Embracing Autumn: Preparing for Autumn

The rain of recent weeks has finally - finally! - given way to sunshine and blue skies. And yet despite the presence of the sun, the days are noticeably shorter as we inch closer to the Autumn Equinox. Today for the first time this year I saw the swallows and martins lining up in chattering rows along the telephone wires as they do each year as they prepare for their marathon winter migration to South Africa.

Just as the swallows are preparing themselves for the changes Autumn brings, we humans are also preparing for Autumn - stocking up on supplies for the new academic year (or buying new school uniforms for the kids), preserving the Autumn harvest by making jams and chutneys, tidying spent bedding plants from the garden - whilst simultaneously enjoying the better weather while it lasts. Some customers in the shop where I work are even starting their Christmas shopping (I'm all for planning ahead, but that's a step too far for me!).

Embracing Autumn: Autumn Preparations

Without necessarily looking as far ahead as Christmas, what are you (or should you be) doing to prepare for Autumn? I suspect we each have different priorities when it comes to seasonal jobs, but you may like to think about:

• Putting away Summer clothes and digging out your Autumn wardrobe - it won't be long before cosy jumpers, comfy boots and snuggly scarves are the go-to choices when you get dressed in the morning.
• In the garden, tidying up straggly or gone-to-seed plants (but do leave some as food and shelter for wildlife).
• Making sure you have some nice soft blankets to hand so that you can snuggle up on the sofa in comfort or add an extra layer of warmth when you're in bed.
• Getting yourself some nice scented candles or a jar of luxury hot chocolate ready to increase the hygge factor in your home.
• Making sure you have all the necessary textbooks/stationery/folders etc ready if you've signed up for an Autumn course or workshop. You could also prepare a space in your home as a study area.
• Ensuring your garden has some suitable areas for wildlife to overwinter in safely.  

Embracing Autumn: Butterfly Days

Although 'Embracing Autumn' was intended to be a series of daily posts, once again things have slipped and I have missed a few days. This is because IB's elderly Mum - who is now living with us - had a nasty fall on Saturday afternoon which landed her in A&E. She's OK and on the mend but as you can probably imagine we've been a bit preoccupied over the last couple of days. I probably could have written something last night but to be honest I was too frazzled to sum up a coherent thought. I hope things will get back on track from now on, though.

Today I've been thinking about butterflies. In late August the buddleia bush on our patio is covered in butterflies. Many people dislike buddleia as it can be an invasive weed. The bush on our patio in fact sowed itself - I'm not sure quite where from as I'm not aware of any buddleia bushes in the immediate area, but somehow a seed must have blown in from somewhere. Now it's huge despite me cutting it back hard every winter, and at this of year time it makes the butterflies and bees so happy I can't possibly regret its arrival. I really rather love its unruly sprawl, the generosity of its abundant purple flowers drawing in clouds of butterflies and bees and the scent of honey as I brush past it. This morning as I left for work, the wall of the house by the buddleia was covered in butterflies warming their wings in the morning sun (I tucked this observation away as one of my beautiful things for today).

In this season of harvest and plenty, it seems appropriate to watch the butterflies feasting and apparently celebrating their bounty. 

Embracing Autumn: Butterfly Days

How many different kinds of butterfly can you spot? If you need help with identifying them, there are man handy online guides such as this and this. You can also help with butterfly conservation by simply reporting your butterfly sightings to projects like this one. 

 

     

Embracing Autumn: Spiderwebs

I love to see the marvellously constructed spiderwebs which appear in the garden at this time of year, jewelled with dewdrops. I suspect the spiderwebs are there all summer, but as the Summer dew is lighter and has mostly evaporated by the time we humans are up and about, we don't really catch sight of them. In Autumn though, the heavier dews and more frequent rain combined with shorter days make them far more visible, and what a delightful gift that is. With the morning sun setting the dewdrops sparkling like tiny crystal beads it's possible to fully appreciate the delicately spun intricate patterns and the amount of work that has gone into them. I know not everyone is fond of spiders, but surely even the most die-hard arachnophobe can find some appreciation of the shimmering beauty of Autumn webs?

Embracing Autumn: Web Meditation

Find an actual web or an image of one to focus your attention on. Find somewhere you can sit comfortably whilst gazing at your web. Take a few deep breaths in and out, and relax any tension you may be feeling in your body. Look carefully at your web. Notice how the 'spokes' of the web radiate outwards from the centre, anchoring the web in place. What are the anchor points in your life? What are the things, people or places which hold you securely, providing security and a firm foundation on which to build? Are the anchor points you have sufficient to support you, or do you need to strengthen them - or work on creating some more? 

Look at your web again. See how the connecting threads weave in a spiral out from the centre of the web, connecting each of the spokes. Think about how the path of your life spirals outwards as you grow in knowledge and understanding. Time and again as we travel through life we return to the same place, revisiting the same themes or issues or life lessons. Yet each time we return we bring a different perspective, a new understanding to add to the lessons we have already learned on our outward spiralling journey.

Look at the web and notice how every part of it is connected to and sensitive to every other part of it. Think of all the connections in your life and how they are all interconnected. Think of the great web of life connecting all living beings on the planet and understand that the health and wellbeing of each individual is inextricably linked to every other being. Imagine how your thoughts and actions have power to send tremors travelling through the web of life, and consider how to use this influence wisely to benefit the whole. Remember your power comes from your connection. 

Spiders maintain their webs diligently and meticulously, constantly reweaving and repairing any tears. Do you care for and maintain the connections that make up the fabric of your life? What would you need to do to improve the care you give yourself and your connections? Give yourself permission to properly care for yourself and your web. Remember that in doing so you strengthen the whole.

Come back to yourself and your body, sitting in its comfortable seat. Look once again at your web and take a few moments to think about the power and beauty of the web structure. Reflect in your journal about what you have seen and learned during this meditation.   

 

Embracing Autumn: The Rowan

It's August, and Rowan berries are ripening to brilliant scarlet, gloriously bright against the blue-grey skies.

The Rowan is one of my favourite trees. I love the slender grace of her smooth grey trunk, her dainty sprays of leaves, the froth of her creamy blossom in spring and the sass of her bold, bright berries heralding the onset of Autumn. I love the way her beauty belies her tenacity and strength - Rowan is able to grow at high altitudes (hence one of her other names, 'Mountain Ash') and in poor soils and inaccessible places which are often inhospitable to other species.

The Rowan has long been considered a magical, protective tree and had the reputation of protecting travellers from getting lost and warding off evil. People planted Rowans by their houses, hung Rowan branches over their doors and tied crossed Rowan twigs together with red thread as charms. It's also considered a 'threshold tree' and as such was not only planted at boundaries, but also believed to watch over gateways between this world and the otherworld. Perhaps for this reason it was traditionally planted in Welsh graveyards.

Other names for Rowan include Quickbeam, Berry Ash, Traveller's Tree, Wicken Tree, Wiggy and Thor's Helper (because of a tale in the Prose Edda in which Thor saves himself from drowning in a raging river by grabbing hold of a Rowan). 

Rowans can grow up to 15m in height and live for up to 200 years. The leaves, bark,  flowers and fruit of the tree are useful for wildlife, providing food for moths, butterflies, bees, foxes, badgers, squirrels, dormice and birds. Humans can eat the berries too, they are best made into jellies, jams, wines, cordials or liqueurs. Heating or freezing them during processing helps break down the compounds within them which could otherwise potentially cause indigestion or kidney problems.

Embracing Autumn: Make a Rowan Charm for Yourself or Your Home

Try to find a Rowan tree in your area* and gather fallen twigs and/or berries to make a protective charm for your home, car or to carry with you. The simplest method is to use two crossed twigs and some yarn (red is the traditional colour to use, but you can choose colours that are meaningful to you) to make a 'God's Eye'/'Ojo de Dios'. You could thread rowan berries onto the yarn for added protection, or add a 'tail' of threaded berries to hang down from your charm. Instructions on how to make a God's Eye can be found here (or look on Youtube for a tutorial). 

Alternatively you could simply thread Rowan berries together onto a length of cotton (using a needle and thread) or a piece of wire. Hang them over your front door to invoke the protection of the 'threshold tree' for your home.

* Rowans are often planted in parks, so even if you live in a city you should be able to find one. If all else fails, rowan berries can easily be purchased from herbal suppliers online. To ensure you are buying the right kind, check the Latin name which should be Sorbus aucuparia.       

 

 

   

Beltane - Or Not?

Cherry Blossom

Despite all my good intentions and determination to build a better 'normal', once again life got in the way of any Beltane celebrations this year. Although I am mostly only working a two-day week at the moment, this week was a busy one. We attended a funeral on Monday (one of my usual work days), and I worked Tuesday, Wednesday (in lieu of Monday and as holiday cover for a colleague), and Saturday. At the same time, IB had started a new job and had a training day on Tuesday and his first shifts Thursday and Saturday. As we're sharing a car between us, this caused some inconveniences such as arriving in Carmarthen two hours before I was due to start work one morning (pro-tip: take a good book). There was also a fair bit of sewing between work shifts to ensure IB's new uniforms fitted him! One afternoon I took groceries over to my elderly parents, and one evening family and friends got together via a Zoom call to celebrate my brother and sister-in-law's 21st Wedding Anniversary. 

With all this going on, it only occurred to me late one evening that the next day was Beltane, making me feel like a Very Bad Pagan Indeed. The next day we were going to have to be up super-early (IB's new job, car-sharing...) so I decided I might at least get the chance for a quick wander in the garden to wash my face in the Beltane dew before we left. Except, there was no dew. It was an unseasonably cold night and there was a sharp frost instead. I briefly wondered if the warmth of my hands would melt the frost into dew fit for face-washing, but my arthritic joints winced in horror at the very thought. So that was that.

Later on, back home after work I saw a friend had posted on Facebook that he really wasn't feeling that it was Beltane yet this year. Some people disagreed, but many were saying the same thing - and I realised I felt the same way too. It wasn't just the busy week leading up to Beltane that had sprung the festival on me - I'm not feeling it just yet. It could be to do with the unusually cold weather we're having at the moment. None of my seedlings in the vegetable patch have faired very well and I'm still too scared to plant out my tomato plants in the greenhouse because the nights are so cold. There's no hawthorn blossom in the hedges yet - and although it's often a bit late here at Halfway up a Hill, it's usually to be seen in abundance elsewhere by now. The cherry trees are blossoming abundantly (as always) but the apple blossom remains tightly budded for now. Worst of all, we don't yet have any swallows or martins. I saw my first swallows quite early this year, at my parents' house on 1st April (I usually expect them some time during the second week of April). Even though my parents only live less than 15 miles away, so far no swallows or martins have found their way to us. I have merely seen glimpses of a few at a time, passing through on their way to somewhere presumably a bit warmer. 

The date on the calendar may say it's Beltane then, but many of the seasonal signs are missing. So is it Beltane or not? I'm thinking yes - and no. There are a few different issues to be examined when it comes to determining the date of Beltane. The Solstices and Equinoxes are a much simpler matter, tied in as they are to the cycles of the sun. Although their exact dates vary slightly from year to year, they mark very precise moments in time that can be accurately predicted in advance. The sun is either at its maximum or minimum declination on the Solstices (marking the longest or shortest day), and the Equinoxes occur when the sun is positioned above the Equator and day and night are of equal length. The cross-quarterly festivals - Beltane, Lughnasadh, Samhain and Imbolc - are positioned roughly halfway between the Solstices and Equinoxes but are more concerned with the Earth's vegetation cycle. So it perhaps makes sense to judge their arrival from the cues given by the natural world. Snowdrops at Imbolc, hawthorn blossom at Beltane, the first grain harvest at Lughnasadh, the onset of winter at Samhain. It seems likely to me that in the days before clocks, calendars and electric light, people would have celebrated these festivals at the first full moon after they saw the cues given by nature. Everyone would have known which was the night of the full moon, and its light made gathering together easier. So in those days, I suspect Beltane would have been celebrated on the first full moon after the hawthorns began to blossom (or whatever the seasonal cue was for your part of the world). The advantage of this is keeping you sensitive to your environment and its changes. The obvious disadvantage is that seasonal signs can vary quite widely within a relatively small distance - the swallows having returned to my parents but not yet to me is a prime example. It also makes planning celebrations ahead of time much trickier than for the reliably predictable Solstices and Equinoxes.

This is where the invention of formalised calendars really simplifies things. We know from the archaeological records that our ancestors were carefully tracking the movements of the sun and moon, presumably in order to predict the cycles of the year. The creation of the Gregorian calendar that declares Beltane will occur on 30th April/1st May each year makes it far easier for covens, groves and other Pagan groups to plan their celebrations well ahead of time to ensure everyone who wants to attend can make suitable arrangements. Yet I can't help but feel sad about the way this severs us from the seasonal changes occurring around us.

Perhaps the best way - as is so often the case - is not  to commit ourselves to an either/or mindset, but to an 'and' way of thinking. It is Beltane both when the calendar says so - and also when the Earth declares it. The calendar Beltane allows us to plan community celebrations, wish each other a Happy Beltane on the same day and be in alignment with our fellow Pagans around the world (well, in the Northern hemisphere anyway - those in the Southern hemisphere will most likely be celebrating Samhain). And the Earth-based advent of Beltane allows us to be in communion with the Earth and to sense Her shifting energies in our very blood and bones.

I don't yet feel Beltane in my bones, in the pulse of the Earth - but I know it is on the way, just around the corner. The new leaves and the bluebells and wood anemones whisper of it. Soon swallows and hawthorn blossoms will confirm it and we will continue our headlong tumble into summer. Blessed Be.

 

       

      

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 84: January Soundscape

As January slides towards February, and Winter edges closer to Spring, the soundscape subtly changes. The other morning I noticed the incessant calls of a great tit along with the soft croons of a wood pigeon. Although both birds are around throughout the Winter, I don't recall hearing them much over the last few months. Certainly the call of the great tit is something I associate with the coming of spring. They begin to scout for breeding territory this month, so perhaps their sudden vocal presence is a way of asserting themselves.

It's not just the subtle changes in birdsong. Other January sounds are rain against the window, the pitter-patter of falling hailstones and the quiet hiss of snowfall. The dripping of thawing ice. The crunch of footsteps on frosted grass. The muting, muffling effects of fog. The sudden rush of wings as a flock of starlings pass by overhead. 

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 84

January Soundscape

What is the January soundscape where you live? What are the specific sounds of the season? How does the weather contribute or affect the acoustics? How does the sound of human activity change in the winter? Which birds are or aren't singing or calling right now? What will sound different in Spring, in Summer, in Autumn? Which sounds are currently absent? Which sounds will change or disappear as we edge into Spring?

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 65: Winter Wildlife

 

I spotted this beautiful fox along the road ahead of me on Winter walk. I later saw him (her?) running across a field and down into a spinney at the foot of the hill where I lost sight of him - I think he may have disappeared into a hidden den in the thicket.

The cold, harsh weather of Winter sometimes leads to wildlife - like my fox - taking greater risks in order to find food, increasing the chance that we'll spot them as they cross our path. 

Winter also brings visits from migratory species, especially birds such as (in the UK) Barnacle Geese, Brent Geese, Water Pipits, Redwings, Fieldfares,  Whooper Swans and Waxwings. 

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 65

Winter Wildlife

Research the species that you are most likely to see in your area. Visit beaches, wetlands and woodlands or just take a walk and see what you can spot. Take binoculars and a pocket guide book. Even if you don't see the animals and birds themselves, keep an eye out for clues to their presence such as tracks in snow or mud, droppings, nibbled nuts or gnawed bark, owl pellets, burrows, nests or tufts of fur snagged on a fence.   

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 58: Snow Stories

The snow has stories to tell. 

As it falls, it creates a blank white sheet on which the eager world may tell its tales... tales of adventure and exploration, tales of secret journeys, tales of life and the living of it...

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 58

Snow Stories

What stories does the snow tell? Who has passed this way and what has occurred? Let the snow reveal its secrets...

 

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 32: Feed the Birds

One of the most satisfying things you can do in winter is to help feed hungry birds and other wildlife. By providing food and fresh water not only do you help them survive periods of harsh weather and scarce resources, but as a bonus you get to see more of them, and probably a wider variety of species than you would normally spot. It's a totally win:win situation. 

Different species of birds have different feeding requirements. Some prefer feeding on the ground, some like a raise platform like a bird table and some are well-adapted to the challenges of feeding whilst hanging from a bird feeder. If you can provide a variety of food and places from which they can access it, so much the better. But if your situation means you can only hang a feeder full of peanuts or scatter seed on the lawn, it will still provide a much needed source of food for someone! Try to ensure they are as safe from predators as possible - don't put the food too near cover which could conceal a stalking cat for example. And don't forget to provide accessible, clean water too. On cold, dry days when their usual water supply has dried up or frozen, the water you put out can literally save lives.

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 32

Feed the Birds

Put out fresh water daily in a wide, shallow container which can easily be accessed. On cold days, break the ice on it, or fill it with warm water.

Get into the habit of putting out food for birds. Try to be regular and consistent with what you offer; if birds have become reliant on your generosity, suddenly stopping the supply can be a real hardship for them.

There are a wide variety of feeders available, so you should be able to find something that suits your situation. You can even find ones that adhere to a window, making it easy for you to watch the birds from within your home. 

Make use of a pair of binoculars and a good bird-spotting guide to learn about the birds that visit. You may be surprised how many species you can see!

For more information on attracting birds (and other wildlife) to your garden and feeding them during winter, check out these links:

• The Woodland Trust 
• RSPB
• BBC Wildlife Magazine
• The Natural History Museum
• RSPCA

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 21: Ivy Appreciation

Pic: Ivy (Hedera helix ssp. helix) showing both mature (left) and juvenile (right) forms of the leaves.  

As an evergreen, ivy is far more visible during winter which is probably one of the reasons it appears in much of the folklore for this time of year. It's long been used as a Christmas decoration along with holly, although using it this way was forbidden by an early Council of the Church because of its Pagan associations. Ivy and holly have long been paired, with ivy considered to be 'female' with holly her 'male' counterpart.

Ivy can grow up to 30m high. Contrary to popular belief, it isn't parasitic (it has its own root system in the soil which means it can absorb its own nutrients and water) and doesn't damage trees.

There are two native subspecies of ivy in Britain. Hedera helix ssp. helix (which climbs) and Hedera helix ssp. hibernica (which spreads across the ground - but shouldn't be confused with Ground Ivy [Glechoma hederacea] which isn't actually an ivy at all!) Hedera helix ssp. helix has two different forms - juvenile and mature. The juvenile plant has lobed leaves and the creeping or climbing stems have specialised hairs so the plant can stick to surfaces as it climbs. The mature forms have heart-shaped leaves on thicker, hairless, self-supporting stems. They are usually found high up in trees or at the tops of walls or cliff faces. To add further confusion, there are also many cultivated varieties of ivy, often with variegated leaves.

Ivy provides nectar, pollen and berries and is an essential food source for bees, butterflies, moths and birds during autumn and winter when other food sources are scarce. It also provides shelter for insects, birds, bats and other small mammals.

Although it has been used medicinally in the past, ivy is toxic and can cause skin irritation. It's not really suitable for amateur herbalists and is probably best left to the professionals!

In mythology ivy was sacred to Dionysus and Bacchus, both Gods of wine and intoxication who were depicted wearing wreaths of iv and grapevines. Paradoxically, it was believed that wearing a wreath of ivy leaves prevented one from getting drunk. The Romans used to hang a branch of ivy over the doorway of a place that sold alcohol, and the popularity of 'The Ivy Bush' as a pub name is believed to date back to this practice. Ivy wreaths were also awarded to athletes and poets as an honour.

Symbolically, ivy stands for friendship and fidelity. It was customary for priests to present a wreath of ivy to newly weds, and bridal bouquets often contained a sprig of ivy to bring luck to the marriage. 

Folk names for the plant include Bindwood and Lovestone.

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 21

Ivy Appreciation!

Pick yourself some sprays of ivy to decorate your home. Display them in a vase, trail them along a shelf or mantlepiece, or twine the stems into a wreath.   

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 18: A Murmuration of Starlings

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eakKfY5aHmY

For me, catching sight of a murmuration of starlings is truly one of the highlights of the winter season. Just as I eagerly await my first glimpse of snowdrops in spring, swallows in summer, and the bright colours of autumn foliage, so I look forward to the amazing aerial displays of starlings in winter. So far this year I have only seen small groups of the birds flying over us here at Halfway Up A Hill on their way to roost, but I'm looking forward to my first sight of a proper murmuration soon. I vividly remember my first encounter with this awe-inspiring phenomenon, in fact I wrote about it here on the blog. 

Another time, a huge flock of starlings descended on a field across the valley, so many that they turned the green grass of the hillside to black. As I watched in fascination, I spotted an enterprising fox prowling along the line of the hedge, keeping low to the ground - obviously in hope of snatching an unwary bird from the edge of the flock. Just as he drew close enough to pounce, the entire mass of birds lifted off, just a foot or two from the ground, swirled briefly in the air like a huge dust-cloud and resettled. It looked exactly like the shrug of a gigantic amorphous beast - and the fox obviously thought so too as he turned tail and fled. Clearly, the swirling undulations of a murmuration serve a useful purpose, by confusing and unsettling potential predators. But they are also a virtuoso performance of collaborative power and beauty, a magical, spellbinding sight which seems to defy logic. 

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 18

Watch a Murmuration of Starlings

Try to find out if there is an area near you where it is possible to watch the starlings gather as they prepare for their evening roost. Some areas  - such as the Somerset Levels, or the piers at Brighton or Aberystwyth are well known for the huge murmurations that gather there. Do a bit of local research to find out where you are most likely to see them in your area. 

If you are lucky enough to see them, appreciate the magic. It is a true winter blessing!   

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 11: Look Up!

The world seems to turn in on itself during winter. The green world withdraws its energy and becomes mostly dormant, animals hibernate and the short hours of daylight and cold weather can make staying at home seem like the best option for humans. 

Yet conversely, the skies above us seem to expand their horizons without the obscuring foliage of trees. The sun, lower in the sky, casts long, beautiful rays to caress the land. And as days shorten, both dawn and sunset become more accessible. Instead of hunching against the elements, look up! The winter skies are beautiful, and often far more changeable and colourful than the anodyne blue skies of summer. Within an hour you may see blue change to dove grey, to charcoal, to mother-of-pearl, to peach, to scarlet. There are a multitude of cloud shapes and sizes and textures. There are rainbows and storm clouds and bright, clear sunlight. Make the most of this endlessly changing beauty while you can. The best bit? You can even enjoy it through a window, from the comfort of home! 

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 11

Look Up!

Remember to look up periodically during the day to enjoy the ever-changing big skies of winter. Snap photos of the beauty you see. Write poems inspired by the interplay of dark and light, sun and rain. Read the symbols you see in the skies. Try manipulating clouds with your mind. Be dazzled by swirling murmurations of starlings, rooks, jackdaws or even pigeons. Learn the names of star constellations. Watch the night skies for meteors. Follow the phases of the moon. 

 

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 9: Noticing the Changing Season

You know, I think one of the traps people fall into when thinking about 'winter' is conceiving of it as a monolithic block of a season, a bleak dreary period during which the best thing you can do is just to put your head down and endure until the sun returns in the spring.

This is of course nonsense. Like all seasons, winter evolves and changes throughout its course. Noticing this seasonal evolution is simply a matter of paying attention to the ongoing subtle changes in the natural world.

Here in West Wales I am noticing that the rowan berries, blackberries and sloes of autumn have almost completely disappeared from the hedgerows, replaced by haws and holly berries. A few days ago I saw my first small flock of starlings - not enough to create a magical murmuration, but soon more and more will be gathering as they prepare to roost. The weather is still mostly mild, but we have had a few frosts. By the time a few more weeks have passed, it will almost certainly be much colder with frosty nights the norm. I hope I will be seeing some breath-taking starling murmurations, and the hungry birds will have begun to eat the winter berries and haws, leaving the hedges looking ever more stark. 

By watching winter change and develop through all its stages, we can move away from that mindset of having to endure an endless, dreary procession of cold, dark days instead seeing winter as a dynamic, constantly evolving being which we can savour and engage with. 

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 9

Note the Changes

Try to take a walk in nature each day, or failing that spend daily time in the garden or park. If you are unable to physically get out, it's still possible to observe the changes through a window by watching how the weather, trees, birds, animals, plants etc in your area adjust and transform week by week. Make notes in your journal about your observations. Press leaves and flowers, take photos, make sketches, make lists of the species you identify. As time passes, look back and see how winter has developed and changed over the weeks...

Paying It Forward: Tale of a Pigeon

I was locking the door when it happened. Leaving work, turning the key in the lock when I heard a flutter behind me. I thought something had fallen from my bag and turned to see what I had dropped. To my surprise a small pigeon stood there looking up at me, head cocked, eyes bright. 

I finished locking the door and stepped gently back, not wanting to frighten the bird who I assumed had not seen me standing in the alcove when she'd flown down. Un-phased by my movement towards her she watched as I pulled the wrought iron gates closed and secured the padlocks. I was expecting her to fly off at any moment, but still she calmly watched me, seemingly completely unafraid. There are always pigeons here in the Square, but normally they keep a safe distance from the humans with whom they share the town centre. I began to wonder if she was perhaps a lost and exhausted racing pigeon, or maybe injured in some way. Carefully I knelt down and slowly extended a hand. She didn't flinch, just watched me calmly, expectantly.

Gently, I stroked the soft grey feathers of her back. She accepted the gesture and didn't attempt to escape. Now I was sure something was wrong, and I wondered what I could do. The daylight was fading and I didn't want to leave her like this, vulnerable and alone. I reasoned that if she was a racing pigeon perhaps she was hungry and expecting that a human would feed her. I don't usually have food with me, in fact I normally do my grocery shopping after work. But, that day as luck would have it, I just happened to have some left over cake in a box in my bag. I have a favourite tea shop where I usually buy myself a takeaway coffee and sometimes some lunch or a piece of cake on the days when I'm working in town. The owners and staff have become good friends and have helped me out on numerous occasions - such as the time the padlocks on the gate seized up so that I couldn't get into work, and they came to the rescue with a tin of WD40 (for the locks) and a much needed cup of coffee (for me). That very afternoon, they just happened to have gifted me with a complementary coffee - and a slice of cake. It was lemon drizzle cake - my favourite! - but I had exercised will-power (an unusual occurrence) and only eaten half the slice, planning to eat the rest for dessert that evening. 

I broke off a small corner of the cake and put it on the ground in front of her to see what she would do. She gobbled it up quickly and looked up for more. I broke off more, and then more pieces which she consumed eagerly. I mourned the loss of my cake but reasoned that her need was greater than mine. Eventually she had the whole thing, and I waited while she ate her fill. I still didn't know if she was injured, and I know how cruel some people can be to pigeons - or any vulnerable creature - so I didn't want to leave her alone until I knew she was OK.

When she was finally sated I slowly reached out a hand again. I couldn't see a ring on her legs, so I assumed she wasn't a racing pigeon after all. Her reluctance to fly away when I approached her therefore suggested she was probably injured. If she would still let me touch her, I decided, I would pick her up and take her home and keep her safe overnight before getting her checked over by a vet the next day. She still seemed unafraid, but this time she neatly side-stepped every attempt to actually touch her. Now I was in a bind. I was still loathe to leave her alone and defenceless, but if I couldn't pick her up I wouldn't be able to move her to a place of safety. 

For about five minutes we stood there side by side, strange companions on the emptying streets. I was wondering what on earth I was going to do. The light was fading fast and the streetlights began to come on. I was already late, but how could I leave an injured bird? And then, without warning, she suddenly took off in graceful flight, clearly not injured at all. She circled once round my head as if in farewell and was gone, off into the sky. I watched her disappear behind the rooftops, hugely relieved that she was OK. She must have been extremely hungry to beg me for food and let me touch her the way she had, but the cake had given her the energy she needed to keep her safe for now.

It was a strange encounter. It was strange that on that day, I happened to have the wherewithal to help when I met a creature in need. It was strange that she fell out of the sky at my feet at that very moment, when a few minutes later I would have been away down the street on my way home. Something about the encounter seemed magical and meaningful. I still remember the softness of her feathers and the trust in her eyes. I feel blessed by circumstance and serendipity. 

On the next working day, as I arrived back in the Square a crow flew down. Watching me closely but keeping a wary distance, he made eye contact and cawed loudly several times, then made a kind of nod of his head before flying off. Call me crazy, but I felt like I was being thanked on behalf of the town birds. 

Thanks to a kind and unexpected gift, I was able to help a hungry bird and felt blessed by the opportunity to do so. It's a paradox, but it's true: in giving, we receive. May we all have cake in our bag to offer when it's needed! Pay it forward people, pay it forward.

Blackberry Daydreams

 

It seems to be a good year for blackberries - or perhaps it's just because my workload has lessened dramatically due to the pandemic and I have the unaccustomed luxury of enough time to wander, harvesting the hedgerows.

The September air is cool, with still a touch of warmth when the sun breaks through. Abundant clusters of blackberries hang among the tangle of brambles. I push my way in, thorns snagging my clothes and hair. Delicately I pluck the tender berries and the pile in my basket grows rapidly. Despite my care, my fingers are soon stained with purple juice, and my arms and hands scratched. 

The blackberries look to me like tiny jewelled ornaments, each tiny drupelet like a shining bead of jet or onyx. They are a treasure, an abundant late-summer gift of delicious fruit that can be enjoyed in the moment or harvested and transformed into preserves to bring a taste of summer in the depths of winter. Across the valley the jays screech in the oaks as they harvest and stash their own winter treasure trove of acorns. The jays and I, preparing for the unknown times ahead, gratefully gather the plenty that is offered us. We know that nothing is certain.

As we take, we give too. We help the blackberries and oaks by dispersing their seeds. Jays (along with squirrels) are actually responsible for planting the vast majority of oak trees. They bury acorns to keep as a winter food source - and acorns need to be covered with soil to germinate. A single jay can collect up to 5,000 acorns so it's inevitable that some of their haul will remain buried and later sprout into new trees. Likewise, the seeds of consumed blackberries pass unharmed through the digestive tracts of birds, animals and humans and are distributed when they re-emerge at the end of the process! The blackberries, the jays, the oak trees, remind me that we are all part of the intricately woven and interconnected web of life.

My basket is almost full but still I comb the thicket for more treasure, peering up and down, side to side. It's amazing how a small change in the way I look at the brambles suddenly reveals new, previously hidden berries hanging in ripe clusters. What a good reminder of the importance of trying to see things from all sides and being flexible!

I pop berries in my mouth, enjoying the sweet, tangy juices - and I throw some to the eager chickens too. That's another important thing to remember - when you have plenty - share it! The blackberries give generously and it is good to follow their example. 

At last, I head back to the house. The sun, now low in the sky, slants golden light across the fields and I take a few moments to sit on the bench that overlooks the valley and watch the rooks circling their rookery in preparation for the oncoming night. Tawny owls call to each other. The air smells of the berry juice on my fingers, the spearmint next to the bench that I brushed past, and woodsmoke from a neighbour's bonfire. My hands are scratched and my hair is dishevelled but I have a basket full of ripe blackberries and the jays have their acorns. We are blessed, and we know it. 

Solstice Magic: The Tale of the Dancing Weasel

Photo credit: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mustela_nivalis_-British_Wildlife_Centre-4.jpg

One Summer Solstice morning, many years ago, T and I set off to watch the sun rise from a nearby hilltop. As we were still living in Essex at that time, there weren't an awful lot of hills to choose from, but we had carefully scouted out some east-facing fields in an elevated position that we hoped would give us a good vantage point.

It was still dark when we rose and threw on some clothes in preparation for our adventure; I grabbed a small pack containing a few ritual tools and some food and drink. We made our way out into the pre-dawn quiet and found our way into the field by torchlight, waiting expectantly in the damp chill. When the much anticipated sunrise came, it was an anticlimax. Instead of the bright golden rays I had expected, clouds blurred the horizon and the sky lightened slowly into a disappointingly grey and indistinct dawn.

Nevertheless, it was still the Summer Solstice: I drew the items I had brought with us from my pack, murmured a blessing and made a small offering to the sun, including some fruit and a small libation of mead which I left at the edge of the wheat growing in the field. We sat to eat some food ourselves and that was when the magic happened...

A movement at the edge of the wheat, close to where I had left our offering caught my eye. Only a few metres from where we sat, a small weasel appeared - apparently unafraid - and eyed us curiously. We both froze, not wanting to scare it away. The slender animal sniffed the air, completely unperturbed by our presence. Suddenly, it leaped into the air, twisting its long lithe body mid-air into a kind of somersault, landed with perfect agility and shot back into the wheat - before immediately running back out again, doubling back, leaping and twisting and capering in what appeared to be a joyous gymnastic dance. We held our breath as the weasel danced an exuberant celebration of life for precious moments, until suddenly it disappeared back into the standing wheat, and we were back in the everyday world of a grey June morning.

I have heard that weasels 'war dance' to confuse their prey before attacking, but there were no prey animals around. Perhaps it was a young animal practising and honing its hunting skills. But I like to think on that Solstice morning it was just dancing for the sheer delight of it, in celebration of life and summer and all that's good.

We may not have witnessed the awe-inspiring sunrise we had hoped for, but instead we experienced something more amazing and magical than we could have imagined. It felt like a special blessing, something I'll never forget. Moreover I learned something very important that day: The magic you go looking for may not be the magic you find - but that's all part of the magic.

May you find your own magic this Summer Solstice. Blessed Be!

Winter Light

Have you ever noticed the light has a different quality in winter? Today the low-slung sun illuminated the hills in a way that seemed to make them glow, almost as if they were lit from within. This is part of the magic of winter.

Every season has its own magic, its own flavour, its own beauty. Observing and marvelling at this ever-changing cycle delights my Pagan heart. In winter I swoon at the way the sun's slanting rays gild the delicate tracery of naked tree limbs against the slate coloured sky. I stand motionless in thrilled awe as a murmuration of starlings swirls before the oncoming dusk. I savour the call and response cries of tawny owls as evening sets in, and the unearthly scream of foxes in the deepest dark of an icy night. I revere the glacial clarity of the moon and stars in a cloudless sky. I relish the sparkle of a frosty morning, as my breath steams and my cheeks tingle with the cold.

Already the earliest signs of spring are appearing - snowdrops, pussy willows and hazel catkins, the wheeling courtship flights of ravens. The days lengthen, at first imperceptibly. Always, the wheel of the year is turning. And always there is something to marvel at, some ephemeral beauty to drink in. How can we not fall in love with the world on a daily basis? 

Blessed by Bees

The walls of the house here at Halfway Up A Hill are about 18" thick, the construction of local stone and slate. The house was built in the 1930's but its traditional style makes it look older.

In one corner of the kitchen is a cupboard, recessed into the wall adjacent to the chimney breast. Here the walls are even thicker because of the chimney. I assume the cupboard was used as a primitive fridge, as there's a vent to the outside that allows the circulation of fresh air. In winter it's quite effective, and we have used it to store excess fruit and vegetables when our own fridge has been struggling to cope (although mostly it has cookware and crockery in it).

A couple of weeks ago I returned home from work to find the kitchen full of honeybees. They were entering through the vent in the cupboard - a swarm had found the vent and decided it looked like the perfect place to set up their new colony. By opening the windows and blocking the vent where it opened into the cupboard I managed to vacate the kitchen of bees. I imagined that with the vent blocked inside, there wouldn't be enough room for the new hive and the colony would vacate. But there must be more space in the walls than I imagined as they have stuck around, and can be seen industriously zooming in and out of the vent in the outer wall by the patio at the side of the house. It's just above head height, so the bees and I don't bother each other in our comings and goings. I decided I rather liked having them there, it feels like a blessing on the house. 

This morning I discovered something even more wondrous: when I open the cupboard I can faintly hear the humming of the hive, hundreds of bees gently buzzing as they go about their work building and tending their home. It sounds like some kind of distant choir. It's the kind of soothing sound that could lull you to sleep, like distant gulls and gentle waves on the shore or the soft patter of rain on leaves. 

I imagine the orderly world taking shape within the walls of the house, and the sweetness being created there. My house is truly blessed by bees.

Checking In

It has been a good long time since I last posted - nearly a year. So I just wanted to check in and say, I'm still here, still breathing, and I'm still *intending* to write a blog! 

Life has been so busy of late that on the rare occasions that I get time to write I am almost always too tired to dredge up any inspiration or too brain dead to articulate my thoughts clearly. So as a quick'n'easy cheat post - a bit of a TV dinner of a post in fact - here are a few photos of life in Moonrootland over the last 12 months. I hope to be back with something a bit more substantial and nourishing in the not too distant future!