Sunday, 4 February 2018

An update for Tairis with added plagiarism (again...)

Là Fhèill Brìghde arrived, and our little household welcomed in Brigid, and the Spring with ceremony and feasting. Rosie did the honours with making our dealbh Brìde this year, which now takes pride of place on the shrine in the kitchen, and she also took charge of inviting her to come visit us. Brigid was welcomed with the words of a very shy, but excited, ten-year-old.

As I posted a while ago, last year, I bought a mould with the idea of making some small candles, and I finally got around to having a go at them. For a first effort they came out pretty good, I think, in spite of the bubbles (I need to regulate the temperature of the wax better, I'm guessing is the problem). I tried out a few colours and the kids are still debating which ones they like the best. I think Rosie did a fantastic job with our Brigid doll – she made several and then picked out the one she thought was most appropriate for the occasion, which she kept under wraps until the big reveal:

We also put out our brat for Brigid to bless, and Rosie chose to put out a necklace she got for Christmas this year, so she has something she can carry around with her.

I made a few crosses while the kids were at school, and then when Rosie got home she decided to join in. I helped her make a three-armed cross out of rushes, and then she had a go at some more out of pipe-cleaners. They really are easier for kids to work with, though I have some reservations about the metal in them. If it contains iron, it kind of defeats their purpose, you know? But still, they weren't the only ones we made, so it's OK. The different colours helped Rosie keep track of where she was, as she tried her hand at a four-armed cross for the first time:

I felt like mixing things up a little so decided to try my hand at something new this year. I've made three- and four-armed crosses most years, as well as the "diamond" type crosses I grew up with, so this time I figured I'd try making a style of cross I've never made before. I settled on the "interwoven" type, which is when, during some searching for images I could work from as a guide, I found a web page that's plagiarised my own page on making the cros Bríde (or crois Brìghde, if you want to Gaelic it up). So that's nice.

On the plus side, it helped me realise that the type of cross I was looking to make was wrongly described on my own page, which has followed through on the plagiarist's page and had a knock on effect in wrongly describing other crosses as well (the Bogha Bríde is a cross inside a circle; they've shown the interwoven type as a Bogha Bríde instead). So I've corrected my own page and I apologise for the confusion, folks. My bad – I think an older source I looked at used the same term to describe an "interwoven" cross (referring to multiple crosses woven together) as other sources did to describe something else (the type of cross I was actually looking to make).

On the negative side, I'm a tad bit annoyed that once again someone is using my words to sell their own religion... I mean, come on. If you want to write about something, use your words! Do your own research! I suppose they at least acknowledge the original source this time, and haven't gone so far as to prevent other people from copying text on their own web pages because they don't want people to do to them what they do to others themselves. Like my previous plagiarist did. Twice.

It's still frustrating, though. And fucking rude. I could report the page with a DMCA takedown notice, but that requires giving my personal details, including home address etc, which is then publicly available online, and that sucks. You can be sure that negative comments to the blogger herself are ignored.

Still. Besides updating the original page, I've also added a new page on Tairis with a guide for making the interlaced or interwoven cross. It's an easy cross to make, with a little bit of preparation, and Rosie had a go at making one, too. I tried a simple version with only three strands along the horizontal and vertical (as did Rosie – in the picture below), and then I tried a bigger one with five strands each – that was all I could fit in, based on the length of the rushes.

From what I've read, these are common to Co. Cork, where much of my nan's side of the family come from. The three-armed crosses are common to Co. Antrim, where most of my husband's family come from.

Wednesday, 3 January 2018

Book Review: Landscapes of Cult and Kingship

Bliadhna Mhath Ùr! Happy New Year!

I hope your 2018 is off to a good start... Round these parts we celebrated Hogmanay in typical rock 'n roll fashion by cleaning the house from top to toe, feeling less smug once said cleaning magically produced a massive pile of laundry to get through, and then finally sitting down to relax of an evening with Shaun of the Dead before ringing the bells in with the Beeb, while Mungo looked rather worried about whether or not the house-cleaning meant my mother was coming to visit.

But onto another review!

Landscapes of Cult and Kingship: Archaeology and Text
Roseanne Schot, Conor Newman and Edel Bhreathnach (Eds.)

This is both one of the most amazing and most frustrating books I've ever read.

It's amazing because it's a collection of essays that are pretty much all firmly dealing with my areas of interest, while it's frustrating because – and do excuse my language – there's absolutely no fucking way to actually own this book at the moment. And that doesn't look like it's likely to change in the near future as far as I can tell.

The good news (ish) is that some of the chapters are available online in pdf format, so you can get a taster for yourself (hopefully these links all work):
The book itself is the product of a conference that was held at NUI Galway back in 2009 (the book being published two years later), and it aims to explore the sacral and religious aspects of kingship and how it relates to the landscape – both in terms of the archaeology its left behind, as well as the way these things are expressed in literature, historical practices, and so on. This inter-disciplinary approach is one of the things I appreciate the most about this book (besides the content itself), and it's very much becoming the in thing these days, so hopefully there will be more to come.

I mentioned in my last review, for Brian Lacey's Lug's Forgotten Donegal Kingdom, that I have a longstanding interest in exploring how the gods relate to the landscape and the people of pre-Christian Ireland (and Scotland and Man, of course, but they're not the focus here). This book is another one for the bookshelf if that's what you're looking for as well, though it concentrates less on the gods and more on what a ritual landscape really means and how it works (or, more to the point, how it might have). As a collection of articles that covers a broad selection of subjects relating specifically to cult and kingship, it's a very different book compared with Lacey's own, which has a far narrower focus.

There are plenty of familiar faces to be found contributing to this book, some of them like John Waddell and Brian Lacey have books I've previously reviewed, while others like Edel Bhreathnach are authors whose books I've yet to get around to reviewing, plus a few others who're on my wishlist (like this one). There are also some authors I've not heard of before, but for the most part they're all solid contributions. Out of them all I think there are only really two that didn't really blow me away – the first chapter, which just seemed to strike an odd tone, to me, considering the rest of the book, and a much later chapter, Marie Lecomte-Tilouine's "Imperial snake and eternal fires: mythified power in a Himalayan sacred site of royalty (Dullu, Nepal)," that had very little to do with anything Irish at all – I appreciated the striking similarities it suggests, but personally don't feel it's helpful to rely too heavily on a comparative approach.

I'll concentrate on some of the chapters that stood out to me the most here (though that by no means implies the others are less worthy of note... I just don't want to waffle on too much), and I'll start with Conor Newman's "The Sacral Landscape of Tara" as an especially thought-provoking contribution; while I sometimes struggled to keep up with some of Teh Big Wurdz and felt it relied on a comparative approach a little too heavily at times, I liked it because it gives an excellent overview of the subject but didn't shy away from offering an interpretation of what it all means, especially in terms of Tara as a ritual landscape. This means bringing together the historical traditions as well, like the stories of the Dindshenchas that relate to the area (not just Tara itself, but the broader complex of the Tara-Skryne valley), and I think that this is the sort of thing that's incredibly important to anyone who wants to try to reconstruct an ancient belief system – not in the sense of reviving an ancient concept of sacral kingship (tell me a hideous-looking hag sovereignty goddess came along and slept with you before transforming into a beautiful young maiden who then made you king and I'm going to think something's terribly wrong with your beer goggles, mm'kay?), but in the sense of how a landscape is seen in symbolic, ceremonial terms; how it's used, what it means, what it makes us see and think, how it helps channel the flow of our religious experiences and our senses on a personal and communal level... It's all deliberate, it all has a purpose.

This brings us neatly onto Bridgette Slavin article a couple of chapters later on, which is titled "Supernatural arts, the landscape and kingship in early Irish texts." Here she makes the point that since the landscape is experienced through our senses, and its form can be used to channel and shape our own sense of it, any change in the landscape therefore changes our perception of it, and how we relate to it. These changes are therefore significant, and this is true in a literal sense, but it's also something that's important in a literary sense, as we see in so many tales where the state of a king's reign is often reflected in the state of his kingdom around him. As Slavin adds, however, there is often a connection between the supernatural arts of the druids, filid and (later on) the saints, with that of the king; they act as a sort of intermediary between the king and the land, being both the king's protector, but also the human agent through which a king might ultimately meet his downfall (Cairbre's curse against Bres for his lack of hospitality, for example). This is a fascinating chapter and well worth a read, I think; it's a shame that this one isn't available online because it really does offer some great insights.

John Waddell's contribution builds on a similar sort of theme as Newman's chapter but with a broader scope, looking at the landscape as a whole (not just the Tara complex itself). He argues – convincingly, I think – that the landscape shouldn't be looked at in simple "ritual" terms, but in mythological and historical terms as well; the landscape, and the way it came to be used – as a ritual centre, as part of a mythological story, an expression of cosmology or cosmogony, as a legal, political boundary or centre – are all intertwined. Politics and religion are hard to untangle in pre-Christian terms, but as Waddell argues, this carried on well into the medieval period as well, precisely because it was so hard to untangle. He also gives some examples of how the gods in the landscape are used over time to articulate certain things; the continuing importance of Áine in the Knockainey area means that she crops up in prophecy poems that was intended to comment on certain political alliances in the thirteenth century, where she is still portrayed as a guardian spirit, if not goddess outright. He also points to an entry in the Annals of Tigernach where the poet Gilla Lugan describes the cause of a plague (spoiler: demons did it) based on information relayed to him personally by Óengus mac Ind Óc, son of the Dagda.* As Waddell himself comments, "There is no reason to suppose that the power of ancestors had diminished; if anything, they played as great a role as ever in the social and cosmological order of the tribal societies of the time." It seems the same goes for the gods, too, up to a point.

Roseanne Schot's exploration of Uisneach and its significance answered a lot of questions for me, and she focuses especially on the site's connections with fire as well as water, noting that the stories surrounding Uisneach itself often focus on origins – especially in terms of manifesting various "primordial waters." This has fascinating implications as far as the subject of creation myths go, but considering the frequent associations between rivers and sovereignty in general, it also brings up some food for thought in that area too. As Schot goes on to illustrate, it's no wonder that Uisneach also has associations with Lug. As Schot sees it, Lug is the "archetypal, omniscient 'king'," so his links with Uisneach, as a sacred centre, as well as a royal centre, make sense (but what about Núadu...?).

Lacey's chapter here, titled "Three ‘royal sites’ in Co. Donegal," is what prompted me to hunt out his book, and for the most part you'll find that they both complement one another nicely. To a degree this chapter is more of the same from the book itself, but that's no bad thing, really, since we get a bit more depth than the book itself has space for – especially in relation to the connection between Lug and local saints such as St Begley (Beag Laoch, meaning "little warrior" or, perhaps originally, Beg Lug, "little Lug"). It offers up some good food for thought for anyone who's interested in Lug, but the broader implications are fascinating too – if this happened to Lug, which other deities got the same treatment that we aren't yet aware of?

One more chapter bears a mention, and that's Elizabeth Fitzpatrick's (et al) "Evoking the white mare: the cult landscape of Sgiath Gabhra and its medieval perception in Gaelic Fir Mhanach," which gives a great overview of the whole horse controversy – the one where Giraldus Cambrensis described an inauguration ritual which involved the new king "embracing" a horse (yes, in that way) before killing it, bathing in its broth and then eating as much meat and drinking as much of the broth as possible. There's long been a debate on how accurate the description is; old Gerald certainly had an agenda and had no desire to be too complimentary about the Irish (he was reporting to the new Norman overlords, after all), so how far can he be trusted on this? Especially when it's unlikely that he ever actually witnessed such a ceremony himself. Some feel he went out of his way to describe as many lurid and frankly damningly barbaric details as he could possibly come up with. Others point to the similarities in the over all description with that of the ancient Vedic asvamedha ceremony, which suggests there may have been at least a grain of truth in Giraldus's description... Unfortunately it doesn't go into details about the significance of horses in Irish tradition (as they relate to sovereignty), but the chapter does go on to conclude that such a ceremony is unlikely to have taken place during the time of the Méig Uidhir inauguration ceremonies (from the thirteenth century), at least. It also goes on to describe another ceremony – the rite of the single shoe – which was used by various dynasties as a way of laying claim to the kingship; the shoe, being left at a certain spot, was meant to be symbolic of the claim the shoe's owner had to the succession.

On the whole this is a very academic book that I'm not sure has an especially mass appeal. In that respect I can understand that it's very niche, which probably explains its limited availability (print on demand, please?), and really it's not going to be of much help to the beginner – at first, anyway. Some prior knowledge of the subject would be useful, for sure. Nonetheless, I think it's an important contribution to the subject that would be complemented nicely by a number of volumes, some of which are – unfortunately – just as hard to get hold of now. That said, if you manage to get hold of Edel Bhreathnach's The Kingship and Landscape of Tara or Bart Jaski's Early Irish Kingship and Succession, Elizabeth Fitzpatrick's Royal Inauguration in Gaelic Ireland c.1100-1600: A Cultural Landscape Study, and Francis John Byrne's Irish Kings and High Kings, you're probably off to a good start.

The Annals of Tigernach – T1084.4
A great pestilence in this year, which killed a fourth of the men of Ireland. It began in the south, and spread throughout the four quarters of Ireland. This is the causa causans of that pestilence, to wit, demons that came out of the northern isles of the world, to with, three battalions, and in each battalion there were thiry and ten hundred and two thousand, as Oengus Óg, the son of the Dagda, related to Giolla Lugan, who used to haunt the fairy-mound every year on Halloween. And he himself beheld at Maistiu one battalion of them which was destroying Leinster. Even so they were see by Giolla Lugan's son, and wherever their heat and fury reached, there their venom was taken, for there was a sword of fire out of the gullet of each of them, and evey one of them was as high as the clouds of heaven, so that is the cause of this pestilence.

Thursday, 21 December 2017

Book Review: Lug's Forgotten Donegal Kingdom

Guess who's been back at the library...

I have a few book reviews to catch up on, but my kids have been spreading various viruses instead of festive cheer these past few weeks. So that happened.

Onto the review:

Lug's Forgotten Donegal Kingdom: The archaeology, history and folklore of the Síl Lugdach of Cloghaneely
Brian Lacey

One of the things I've always been interested in is learning more about how the gods relate to the landscape and the people of pre-Christian Ireland, because the two are so heavily intertwined. We know that certain kingdoms traced their origins back to certain deities, who they saw as ancestors, and then they named themselves after those deities, and they named important places after them, too. And so the gods became attached to places and people, and people being as they are, they tried to expand beyond the boundaries of their influence and spread their power into other territories. When they succeeded, new alliances were formed, dynastic families intermarried, and this meant that as smaller kingdoms became subsumed into more powerful dynasties, or aligned with them in other ways, they too adopted the genealogies and the connections to certain deities. And so we see one of the ways that the gods spread, working their way into the lives of other peoples and other places...

I've yet to find a book that gives a comprehensive view of what this might have looked like for Ireland as a whole, if it were to be mapped out, mainly because I think a huge amount of work is yet to be done before that can happen, and the idea itself presents a few problems that aren't necessarily easy to overcome. But this book here is a contribution to the topic, concentrating on a specific area and a specific people in Donegal, and exploring the connections that Lug has with a certain people who at one time claimed a part of Donegal as their home.

The connection has only relatively recently been established; as Lacey himself notes, the suggestion of Lug's involvement in the area was only posited in 1995, by Dónall Mac Giolla Easpaig, who noted that the area of the Síl Lugdach (whose name means "the offspring (seed) of Lugaid") was once occupied by a people who called themselves the Luigne, whose name means "the descendants of Lug." The question arose, then: Is the Síl Lugdach's eponymous "Lugaid" actually Lug in disguise?

Not to give a massive spoiler, but I think the answer is a convincing yes. The name Lugaid is obviously derived from "Lug" itself, and Lacey looks at the genealogical material that's survived, along with the early dynastic poetry and other historical materials to show how the genealogies were manipulated to essentially "invent" the Síl Lugdach's eponymous ancestor, who is really a euhemerised version of Lug himself, something that was obviously done in the Christian period. Place-name evidence, archaeology and folklore are also brought in to show just how entrenched Lug's associations are with the area, and how he survived for so long. One of the more interesting and unusual things that Lacey explores, in this respect, is the fact that Lug himself may have evolved into (or inspired) at least one local saint (Begley/Beaglaoch) in the area, just as saints such as Brigit, Latiaran and Gobnait are thought to have similar origins elsewhere in Ireland.

Broadly speaking the evidence is split up into a chronological order in the book, with the various chapters concentrating on a certain timeframe and bringing in the different types of evidence being introduced as necessary. The folklore helps to bridge the gap between the early evidence and the more modern period, and it largely concentrates on the Lugnasad sites, as well as the local legends in the area. The local stories of Balor's fight to avert his prophesied demise at the hands of an un-named grandchild is the most obvious example here, even though the stories don't tend to explicitly name Lug himself. This in itself may be significant. The archaeology supplements the evidence of the Lugnasad sites, and also points to possible sites where the Síl Lugdach kings would have been inaugurated, or where they ruled from. These also preserve the name of Lug, indicating their significance; when you think about it, it's remarkable how these things survived, even when so much has changed and so much time has passed.

Also included is a chapter that explores Lug himself – as an Irish god, but also as a god with Celtic counterparts to be found elsewhere, so that we get a broader context as well. I think this is possibly (and sadly) the weakest link in the book, but even here it's not that it's bad or wrong per se; it's mostly down to the fact that it seems clear that this isn't the area in which the author's most comfortable or perhaps knowledgeable in terms of the issues and the kind of research that's been done here (or it comes across that way, to me). Over all the chapter here felt a little superficial, and the references that are given aren't necessarily the best or most up to date. The discussion of the meaning of his name, for instance, gives a couple of ideas that have been put forth (neither of which are especially favoured these days). More than that, though, the subject is a debate that rages on, and I think the uncertainty and controversy surrounding it is worth mentioning, at least, even if there's no space to get into the nitty gritty of it.

Even at his least certain, Lacey does bring up some great points, though. One thing that stood out, to me, was where he points out that in Cath Maige Tuired, the text goes out of its way to note that Lug's foster-father is "Eochu Garb mac Dúach." Lacey comments that this is an "unidentified man," but he thinks that the name is suggestive, since one of the Síl Lugdach's neighbours were called the Cenél Duach (a kingdom they eventually expanded into). So there's a possibility that the name was chosen deliberately, because Eochu Garb could act as a mythological representative of the political ties that existed between the two neighbouring kingdoms at the time. To me, this is a fascinating suggestion, but it gets even more interesting when it becomes obvious that Eochu Garb isn't just some random name the author of the text came up with. He's not the most well-known figure, but he is well-established in the mythology as the husband of Tailltiu, and he is also the grandson of Bres – Lug's adversary in Cath Maige Tuired, whose life he eventually spares in exchange for some key agricultural knowledge. Given Lug's association with agriculture, through his associations with Tailltiu and through his bargaining with Bres to get the specific information he wanted (when is best to plough, sow, and reap), I think Eochu Garb may have more significance here than it otherwise might appear.

That's not to say that Eochu Garb doesn't, or couldn't, reflect the political connections as Lacey suggests. I think it's possible that the genealogical connections involved add a further element to all of it; one of the current trends that's developing in academic work relating to the myths is looking at the genealogies of the Tuatha Dé Danann as a whole and looking at what they can tell us. This is something Mark Williams touched on in his book last year, noting that some of the names in the genealogies seem to express processes relating to poetic composition. It's clear over all that the genealogies of the Tuatha Dé Danann (as outlined in the Lebor Gabála Érenn) are artificial to some degree, at least, and the filid may have used them to show off or enshrine certain ideas or ideals that were important to their profession. But where there do seem to be authentic elements, the connections we find do sometimes seem to reflect the landscape of Ireland as well – the Dagda and Bóand's connections to the Boyne region, with their affair resulting in the birth of Óengus, who wins the brug from his father (or his mother's husband, depending on the version of the story you're looking at). Etc.

This is actually a pretty minor point in the grand scheme of the book, but I wanted to mention it because this is the kind of thing I like to find in a book. I want to be informed, but I like to be inspired as well. Even on a relatively throw-away comment that doesn't form a major part of the book as a whole. The work that Lacey's done here is – if not totally unique – unusual, and it's refreshing, too.

So I really appreciate the work that Lacey's done here (and elsewhere – this is not the only place he's written on the subject, but I think it's perhaps the most accessible in terms of being able to physically own a copy). I think it's important to consider these sorts of connections in the way we view the gods in general. The way the gods relate to the landscape and the people are so intertwined, but these connections are clearly reflected in the way the gods interact with one another, and are related to one another, too. And it also tells us a lot about how they've survived.

It would be wonderful to see more books like this coming out, which concentrate on other areas of Ireland. What kind of picture would we see emerging then? I'd highly recommend this book to anyone – not just anyone who has an interest in Lug, or because they have heritage from Donegal and want to know more about the area (though both are good reasons to pick up the book as well), but because it reflects an important area of research that I feel is invaluable in terms of our understanding. On the whole, I think it's pretty good as an introductory level book, but the reader might benefit from having their own understanding of the basics, at the least. Since it's a fairly niche sort of topic, it's probably not going to appeal to the absolute noob anyway,

Friday, 22 September 2017

Finally an answer

It's been a weird, weird few weeks. I think, in fact, the last few weeks have been the weirdest of my life... It started with a terrible tragedy – we had to have Oscar put to sleep. It progressed with the sudden death of an old friend, which snowballed into some awful revelations for her flatmate. Then it was capped off with my kids receiving a suicide note over Skype from a friend of theirs (he's eleven! But no, it wasn't a joke, and yes, he's OK and getting the help he needs now). And those are just the "highlights."

I mentioned in my last post that Oscar had been diagnosed with epilepsy this last year, and also commented that it's been a bumpy ride... Well, he hit one bump too many after he ate something he shouldn't have, it got stuck in his stomach and it became clear he needed surgery, but the stress of his illness and inability to keep his medication down set off a massive cluster of seizures. In spite of truly heroic efforts (and doses of various medications), the vets were unable to stabilise him and just weren't going to be able to operate. He just didn't stand a chance and on their advice we had to do the kind thing and end his suffering.

As a parent, I think death is one of the worth things you have to deal with. Just seeing their faces crumple when the realisation hits. The emotions, the questions. It's certainly harder when it comes to losing a human member of the family – like their Papa, last year – but that's not to say it's easy when it comes to the furry members of the family. As wonderful and enriching as it is to have a small menagerie in the house, it's always upsetting when the inevitable worst comes to the worst for one of them.

Poor Oscar wasn't yet three years old (it would have been his third birthday come Monday, in fact). It was just after we got him that I discovered a lovely woodland not far from our house that I hadn't known existed until my neighbour pointed me in that direction, and it soon became a favourite place of mine (and Rosie). Rosie loved it so much it even inspired her to poetry, so it was devastating to find the whole woods completely cut down only a couple of months later. It went from this:

To this:

In the blink of an eye.

At the time we didn't know what had happened – as far as I was aware there hadn't been any notices about logging in the area or anything like that, though I'd assumed that a commercial purpose was the likely cause. Well it turns out that wasn't the case...

I hadn't walked that way in quite a while but I suppose, with Oscar gone and Mungo all on his lonesome (no one will play Bitey Face with him in the morning now...), I was feeling a little nostalgic about our walks out that way. As a puppy, Oscar was terrified of water so he'd refuse to cross the shallow part of the stream you had to cross to walk deeper into the woods. His attempts at being brave and big were cute, with the noises he'd make like he was telling himself off as he tried and failed to muster up courage, and it was a big day when he finally succeeded in taking that leap into the unknown and got his paws wet.

So off I went with Mungo this afternoon, wondering (hoping) if they'd maybe replanted yet, and as I walked passed I noticed that there were a bunch of signs up everywhere. The signs explained that the trees were cut down due to a disease that's been spreading through larches in the area, and the only way to treat the disease is to cut the trees down. The signs said that quick action was needed, explaining the unceremonious nature of the logging, and they described what the disease is and how it's spread. And that in time, the woodland will be replanted.

It's a small consolation, I suppose.

Sunday, 27 August 2017

Fat cakes and kittens

Last week the kids started back at school for the new school year (and a new school for Tom – he started high school!), and it so happened that we made our celebrations for Lùnastal (on the "Old Style" date, seeing as the weather's kinda weird at the moment and the fruits are taking their time) in the run up to the holidays finishing. We did the usual cleaning and tidying from top to bottom, inside and out, and had the requisite feast and games, with a thorough saining for good measure. 

The next day we went into the neighbouring tourist-trap town and had a Proper Good Ice-cream Sundae, as has become our annual end of summer holidays tradition. And we picked up Oscar's medication from the vets, because Oscar is apparently engaged in an epic and seizure-inducing battle against the demons under the living room carpet epileptic. (Thankfully we're getting the kinks worked out and the right dosage sorted now, and he's doing a lot better; it's been a bit of a bumpy ride this past year). And we booked Coco in for his first round of vaccinations. Yes: we have a new addition to the family, our very own ginger ninja (cue shameless excuse to post a cute photo of a kitten):

Oscar is a happy puppy, having finally succeeded in making friends with a cat for the first time in his life. His greatest ambition has been achieved. Their favourite pastime is playing Bitey Face together. Coco doesn't seem to mind Oscar's doggy death breath.

With new school years, new schools, new uniforms, and new routines for the kids, times are changing round these parts. The seasons, however, seem to be stuck in a weird flux between summer hanging on for dear life as long as possible, while autumn valiantly tries to barge its way in. Meanwhile, a few brambles have decided it's time to ripen but the bulk of the harvest has a way to go just yet, and I'm holding off on trying to pick any just yet (you can't beat a good apple and bramble crumble).

So while we're waiting, I decided maybe it would be a good idea to make some fat cakes to put out for the birds. It's something I usually do over the winter, but seeing as I had a new mould I wanted to try out, I decided why not whip up a batch a little early:

I was originally intending to use the mould to make some wee homemade candles – ones that aren't too big, so I can burn them in one go. The wicks I've ordered are taking forever to arrive, though, so I figured the individual triskeles would make a nice offering to put out (I forgot we have a brain mould... those would've been cool, too).

I'm always conscious of the fact that while birds will usually eat pretty much anything, not everything they'll eat is necessarily good for them nutritionally, so I like to put bird-food out as often as I can. If they're going to eat my offerings, I might as well try and give them a balanced diet, you know? So I mixed some bird seed in with some melted suet until the proportions seemed about right and left them to cool and harden – they don't take long. Rosie, who was off sick on Friday (schools being little more than germ factories, really), helped. We also made a cow and a star, which are considerably bigger and we'll keep those to put out later.

As it is, the crows seem to be enjoying the triskeles, and I'm sure once the weather clears up the smaller birds will be out in force as well. In the meantime, we're just waiting for the blackberries to ripen. It looks like it will be a good harvest this year, they're just taking foreeeeeever.