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,

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.

Welcoming in the autumn

Usually my festival preparations start with a good clean and tidy up so everything's in order and everything else follows from there. It's not the most glamorous thing to do (or fantsatically scintillating thing to write about) but I like to start the new season with everything as it should be – start things afresh. Inasmuch as I can and according to my abilities at the time.

This time around, though, our Lùnastal-related celebrations were a little more spread out and kind of more disordered than usual, in a way, mostly because we had a mini "staycation" in the week leading up to August 1st and it took some time to recover from Actually Doing Stuff before I was physically up to much again. Much as I would've liked to have done Ireland again this year (and so would we all), we weren't able to book anything because Mr Seren got confirmation of having some time off too late for that, and seeing as he's been working so hard lately he didn't want to have to do too much driving hither and thither, so a week of outings was a good compromise.

We did a water park, a safari park, the Sea Life Centre (otters!), the Science Centre, and, on the day before Lùnastal itself, a we went to an adventure centre where the kids braved a "sky park:"

Rosie was terrified but insisted on doing it anyway, and then being attached to little more than a rope meant that she got so far and then reality sank in and she refused to move because what the hell are we doing we're going to die. The instructor stuck with her and helped her along, and then it was time for the drop:

Which I'm amazed she did, really, because she could've easily walked down the stairs instead. By that point it was a matter of principle, though. Tom loved it and went back eight times until the time slot was up.

They were both very brave and I think such displays of courage were very apt for the festival occasion. The next day we all had a well-earned rest...

Eventually, though, it came time to celebrate, so the house was set in order, and the feast was prepared. I like to try something new every now and then for the festivals, even if it's just simple, so this time I decided to try making a gooseberry fool, which is gooseberries:

That are stewed with a little sugar to sweeten and mixed with lightly whipped cream to give a yummy dessert (fools are a type of syllabub, a ye olde dessert, and so it's related to cranachan, too). They might look like slightly hairy grapes, but don't be fooled (arf), gooseberries are extremely tart on their own. The sugar and cream helps take the edge off:

It doesn't look like much but it really does taste good (you can strain the lumps out if you like but I didn't because it's healthier, dammit).

Aside from bilberries, gooseberries are also traditional to pick for the festival, and seeing as my blueberries never ripen until September in my garden I was tempted to buy a gooseberry bush or two during the summer so I'd have something to harvest (they're supposed to be harvested wild, admittedly, but I've yet to find any gooseberries or bilberries growing wild round here). I held back this year because I want to see how all the potted stuff does before I get too ambitious (it's going OK, so far – no casualties yet), so these ones I bought from the supermarket. I ordered two punnets and got the red ones as well as the green as a surprise, so I ended up making two separate fools to see if there was much of a difference. I've never seen red gooseberries before and apparently they're sweeter, but we all agreed the green variety was much tastier.

Our feast went down very well, over all, and in the evening I sained the house, made my offerings and devotions, and all the usual. It was too cloudy to see any meteors zipping by, but I spent some time outside, just enjoying the quiet and the cool nip in the air.

The next day the kids and I took a day trip to Largs for ice cream and a trip to what the kids call "the seaside park" as an end of summer holidays treat – these ice creams are a very rare treat because they're huge and probably amount to the average weekly calorific intake...

But who the hell cares? I had a hot fudge brownie sundae, and yes. I ate the whole damn lot (and felt rather sick afterwards). Tom and Rosie's sundaes came with British and German flags, respectively, for some reason, so the kids re-enacted World War I by way of flags while demolishing their sundaes. Naturally...

And then, with a bit of time to myself later on, I took the dogs for a walk up to the high point in the village I usually go to for Là Lùnastal, and made some offerings and took the time to contemplate things. Along the way I discovered some raspberries growing wild – they're usually way past their best by August, but the weather has delayed a lot of fruits – so I picked some of those to add to my offerings as well.

It was another quiet celebration for us but it was just what was needed, I think, and the gooseberry fool seemed to go down well as an offering. The kids are now obsessing about when we can go and pick the blackberries...

Links and things for Lùnastal

I was a little remiss in getting around to doing a links post for Midsummer, but the ones I've done for other festivals so far this year seem to have been quite popular, so I might as well pick it back up again.

First off, last year I did a video for the Gaol Naofa Youtube channel, which takes a look at what Lùnastal's all about and how it can be celebrated:

The first song on the video is a reaping song – that would have been sung as the harvest was being brought in (the rhythm helping people to get into a groove while they cut the crops, as much helping to pass the time) – that's sung by the Scottish folklorist Margaret Bennett, and the music was composed by her son Martyn Bennett. It's a very modern take on an old traditional song, and a sample of a 1920s threshing machine has been used to give the beat that complements the lyrics. The second song is the same again, this time sung with a more traditional arrangement.

Following on from that, since a major theme of Lùnastal is peace, Kathryn's video on the Prophecy of the Morrígan (or Badb's Prayer for Peace) is also worth a watch:



Which could be incorporated into celebrations if you so wish...

For a more in-depth background on Lùnastal/Lúnasa, and some practical ideas, there are some articles I've done over on Tairis that might be worth a read:

• Lùnastal
• Celebrating Lùnastal

If you'd prefer something a little (a lot) shorter, the Festivals page on the Gaol Naofa site might be more to your taste. One of the things on our to do list is to expand the music section, as can be seen by the number of songs that don't yet have a link; quite a few of these are apt for the harvest, though, so they're worth hunting up (you can find them all on Youtube, I think). The craft section also has some useful stuff if you're looking for things to do, and the links include a video showing you how to make a harvest knot (I've yet to try one myself...).

Games and competitive sports are a big part of the celebrations, and there's a big crossover with the kind of games and amusements that were played during wakes – very apt given the roots of Lùnastal as a funeral games, perhaps – so the Death and Burial article back over at Tairis might be useful too.

If you're looking for something nommy then try some cranachan or fraughan cakes... Going fruit picking up on the hills (or shore) is traditional, especially for bilberries (aka fraughans), but you can just use blueberries if you can't find bilberries in the wild... Gooseberries are another fruit that might be collected for the festival, and they can be used to make a delicious gooseberry fool, which is a kind of syllabub dessert (as is cranachan). For those in warmer climes, brambles (or blackberries) might be available by the beginning of August, which can make a good substitute in the absence of bilberries or gooseberries; they're only very rarely ripe so early over here (in my neck of the woods, anyway) in the wild, but supermarkets often start selling them by this point.

Going by the archaeological evidence, it appears that pork is especially appropriate for feasting on, so a good bit of roast pork, or a stew, with some seasonal vegetables – fresh from the garden, if you grow your own, or else locally sourced if you can afford it – could form the main part of your celebratory feast. For savoury treats, cheese-making is traditional, especially a simple soft cheese like crowdie, which is easy to make (in theory! I've yet to master the art myself because I keep managing to overheat the curds). The smell takes a bit of getting used to while you're heating the milk, and that can be a litle off-putting, but the end result really is quite tasty; try rolling the cheese in toasted oatmeal or crushed black pepper to add more flavour. The leftover whey can be used to make some oatmeal bannocks – also traditional to make for the festival (from a Scots persecptive, at least) – to serve with the cheese, or else there are a number of other traditional recipes you might want to hunt up so it doesn't go to waste (F. Marian McNeill's The Scots Kitchen and The Scots Cellar will be useful).

Story-telling is also an appropriate part of the celebrations, along with music and song, which can help set a very convivial atmosphere if you're celebrating as part of a group or with family. You could tell the story of Tailltiu's sacrifice, for example, or take a look at some of the other Dindshenchas tales like the ones for Nás and Carmun. Maire MacNeill records a huge amount of tales in her massive book, The Festival of Lughnasa, and some of them involve Lugh or Crom Cruach, so it's absolutely well-worth getting a hold of if you can. Failing that, why not compose your own stories or poetry?

Lùnastal and Vikings (Yarr)

I haven't updated much recently so there's a bit of catching up to do...

Lùnastal was celebrated, and it was kind of an odd affair in some ways. We celebrated on time, getting the house in order and having a festive meal, making the bonnach Lùnastain:

Saining the house and playing some games, offering to Taillte and Lugh. All the usual stuff we do for Lùnastal.

It kind of snuck up on me, but now I'm more experienced I don't tend to take as much time planning and generally flapping and flailing about making sure everything's ready as I used to when I was just starting out. But over all the festival seemed more drawn out than usual. It's not unusual that we might take a few days to celebrate a festival, so we can fit everything in and get it all done without overdoing it, but this year Lùnastal was more drawn out than ever. I'd had an idea that we'd have a family celebration and then carry on with the festivities at my great-niece's first birthday party, which would involve lots of games and things for the kids to do that tie in with the festive theme, and that's what happened there (the kids had a great time at the party, in spite of the slightly disturbing giant Peppa Pig who came in with the birthday cake...). But although everything was successful and our offerings and songs seemed to be well received, there was a feeling that things weren't finished.

Usually, given the fact that it's a festival of first fruits, I like to incorporate that into the festivities and make it the major focus, and I never really felt much of a connection to Lùnastal until we moved here, to where we live now, and I was able to start a vegetable patch and put in some fruit bushes. Harvesting our own fruits and veg helped reinforce the significance of the festival, and bring it closer to home. But this year, I didn't have anything to harvest from the garden, really. The long winter and late spring we had seems to have put paid to any blueberries this year, and I decided against growing any vegetables because I had to admit to myself that I just can't manage it - there was too much work needed with replacing the containers and compost I've been using for the veg, and it was pointless trying to fudge it and do it anyway because the containers were clearly going to fall apart as soon as I touched them. I just decided to accept that we'd have to make do with a festive feast made with seasonal foods - the first new potatoes of the season, and that kind of thing - from the supermarket instead.

It's been a really warm and sunny summer this year, though, and that means the blackberries have been exceptionally early and there are tons of them, too, extra fat and juicy. I had an idea that the brambles were going to ripening earlier rather than later, but hadn't quite anticipated that they'd be ripe and ready well before the end of August. Usually they don't ripen until mid-September, but this year they ended up ripening by mid-August. So a couple of weeks after our Lùnastal festivities began, we were able to finish things off with the harvesting of our first lot of autumn fruits, which the kids insisted had to become a blackberry and apple crumble:

And if I do say so myself, it's the best one I've ever done. It didn't last long...

Harvesting the berries gave a sense of closure and the sense of rounding things off that had been otherwise lacking, and with hindsight I kind of wish I'd waited a few weeks and celebrated a little later. In between the start and finish, things just felt a bit up in the air. The kids had fun, though, and the heavily laden bramble bushes are just about the best thing ever as far as Rosie's concerned, especially. Free food. To her mind, it should be autumn all year round.

So that's Lùnastal all caught up. Then came a local festival at the end of August, celebrating the final defeat of the Vikings in Scotland (the decisive battle happening just down the road from us, where the festival takes place). So I dragged the kids along and they had fun at the fair, both of them choosing a bow and arrow set as a prize for Hook a Duck, having a run around one of those haunted houses and so on, and then we went to watch the re-enactors demonstrating some Viking "battle" tactics and fighting techniques. I think it's fair to use the term "technique" loosely there...

There were all kinds of stalls, too, and the kids got to stroke some owls at one of them:

Including Hedwig, I think?

And then we went to the Viking village, where the re-enactors do a bit of living history, demonstrating how they lived, slept, ate in those days, and so on. Rosie was fascinated by the wolf and fox skins on the bed:

And was torn between being sad at the fact that the animals were dead, and loving how soft and snuggly they feel. Check out the very authentic Viking wall hanging at the back there...

The kids also had the chance to have a go at some archery again:

Tom's enthusiasm makes up for his lack of expertise, I'm sure. He thought the target on the left was hilarious (it's a naked dude covering his "winky" with his axe. I've no idea where Tom got "winky" from...):

It was a good afternoon out and we brought Mr Seren some fudge back with us (he was working).

Now, as the autumn's well and truly under way, thoughts are inevitably turning to Là Fhèill Mìcheil and then Samhainn, which I might waffle on about in another post. Hopefully soon we'll have some more videos to post as well.

New videos...

Since we released a bunch of videos earlier this month, which took us up to Midsummer in the festival year, Kathryn and I have been working hard on the next batch so we can get them out in time for Lùnastal.

Picking up where we left off, then, now have a new video for Lùnastal (Lúnasa):

And then tying in with that we have a video on the Prophecy of the Morrígan - Badb's Prayer for Peace:

Following on from that, we get to Là Fhèill Mìcheil, which roughly coincides with the autumnal equinox:

As with the other videos, Lúnasa and Là Fhèill Mìcheil are intended to be a short introduction to the festivals, giving an overview of the historical roots, lore, and practices associated with them. Là Fhèill Mìcheil is primarily celebrated in Scotland, but we also touch on the broader points of the significance of the solstices and equinoxes in Gaelic belief, as well as the customs that are observed in some parts of Ireland at this time. For more information on the festival, you can always take a look at the article I've done on Tairis (link to the archive, because the site is still down - hopefully not for much longer...).

The music we've chosen for the Lúnasa are two different versions of a traditional reaping song, called Buain a' Choirce (lyrics and translation are at the link). The first version, by Martyn Bennett, is a fusion of a more modern musical arrangement, with the song itself sung in the traditional style by his mother, the Scottish folklorist Margaret Bennett, and the rhythm track uses a sample of an old 1920s threshing machine. The second version, by Síleas, is a more traditional rendition over all.

The second video, on Badb's prayer for peace, is intended to tie in with Lúnasa, as well as Samhain, as we explain in the announcement we released over on Gaol Naofa. Lúnasa is the one time of the year where peace is an essential condition of the celebrations and gatherings that are held in honour of Taillte, as Lugh instituted the festival in her memory. We've chosen this particular prayer, as sung by the Morrígan from Cath Maige Tuired, because the tale has many elements that fit in with what Lúnasa is all about, as well as Samhain. Historically, a failure to uphold the peace at Lúnasa would have risked being thrown out of your túath, which was a serious consequence in a time when your legal rights were heavily tied in with your status and standing amongst your people. Without a túath you effectively had no legal rights, making you fair game, basically. Given the seriousness of all this, it's something that we, as Gaelic Polytheists, should think about too.

More videos are still to come, at some point. All that remains to say is another big thank you to everyone who's helped us produce the videos, from those of you who've helped us find music we can use, given us feedback and general support, and those of you who've very generously given us permission to use your photos. In particular, I'd like to thank Ali Isaac for allowing us to use her photo of Taillte's assembly site in our Lúnasa video. Mòran taing!

Tairis is down (for now)

Taking a break from my mini-travelogue for a second...

I've been getting some concerned messages from folks about the Tairis site, so I might as well post about it here - unfortunately Tairis is currently offline while it's undergoing some essential maintenance. It's a bit of a pain, but I'm hoping that it won't be offline for too long. In the meantime you can access it via The Wayback Machine at archive.org.

Seeing as Lùnastal is almost upon us (for those of us in the northern hemisphere), you can find the articles on it here:

• Lùnastal
• Celebrating Lùnastal

For those of you in the southern hemisphere, you may be interested in:

• Là Fhèill Brìghde
• Celebrating Là Fhèill Brìghde

And for a brief introduction to the subject, you might want to watch:

There's also a brief overview of the festivals at the Gaol Naofa site, and some practical ideas on what to do in our Ritual within Gaelic Polytheism. Our article on Children and Family in Gaelic Polytheism will also be useful too (even if you don't have kids, honest!). The festivals section starts on page 32.

An Cailleach Bheara

I've posted a link to this short film before, but it's well worth another watch! 'Tis the season, and all...

Soon the Cailleach Bheur will make her lament as she gives up and admits defeat in trying to hold back the onslaught of Spring. As she throws down her wand, she shouts out:

‘Dh’ fhag e mhan mi, dh’ fhag e ‘n ard mi Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha lamh mi, Dh’ fhag e bial mi, dh’ fhag e cul mi, Dh’ fha e eadar mo dha shul mi.		It escaped me below, it escaped me above.     It escaped me between my two hands,     It escaped me before, it escaped me behind,     It escaped me between my two eyes.
Dh’ fhag e shios mi, dh’ fhag e shuas mi, Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha chluas mi, Dh’ fhag e thall mi, dh’ fhag e bhos mi, Dh’ fhag e eadar mo dha chos mi.		It escaped me down, it escaped me up,     It escaped me between my two ears,     It escaped me thither, it escaped me hither,     It escaped me between my two feet.
Thilg mi ‘n slacan druidh donai, Am bun preis crin cruaidh conuis. Far nach fas fionn no foinnidh, Ach fracan froinnidh feurach.’		I threw my druidic evil wand.     Into the base of a withered hard whin bush,     Where shall not grow 'fionn' nor 'fionnidh,'     But fragments of grassy 'froinnidh.'

While the Irish An Cailleach Bheara doesn't have such firm associations with the seasons as the Scottish An Cailleach Bheur does, there are some hints. Cairn T, at Loughcrew (or Sliabh na Caillí) is thought to have an equinoctial alignment:

The light of the equinox sunrise illuminates the back chamber of the Cairn T at the Loughcrew complex, lighting up carvings that are thought to have astronomical meanings. Near to Cairn T is the Hag's Chair, and she is said to have created the tomb by accidentally dropping a pile of stones from her apron. But of course, in spite of her associations with the place today, we can't really say when the Cailleach came to be associated with the place – certainly not until after Christianity, when the word 'cailleach' came into the Irish language – or if her associations are meant to tie in with the equinoctial alignment. The coincidence with the Scottish Là na Cailliche is tantalising, however.

It does seem like she has other, older names as well, which offer further (possible) seasonal associations. In The Lament of the Old Woman of Beare, she calls herself Buí, who is referred to as a wife of Lugh in other sources, and is said to have been buried at Knowth (Cnogba). In the Dindshenchas of Nás (another of Lugh's wives) she is mentioned again, along with Tailtiu, so one wonders if she has an association with Lúnasa, which were often held at places that are thought to have been the burial place of supernatural women or goddesses who were married to Lugh, or otherwise associated with him? The Dindshenchas of Nás seems to hint that this was the case, since it mentions games and gatherings.

Another Dindshenchas, Lia Nothain, refers to two sisters, Nothain and Sentuinne, both of whom are "Old Women" and Sentuinne itself means "Old Woman" just as "Cailleach" can. The Dindshenchas associates them with May-day, suggesting further seasonal associations:

Nothain (was) an old woman [cailleach] of Connaught, and from the time she was born her face never fell on a field, and her thrice fifty years were complete. Her sister once went to have speech with her. Sentuinne (” Old Woman”) was her name: her husband was Sess Srafais, and Senbachlach (“Old-Churl”) was another name for him. Hence said the poet: 

      Sentuinne and Senbachlach,
     A seis srofais be their withered hair!
     If they adore not God’s Son
     They get not their chief benefit. 

From Berre, then, they went to her to bring her on a plain on May-day. When she beheld the great plain, she was unable to go back from it, and she planted a stone (lia) there in the ground, and struck her head against it and….and was dead. ” It will be my requiem….I plant it for sake of my name.” Whence Lia Nothan (“Nothan’s Stone”). 

     Nothain, daughter of Conmar the fair,
     A hard old woman of Connaught,
     In the month of May, glory of battle,
     She found the high stone. 

Source

The association with Berre (Beare), just as Buí is associated with that place, suggests that they are probably one and the same. So there are some hints and bits of seasonal lore that may be associated with An Cailleach Bheara. It's guesswork, for sure, but I thought it's worth putting out there to ponder.

Lùnastal

Lùnastal is weeks past so this is an extremely belated post but better late than never, eh?

So as with most years, one of the things I tend to do as the harvesting comes to a close is look at all the successes and failures I've had in the garden, and what that suggests for next year when the sowing season starts again. I haven't been able to do much in the garden so what successes and failures we've had are largely down to the slugs and the weather more than anything else, but I think the triumph of the summer has definitely been the fruit – especially the strawberries and golden raspberries:

We had a massive glut of strawberries this year and the cold and late winter meant they were extra sweet and tasty. The golden raspberries were a bit of a surprise, seeing as they've never done much before now in all the years since I planted them and now they've all but taken over the back of the flower bed, which is no bad thing, all in all, but they were a little difficult to get to and they kinda strangled out the black currants.

With the veg, the leeks I planted never did anything and the carrots have been a little pathetic too. That's just down the fact that I really need to change out the compost, I'm pretty sure, but so far we've managed a spectacular harvest of one whole carrot, picked specially for Lùnastal:

The rest are still soldiering on, and the onions are only just nearly ready now. The peas did very well but the extremely hot weather we had didn't suit the plants so much in the end and they've died off earlier than they did last year. The blueberries and blackberries have yet to ripen; with a bit more sunshine they should be ready soon – not soon enough as far as the kids are concerned.

Just like last year we celebrated Lùnastal on time, although just like every year it kinda snuck up on me and ended up with a bit of a flurry of preparations to get everything ready. The signs of autumn have come earlier than usual this year, perhaps the long heatwave we had has made the trees start changing colour a bit earlier. After a little tidying up of the house our festivities began with a late afternoon walk to the vantage point I usually make my offerings at for this time of year. I took the kids and the dogs with me and Tom wanted to know why I was giving food and milk to a hedge (as far as he was concerned), and who I was talking to (in "Garlic" as they insist on calling it), so I explained and there was a lengthy conversation on the way home with increasing excitement as the realisation that this meant a Special Dinner. It was decided there would be roast chicken with roasties and veg (including our tenacious carrot), followed by chocolate souffle with garden fruits to dip in the gooey middle:

I enjoy cooking and every now and then I'll try something new. The chocolate souffle is the most recent pudding I've set out to perfect, and the rest of the family isn't complaining. But the fruit's healthy, right? I wanted to have some sort of harvesting theme involved, so it was fitting, at least (even if souffle's not exactly authentic), and while I was out in the garden collecting fruit and veg, I brought in some flowers for festive decoration as well.

After dinner and the kids were in bed I took some time in the evening to sain the house and make my offerings and celebrations. I offered up some poetry to Lugh and Tailltiu too, and since the night was warm and still and an owl was hooting loudly in the distance somewhere, I spent a long while just sitting outside in the dark, breathing in the salty sea air and listening to waves crashing onto the shore over the hill on one side, and the owl hooting off on the other. I spoke to my ancestors as I sat out there, and I addressed the spirits with a prayer for peace, and then I prayed to the gods too. Lugh isn't usually a deity that seems to want much to do with me but this year he seemed to be more present that I've ever felt before; I don't know why, really, but it was very much appreciated. I pledged to hold some games in Tailltiu's honour the next day, made some final offerings for the night and, eventually, slept the sleep of the exhausted.

I didn't have much time for games with the kids on the eve, so while we managed to fit some in we decided to make a special day of it the next day (with much enthusiasm from the kids). While the weather was beautiful on the eve itself, the day of Lùnastal itself was grey and wet – very autumnal and stormy, even – so the games had to be moved indoors. We were going to have some races and make an assault course in the garden, with a picnic and all kinds of other games, but instead we had cards, board games, and party games inside. With a picnic, if you can call a picnic blanket on the living room floor such. Mr Seren took the afternoon off from work (he's hardly had a day off in the past few months so having some time for all of us to relax and be a bit silly in a serious kind of way added to the festive occasion, I think) and played DJ for a talent contest at the kids' insistence, and then he beat us all at snakes and ladders, while Tom and I drew at the card games. Rosie won the talent contest and didn't sulk at losing cards or snakes and ladders AT ALL, and later proved that she's the queen of hide and seek by hiding in the shed for full on half an hour while Tom began to worry that she was lost for good. Rosie won the prize for most dedicated hider, which entailed her choice in a movie on Netflix because by that point we were all gamed out and in need of a sit down.

And now...autumn is very much here. There's a nip in the morning air, a bite and burgeoning fury in the winds, the blue skies have turned to their customary grey, and my son is no longer insisting on getting up at the arse crack of dawn just because it's light outside at 4am. Autumn is very much welcome around here.

And then it was Lùnastal

We've not had much of a summer this year. While a large part of England has alternated between drought and flooding, the west coast of Scotland has enjoyed a goodly amount of rain and cloud interspersed with a rare sunny day here and there, although it's been really warm at least. But summer has been very Scottish even by Scottish standards this year. This last week has been about as good as it's got, and there's a definite feel that this is summer's last gasp.

Seeing as it's (still!) the school holidays we've been making the most of the weather as much as we can. Although I'm none too mobile we can still pile into the car and get ferried down to the beach as soon as the sun threatens to come out, in amongst trips to the park, so we've had some great afternoons rock-pooling, paddling, sand-castling and beach combing. Just as I mentioned the possibility that adder stones (or serpent stones) might have been spindle-whorls when I posted about the hag stone/mare stone I found the other week, our next trip to the local beach turned up this:

I've absolutely no idea if it's really a spindle-whorl or just a bead with the enamel or paint rubbed off (there does seem to be a bluish tinge to it), or something else entirely, but the timing is a nice coincidence. Whatever it is, it's a good weight for its size but I don't think it's especially old.

I hadn't initially planned to celebrate so early - on time, for once - but considering the fact that leaves on trees are starting to turn, the rowan berries are bright and reddening (although I notice one tree on our road is simultaneously blossoming again), the moon is hanging large and low, the wind and the rains are getting a little bite to them - perhaps those three days the Cailleach borrowed and swapped with February - and the sun is setting the skies on fire as it dips below the horizon (here's one I photographed earlier):

It seemed silly to wait for the blueberries in the garden to ripen like I usually do; it seemed that all indications were that we should celebrate sooner rather than later. The promise of autumn is more than promising round these here parts. The past few years I've usually celebrated mid-August at the earliest, and in some ways that's been more in keeping with the festival because it's also when the summer holidays finish and the kids go back to school, and there's as much a change in the pace of our lives as there is in the weather. But this year, aside from the seasons seeming to shift much earlier than usual (or maybe I'm just noticing it more), I'm hoping that pretty soon I'll be having surgery, or at least seeing the surgeon this month and having the promise of surgery. Either way I wanted my energies focused on the festival, rather what the NHS might have in store for me (gods bless 'em). I can only hope that my days of hobbling are numbered now.

My mother was supposed to have been visiting over Lùnastal itself but due to unforeseen circumstances (apparently even cats that exist on nothing but the fiery hate and fury that demonic beings such as my mother's beloved mog thrive on run out of it eventually...) she wasn't able to visit. I'd originally planned to put things off until after she'd gone home, so being able to celebrate on time was somewhat unexpected. As a result I hadn't really had much of a chance to think about what I was going to do, all in all, but I think things all came together in the end; by and large I have things down by now and while I didn't get everything done in one day I wasn't expecting to anyway.

So my celebrations began with saining the house and making some offerings and devotions on the eve. There was music and song, prayers and blessings, and a little poetry too. Most of it was in Gàidhlig and I don't think I butchered things too badly there, and it's a nice coincidence that celebrations began on a Tuesday this year, as is traditional to begin the reaping. So The Second Battle of Mag Tuired tells, us, as does a blessing in the Carmina Gadelica.

We'd spent the day at the beach (where my son rescued a boy from drowning and I'm insufferably proud of him for being so brave) and I didn't have much left in me to cook, so we indulged in a rare takeaway from the chippy for the Lùnastal eve. I had a chicken that needed roasting, though, so we had that the following day on Lùnastal proper, served with garlic roasted potatoes and homegrown onions, cabbage, and homegrown peas, followed by homemade apple flory:

It's a kind of apple pie, flavoured with a little cinnamon and a lot of marmalade (this was the second time I'd made it, and this time I left the apple mix to infuse a bit longer before baking the pie. It was much better). I'd a go at making some marmalade a while ago, so used my own (I felt very domesticated). The apples and preserves seem like a good autumnal combination, so that's what decided that.

As usual, we've done a seasonal picture, and this time our efforts are almost entirely the work of Tom and Rosie. They asked me to help fill in the sky and help with the branches on the trees (we used straws dipped in the paint and then pressed onto the paper, which was a bit fiddly):

One of Tom's art project's from school deciding the general form. Rosie's tree is on the right and Tom's is on the left and I think they reflect their personalities well - Rosie's big and bold, impulsive splodges compared with Tom's more thoughtful and deliberate efforts. And seeing as I had some leftover fondant icing from doing a birthday cake for my husband, I decided to waste not, want not, and make a themed cake too. Ever since I took it upon myself to sculpt a Bumblebee cake for my son one year (the Transformer Bumblebee, that is) it's become kind of a hobby and some of my friends got me some shaped cutters for my birthday this year that I've not had much of an excuse to use as yet. So with lots of fondant that needed using, and an excuse to give the cutters a spin, I had the perfect opportunity:

The kids helped me make a honey cake (we've been doing a lot of baking together over the summer) and I decided to go with sunflowers and autumnal leaves for decoration. It's one of my better efforts, I think, even though I'm not sure if it's supposed to be sunflowers and leaves (because the sunflowers aren't out here just yet) or sunflowers being blown away by autumn leaves (because I'd typically associate sunflowers as a summery sort of flower).

These things are just trappings, really; not the meat per se, but they're important to me nonetheless. Ritual is meaningful and important to me, whether it might be simple or elaborate, but traditions that I can involve the family in are just as meaningful and important to me. The "trappings" give me not just a visual focus, a meditation of sorts as I make them, but something to do with the kids - all of us as a family - and seeing it is something we can all relate to. But more than that, I like to try and make the festivals festive. Something special. Feasting has always been an important part of festive occasions, so special foods make a special day even more so, and the lines between trappings, tradition and ritual become blurred...

Things like games are good too, and at a time like Lùnastal all kinds of games are good to play. There had been a chance that we could've taken the kids horse-riding on the beach around this time, but because my mother was supposed to be visiting I didn't ask Mr Seren to arrange anything and then it was too short notice; a shame, because horse-riding and maybe a little racing on the beach would've been amazing, but we made do. Seeing as the weather sucked there wasn't much we could do outside so we played snap and dominos instead (and at least I could join in too, then), and had a grand old time including a picnic in the front room. As Gorm noted, the games played at festivals bleed into those found at wakes so it seemed in keeping, and after all these are supposed to be funeral games of a sort. As a kid I remember playing dominos and snap with my grandparents so it felt like a way to honour them too. It's partly why I do a lot of baking with the kids as well, because these are not just traditions but family traditions, too.

For part of my devotions I made offerings to the land spirits, the ones who are right out there in my garden, and who I frequently make offerings to as I work on their land. I also made offerings to the Cailleach and the Storm Hags, who've spared the garden in spite of the bad weather they've brought our way this past year. The Cailleach won't be resuming her efforts until Samhainn, I expect, but she's still here even if she's resting. And after all, her name is associated with Buí, who is said to be Lugh's wife, and is also said to be the ancestor of the people from the particular part of Ireland that some of my Irish ancestors come from...So it's only right that she's honoured at this time too.

As I did my ritual, I took some time to think about the successes and the failures I've had in the garden this year - the onions have been a great success, as have the peas, and the leeks are thriving though not yet ready. The carrots have been a disaster, though, and I'm lucky that I don't have to rely on my garden for food because that would have been a calamity. The ones that have grown have already gone to seed and the carrots are piddly and pathetic-looking, not worth using. They've had plenty of rain so that hasn't been the problem. It's been warm enough for things to thrive and grow, even if not particularly sunny. I put in new compost this year, so perhaps it wasn't the right kind or it wasn't enough. I suspect the seeds were a little too old too. Next year I'll have to change out the soil completely and get new seeds (I did buy some more, an over-wintering variety, but I put them somewhere safe. So safe I've yet to find them again).

All in all, I think this year's celebration have been a success, but I don't feel quite finished yet. I've given thanks for the first fruits, and we've held our games, but I've yet to manage a trip to the high point in the village where I like to make offerings to Lug at this time of year. I might wait until the blueberries ripen so I can harvest some before I make my way there; hopefully then I'll be able to walk that far.

Lùnastal

Summer is well and truly on its way out. The kids are back at school, the trees are hanging heavy with fruit, and the brambles are all but finished flowering and getting ready to ripen.

We've managed one whole ripened blueberry so far:

But once the rest start to ripen it looks like we'll be getting a bumper crop this year. In spite of the single, solitary ripe berry, I decided it was time to celebrate Lùnastal anyway; there's a chill in the morning air now, the days are drawing in, and the kids have gone back to school/nursery. From now on I think that will be a marker of autumn starting for us, because it ties in nicely with the summer ending and the new season beginning, and it tends to coincide with the kids needing new clothes and school uniforms, and having to think about the cooler or colder days ahead of us. It's a nice way to finish off the summer holidays and we still have time to fit most of the things I want to do in (in theory) without having to juggle it around school and homework and making sure the kids aren't too tired from a long day, and that they get to bed early enough etc.

So on Monday we celebrated, ahead of school starting on Wednesday. There wasn't much in the way of fruits to harvest, but I did manage to start harvesting some of the veg in the garden, so it was very much a start of the harvest season for us. The brilliant sunshine of the summer has turned to rain for the last few weeks or so, which has done wonders for the carrots and I realised they were looking about ready for pulling up. Whether it was because of the late start to the Spring season, or the fact that the soil was a little exhausted, or both, the veg has been slow to take off this year. I sowed the carrots back in May and I've read they should be about ready in 70 days or so, but they've only really just taken off.

Last year, I managed to harvest some gloriously mutoid looking Cthulu carrots:

This time round, I made sure I sowed the seeds a bit deeper, thinned the seedlings out properly if it was necessary, and had a go at making sure the soil was nice and loose. And this is what I ended up with:

There are still some growing - I tried a batch of purple carrots as well and they seem to be struggling to do much, along with a few more of these (I think they're a basic Nantes variety, but it just says 'organic carrot seeds' on the pack), but these ones came out spectacularly well. I pulled them up with a harvesting prayer (which I made up on the spot but with this sort of form in mind) - twisting each one out of the ground sunwise, and I managed to pull up a leek that had already matured as well (I think it grew from a leftover, broken off bit of leek I pulled up in the early Springtime, so it had a head start on the rest of the leeks I've sown, which languished for a long while in pots before I had the wherewithall to put them into the containers. They'll come later).

The onions aren't yet ready, but the carrots and the leeks meant I had the perfect opportunity for a good stew. The kids (and husband) clamored for a raw carrot each, and the rest went into to stew with the leek, some potatoes, onion, mushrooms, peas, and cabbage on the side. For afters I made cranachan and a choice of shortbread or oat crumblies to go with it, along with fresh raspberries; a good traditional harvest pudding. I had a go at some raspberry coulis as well. Once again the raspberry bushes in the garden haven't done much this year - no fruit, but at least they've grown well. Or one of them has. Hopefully that will help it survive the next winter a bit better, and give it a chance to fruit next year. The rowan has had a modest first fruiting, though:

Next year I might try picking some to dry and use for charms and such, like I did for my first year after moving here, but this year, these berries are for the spirits, I think.

So. We had dinner with our homegrown leek and carrots, followed by the cranachan (the crumblies were delicious, and follow a bannock sort of recipe so I counted them as that. It was a last minute decision and the first time I've tried them; I was going to try a struan bread to go with the stew but aside from a lack of funds to splurge on all of the ingredients at the moment, I'm a bit beyond being able to knead dough right now - still). Then, after dinner had settled a bit, the kids and I went outside to do some races - bike racing, scooter races, followed by a more sedate bubble blowing and catching competition at the kids' insistence. Tom decided he wanted to try riding his bike with the stabilisers off, so there was some wobbly and cautious attempts at that, too. We finished with a game of snap so I could join in as well, and the kids could calm down a bit before bed. Tom won at the scooting, while Rosie won at the cards so I declared them both champions; I declared that the bubbles couldn't have a winner after Rosie decided to use an umbrella to even out her slight height disadvantage against her older brother, but it was all in good fun and good spirits. For once Rosie didn't throw a strop at losing something, so the spirit of peace was kept.

After the kids went to bed I did my ritual stuff as usual - devotions, offerings, singing of praises, saining, protective charms, and so on. It was a still, quiet night and the clouds had dispersed enough for some stars to twinkle in the sky and the full(ish) moon was bright enough to cast moonlight shadows. I didn't catch any last bits of the meteor shower, though, but there was a gentle breeze that played with my hair as I meditated and talked into the night. The stillness and then the odd breeze now and then made it feel like I was being listened to, like the calm night air was swallowing my words and thoughts and taking its fill.

Once I'd done my devotions and the saining, most of the evening was spent making rowan charms - I tried a few different styles, and tried using beads and additional charms as well to make them a bit more decorative. After all that, sleep was most welcome.

In the morning there wasn't much time for anything because the kids and I had to get the train to meet my mother-in-law - she was very kindly splurging on Tom and Rosie's winter wardrobes and it was a last minute arrangement. I'd planned to make butter and cheese that day (our last day of freedom) - maybe some bread if I was up to it - and take the kids for a picnic down to the beach (there have been some sightings of sharks so we were going to go and see if we could spot them), but those plans have had to be put on hold. By the time we got home from shopping we were all pretty knackered, so there was just about enough energy for putting up our autumn decorations:

We did these a week or two ago. I promised Tom that we'd do some 'stained glass' pictures after he did them at school, and by the time we got around to it I figured we should take the opprtunity to resume our tradition of making seasonal decorations for the house. On one of our walks around the village - taking the dogs to the woods - we'd spotted a squirrel climbing up the pebble dashing of the school and at one point it clung on upside down and then flopped onto the guttering for a wee rest. The kids thought it was hilarious and we talked about how the squirrel would be stocking up on nuts for winter, and the conkers would be ripe soon, and so on, so that gave me the idea for our theme. I Googled for stained glass patterns and found this one, which I copied free hand onto card and then cut one out for each of us (I'd credit the source but I can't find it now...); Rosie needed a little help with hers, but this one is all Tom's own work (aside from me tidying up the edges). I think it came out well.

Along with sticking up our artwork, there was the experimenting with skeachan recipes too. That was about it, aside from more offerings to round off a sedate finish to the celebrations. For now. We'll probably try and do our picnic and dairy stuff at the weekend, if the weather improves.

Mountains, mostly

A very happy Lùnastal to you all!

I'll be waiting for my blueberries to ripen in the garden before I start my own celebrations, like I usually do, and it looks like they'll be at least another week yet. In the meantime I've been doing a few bits and pieces in preparation - some pictures with the kids, along with planning for things the kids and I can do together - making butter, some shortbread, cranachan and bannocks, and having a proper go at making some Lùnastal crowdie this time, and thinking of playing some games we can all play (nothing too physical for me, though. Hmph).

Anyway, during the summer holidays we were planning a few outings at least, with a holiday up in the far north of Scotland, and a trip down to England to see my family. An unexpected tax bill has pretty much scuppered those ideas, but seeing as my husband got some camping gear for his birthday we decided to go on a short camping trip this weekend - just an over night stay, but that suited me fine considering we were kind of experimenting with how my back would tolerate a long journey and sleeping in a tent (the answer being, the tent was fine, but not so happy with being stuck in a car).

We were originally thinking of heading to Perthshire so I could indulge myself with a trip to Tigh nam Bodach (perhaps my husband thought I might finally shut up about it...); but with the kids in tow and it being situated in a fairly remote location, and the uncertain back factor, a trek to those parts seemed doomed to wailing from tired children, or me. Instead we decided to head to Glen Coe, with the tent, the kids and the dogs in tow, and so we set off on Saturday morning in glorious sunshine.

The roads were busy through Loch Lomond, but the traffic thinned out considerably once we turned off onto the road to Glen Coe and we had a good run. The route takes you through Rannoch Moor - which is just beautiful. Empty though the roads were, it seemed it was mainly because everyone had stopped in the few parking places available. We couldn't stop and take a good look around, so I had to take a few snaps out of the window along the way:

The Rannoch Moor is the start of the Highlands 'proper' - technically I think the Highland Line starts at Ben Lomond, but the sign welcoming you to the Highlands is situated right as you enter the moor. Here's another view:

Aaaand:

As you get to the end of the moor you enter into Glen Coe, and the landscape closes in, with just a road winding through the mountains:

Some very fine mountains, too:

We pitched our tent at the campsite next to the Glen Coe visitor centre, and headed off to find a park for the kids to run off some steam before dinner and then bedtime. My husband managed to rip his only pair of shorts while he put the tent up, so there was a stop to find a new pair of trousers, too...

In the evening, I walked the dogs along an old path that eventually led into Glen Coe village; along the way I stumbled across the remains of an old blackhouse (and kicked myself for not having my camera). According to the information board, nine trees were planted around the house to commemorate the nine people were killed there during the Glen Coe massacre, but legend has it that there was a tenth - a small boy, whose terrified screams made a soldier pause and think twice about killing the poor child in cold blood. The soldier decided he couldn't bring himself to do it, so cut one of the boy's fingers off instead, and wiped the blood on his sword to convince his superior the boy was dead. Years later, the old soldier returned to the glen and stopped for a drink at the pub. He got drunk and began rambling on to the bar man about his regrets at the terrible things he'd done during the massacre, but for the one life he saved - the wee boy, whose finger he'd cut off. The bar man listened intently, and then, when the old soldier had finished, he held up a hand and showed a finger was missing.

I wonder how many stories like that there are.

After a very uncomfortable night, thanks to a slowly deflating mattress and being punched in the face twice by Rosie's nocturnal fidgeting, we got up bright and early and had our breakfast, packed up, and began heading home. The weather had taken a turn for the worse during the night, so it was mostly damp and dismal today. We took a detour along the coastal route, though, taking in Oban and stopping at a beach near Dunollie castle, so the dogs could get some exercise:

And then we headed to the Isle of Seil. We went there a couple of years ago, but that time we only went over the bridge and had a brief stop before heading back. This is the bridge (taken on our last trip when the weather was only a little better than this time):

The Atlantic Bridge in fact - the only bridge to cross the Atlantic Ocean. As you can see, it's not very wide at this point! Seil itself is a beautiful island - the dismal weather kind of made it even more so, in a way. The low cloud gave it an ethereal feel. On our travels we saw another abandoned house - a little like the one I saw the day before, but I think this one might be a little more recent:

We stopped for lunch in a village (I can't remember the name of it, but the locals call it Easdale - which is actually the island where slate is quarried right opposite); lunch was goooood, and the village itself couldn't really get much more Scottish:

Replete with ye olde phonebox. Then, after another dog walk, it was time to make a push for home. We made our way through Kilmartin Glen and passed Dunadd (one of my favourite places, which we also visited a few years ago), but it was getting too late to stop if we wanted to get back home for dinner and time to let the kids decompress before bed. It was nice to see it, though, albeit briefly.

The best thing, though - the Highlands in the height of midgie season, and no midgie bites. All thanks to this stuff. Seriously. It's like a miracle.

Unexpected guests

There must be something in the water, because I've been having thoroughly odd dreams lately. One I had yesterday seemed to involve Lugh, and I can only really half-remember it all now but it seems that he really wanted to make himself known even if I didn't see him. These things don't happen very often to me, so I'm inclined to think that I should do more than simple offerings and libations in the garden to acknowledge him.

He and I have unfinished business, it seems, after all these years of not really wanting much to do with each other, and so I'm pondering on that, and trying to figure things out. A lot of my efforts over the past year or so have been aimed at really connecting with the underlying themes of Lùnastal, and of course he's intimately connected with the whole thing.

These past few Lùnastal festivals I've felt that I've had some success with it all, and while I think I can still build on that and really cement my practices into something solid, I've never really had the expectation that Lug himself would really want much to do with me. Maybe my dream is telling me different. Maybe my dream is telling me that deep down I think otherwise. Either way, it seems I should try. If someone comes knocking then one should be a good host, even if you invited them in the first place...

At Lùnastal I had a stab at doing some praise poetry in Lug's honour - I'm not a poet by any stretch and really, I figured it was personal and not being a professional I should keep it to myself. On the one hand, it seemed to be well-received, so that was something...On the other hand, there was something unfinished to it. Maybe that's it. Maybe I should finish it. Or try. I dunno.

So here it is, I'm offering it up. As I said, I'm no poet so it's nothing fantabulous, but it comes in honesty and earnest, if anything, and that's all I can do, really. While I've tweaked bits here and there just now, the overall form and feel has been kept, so it has the idea that this is being said towards the end of the celebrations, after the games and the feasting, in front of the fire:

In Praise of Lug
Oh Lug son of Ethliu,
Many-skilled and wise,
I sing my praises to you,
Renown that is plain.

Oh Lug of lofty deeds,
Golden are the fields,
Heavy hang the fruits,
Ripeness of fame.

Oh Lug of pure form,
Bright is the smile,
That smiles on you,
Beloved is the name.

Oh Lug of peace,
Peace to this earth,
The fruits of labour,
Each year the same.

These offerings I give to you,
These games I’ve held for you,
This fire that burns for you,
In your name.

Peace be with you,
Peace on this land.

Lùnastal, finally...

Say hello to my little friend...



So finally, autumn has arrived; fruits are ripening, the air is getting cooler, the trees are changing colour, the wind is picking up, and the sea is getting choppy. And this little baby snail was having a grand old time on one of the blueberries the kids and I picked earlier this week, our first batch of blueberries this year. The main crop is yet to come, but the ones we've had so far have been delicious.

As you can see, the snail agrees.

Given the theme of the season, first fruits have been high on the agenda for our celebrations, so there's been a lot of fruit picking and tending of vegetables recently. The last week or so has seen the ushering in of some successes - blueberries and blackberries, along with the first harvest of my very own onions and beetroots - along with a multitude of flail. The biggest fail has been the broccoli so far - there's still quite a few things yet to ripen, but the broccoli came along great until I decided that nooooo, it didn't look like it does in the shop, so it'll surely bush out a little if I leave it.

Not so much. But the flowers are pretty. Cheerfully yellow, in fact.

The actual celebrations started on Thursday evening, with the main event taking place on Friday, and the usual was had - feasting and rites, baking and harvesting. Since it all happens to have coincided with Tom starting school, and Rosie starting nursery, we've naturally been afflicted with the lurgy (or a cold, in common parlance) within the space of a week, so our communal efforts were somewhat muted. I'd had high hopes for our games and the things we could all do together, but with us all being under the weather, and Rosie in particular, there was a limit to what we could do.

So with the kids there was fruit picking and marvelling at spiders, followed by scooter races (somewhat short-lived due to frayed and lurgied sensibilities of somebody having to actually lose...), and all sorts of competitions the kids were keen on taking part in. Mr Seren was out for the evening, so before bedtime and after the feasting, we had a dance-off, too, and picked some flowers from the garden for seasonal decorations. Although as far as the dance-off was concerned, I'm not sure Tom's penchant for break-dancing versus Rosie's current obsession with ballet was an entirely level playing field.

To start it all off, though, I did some experimenting with the struan recipe I tried a while ago, and had a much better outcome this time. Behold!

 

In my first attempt I did it too thick, and wasn't sure if making a dough for the coating was really workable so tried a paste instead. The results were passable, but kind of bricklike once cooled...I figured that I should try them much thinner this time, and kind of succeeded in that respect, although based on the treacle bannocks I've seen, that are popular in the Dumfries and Galloway area, and seem pretty similar in style, they should still be a wee bit thinner if possible. And for the coating, given the recipe I was using (from Margaret Fay Shaw), I figured the description of a dough was for a reason, so a dough I'd try. It was a little fiddly, but worth it; even when they've cooled, they're still edible.

The struans I made on Thursday evening, with the games and feast scheduled for the day after. I was hoping to go brambling with the kids during the day of our 'official' celebrations, but that never happened, given their lurgied and somewhat miserable state. Still and all, there was much excitement about our feast, and the blackberry, raspberry and blueberry crumble that was to follow for dessert in particular. It didn't look like much, but it was tasty.

We had the grand unveiling of our latest seasonal picture, as well, which we did during the week. I ended up going for the apple tree idea, and decided to make the tree itself out of modelling clay, so while I sculpted a vague approximation of a tree shape, Tom and Rosie decided they'd much rather make their own sculptures. Rosie ended up with a vase (with a little help from me to shape it), and Tom ended up with a blob, that he then cheerfully decorated to look like a hillock with a big loch in the middle. Me, I did the tree and decorated it with (vague approximations of) triskeles, and got the kids to help me paint and glitter up some tiny shells we'd collected from the beach, to make the Otherworldly apples:



With the feasting and fun done, the kids in bed and Mr Seren out for the evening, I got down to my personal devotions. Usually I like to go to a local promontory to make offerings, but not being able to leave the kids, I had to make do with offerings in the garden. I sained the house and was going to make some rowan charms but my rowan has gone missing. Instead, I had to make do with fixing a charm that had come apart a little during the recent redecoration of the living room, and I decided to use a red cow-shaped bead to make a charm for my hobhouse. It's about the only place I haven't made a charm for, so even though it was a complete whim, it seemed rude not to do something once I'd thought of it.

I made my devotions to Lugh and even tried my hand at some (bad) praise poetry. Which was well-received, I think, if only for the fact that I was probably being humoured for my honest intent on that score at the least. But all in all, it felt good to be celebrating; it felt good to be finally doing after waiting for so long. Sometimes I think that in a way, this festival is a lesson in patience for me. After sowing, growing, tending and waiting, that final point of ripening seems to take forever, but the end result is always something to look forward to.

Sleep was restless and broken when it came, and I woke up ridiculously early. After wasting an hour trying to kid myself that my headache would miraculously disappear and I could sleep again, I got up around 5.30am and went in search of painkillers, and then as I was ruminating hopefully on my impending pain relief I went to the window and saw a fox happily chomping down on the lamb joint I'd left out as an offering, with Grumble (one of our cats) sat nearby, watching, as if to say "I could have that off you if I wanted to, you know."  Even though it could see me watching, it wasn't phased, just threw a glance or two my way while it ate. The fox took its merry time, though, and sauntered off underneath the fence once it was done.

And that was that, really.