what did the Romans ever do for us, they gave us a name for a bloody good camp!

So safely tucked away, deep in the semi rural, almost suburbs, near Tovil's famous and imaginary treacle mine, about thirty of us found a small wooded oasis that we made our temporary home for the weekend and celebrated the many facets of Paganism, embracing our different paths and discovering a myriad of things that we never knew we didn't know! We explored rune chanting, tarot and crystals, and shamanism, we heard about the local witch trials (no prizes for guessing who that was!) and we made our own rods and tried dowsing. We shared stories and songs, poems and drumming and had the pleasure of a wonderful local folk singer Rachel who sang some familiar songs, as well as her own words, written about the fight to save some local woodland, Oaken Wood, sad and haunting songs and some full of energy, made even more potent and poignant as we sat listening to her clear and beautiful voice around the camp fire, in our own little woodland glade.

For me there were three stand out moments of the weekend, I can't put them in an order, so they are going to have to be just chronological! The first being a Gathering of Goddesses, where the SiStars from our Moon Circle dressed up as different Goddesses and well, I guess embodied them. 

I wasn't going to use the term embodied originally, as we weren't attempting to be them or channel them, but give us a costume and some powerful words written by each woman from the heart and let us enter to a spontaneous and rousing drumming circle rendition of the intro to Queen's "We Will Rock You" and yeah, we strutted out stuff like you wouldn't believe! 

Collectively in that moment we were Hekate, Sulis, Nehalennia, Sekmet, Flidais, Freya, Callieach, Danu and yours truly was Andraste with photographic evidence courtesy of Brian below!

If there was any channelling to be had by me, in this moment I was pure Boudicca, getting ready for battle, and Andraste seems to be enjoying my interest and staying a while, which is very apt right now as we fight for the recognition of the Women who were victims of the Maidstone Witch hunt nearly 400 years ago. It wasn't just an excuse to dress up though (honest!) like I said, we all wrote words to represent the attributes and correspondences of our individual Goddess, so here's mine:

"I am Andraste.

Maybe you know of me, but for many, my name has been lost in the mists of time. Let your hearts and minds cast themselves back to ancient memories and feel the stirrings of remembrance. Connect to the land beneath you and feel me in the beat of your heart.

I am Goddess of this land, as far up as the Land of the East Angles and also here in this land of the Cantiaci, you hear my name in the whispers of the old places now – Anderida Forest and Andreds Weald, I was, and still am Goddess of this sacred land.

I am a warrior Goddess, my name Andraste means she who has not fallen, she who is invincible, and yes, I am the one who stands before you as you enter the battlefield. Many years since, my name was fervently whispered in prayers of protection and for courage or howled in wild invocations as warriors braced themselves for battle, and I was, and I still am a Goddess of victory, war, and sovereignty. My followers summon me to them, hair flowing, battle ready and spear, in hand – a symbol of my power and strength in battle and my ability to protect my people and their lands.

When my High priestess Boudica fought the invaders of our land nigh on two millennia ago, she called to me on the eve of battle “I thank you, Andraste, and call upon you as woman speaking to woman.... I beg you for victory and preservation of liberty” and I fought with her, for I am protector of my land and people.  It was not I that failed her, but the warriors who had lost their belief in the old ways, and turned tail and ran in fear at the might of those Roman Bastards. Spit.

 I am not merely a bloodthirsty war monger; I fight for liberty and sovereignty. I am a true warrior, protector of the weak, the vulnerable and those who have no voice, but underestimate me at your own risk, for I will fight tooth and nail for what is right, and I will tear you limb from limb and my ravens will find rich pickings in the wake I leave at every battlefield.

Aside from the battlefield, I am Goddess of rebirth and renewal of the land, and the sacred wheel of the year as it turns. I am celebrated in deep stillness of the winter at the Solstice, as the old year fades,  with great festivals and feasts held in my honour, in the deep and sacred groves of our Island, and if it pleases me, I bestow blessings, fortune and protection on my tribes for the  coming year, and bring  abundance and fertility in the coming greening months of spring. I am protector of the land, and all the creatures that nestle is its glades and forests. My sacred animal is the hare, old frisky legs or run-the-winds as we knew them, for they are swift, agile and cunning - all attributes I possess to outrun, outwit and out manoeuvre those who pit their wits against me.  

I am also Goddess of divination and magic, and of destiny, and if you call me to you, I may grant you insights into the path that lays ahead, especially when the crescent moon is high and luminous, and your dream Magick is strong.  A word of warning though, it is not always fortune that I bestow so be careful what you seek. Like luck itself though,  I am a shapeshifter, so I may show you a challenge, instead of an open doorway, but I am resilient and I will lead you through challenges and show you your ability to rise to face them with strength and courage, from the well deep within you, as a true warrior and protector of liberty." 

Straight from terrifying and beguiling other campers with this, and full of Wild Women and Goddess energy, we rounded up the entire camp, men as well and headed into the woods for a very special and personal Croning Ceremony for our Shirley. Usually a women only affair, to mark invariably the end of menstruation, becoming a Grandmother, retiring or whatever rite of passage each society deems a woman as a Crone, our Shirl decided that, as it was her 61st birthday and she would be at camp, that she would choose her moment, to lift her own crown and embrace her Cronehood, and was happy for the men to share it too, which made for a truly powerful and emotional ceremony. We heard Shirley's own reflections on her life, with  poems and readings for each stage of it, from some of the SiStars, I won't elaborate as they are personal and they are her stories to share with you if she chooses, but they were precious jewels and remembrances that will stay with all that were there,but this photo taken by our friend Ginny, captures the moment after the ceremony was over to absolute perfection.

Lastly, the sense of tribe and community was almost indescribable, that bonding with people that you know 'get you' and although you've only just met, you know they have a part to play in your future.. yeah that by the shed load! It culminated in a Wickerman procession. 

The wooden Wickerman was created and drummed into life whilst we were titivating for the Gathering of the Goddesses, and after we had feasted communally, and whilst the dry weather lasted, we sang our songs around the fire and had our own flaming torch lit procession with drums and horns, and with tin whistle and melodeon, he was offered to the flames along with our prayers and hopes that we had written to the Gods and Goddess. It was so fantastically primordial and powerful, that even if we'd had a 40 feet Wickerman, and were parading around Stonehenge itself, I don't think we'd have whooped or cheered anymore or felt it's sense of ritual so keenly in our hearts in that moment. It was truly special.

So all in all, quite a busy weekend, we are all back to the day to day and the ordinary now, but with a sense of the extraordinary and a little more magick in our hearts to sustain us until the next time we gather.

Have A Blessed Week  x x 

Solstice Season

 I know they say time goes quicker as you get older, but the sabbats have a cheeky habit of creeping up on me, and this Summer Solstice was no different. This year, the longest day involved clearing out a shed in that ridiculous heat and going to the tip, followed by a well earned nap! As I journey along my path, I tend to feel the season, rather than focusing on just one day, so it was the following day, which was a whole half a second shorter, when I ventured out to mark the turn of the wheel.

An early start was required, well when the day was still in single figures, which is a shock to my Sunday morning system,  and I headed off to spend some time with the lovely Ladies of Kent Goddess Group at the beautiful setting of Walmer Castle Gardens, a place I'd driven past several times, but never actually visited. In the Avallonian tradition, Summer Solstice or Litha as some  people call it, is connected to the element of water, which I've always found a surprise, but over the years, I learned to go with the flow, every pun intended!

After much delighted hugging, we explored the grounds, and found the cool peace of the Pavilion overlooking a tranquil pool, where we held a short and heartfelt water ritual, which was sacred, life affirming, warm and funny all at the same time. The pool before us was seemingly still and serene in the heat, until we looked closer and saw countless  damsel flies and dragonflies making merry and laying their eggs on the lily pads there.  

I've always loved dragonflies, I have them all over the house, in jewellery, art, mugs, you name it and their magical gossamer wings and iridescent hues have always held a huge significance for me, their message of change, adaption, transformation and spiritual enlightenment are always welcome, and today was no exception. It was the perfect afternoon with the most beautiful company, tranquil and nourishing, full of laughter and chatter in equal measure. 

Later on, after returning home, it was time to head out with himself, this time to the Lost Village of Dode for some more Solstice celebrations - this time the Return and Rebirth of the Dode Dragon. For those of you who have never heard of Dode, in a very small nutshell, it was an old village that was wiped out by the black death, the church lay empty, it was deconsecrated and fell into disrepair, until about 30 years ago when the current owner bought it and restored it.

Today it's a beautiful venue for Weddings and Handfastings, and also has a barrow for a final resting place for ashes, which I have also been privileged to visit. The whole site has beautiful magical and somnolent qualities about it, and yesterday it was the setting for the Litha Celebrations that welcomed back a banner of the Dode Dragon, 25 years after it had been cast aside, following an acrimonious debate with a local Archdeacon. Maybe not your normal Midsummer back drop.

It was a fabulous evening, a picnic in the sun, Morris dancing (we watched as opposed to taking part you'll be relieved to know), some amazing Japanese Drumming from Kensei Taiko which reverberated through the valley so that we could feel the very pulse of it, before the Dragon was restored to it's rightful home, in a procession of fire as the sun slipped away behind the hills for the night.

It was probably one of the most unusual and random days of Solstice Celebration that I've ever experienced, a day of opposites: water and fire, a castle and a church, but also a day of dragonflies and dragons, some of my favourite things, and it was certainly one of the most memorable.

Have A Blessed Week x x 

Rowan Rambles

Some of you may have seen my little video last week, well it carried on as a bit of a theme, as these things tend to do so this blog is brought to you, drumroll please, courtesy of... Sorbus Aucuparia - the humble Rowan. 

Did you know that we use Latin names as standard for all plants, because in the 18th century, a systemised method was developed by Swedish Naturalist Carl Linnaeus? One reason being that as a so called 'dead' language, the meaning of the Latin words wouldn't alter and it was long been seen as universally acknowledged scientific language along with Greek? Well we all know now! 

So, what's in a name? If you use google translate, Sorbus Aucuparia roughly translates 'a sip of bird watching', which at first google may seem a bit odd. Sorbus can also means 'service tree' and  aucuparia pertains to birds - derived from 'avis' and 'capere' - catching. This has been accredited to the fact that traditionally, the berries may have been used to trap or catch wild fowl in hunting. Hmm, we'll see about that. 

The Rowan is a tree of many, many names; it is also known as the Mountain Ash and more poetically The Lady of The Mountains due to it's ability to thrive in wilder more liminal locations, and it has been referred to as the quickbeam, wicken and witchwood, as well as being called fid na ndruad in old Irish or Celtic language which translates to the Wizard's Tree. It is often associated with Faeries, perhaps on account of its beautiful creamy-white, five petalled flowers, a similarity shared with those of the also fae friendly Elder and Hawthorn, and there were certainly lots of them around the famous Fairy Pools on the Isle of Skye when we visited a few years ago.

The Rowan is also important in Norse Mythology, legend has it that when the God Thor was swept into a fast flowing river towards the underworld, Rowan dipped her branches and rescued him, allowing him to pull himself to the safety of the banks and also as opposed to being crafted from a spare rib, in Norse creation folklore, the first woman was made from the wood of the Rowan and the first man was made from that of the Ash Tree. 

My favourite legend or myth though, is the one I alluded to, but which eluded me in my little video, and that is of the Greek Goddess and bearer of the chalice of eternal youth, Hebe. Her magical chalice bore the Ambrosia or Nectar to  the Gods and Goddesses of Olympus. It was stolen from her by demons, and the Gods sent an Eagle to help her recover it. A battle of epic proportions ensued, and although the eagle triumphed and restored the chalice to Hebe, many of their feathers and droplets of blood fell to earth, whereupon the Rowan Trees sprang up with berries of blood red and leaves shaped like eagle feathers. 

Hebe - Cup Bearer of The Gods  - Photo courtesy of www.theoi.com

Hmm, throwback to a 'sip of birdwatching', rambling rowan thoughts currently include sipping a cup, maybe as in a cup or chalice of eternal youth? Service tree, could that be serving the Gods? As for aucuparia  and 'avis' and 'capere', could that also be catching, how about the Eagle recapturing the chalice? Each to their own interpretation, but  I think I know where my thoughts and inclinations have rambled off to! 

Rowan is renowned for it's protective qualities, it is said to protect people from witchcraft, enchantment and even lightning. Planting one in your garden was said to make for a happy and safe home, my parents house, which was my Nan's house before that, has several Rowan Trees in the garden, partly due to several generations of us having Rowan Berry Fights every autumn, and that has certainly been a happy family home through no less than seven decades. A staff of Rowan is said to protect the traveller from getting lost too.

Rowan berry protection charms were once very commonly made and placed either in or outside the home to protect those who dwell there. Over the years, several have disappeared amongst the Jasmine around my front porch, but flashes or red peek through every now and then! I make them most years, carefully and respectfully asking the tree for their wood and berries before I take them. They vary in design, but usually incorporate a cross of Rowan twigs, and a circle of berries on red cotton in one form or other. This month we decided to make some more at our Moon Circle, no doubt weaving in an additional collective protection, brought by the power of women sat in a circle drinking tea and eating cake!

It seems such a satisfying short ritual to make them, one that our ancestors must have done for many years. I've hung mine with the collection in the porch and also made a simple string of berries to hang above the back door too, and of course you can't fail to notice the tiny pentagram on every single berry, adding protection, magic and mystery to each charm.

Have  A Blessed Week x x