The Secret Commonwealth and the Fairy Belief Complex (by Robert Kirk)
Brian Walsh
Written in the late 17th century by Robert Kirk, seventh son of the minister of Aberfoyle (and later a minister himself), The Secret Commonwealth is one of those important books that you need to read if you want to know anything about beliefs in fairies and the Second Sight in Scotland...Or you should think about reading, anyway...
There are many different versions of The Secret Commonwealth available to buy, and you need to be careful which one you choose. Trust me on this. I bought a different (cheaper) version of this years ago, with an introduction by Alan Richardson, followed by the reprint of Andrew Lang's work and R B Cunninghame Graham's introduction.
It quickly became apparent why Brian Walsh's book is recommended above any other - partly because he gives a good outline of the history of Kirk and The Secret Commonwealth, and the inherent problems or weaknesses with the earlier major publications of the text (such as Andrew Lang's biography of Kirk, which isn't entirely accurate) and partly because some of the more modern authors, like Richardson, tend to be a little off the wall (for my tastes, anyway). In his introduction, for example, Richardson discusses the commonly held belief that Kirk didn't, in fact die, but was spirited away by the Good Folk for giving too much away, and mentions this with the belief that King Arthur (the King of Britain) didn't really die either. Or Elvis (The King). Or Jim Morrison (The Lizard King). Naturally, like all of these Kings, Kirk lies in wait to return when he's most needed...Except Elvis and Jim do have the nasty habit of turning up in the most unlikely of places, but that's by the by...
Riiiiight...
Anyway. Lang's version, the earliest publication of the manuscript from 1893, can be found on sacred-texts, so if you're just interested in the text itself, or what Lang himself had to say, there's no need to buy a copy. This version doesn't include A Short Treatise of the Scotish-Irish Charms and Spels, though, as Walsh does (and it's worth a read), and the text is presented in a much more readable manner in Walsh's book, although the language and spelling might still give you a headache...
What Brian Walsh does is provide a historical context to the work, showing that Kirk's ideas and information generally came from three sources: the native folk belief complex, Christianity (Protestant), and neoplatonic or hermetic beliefs, and in picking all these pieces apart, it helps give an understanding of where everything comes from.
As far as Kirk's work itself is concerned, I have to admit that there wasn't a massive amount in there that interested me in terms of learning anything new about folklore, but I can't help but feel that I'm doing it a disservice in some respects, because I approached it with the hope of learning more about folklore and this isn't just what the book is about. I'm not sure I was able to fully appreciate the theological context of Kirk's work as Brian Walsh obviously does, and while the historical context is interesting to me, that's not what I wanted so much.
Added to this, my lack of interest at times was partly to do with the fact that I've read it elsewhere and in more than one place. That's hardly Kirk's fault, seeing as he was writing a good 200 hundred years before most others, and he can hardly be faulted for the beliefs remaining fairly consistent during that time, or other people referencing him later on. I have to admit that Kirk's frequent Biblical references were also offputting for me - not because it's Oh noes, Teh Bible! but simply because it's not something I have much familiarity with or understanding of. Considering the time he was writing (in the late seventeenth century), and the fact that he was a minister, it's not surprising, but since I'm not an expert on the Bible, or the finer points of Christian theology, a lot of it I just had to wade through without really being able to form much of an opinion of it.
Kirk's treatise on charms piqued my interest the most, because (aside from the fact that I'm interested in that sort of thing) some of the examples of charms he gave showed remarkable similarity in terms of the style and formula used with some of the charms and songs that are found in the Carmina Gadelica. Here Kirk offers some things I haven't seen before, and it's interesting to see how things change, or don't, over time; I think this is one of the things that makes the book so important to read.
With Walsh's outline of and commentary on where such ideas might have come from, it helps give an idea of how to examine folk beliefs, and how Christianity may have affected them, in a more critical manner. Kirk's often fairly unorthodox views on the subject - arguing that the Second Sight isn't evil, as was the common perception at the time, because the person afflicted with it was born with it and didn't seek it out - are interesting too from a historical perspective, if you like that sort of thing, but I'm not sure that overall it's something to get too excited about.
Reading through Walsh's work helps give you an idea that Kirk is writing from both a very personal perspective (perhaps influenced by the fact that he was a seventh son, and supposed to have the Sight himself), and trying to write about existing beliefs that he encounters in his community and the people he meets, whilst maintaining a suitably Christian regard for it all.
It would have been nice to see something more critical and indepth in terms of what it all means, but that's not the purpose of this book and Mr Walsh makes that clear from the beginning. Walsh avoids giving too much personal interpretation on Kirk's work, but he does give an interesting chapter on the Body of Air that Kirk mentions a lot in his manuscript, and he goes into some depth here. He also lists the common motifs of the fairy belief complex as outlined by Cross and Slover from their study of Irish beliefs, which helps put it all in a wider context, especially if you're going to read (or have read) something like Evan-Wentz's The Fairy-Faith in Celtic Countries.
Monday, 3 November 2008
Saturday, 1 November 2008
Archive: Samhainn 2008 (2)
Like last year I decided to carve the turnips in advance of the day itself, to spread things out a little, so I set to work on them the night before Samhainn after the kids had gone to bed - it's not a good idea to have two helpful children around knives so I thought it best to keep them out of the way. Next year I might spring for a pumpkin, because I'm sure they'd love scooping the innards out.
Before I started, as the sun began to set and the night closed in I was looking out the front window, I was thinking about what I was going to do for the evening. A huge flock of crows landed in the trees across from the house and began to caw raucously, playfully hopping about and chasing each other. I don't think I've ever seen so many crows all at once, and while there was a bit of an Alfred Hitchcock undertone to it all ("Fuck off you cellists!" to quote Eddie Izzard), I couldn't really ignore it as a definite sign. The night was closing in and it seemed as if they were saying that now was a good time to start celebrations. Something Otherworldly was definitely in the air.
I did three tumshies this year (and have the blisters to prove it) - carving them isn't as tough as you'd expect but after a while it can get hard on your hands. This time round I made sure to make the holes for the faces big enough to allow enough air in for the candles, but I wasn't careful enough as I carved them and accidentally cut between the eye and the mouth on a couple of them. No biggy, I don't think, but maybe using something more suitable to delicate work will help next year. They all looked suitably scary and threatening.
After I'd finished carving, I made some offerings to the Good Folk in the hope that they'd take a hint and stay away, and that was that for the night, really, it was quite late. I slept pretty well, but don't remember any dreams.
In the morning, I made the bannocks - Pitcaithly bannocks this time, and they were very nice, a lot like shortbread. Well, they basically are shortbread, but citrusy (three parts flour to two parts butter and one part sugar, but with a tablespoon of ground almond and a handful of candied peel). They came out well and didn't break, so I took that as a good sign. I broke one in half and duly left it as an offering, and Mr Seren took us into Glasgow where we spent the day doing fairly mundane stuff, getting some warm tops for winter.
Mr Seren didn't stop long in Glasgow, so I took the train back with the kids and managed to time it perfectly for the sunset, which was beautiful. First we went past Dumbarton Rock, or Alt Clut as it was known, home to kings of Strathclyde way back in the late Iron Age (or so it's thought), and situated on the other side of the Clyde from us. It's a volcanic plug of basalt, if I remember rightly. Then we went past Inverkip Powerstation a little later when the sun was much lower:
Mr Seren's fascinated by the powerstation, and calls it The Hive. It was built in the 70s but never used (as I may have posted before...), because the price of oil sky-rocketed during it's construction, and yet it's always a hive of activity. Obviously it's a front for nefarious government experiments, but Mulder and Scully don't seem too interested in it, sadly. Or, in reality, it's been kept as a back-up powerstation ever since but it's going to be knocked down soon, once they've decided how to go about it, and what to do with the land. I hope they make it into a nature reserve, but it's more likely it will be used for housing. But I digress.
Here's one of Argyll and Bute, just as the sun dipped down below the horizon as we were coming into the station (you can see the crap on the window of the train too, but nevermind):
I didn't have much time to cook a proper meal in the evening so I cheated and bought most of it ready made before I left the city centre. We had braised steak with shallots and a gravy with chianti, with roasted parsnips and potato and fresh veg, followed by apple pie and honey ice cream or custard, and it was yummy. In spite of the fact that the apple pie fell splat on the oven door as I was trying to take it out.
Tom was very interested in the tumshie lanterns, and Mr Seren did the honours with lighting them and putting them in the window. The guisers turned up in a slow but steady stream, and it was all very fun and exciting. People round here seem to make a big thing about celebrating Hallowe'en, much more so than last year when we were over in Bo'ness, and during the week, as I was walking the dogs in the evening I'd see groups of kids walking around with torches, visiting particular houses where they'd go in and come out screaming and laughing. I'm guessing it was some sort of house of horror trail around the village.
I made offerings of milk and honey, gingerbread, some of the nuts and sweets we'd been handing out to the guisers, and a splash of whisky to the ancestors, on my little shelf, and left out food, set aside from dinner earlier, for any visitors during the night (and hoping it was out of Mungo's reach, scavenging little sod that he is). Offerings for the gods and spirits were left as well, including some more of the bannock I'd made earlier.
I'd been meaning to do more but I was tired and decided I wasn't good for much except sleep. Tom needed a little attention, too, so it was still quite late before I got to bed but I was incredibly restless and didn't really sleep. By 4am I gave up and decided to get up, so I came downstairs and meditated a little on my family and ancestors and held an impromptu vigil. I've been lucky this year not to have lost anyone, but I realised that my sister had, recently even, and so I paid my respects to the little niece or nephew that could have been but never was.
I realised I hadn't done any divination that night, either, so I got out my ogam set and picked out three staves from the bag. They always seem to come out with the most appropriate feda for each festival, and this time was no exception - it all seemed to relate to family, hinting at a particular female member and I wonder if it's something to do with my nan. She's been very ill recently, with an infection in her colon - probably a seed that got stuck there. It's quite common, especially for her age, but it's hit her hard and she hasn't wanted any visitors. I'm not sure whether I'm reading into my worry for her, or if there's a genuine message there. Either way, I eventually managed to get some sleep, and luckily for me it was my weekend lie-in. I know I dreamed this time, but I can't remember what it was about at all.
The next day I felt quite drained so we didn't do much. During my impromptu vigil the night before I realised I'd been unconsciously concentrating my three nights of celebration into three different focuses - the first night on the spirits, the second night on the ancestors, the third night was going to be for the gods. I got some flowers - red, yellow and orange, and was going to decorate my little shelf where I have my little sacred space but I realised I didn't have anything to put them in that would fit, so they went on the mantelpiece above the fire instead. I also realised I'd forgotten to sain the house the night before, so I did that using some of the water I collected at Bealltainn like I usually do. The house feels much better for it.
I took the dogs for their evening walk and went down to the shore where I left some offerings and meditated for a while. The night was clear and still and the water hardly made any noise as it lapped away at the beach, and all was calm and peaceful. Down at the sea I usually dedicate my offerings to Manannan and the river, and Manannan in particular seemed to feel close.
There were no great revelations or signs, but I felt like I'd been heard, and after I got home I made more offerings - rum and coffee grounds to Badb this time (she seems to like them - I gave the spiced rum we got from St Lucia because I'd run out of whisky and couldn't find the mead I'd bought for the occasion, and for some reason I always give coffee grounds now, perhaps because I love the stuff so much and it's something genuinely important to me in an odd sort of way), gingerbread, nuts and milk to the gods in general, and bread and butter and more treats from the previous night for the spirits. I don't know why I separate it out like that, but it feels right and seems to work. As I came back inside and closed the door, the first thing I saw was a spider - one of those ones with a huge round arse - was weaving a web in the corner of the door, tucked in behind the curtain. I always take spiders as a sign of good luck in the home, and this year I must be very lucky indeed.
So that was my Samhainn. A little disorganised, some of it unexpected and unplanned, but all of it good. Tom's back, looking extremely happy with a giant lollipop, and Mr Seren is bearing a box of Belgian chocolates all for me. Yes, I'm very lucky indeed.
Before I started, as the sun began to set and the night closed in I was looking out the front window, I was thinking about what I was going to do for the evening. A huge flock of crows landed in the trees across from the house and began to caw raucously, playfully hopping about and chasing each other. I don't think I've ever seen so many crows all at once, and while there was a bit of an Alfred Hitchcock undertone to it all ("Fuck off you cellists!" to quote Eddie Izzard), I couldn't really ignore it as a definite sign. The night was closing in and it seemed as if they were saying that now was a good time to start celebrations. Something Otherworldly was definitely in the air.
I did three tumshies this year (and have the blisters to prove it) - carving them isn't as tough as you'd expect but after a while it can get hard on your hands. This time round I made sure to make the holes for the faces big enough to allow enough air in for the candles, but I wasn't careful enough as I carved them and accidentally cut between the eye and the mouth on a couple of them. No biggy, I don't think, but maybe using something more suitable to delicate work will help next year. They all looked suitably scary and threatening.
After I'd finished carving, I made some offerings to the Good Folk in the hope that they'd take a hint and stay away, and that was that for the night, really, it was quite late. I slept pretty well, but don't remember any dreams.
In the morning, I made the bannocks - Pitcaithly bannocks this time, and they were very nice, a lot like shortbread. Well, they basically are shortbread, but citrusy (three parts flour to two parts butter and one part sugar, but with a tablespoon of ground almond and a handful of candied peel). They came out well and didn't break, so I took that as a good sign. I broke one in half and duly left it as an offering, and Mr Seren took us into Glasgow where we spent the day doing fairly mundane stuff, getting some warm tops for winter.
Mr Seren didn't stop long in Glasgow, so I took the train back with the kids and managed to time it perfectly for the sunset, which was beautiful. First we went past Dumbarton Rock, or Alt Clut as it was known, home to kings of Strathclyde way back in the late Iron Age (or so it's thought), and situated on the other side of the Clyde from us. It's a volcanic plug of basalt, if I remember rightly. Then we went past Inverkip Powerstation a little later when the sun was much lower:
Mr Seren's fascinated by the powerstation, and calls it The Hive. It was built in the 70s but never used (as I may have posted before...), because the price of oil sky-rocketed during it's construction, and yet it's always a hive of activity. Obviously it's a front for nefarious government experiments, but Mulder and Scully don't seem too interested in it, sadly. Or, in reality, it's been kept as a back-up powerstation ever since but it's going to be knocked down soon, once they've decided how to go about it, and what to do with the land. I hope they make it into a nature reserve, but it's more likely it will be used for housing. But I digress.
Here's one of Argyll and Bute, just as the sun dipped down below the horizon as we were coming into the station (you can see the crap on the window of the train too, but nevermind):
I didn't have much time to cook a proper meal in the evening so I cheated and bought most of it ready made before I left the city centre. We had braised steak with shallots and a gravy with chianti, with roasted parsnips and potato and fresh veg, followed by apple pie and honey ice cream or custard, and it was yummy. In spite of the fact that the apple pie fell splat on the oven door as I was trying to take it out.
Tom was very interested in the tumshie lanterns, and Mr Seren did the honours with lighting them and putting them in the window. The guisers turned up in a slow but steady stream, and it was all very fun and exciting. People round here seem to make a big thing about celebrating Hallowe'en, much more so than last year when we were over in Bo'ness, and during the week, as I was walking the dogs in the evening I'd see groups of kids walking around with torches, visiting particular houses where they'd go in and come out screaming and laughing. I'm guessing it was some sort of house of horror trail around the village.
I made offerings of milk and honey, gingerbread, some of the nuts and sweets we'd been handing out to the guisers, and a splash of whisky to the ancestors, on my little shelf, and left out food, set aside from dinner earlier, for any visitors during the night (and hoping it was out of Mungo's reach, scavenging little sod that he is). Offerings for the gods and spirits were left as well, including some more of the bannock I'd made earlier.
I'd been meaning to do more but I was tired and decided I wasn't good for much except sleep. Tom needed a little attention, too, so it was still quite late before I got to bed but I was incredibly restless and didn't really sleep. By 4am I gave up and decided to get up, so I came downstairs and meditated a little on my family and ancestors and held an impromptu vigil. I've been lucky this year not to have lost anyone, but I realised that my sister had, recently even, and so I paid my respects to the little niece or nephew that could have been but never was.
I realised I hadn't done any divination that night, either, so I got out my ogam set and picked out three staves from the bag. They always seem to come out with the most appropriate feda for each festival, and this time was no exception - it all seemed to relate to family, hinting at a particular female member and I wonder if it's something to do with my nan. She's been very ill recently, with an infection in her colon - probably a seed that got stuck there. It's quite common, especially for her age, but it's hit her hard and she hasn't wanted any visitors. I'm not sure whether I'm reading into my worry for her, or if there's a genuine message there. Either way, I eventually managed to get some sleep, and luckily for me it was my weekend lie-in. I know I dreamed this time, but I can't remember what it was about at all.
The next day I felt quite drained so we didn't do much. During my impromptu vigil the night before I realised I'd been unconsciously concentrating my three nights of celebration into three different focuses - the first night on the spirits, the second night on the ancestors, the third night was going to be for the gods. I got some flowers - red, yellow and orange, and was going to decorate my little shelf where I have my little sacred space but I realised I didn't have anything to put them in that would fit, so they went on the mantelpiece above the fire instead. I also realised I'd forgotten to sain the house the night before, so I did that using some of the water I collected at Bealltainn like I usually do. The house feels much better for it.
I took the dogs for their evening walk and went down to the shore where I left some offerings and meditated for a while. The night was clear and still and the water hardly made any noise as it lapped away at the beach, and all was calm and peaceful. Down at the sea I usually dedicate my offerings to Manannan and the river, and Manannan in particular seemed to feel close.
There were no great revelations or signs, but I felt like I'd been heard, and after I got home I made more offerings - rum and coffee grounds to Badb this time (she seems to like them - I gave the spiced rum we got from St Lucia because I'd run out of whisky and couldn't find the mead I'd bought for the occasion, and for some reason I always give coffee grounds now, perhaps because I love the stuff so much and it's something genuinely important to me in an odd sort of way), gingerbread, nuts and milk to the gods in general, and bread and butter and more treats from the previous night for the spirits. I don't know why I separate it out like that, but it feels right and seems to work. As I came back inside and closed the door, the first thing I saw was a spider - one of those ones with a huge round arse - was weaving a web in the corner of the door, tucked in behind the curtain. I always take spiders as a sign of good luck in the home, and this year I must be very lucky indeed.
So that was my Samhainn. A little disorganised, some of it unexpected and unplanned, but all of it good. Tom's back, looking extremely happy with a giant lollipop, and Mr Seren is bearing a box of Belgian chocolates all for me. Yes, I'm very lucky indeed.
Friday, 31 October 2008
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
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.
Wednesday, 3 September 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, 30 August 2008
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.
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.
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