Archive: Là Fhèill Bhrìghde 2009

After receiving a lovely (and surprise) package from a friend earlier this week and discovering a very sad and slightly frosty dandelion in the garden, it seemed like a good time to celebrate Là Fhèill Brighde. I'd been intending to reorganise my little shelf of Important Shiny Things because some of the plants I'd put there when I set it all up hadn't done too well in such a shady spot and I'd had to move them. So it was a fantastic coincidence when my dear friend sent me a flocked Cryptic Crow (because how good is that name? I have my very own Cryptic Crow, nyah) and a wonderful print of one of Graywolf's paintings (of a magpie). Perfect for my shelf, to represent my connection with Badb, and my connection with the spirits through my obsession with magpies. So I dug out a frame that happened to be the perfect size for the picture, and onto my shelf they went:

I've had the glass vase with polished pebbles in it for a while, not sure what to do with them, but once I'd put the crow up it seemed like the perfect place to put some offeratory herbs. All the bits and pieces are on there from the last time I posted, but I've added some amber beads around the votive glass and a red coral necklace (both traditionally having protective qualities) around the base of the crow with the prayer necklace given to me by someone very dear to me. The commemorative plaque that belonged to my granddad has the wild boar tusks from Graywolf either side, he'd appreciate that. The gorse and rowan berries are from Lùnasdal, and there's a space left for the applewood wand (I used it in my ritual for the evening, as I did last year). I also made a clay plaque, incised with a snake pattern and then painted, as a devotional offering (it's hiding behind the leaves, I think). I think I'll keep it there until I make another one for Bealltainn.

Rearranging it all took up a good chunk of my quiet time while Tom was at nursery and Rosie was napping on Wednesday, along with some sorting out some mundane things around the house. I went out to the garden to see what was left of my flower bed, too; Mungo's had pretty much everything I planted last year, so I'm going to have to replace it with nasty evil spikey things that will discourage his frolicking across it. He's ripped the top off of the rowan I planted last year but it still seems to be alive, it's got some buds starting to sprout on the trunk (but I think I'll have to thin them out a little). There were still some heathers holding on for dear life, the chamomile is thriving and some sage and hyssop were lurking quietly and trying not to be noticed. I was hoping the rosemary had survived, but no such luck, so I picked some of the white heather, hyssop and chamomile for offering to Badb and to inaugurate my newly organised shelf. I've done as much as I can do at the moment, but I think it needs some dangly possibly sparkly things. The magpie needs to feel at home, neh?

Picking Tom up from nursery, we took the dogs for a walk in the woods to see what we could see. There were still patches of snow and slush around, the gorse was in flower, a few of the trees were starting to bud, and the view was spectacular:

It never fails to grab me. When Bute and the mountains of Argyll are all hazy like that, it really is like you're looking into the Otherworld (or how I'd imagine it to be). Unfortunately, however, my sense of wonder and ponderings on such a magical view were broken by the sudden realisation that I'd left a candle burning on the shelf from when I'd made the offerings to Badb earlier. Mild panic ensued as I made a hasty retreat back home, convincing myself that the house was burning down. It wasn't, of course, and the candle had either burnt itself out or I'd remembered to blow it out after all.

Dinner followed, with roast lamb, potatoes roasted in a garlic butter, mash (mainly because some of the roasties disintegrated a little, I'd over par-boiled them), sprouts, carrots and cauliflower with a chestnut, orange and cranberry stuffing. I made enough for a plate for Bride as well, with some trepidation - does she like sprouts? It's a controversial choice of vegetable...

Once the kids were in bed, I made some more offerings to start things off, performed a saining with incense (the water I'd saved from last Bealltainn having been recently Rosie'd, but the incense seemed more appropriate for Bride anyway) and set about finishing off my dealbh Bride - I wasn't entirely happy with the result, because I was a little hampered by a lack of needle and thread and had to make do, but Rosie certainly seems to appreciate it; I nearly had to fight her for it after I stuffed it the day before. I laid it on a bed of straw and placed the apple wand with it, then went to the kitchen door and invited Bride to come in and took a while to meditate and contemplate. It's been a stressful start to the year with Tom starting nursery and not settling in too well to start with, along with several colds and a stomach bug (part of the reason why Tom freaked out, he started well but then he was sick at nursery and got scared because I wasn't there, with abandonment issues following. He's fine now, but it took a while), so with the weight of all the stress the saining and some time to really clear my head as well was welcome.

I did some divination with the ogam fews I made last year and seemed to get a good response from it. I pick three fews and read them as representing passing influences, present influences and future influences. I got hawthorn as the first pick which certainly seemed to make sense in terms of the general negativity the year seems to have started with, but the rest seemed fairly positive and seemed to indicate the saining had been effective and that my offerings so far had been accepted by Bride.

I was going to make the bannocks in the morning, but decided to make them that evening instead. This time I tried Fife bannocks, which are quite scone-ish in consistency. I was pleased with how they turned out, even if they did end up being a little overdone, and they didn't break, which was another good sign. I think I used a little bit too much milk, but they still cooked well and were easy to make.

A little relaxation followed, with a hot bannock, butter and jam, and I was off to bed, making sure the food for Bride was well out of the dogs' reach. I slept well and deeply, and I'm sure I had a very odd dream but can't remember it...As usual Tom and Rosie gave me the early morning wake up call and we had a cuddle in bed as I hoped to buy a few more minutes to ease myself into the day. The dogs seemed quiet, though, which was unusual because Mungo usually can't wait to be let out first thing, so I dragged myself out of bed and trudged downstairs to find the kitchen doors were wide open. I've no idea how that happened, unless Mungo's figured out how to unlatch two doors, and I took it as a pretty definitive sign that Bride had been...I'm guessing Mungo must've figured out some way of opening them, probably with the help on the kids fiddling with the latches with me knowing, but his timing was very apt. And I didn't give him too much of a stern look after I checked to make sure we hadn't been burgled.

Evidently Bride does like sprouts after all.

Archive: Seanchas Ìle - Donald Meek

Seanchas Ìle/Islay's Folklore Project
Foreword by Donald Meek

This book is part of a culture and heritage project run by the Columba Centre on the island, which started in 2005, and the majority of it is comprised of transcripts from Gaelic speaking islanders who talk about their experiences of growing up on the island, the tales they were brought up with, and a good portion of proverbs in the final chapter. Some of the transcripts of the tales and the interviews are available at the accompanying website, along with a few others that aren't in the book.

The book's aim is not just to present some of the lore that was collected, but to serve as a record of Islay Gaelic as well. Since I'm not a Gaelic speaker I can't fully appreciate the nuances in the colloquialisms peculiar to the island, but there's a glossary of some of the words in general that are used, as well as the names of particular birds and animals that are used on the island as well. It's refreshing to see a book on the subject giving such prominence to the language, with the Gaelic on the left-hand pages, and the English translation on the right-hand pages throughout, until the final chapter on proverbs and then the glossaries, where the Gaelic's given first and then the translation directly underneath or side-by-side.

In terms of the folklore, I was hoping for some good stuff on calendar customs in particular, but was a little disappointed on that front, aside from some interesting account of the Caileach Bhuain, the last sheaf of the harvest, and what they did with it (including a description of how it was made). More interesting, for me, was the chapter on Traditional Medicine and Food Ways. It wasn't as in-depth as I was hoping for - a criticism that could be aimed at the rest of the book, really - but it covered a lot of the basics like using dandelion milk to cure a wart, and how sphagnum moss was collected for the war effort, for use as a very porous sort of bandage. And cormorant, dulse, and limpet soup as tasty treats. You can download a few traditional recipes, if you want to have a go. So while it wasn't in depth, it gave a good general idea of how the islanders subsisted, before modern comforts changed a lot of that.

What really stood out was the personalities and humour of the people who were interviewed - most of whom seemed to be well into their eighties. One thing that made me laugh was:

"A crofter without much English is trying to explain to the Lowland vet what happened to his cow. In Gaelic he wanted to say:

'Chaidh i faotainn ann an sùil-chrith agus cha do chnàmh i a cìr fad trì làithean às a dhèidh' [She was in a deep bog and she never chewed the cud for three days]

The crofter translated the Gaelic literally which in English came out as:

'She was in the eye of the earth and she never boned her comb for three whole days.' "

There's no commentary, interpretation or in-depth analysis on the tales, anecdotes and interviews that are given, aside from a few notes explaining certain terms here and there, and a brief note on how the Gaelic has been transcribed at times to try and convey the slight differences in pronunciation for some words, so the transcripts are left to speak for themselves, a collection of firsthand accounts.

For the most part the bits where the interviewers have butted in during the course of the conversation have been left in, which sometimes helps give a sense of the rapport between interviewer and interviewee, and a sense of how the chat flowed, but other times it can be a little distracting as well. Overall, though, the sense it all gives is that it's the people that need to be remembered too, seeing as it's the people who make the island as much as the language and the culture. They speak with a warmth and a sadness of their childhoods, almost a frustration for all that's being lost as Gaelic diminishes and outsiders move in to live their dream of the Good Life - often at the expense of the islanders who can no longer afford to buy homes there. The tales and the fondness (or sometimes wryness) for the things that are talked about are quite evocative at times, and I found it hard not to empathise with their sense of plight. It's easy to get drawn in and start romantising the past.

There are some fantastic pictures throughout the book, and along with the rest of it, it makes a wonderful start at presenting what's been recorded - but really, that's what it is (as is made clear from the outset, to be fair) and that's what it feels like. It's a start. Hopefully at some point something more in-depth will be made available (or widely available, that is).

Short and sweet though it is, it comes with a reasonable price tag and a few gems that makes it a worthwhile read for anyone interested in this sort of thing. Maybe it's not essential reading, but I can't help but feel that this is the sort of thing I'd like to support, because funding is so hard to come by. It's all well and good looking at the Highlands and Islands as a whole, but it's books like this that help to serve as a reminder of the differences, as well as the similarities, that can be found across such varying geography, and it would be nice to see more being done, and more of the work that's already been done become available to a wider audience.

Archive: Dunadd: An Early Dalriadic Capital - Alan Lane and Ewan Campbell

Dunadd: An Early Dalriadic Capital
Alan Lane and Ewan Campbell

I think it's fairly safe to say that this book is everything you ever wanted to know about Dunadd, with knobs on.

Given the detail involved - up to and including lists and catalogues of the finds and detailed analysis of soil reports and so on - it's probably safe to say that it's not going to be essential reading for most people interested in CR or Scottish history or archaeology, but it is likely to be one of those books that will be referenced in years to come if you happen to read more accessible ones.

The main remit of the book is to bring together the findings of the series of digs that were carried out there in the early 80's, which were aimed at finding evidence to date the site and give it a detailed chronology. The dig was successful in this, showing some occupation in the Iron Age, but mostly finding activity coming from the early medieval period, confirming that it was in use during the heyday of the Dál Riata.

That in itself doesn't make it of much interest from anything but an archaeology geeks perspective, really, but I bought it mainly because there's some good stuff on the idea of Dunadd being an inaugural site for the Dalriadic kings, both in terms of the history of people claiming that it was an inaugural site (it's a fairly recent idea), and in looking at whether there's any evidence to support such an idea (in short, yup). Like so many authors, they seem to shy away from going into the pre-Christian stuff in too much detail, but there are still some interesting points to ponder - the position of Dunadd in relation to the land, and the concentration of pre-historic monuments in the area seems to be a conscious connection with the past, legitimating the king's authority by his links with land and the evidence of the people before him.

There's also some good stuff on the history of Dunadd and Dál Riata in general, and the discussion at the end of the book brings it all together nicely. All this goes into a bit more detail than Saints and Sea-kings, and discusses points like the apparent contradiction between the history and the archaeology in more detail (the history says the Irish came to Scotland whereas the archaeology suggests the migration was the other way round); and concludes that the popular idea of the Irish taking over the area en masse, as we're told in historical records, isn't so clear cut, and that the Dariadic kings and the introduction of Gaelic to the area was probably a much slower process that happened through close trading links and cultural closeness between the two areas, rather than a political takeover at one point in time.

The main reason I bought it, though, is an article on interpreting the ogam inscription found near the summit of the site, by Katherine Forsyth, who argues that it's not Pictish gibberish as previously, but is indeed Gaelic. She discusses other studies of the ogam that have been carried out, and gives a tentative partial translation of the inscription as Finn manach, 'Finn the monk', or Fir(r) Manach, 'the men of Manaig' (with Forsyth favouring the former, rather than the latter translation). It's tempting to assume that this is referring to a monk involved in the inauguration of a king, but who can say for sure?

The book comes with a hefty price tag, so this was a luxury buy for me. I enjoyed it, and it's well written and well-referenced, but I wouldn't say it's essential reading and it's probably the sort of book to get out from the library to pick at the chapters that are of most interest, if you really want to, rather than to invest in.

Archive: Saints and Sea-kings - Ewan Campbell

Saints and Sea-kings: The First Kingdom of the Scots
Ewan Campbell

I mentioned this one in a review of another book from the same The Making of Scotland series by Historic Scotland a while ago, but it deserves its own review I think. The other book took a look at Iron Age Scotland, whereas this one looks at the eary medieval period and the coming (and going) of the Dalriadans who settled in the Argyll area of the west coast from around 400AD (although the dates depend on who you ask).

The series aims to provide "lively, accessible and up-to-date introductions to key themse and periods in Scottish history and pre-history", and while I'm not sure history can ever be lively for some people, I'd say the book delivers on its promise of being accessible. Nearly ten years on, it also still stands up as being relatively up to date - since this was one of the key texts for a module I studied (Early Medieval Gaeldom) and some of the things in there were fairly revolutionary at the time there's sometimes an excitement and defensiveness at some of the things that are said that are generally accepted as fact, which might date it a little. But maybe I'm thinking more about the tone of my lectures than picking up anything from the book.

There are plenty of pictures and illustrations with nice soundbites in helpful little boxes to help emphasise some of the more important facts that are presented, and the tone and language that's used is clear and there's not too much jargon. The lack of references, unless a text is specifically mentioned or quoted, is a problem, but not surprising for a book like this which is aimed at a younger audience rather than a specifically academic one, but overall the book is short and sweet and gives good pointers to further reading and sites to see. And at least with this book, you can look up the sites on CANMORE and check for the site reports yourself, unlike Cunliffe's book that also had the same problem.

On the plus side, the author presents the information clearly and in a straightforward and sensible manner. It's not an in-depth analysis of the subject, by necessity, but Dr Campbell does cover some of the more important quibbles over some of the details here and there. He covers the origins of the Dál Riata, what their everyday life would have been like, their social and political structure, religion (mainly in terms of the coming of Christianity, rather than anything useful about any pre-Christian beliefs) and the importance of Iona in the early medieval period, the sources that relate to or refer to Dál Riata, and their artistic accomplishments.

It's an easy read that doesn't repeat itself too much and doesn't rely on teh big wurdz to make the author sound intelligent. The only real negative in terms of the information that's presented is that there's an unfortunate mistake that mixes up Brythonic and Goidelic as Q- and P-Celtic languages, rather than P- and Q-Celtic. I'm not sure if there are later editions that have corrected it, but it's worth watching out for and noting. It's the only real clanger in the book.

It's a good series of books to get if you want a beginner's guide to Scottish history and archaeology and while it's not directly beneficial in terms of informing CR practice - although the mention of conical glass 'drinking horns' are interesting from a feasting perspective, I think - I'd recommend it for getting a good idea of historical background for someone looking to get a good introduction to the subject, as well as a good perspective surrounding the issues in studying it.

Archive: Nitpicking, CR-style

(Or maybe it's just me).

There have been a few interesting discussions going on in some of the Celtic lists I lurk on, recently, in the last few weeks. Combined with Erynn's thoughtful post the other day week (*ahem* yes, it's taken that long to write this...), I've been doing a lot of pondering recently - on the gods and their place in my life, and in the landscape that I'm feeling such a part of now. I've been pondering about it on and off for a good six months or so, but finally (and with a bit of prodding) I think I'm finding the words to get it all out in the open so I can see it, look at it and look back on it. So I can put it all into words and see just what's been knocking at my head for so long. Which has all taken over a week or so, so if I make no sense from hereon in, it's because I got to the point where I just couldn't pick at the damn thing anymore...

I want to say what I mean clearly, but at the same time seeing as it's so personal, I know what I mean but that doesn't necessarily mean that I'm conveying that meaning effectively to those of you reading this. With those excuses in mind...

Over the past few years I've been feeling increasingly drawn to the goddess Badb. It's taken a long time (or so it seems to me - and for reasons I'll go into shortly) but we seem to have found a comfortable rhythm to our interactions now. I leave her offerings and talk to her; I look for signs that she might send and interpret them accordingly (not just crow-related signs, but they figure largely in my relationship, even though hoodie crows specifically aren't all that common round here; I find meaning in corvids in general, for a variety of reasons). I don't hear her, loud and crystal clear in my head, but I feel that she's there listening. I don't see her clear as day in front of me, but I See her, an image in my head, dark and almost intangible, a vision I've drawn on paper many times since I was a child.

It's a very quiet thing, an internal, personal experience for the most part. There are no bells or whistles as such, no fireworks and great revelations. It just is, and at times it can be incredibly profound. Now I've accepted it, I find it a comfort. I don't see her as being a maternal figure for me (and don't feel the need for one), so I don't see that she looks after me in that sense, but I find comfort in the rightness of it; the truth in it all.

Her presence these days is almost imperceptible, except for a quiet tapping at the back of my head; a knock or a nudge every time I look outside each morning to see what the day brings. Some days it's more obvious than others (like this morning with the magpie hopping around my kitchen door and making a huge racket), but it's always there. I see her as an ancestor of sorts, because she's most commonly connected with the part of Ireland that my nan's family comes from, and of all the surviving members of my family that I know best, she's the one I feel closest to, and respect the most deeply. I see truth in it, in evolving this relationship with Badb, and find a sense of wholeness to my spiritual practices that I never felt before. It makes me feel good, but confused at the same time, in a way.

I honour the gods of the Gaels in my daily practices, as well as the probable Brythonic deities of this area, and I sometimes honour specific ones other than Badb - the gods of this place (in specific, Clota, or is it *Clota? The goddess of the river, who was probably venerated by the Britons who lived here. And in a wider sense, Bride and the Cailleach in my seasonal celebrations especially) and also the gods of the people who came here from Ireland. But of them all, I seem to have the most personal relationship with Badb. I've yet to feel the need to make any sort of formal, ritualised dedication to her, but maybe I will some day, who knows. In honouring her and listening to her, I see that as making enough of an obligation to her for now, and as I explore what she means to me, and how she fits into my spiritual practices and beliefs, I'm seeing a lot of similarities between her and the Cailleach Bheur.

As far as Badb in particular is concerned, it's something that's taken a very long time to accept, for me, because she's not exactly an obvious goddess to find yourself developing a relationship with when you're so drawn to expressing your spirituality in terms of Scottish cultural practices like I am. I feel an intense connection with this land and I see the gods as being very localised at their core so it feels odd to be so drawn to a deity that has such a tenuous connection, at best (in an overt, direct sense as far as I know), with this place. The gods of this place that I honour are very real to me, but yet I don't feel the same sort of relationship with them. I tried that by joining a flamekeeping order dedicated to Bride, once, and while I feel it was right for me at the time, I wasn't - ultimately - meant for her.

There are these deities like Bride, the Cailleach or even Manannán that are more directly associated with Scotland than Badb, as far as I'm aware. In pondering and pursuing all this I feel like I've gained a greater undertanding of Bride and the Cailleach on a more personal level, but not in the same way as I identify with Badb. In order to reconcile all of this with myself, I've been thinking, doubting myself, pondering and coming to the same conclusion over and over again that it is what it is and it's really not going to go away. No, no, it can't be...Oh but it is, and get over yourself...

But that doesn't mean that deities like Badb can have no associations, or potential associations, with Scotland. Which makes me think that I'm interpreting all this on a fairly literal level, really, and makes me think I'm quibbling about details to a painful extent...Which isn't surprising, given my personality, but still it's something that troubles me at times. On the one hand I balk at the idea that Gaelic=essentially the same no matter which country, because I'm the sort to focus on the nuances and details. As far as modern politics goes, there are vast differences (as well as similarities) between Ireland and northern Ireland, let alone adding Scotland into the mix, but all of them are often lumped under the Gaelic umbrella. And yet I find the historical and cultural similarities and crossovers, as well as the differences, incredibly informative. Inevitably, and perhaps especially because I live in one of those melting pots of Brythonic and Gaelic practice, along with everything else, things all mix into one at times.

Pondering all this, Erynn made a timely post on how she sees her relationship with the gods, in which she quoted Whitman:

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Looking at the quote itself, I can certainly identify with this on a personal level, and it made me think that yes, the gods may have been very localised as I see them most commonly, but they've also become very widespread, as I also see them; I may be focusing on a particular culture in my practices, but I also can't avoid the wider connections between Scotland and Ireland, and the many crossovers between them throughout time. I'm keeping it in the family at least, and even if I can only say my perceptions are a modern evolution of what might have been, I'm calling it as I see it.

As my practices have evolved I seem to have unconsciously been accommodating this apparent contradiction, to my mind, by honouring the gods of this place that I live on, on a localised as well as a more national level (i.e. the Brythonic Clota of here, Strathclyde, alongside Cailleach Bheur and Bride), along with the gods that are commonly associated with the 'Gaelic legacy' of Scotland's association with Ireland as a whole, over the years, centuries and even millenia. It all melts into one, and the labels of 'Scottish Reconstructionist' and 'Gaelic Polytheist' meld together.

This doesn't bother me as far as my personal practices are concerned; I do what I do and I've done what I've done, and regardless of the labels I've assigned to those practices, I've found incredible depth and meaning in them. But I like to get the labels right...