Archive: Samhainn 2008 (1)

Happy Hallowe'en, Oíche Shamhna, Oidhche Shamhna...whatever you want to call it!

I started my celebrations yesterday evening by carving the tumshies (turnips, swedes, rutabagas...whatever you want to call them...). Wielding my trusty vegetable knife and sturdy spoon once again, I cut, gouged, scraped and occasionally swore my way through three tumshies, which are currently proudly situated in the window of my front room. I have the blisters to prove it, I swear (but it was fun to do).

It's the first time I've ever put them in the window, which round here means that guisers are welcome to come and visit, and it's been an eye opening experience. Growing up I never celebrated Hallowe'en (my mother saw it as nothing more than rampant and tasteless commercialism imported from America, nothing to do with us thankyouverymuch, and as far as I remember it was never a big thing anyway) so I've never been trick or treating, and I have only a vague recollection of going to a Hallowe'en party at a youth club once, during the time mum made my sister and I go there. When I moved back to my hometown after university, trick or treating was more like sanctioned mugging than something festive, so we never took part then - we would've got egged anyway. While I was at university in Glasgow we'd get the wee neds coming round to trick or treat or ask for a penny for the guy at this time of year (for Bonfire Night), and they were more than happy to toddle off with your spare change, seeing as we never had any treats of the sweetie kind then. Seeing as we didn't live in a very family oriented area then, the kids that knocked on our door never really bothered with the costume part of the proceedings and were generally more concerned with making enough money to go out a procure themselves a bottle of Bucky than anything else, but here in Wemyss Windy Bay, Hallowe'en conforms to pretty much to Mr Seren's experience of it from when he was growing up about 20 miles away.

A lot of kids these days will only visit houses they know, especially if they're allowed out on their own, but we've had a fair few visitors in spite of that (and most groups are accompanied by at least one adult, but we don't live in anything like a dangerous neighbourhood anyway). Instead of demanding a treat in order to avoid the trick, round these parts the kids are expected to do something to earn their treat, so we've had jokes, songs, riddles and poems given to us in exchange for a choice of Haribo sweets, chocolate, monkey nuts (peanuts) and apples. Or more usually, as much goodies as their hands can hold...Tom in particular found it all very exciting, and when a group of girls began singing Baa Baa Black Sheep he ran to get his guitar so he could join in, which resulted in the girls being reduced to fits of giggles and 'Awwwwws!!!!'

Mr Seren insisted on the monkey nuts and apples because that's what he used to get for his troubles as a child, so it's traditional. Oh yes. And seeing as he had such an opinion on things, he answered the door most times so I dug out the orc mask to get into the spirit of things. Here it's ably modelled by Tom, who declined to dress up in his Spiderman costume but seemed quite keen on the mask (whereas Rosie spent the day in her ladybird fairy outfit):

Tom was quite keen on the carved tumshies, mainly because Mr Seren told him it would scare the dinosaurs away.

Surprisingly, quite a few of the guisers (and quite often their parents or designated responsible adult) chose the nuts or fruit, although one lassie said she was allergic to nuts, something we didn't think about. It was a good job we had chocolate or Haribo on offer in addition to the fruits and nuts, because two girls who knocked on the door wanted the sweeties but said they weren't allowed gelatine because of their religion and so declined to enter the happy world of Haribo (I'm assuming they were Muslim), and we hadn't considered that either.

That's it for now - I'm waiting to make sure I've got some peace and quiet before I get down to some serious business so I'll post about that later.

Archive: Lùnasdal 2008 (3)

Monday morning dawned wet and dull - not an auspicious start to the day, and I wasn't too chuffed at being awake early enough to actually see it. After spending a good portion of the night trying to get Rosie back to sleep I was feeling crappy, irritable, tired and headachy. Nothing had seemed to make Rosie feel better and eventually, thankfully, Mr Seren had taken over the duties and ordered me back to bed to nurse my failing sanity. So as you might guess, I wasn't exactly awed by the wonder of nature, or overcome with a spiritual sense of...well, anything, really...as the sun rose behind the clouds and the dawn chorus got into full swing.

Still, I'd had it in mind that Monday might be the day for celebrating Lùnasdal, and making an effort to focus my thoughts, I slouched about the house, cleaning, tidying, sorting and playing with the kids, being all domesticated and trying to muster up some enthusiasm for any other than a cup of coffee and some freshly baked shortbread.

I ventured into the garden, briefly, to see if the blackberries were ripe yet, and they were, so that seemed like a good sign. I didn't pick any, seeing as there were so few, but decided to go blackberrying with the kids the following day in some of the larger hedgerows, intending to finish my celebrations off with a nice apple and blackberry pie (although that never happened, thanks to the fact that I got stranded in Largs after the bus never showed up. I ended up having to get dinner there while I waited for Mr Seren to pick us up, and Tom and Rosie were thoroughly disgruntled).

As Rosie napped the rain took a brief respite and the pressure began to build, with more and more clouds rolling in overhead. While she slept I tidied up in the bedroom and Tom helped me sort out the washing, and the atmosphere started to get very close and the dogs, who were playing in the garden, began to get a little on edge and frisky. Then came the thunder...

I love thunder and Tom was excited too, and as we came downstairs to watch it and make sure Mungo didn't freak out at the noise (Eddie's always been fine with it) I thought, well, I can't ask for a better sign than this, can I? That decided it.

For my first attempt at celebrating I made stovies and some cream crowdie for the feast. I wanted to incorporate something that I'd harvested myself into the food, but seeing as I decided against a vegetable patch this year I made do with some mint from the garden, as a garnish to compliment the raspberries (and the chocolate I'd added) to the cream crowdie (a traditional dessert at this time of year). This time neither Mr Seren nor I were particularly hungry so Mr Seren said he'd just pick at something, and I had some Scotch broth (because that's what was in the cupboard, not trying to be traditional or anything like that, but it seemed to fit well at least) while the kids ate their dinner.

With the kids in bed I started on my evening of devotions. I started off with a Good Wish and the sop seille, sprinkling some of the water I'd saved from Bealltainn around the house to cleanse and protect. Then I started on the bannock, and as planned I had a go at a Selkirk bannock this time. I've never been all that successful at bread making so I was a bit worried about how it would turn out - there's a knack to yeast that I don't seem to have discovered (yet, hopefully). I had to adapt the recipe a little, using all butter instead of half butter, half lard, and some mixed dried fruit instead of sultanas and a little mixed peel, but otherwise I stuck with it.

The Selkirk bannock is hard work but to make but very straightforward, and I blessed the dough, asking for prosperity and protection for the family as I mixed it together and then put it in the tin to bake in the oven (it should be round, but I used a loaf-tin because that's all I had that was suitable - pictured is what was left of it the next day), like I usually do with the more traditional oatmeal bannocks. All told it must have taken three hours to make (including allowing the dough to rise), and persuading the dried fruit to work into the dough was a trial. I'm not sure the dough rose as much as it should have, and next time I think I'll leave it a bit longer and maybe try the oven a bit warmer - the end result was very heavy and brick-like - but overall I was pleased with the result and the extra effort meant I felt more focused on what I was doing.

I forgot to adjust the oven temperature for a fan oven so it cooked a little too quickly and was very well done on the outside by the time I took it out for the glaze, so I had to cut the cooking time short and it wasn't quite as cooked inside as it could have been - a little stodgy still. Mr Seren for one likes things well cooked and commented that it's very much like a black bun. Next time I try it, I'll make sure I use the right amount of sultanas and peel, because its citrusy flavour of the ready mixed stuff I used was a bit much. Less is more for my tastebuds.

As I was waiting for the dough to rise I got to work on the rowanberry necklace I'd been planning to do. I got the idea from The Silver Bough, where I read that women (who couldn't afford amber or red coral, for the same purpose) used to make them and wear them for protection. I'd picked the berries a while ago, from the trees behind the house (asking before I did so and leaving an offering of thanks after it seemed OK to take them), and tried drying them on a low heat in the oven for a few hours. Most of them were still a little sticky, but dry enough not to make too much of a mess as I strung them on some blue thread (I was out of red, but I'm fairly sure blue was sometimes used for protective purposes too). I charmed the necklace as I made it, like I did with the rowan and red thread crosses I made at Bealltainn and put it around the votive candle on my little sacred space after I'd finished, while I went back to the bannock.

With the bannock done, tasted and shared with Mr Seren, I took a slice into the garden with some whisky as an offering to the spirits. There's an evergreen growing at the back of the garden, not too tall, but the way the light from the kitchen was falling onto it kept catching my eyeing, convincing me it was a person standing there. I tried convincing myself that it was just the light, but eventually I decided to be all intuitive and so I spent some time talking to it about the feelings I'd been picking up on. Everything seemed to have cleared and lifted after the thunderstorm and there was a feeling of peace and release, balance restored. I wondered about whether the vibes I'd been picking up on were to do with the transition between the seasons, the kind of confused, liminal period where it's neither here nor there for a while. I felt a certain sense of rightness at this, and didn't doubt that my botched previous attempt and trying to force things hadn't helped. I went inside and did some ogam divination (which I'm still thinking on and I'm not sure if it's for sharing, completley anyway. But it seemed to confirm a lot of things).

I put some more of the bannock in a bag, poured some milk into a container and some coffee grounds into another and made my way out to walk the dogs, taking the rowanberry necklace with me in case the bad vibes were still around (they weren't). A bat flew overhead on my way and we headed down towards the coast, stopping first at a clearing just at the top of the hill, overlooking the Clyde and Argyll opposite, and there I made my offerings to Lug, Tailltiu and Brigid (the latter being included because I felt she was indicated in the ogam I drew). I stayed for a while and meditated, looking for signs of acceptance, and a light drizzle seemed to come from nowhere, a small cloud that seemed to have appeared overhead in the clear night sky just for me.

Given the associations of rain with the festival, I took this to be a sign indeed, and took the dogs off down to the shore, where I made offerings and libations to Manannan (as I usually do when I go there), the ancestors and the storm hags. The coffee grounds I brought for Badb, for some reason it seemed right.

I'm almost certain I saw a shooting star before I left, but by this point with all the apparent rightness of everything I was beginning to wonder if I was imagining it, seeing what I wanted to see. I headed home, eventually, and as I got ready for bed, closed the curtains and made my night-time blessings I saw a fox scurrying along outside - only the second time I've seen it. It hurried into the hedgerow towards the gap in the fence just opposite the house, and at the last minute, just before it disappeared it seemed to stop dead, come back out and look straight up at me as I stood at the window, before scurrying off up the road.

I slept well that night, and if I dreamt I don't remember what happened. There's a lot of stuff for me to think on from all this, and I think after I got over trying to make things perfect and go according to plan - following the signs instead - things were a lot more successful than I ever anticipated.

Archive: Lùnasdal 2008 (2)

Time to stop fannying about I suppose...

I've made an effort, honestly I have. I tried celebrating Lùnasdal on several occasions, honestly I did, but so far nothing. My efforts have been mediocre and unfocused at best, and while my more regular spiritual practices and offerings have been well-received, as far as I can tell, my festive celebrations have been decidedly flat and piecemeal so far. Partly because of circumstances and interruptions, I suppose you could say, and partly because of circumstance - not just my frame of mind, but a general feeling that things just aren't happening...In fact, a general feeling that as far as this locality is concerned, it's just not happy. Or not right.

Connecting with the land, the locality, is an important part of my spirituality. Coming to an understanding with the local spirits is a huge focus of my spiritualitiy, you could say, and until recently, I'd say I was quite successful in this respect. Since Mungo came along I've been dedicatedely taking the dogs for a walk late in the evening, before bedtime, in order to make sure Mungo's had plenty to knacker him out during the course of the day and ensure a good night's sleep for all of us. I've enjoyed this new routine because it gives me the opportunity to have some quiet time to myself and meditate and I've had a lot of things to chew on, including my thoughts and experiences with my feeling of being drawn to Badb. We rarely meet anyone on the street, and aside from the occasional car or Chelsea Tractor, there are few disturbances to interrupt these thoughts, which seems just perfect for me. Perfect for Mungo, on the other hand, to try and chase anything that moves, otherwise, though, but some calculated daytime walks in busy areas seem to be doing the trick in that respect.

Being a relatively large village on the coast, and also surrounded by dense woodland, there are a few options as far as walks are concerned, although I discount the woods as suitable walks in the evening for obvious personal safety reasons (it being dark and remote and all...and also very fae in feel). The walks to the coast, however, are tantalising for me, given my obsession with the sea, Manannán and the lighthouse that shines over on the mainland on the other side of the Clyde every night. I find the lighthouse, the coast and the sound of the sea comforting, even welcoming and feel drawn to it all, to get as close as possible to it. Parts of the walk there, however, are not so positive in feel.

To put it bluntly, sometimes it gives me the willies. I've been getting the same sort of vibes with my attempts at celebrating Lùnasdal throughout this month, albeit in a less focused sort of feel. My attempts at making bannocks were successful in the sense that none of them broke (supposed to be a bad sign), but they just didn't work like they did last time round - tasteless and unevenly cooked, and also they ended up too runny first time round, even though I followed the recipe as last time, so I had to try and compensate. My other devotions planned for that night were similarly disrupted and unfocused and so I tried spreading them across three nights...Those attempts just didn't have anything to them, either, and now I've come to the conclusion that it just wasn't the right time. Perhaps that will explain the vibes I've been picking up on over the past few weeks...In trying to force celebrations at the 'traditionally appropriate' time, according to records, perhaps what I really need to do is get in tune with when this place is ready. It would be in keeping with my feeling that I need to get in touch with my more mystical, experiential side, rather than my more logical, intellectual side, I guess. More than anything, though, I think maybe I need to stop trying to find the perfect time, logistically, and just get on with it, spiritually...

The blackberries are starting to ripen and I might just wait until next week, when there should be enough for me to pick, to try my celebrations again. I've also decided to try baking a Selkirk bannock instead of the more traditional savoury type, because it fits in more with my personal tastes as well as those of Mr Seren and the children, and while my spirituality is nothing but personal, I'd like to share something with the family. I'd been planning on doing one for Samhainn, but here I think it's time to take a hint and just do it.

So anyway. I was intending to tie this one in with my celebrations, but instead it's turned into a preamble...


The Festival of Lughnasa
Maire MacNeill

Finding a copy of this book has almost been like a quest for the Holy Grail for me. Every now and then it gets mentioned with an almost hushed reverence on some of the CR lists I'm on, so of course when I first heard of it I decided I had to read it...I found it easily enough at the university library, but this is the sort of book I have to own, rather than borrow, and copies don't come cheap. Before the reprint earlier this year, this was an extremely rare book, it seems, and I could only find copies with a £400-£500 (or $800-$1,000) price tag - far beyond my humble means, so when I found out it had been re-released I was a very happy geek. It was still not cheap (£50/$100), but far less damaging to my credit card and honestly well worth it - it's a hefty tome, to say the least, so you get your money's worth.

But maybe I should stop chuntering on about how smug I'm feeling for getting my hands on a copy and start talking about what I thought about it. I could've sworn I'd read it as soon as it arrived on my doorstep, but when I thought about writing a review in time for Lùnastal and started flicking through it, I realised that I hadn't read it all the way through. As I said, it's a hefty tome, packing in over 700 pages, so it's easy to get lost if you put it down for a bit.

MacNeill focuses primarily on the evidence in Ireland, drawing heavily from the Irish Folklore Commission archives, but she does give some attention to the evidence for it in Great Britain and France, though in far less detail. As someone who focuses on Scottish practice, I didn't really find anything new specifically relating to the more modern evidence found in Scotland, but as far as the historical evidence goes for Ireland there's a wealth of information to be found.

Given its size, it's no surprise that this is a fairly exhaustive work on the various different aspects of the festival of Lughnasa, and in this I suppose there are pros and cons. While on the one hand it makes for a handy volume with which to start and get a fairly in depth idea of what Lughnasa was really about, its very size can also be very off-putting. That said, Mac Neill does a good job of laying things out in a logical manner, from the more historical aspects of the festival, to surviving evidence of celebrations. These latter chapters are quite dense, in essence listing the evidence (or possible evidence, where MacNeill isn't certain) for survivals of celebrations in specific locations across Ireland. This isn't the easiest stuff to read all in one go unless you're that passionate about the subject, it being fairly repetitive in places, but if you're looking for a good amount of supporting evidence for this sort of thing you'll certainly find good leads here.

Following all that are chapters on the types of tales associated with the festival, as well as a summary of a 'typical' Irish celebration for the day, based on the more modern evidence available. It's this chapter that will be of most interest to anyone looking for quick answers about the surviving practises that you might want to incorporate into your own. There follows an extensive appendix of the tales themselves (including the original Irish and then translations, where applicable) and, in the copy I bought, the addendum from MacNeill's revision of the book in the 1982 reprint, where she discusses where she may have changed her mind on certain points, or where further evidence proved her wrong more conclusively or convincingly. These bits don't really change the overall message of the book too much, but they are useful to know and I'd say that these later editions/reprints are a better read in that respect than the first edition, providing more critical food for thought at least.

Perhaps the biggest problem with this book is that there aren't any comparable volumes that deal with the other festivals in such depth. It would make life so much easier in so many ways...So far as the book itself is concerned, though, it can't be denied that it's dated in some respects. MacNeill addresses some of these points in the later addendum, but this can only raise questions about a lot of other things that she says and the research methods she uses...Time will tell on these points, but it's wise to caution against taking things too literally, I think, and further, personal, research is always warranted no matter how good one particular book might be. Perhaps I'm being overly cautious and negative here, but I do find this book to be genuinely inspirational and useful, and it's often this type of book that I'm most cautious about. Question everything, especially books like this that are so highly regarded. But then again, don't forget they're highly regarded for a reason...

At the end of the day, if you want to gain a deeper understanding of Lughnasa or any of its (possibly/probably) culturally related variants, buy the book, or at least get your hands on a copy.

Archive: Mythic Ireland - Michael Dames

Mythic Ireland
Michael Dames

It's a good job I'm not one to judge a book by a cover, because frankly, when I opened the envelope and took this book out, my first impression was, "Has somebody vomited over it and then tried drawing a pretty picture of the space-time continuum with the leftovers, during an acid trip? Hmmm?"

Apparently though, according to the dust jacket inside, it's supposed to be a "drawing of the carved stone mace-head from Knowth, Co. Meath".

Riiiiiiight.

I'm a little conflicted about this book...I think I can see where Dames is coming from, but I'm not sure if it's worked - for me, anyway. I was expecting to read something along the lines of Alwyn and Brinley Rees' Celtic Heritage (but more up to date), so perhaps I've been a little blindsided by my expectations. I want to really love this book, but ultimately, deep down, I have a lot of reservations about it.

The book is split into five main parts, along with the obligatory introductions and conclusions and so on, and each section deals with a particular province and the relevant mythic sites and figures in that area. In this sense it offers something much different to Celtic Heritage because it deals far more with local myths and the Dindshenchas (Placename Folklore) than it does the kinds of myths from the cycles that are normally dealt with. Neither does it make any real effort to analyse how such tales might have evolved over time - instead, it takes them at face value, offers some explanation and analysis as to how they relate to Ireland and its sacred places, and then it's time to move on. The fifth section, focusing on Mide, attempts to synthesise the mythical threads of the four provinces into a whole, a coherent body of lore that represents all of Ireland, radiating from the sacred centre of Uisnech.

That, for me, is one of the major problems I had with the book right there...Viewed from a more scholarly perspective, it's little more than an attempt to crowbar the mythological landscape into a fairly romanticised view of how it all might have been, taking no account of how the sites may have sprung up over time or changed in function and so on.

It's a seductive approach in a way, though, because it takes the subject outside of the stuffy academic sensibilities that often make reading about this sort of thing so dull and boring. Instead of talking in terms of what was, Dames makes it clear that this is a living breathing mythology and mythological landscape. These are not Ye Olde Godes who've scampered under a hill or two (as per their agreement with the Milesians), that he's writing about, but the gods that were and still are a part of Ireland today.

This is both refreshing and a little unfortunate, because while on the one hand it gives a sense of the gods as living beings in a modern landscape - not simply 'characters' in myth and legend, who are to be studied and analysed in an intellectual and fairly two dimensional manner - it also feeds the romanticism that Dames sometimes indulges in. Romanticism isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I think it skews how Dames presents what he writes, allowing him to explore what might have been rather than what's likely to have been (if I put my archaeologist's hat on, as Dames is also an archaeologist, I'd say he takes more of a post-processual approach at times, though I'm not sure he'd agree, and there's a definite processual thing going on as well, if that's even possible to mix the two...)...If anything I guess it serves as a reminder that everyone views the gods a little differently, and that how we approach them can (and should) be a very personal thing.

With a healthy smattering of Mircea Eliade and Gimbutas thrown in for good measure, along with the fact that gods are pretty much all presented within a solar-deity framework, I have a lot of quibbles with the way he presents some of the material and the sorts of sweeping statements he makes - replete with a lack of any real referencing except, usually, when he quotes from someone directly. An example of this would be Aine, who he equates with Anu, and promptly pronounces her a solar goddess outright without really providing any referenced material as to why or how this is so, or why others may not see her that way (but then again, after reading the chapter I did end up thinking he might have a point, and it would be good to see an argument of the fors and againsts in the solar god argument as far as Celtic/Irish gods are concerned...I digress).

In amongst all of the more problemmatical bits I found some genuinely interesting stuff in there, including an example of an Irish smooring prayer - but it wasn't referenced so I can't follow it up. This is annoying. However, in spite of all the downers I have about the book I also found it kind of inspirational. It challenged my more stuffy academic outlook on the subject and presented a lot of folk tales and bits of lore that I wasn't familiar with. While I didn't agree with a lot of what he had to say, or more often, looked askance at it because it wasn't clear quite where he got certain things from, the book certainly helped give a sense of the sacredness of the landscape.

All in all, I don't think I'd recommend every CR person I came across to go and buy the book now now now. But it's an interesting tome, and so far as my reading's gone thus far, it's certainly fairly unique. I can see why I never came across this book in an academic context, and I can see how its often outdated references and ideas might prove problemmatic for a reconstructionist approach as well, but taken with an open mind and a healthy pinch of salt, I think a lot can be taken away from the book that's useful for developing a spirituality in a CR setting.

Archive: Lùnasdal 2008

I've been meaning to do this post for a while now, but my brain's been refusing to get into gear lately...But since Mr Seren's taken Tom off my hands and Rosie (and Mungo) are asleep and I have a quiet moment, it's a good time to get some thoughts in order about Lùnasdal (Lammas, Lughnasadh, call it what you will)...As ever, if you're not all that interested in my spiritual practises, there's no need to read on. You won't be missing anything...

The weather's been very wet recently, and while it's been quite warm I've been working on the assumption that the crops and autmnal fruits will be taking a while yet to ripen, so I've decided to hold off on celebrations for a few weeks. The rowans are all pretty much ripe now but the blackberries have yet to even stop flowering, although I've seen some with berries that look like they're thinking about starting to ripen. Even the raspberries are still in season (I spotted some growing wild a week or so ago) and they're usually well on their way to getting past their best by now. Summer's definitely coming to an end, though, the thistles (and I'm not sure which type these are, if they are indeed thistles, but they're everywhere at the moment) are out in force:

Last year I made a real effort to get into the festive spirit because of all the festivals, Lùnasdal is generally the one I feel the least connection with. I kept things low key and not too ambitious, contemplative and meditative and found that was a good approach. I was living in Bo'ness then, overlooking the Forth, so I made my bannocks (or pancakes that time, as it turned out, to share with everyone else), sained (cleansed/warded) the house, made the usual evening feast, and took myself off for an evening walk with Eddie to make offerings of blackberries to Lugh and Tailtiu at the vantage point I used to visit for my daily meditations. I felt a strong connection then and my offerings seemed to be well received. More offerings, made in general this time, followed in the evening before I went to bed and I remember feeling Badb's presence quite strongly as I sat outside in the garden and meditated some more. The next day I took the kids off on a woodland walk and we saw the first crops being harvested as we went (which was pure synchronicity rather than purposeful timing of my celebrations).

This year I'm planning on keeping to the same general outline - making the festival bannocks, saining the house, putting up some rowan and making a good feast for everyone. Last year I didn't really put much emphasis on the first fruits aspect of the festival, so this year I was hoping to find some bilberries growing wild so I could take the kids out to pick them, but I've yet to find any. I've not really seen it mentioned as a Scottish custom specific to this time of year/festival but I do know that bilberry-picking is a popular pastime when they're in season, so it seems appropriate. I might see if the raspberries are still out and pick some for the cream crowdie I'll make for pudding, instead - the bushes are on the way to the beach so I can pick them as I make my way to make some offerings.

Seeing as the rowans are heavy with lots of berries this year I've been thinking about collecting some so I can dry them and make a necklace out of them. McNeill mentions that they were worn by 'common' women for protection as an alternative to red coral or amber necklaces that upper class ladies often wore for the same purpose. I have some amber beads as well, so I might experiment with them both and see how it turns out. If anything, I'm hoping it will make a nice adornment to my little sacred space in the kitchen, and be a good focus for concentrating and meditating on the meaning of the day and so on.

The sweeter bannocks I made at Bealltainn worked well so I think I'll do them again, and dinner will probably be the usual roast lamb or pork or whatever. I decided against planting any fruit or veg in the garden this year, not wanting to be too overambitious, so I don't really have anything to harvest from the garden in that sense. I did put some herbs in, so I might use some rosemary for the roast or something, in the spirit of harvesting some sort of 'crop' for my celebrations, and I'll probably bring some flowers in to decorate the house as well. I've been busy weeding and tending to the flowerbeds in anticipation of the day (I like to get the house in order for my celebrations, so it's nice and welcoming for my special 'guests', so to speak) and I've been pleased and surprised to see how much of what I've planted seems to have flourished. The rowan I planted seems to have settled in well - not much growth, but what growth there has been seems to be very healthy so far.

I'm sure there'll be more I'll think of to be doing, but that's all that springs to mind...