Do we have the seasons all wrong?
Musings on the celtic wheel and grief
It has been unseasonably cold, grey and miserable here. I see social media posts every day joking or complaining about the weather; usually something along the lines of, ‘where’s summer??’. This picture is typical of my morning walks over the last few weeks, with sunshine a rare occurrence.
I have been wondering if we have it all wrong. Since starting to more consciously follow the teachings of the Celtic Wheel several years ago1, I have felt kinda out of whack with the received wisdom of the seasons. Right now, while many are wondering when summer might start, I am seeing the signs of autumn (lughnasa) everywhere. I even wrote about it a bit here.
The Celtic wheel teachings say that summer/bealtaine begins at the start of May. In this part of the world, May is rarely warm. My nan always says, ‘n’ere cast a clout til May is out!’ - a caution against removing too many layers for fear of catching a chill. May, June and July tend to be busy months, full of holidays, festivals and socialising. This is very much in keeping with the idea of the ‘masculine’ energy of the sun. And the wheel also teaches us that all things begin in the darkness of the ‘feminine’: the Celtic new year is marked through the night of Samhain, or Halloween.
Most of my life I’ve preferred sunnier climates and warmer temperatures. I’ve always said it was some sort of cosmic joke that I was born here, on a cold and rainy island. When asked, I’d say that summer is my favourite season. Now, I’m not so sure. I think I’m actually an autumn girl. When autumn begins around the start of August (lúnasa/lughnasa as Gaeilge) and brings with it the sheer abundance of the earth, the heat of the soil, the slowing down of the frenetic summer months…I mean what’s not to love? Even the name - Lugh in mythology was a sun god.
The first berries have been around for about a month now. The always-sort-of-disappointing salmonberries first, then mouth-watering home-grown strawberries. The first wild berries that grow around here follow soon after.
Two years ago, I found my first wild strawberries in this area while I was on the phone with my mum, who had called to tell me my grandfather had passed away. He was, amongst many other things, someone who grew things. He ran a garden centre for many years and was known to say ‘you don’t sow carrots and get potatoes’. I was never particularly close to this grandfather (who always preferred that we used his given name rather than any other title), but spotting those little sweet red spheres the moment I knew he had passed was incredibly touching. The taste of them made me cry that day, and every day I have tasted them since, always around this same point in the year.
Scientists think that climate change will make Ireland more rainy rather than warmer. My heart aches all over again wondering what other ‘unseasonable’ changes I will see in my lifetime. In our writing group this week, Alison brought a beautiful piece from Robert Macfarlane’s Landmarks. The wonderful word glisk alongside loss really resonated with me. It made me think of wild strawberries and grief.
emotions are energy in motion it’s always startling to find that someone else found a similar way to move through a difficult experience. he gathers the bright stones from the river bed keeps them in his pocket, dulled licks them to find the glisk she walks, propelled by grief spirals and spokes from home noticing more as tears slow each step a healing beat they swim late afternoon conversation a well-worn path a comfort and space between to let the light back in we lie together, marvel at each breath bound at first by fear but choosing every time a path that's filled with light i gather the bright words from every painful mark keep them in my notebook, dulled speak them to find the glisk
I’m so glad I saved this for a slow Sunday morning ❤️ Gorgeous xxxx
Lovely musings to read on a sunny day