Category Archives: Winter

Imbolc Symbolism for the North Eastern US: Reflections on the Landscape

Imbolc was traditionally a Gaelic holiday celebrated in the holiday celebrating the first signs of spring. When I first started down the path of Druidry, I never felt very connected to Imbolc as a holiday because there seemed to be this huge disconnection between the holiday’s traditional roots and what I was seeing on my own landscape. Part of this is that the weather in the UK is much milder than where I’ve lived and I’m more likely to see at the Spring Equinox–or later–what might be first signs of spring at Imbolc. I thought it was funny when I’d see rituals where I should decorate my altar with snowdrops when they were still another 1-2 months away from coming forth!

 

Snowfall at our homestead

Reflections on Imbolc

My own issue with Imbolc speaks to what I see as one of the major challenges we have in Druidry, here in North America and globally:  It’s actually pretty hard to take the traditions of ancestors that were rooted in one place (the British Isles) and port it to another place (like North America). Once they are removed from their context, they lose a lot of rich meaning.  But it’s not just a contextual problem, but also a lifestyle one: the ancestors of the druid tradition also lived a non-industrial agrarian life, so different from modern life. Some of the traditional activities don’t make sense to you if you are living, say, an urban lifestyle (like the lactating of ewes!)  Further, as an animist, I don’t get into the deity specific focuses of the holiday, creating yet another kind of disconnection. So there are multiple points of disconnection: disconnection with the way of life of the people who originated the holiday, a disconnection with what is happening on my own landscape, and also, perhaps a cultural disconnection.

 

What I thought I’d do in this piece is share with you some of my own Imbolc symbolism, adapted for someone living in the Allegheny Mountains of Western PA, and talk about the stories behind the symbols and how I got there. I hope this will offer an example of how to adapt a holiday associated with the druid tradition (but maybe one you don’t immediately resonate with) to your local landscape. This allows you to practice a wildcrafted and ecoregional druidry that is more rooted in local landscape and place  I do think it’s important to recognize the difference between activities, observances, and rituals–celebrating a holiday to me isn’t just about doing a particular ritual, but rather, engaging in a number of activities and observances that mark that time of year. Thus, I’m not really talking much about rituals here, but more, my adapted Imbolc themes. And like those original peoples who developed holidays, these choices are very rooted in my own local landscape, regional culture, and my lifestyle.  I hope that you can use them as a guide for developing your own.

 

Weather, Groundhogs, and Prognostication.

This first symbol is rooted in the rodent weather prognostication that happens throughout the US.  Throughout the US in several different states that have German roots, American Groundhogs look to see their shadows and foretell the coming of spring. I happen to live about 45 minutes south of the most famous Groundhog of them all, Punxatawney Phil. Today marks Phil’s 134 years of weather predictions. Yet, this tradition is much older.  The tradition is rooted in Germany, where they used a European Badger to predict the weather this time of year. When the PA Germans moved here to Pennsylvania, they found that the Groundhog (or Woodchuck) was the more appropriate prognosticator, and the tradition has continued on. All throughout PA and now in many other states, the Groundhog is honored this time of year for his service in helping predict the end of winter. There’s a lot of fun that you can have in honoring the groundhog and doing some prediction of your own this time of year. If we broaden this tradition for personal celebration, you might think about Imbolc as being a good time to do some divination for things to come.

 

Strategy for Selecting this Symbol: One strategy for adapting your Druidry locally is to look at more local or regional customs that might align with your holiday. Look for annual traditions, large festivals, or other traditions that might take place at or near your holiday. In my case, adding Groundhog Day and prognostication/divination to my wheel of the year was an easy choice, both because of where I live but also because of my own cultural heritage as having many PA Dutch ancestors.

 

Tapping the Maple Trees

 

Tapping maple trees

Tapping maple trees

The second symbol that has become a cornerstone of my own Imbolc traditions is tapping the maple trees. The sap in the trees will run when the temperatures go above freezing during the day and below freezing at night. For where I live, this almost always occurs in the two weeks around Imbolc. In fact, I consider Imbolc officially “here” the first day when the sap is running and I do my best to tap the trees on that day if possible (which doesn’t always happen, but usually I can get within a day or two!) A big part of my Imbolc celebrations includes tapping the trees, singing to them, making offerings to the trees and doing ritual work, and drinking their fresh sap as a blessing and cleansing. Usually, between Imbolc and the Spring Equinox, we get together with some other friends and do a day of boiling the sap–a way to share in community and the activity of the season.

 

Strategy for Selecting this Symbol: A lot of the druid wheel of the year holidays focus on changes in the landscape. Start by observing the time of year and look to see what is happening around you.  What is happening with wildlife? Precipitation and weather? Plants and trees? Through these observations, you’ll see that things can be both very quick (e.g. the changes that happen on the landscape after a hard frost) or quite subtle. It took me a number of years–and access to other people who knew about maple sugaring–to select this symbol and practice. Now, it is absolutely central to my activities this year and is certainly part of our regional culture here.

 

Snow Spirals and Ice Observations

Another Imbolc spiral - this one in the sacred circle

Snow spiral in sacred grove

The weather this time of year is very dynamic, perhaps more so than most other times a year, at least in this ecoregion. We have periods of snow, periods of ice, and periods where the temperatures thaw. I like to do a lot of work with snow and ice this time of year, tied to what is happening in the landscape. I pay attention to the snow and ice, I make snow spirals to bless and protect the land.  I also like to spend extra time at our stream and pond observing the melting and freezing of the waters.

Strategy for Selecting this Practice: For each of the eight holidays, I like to spend time in observation of the landscape. I usually change the focus of my observations based on the holiday–for this holiday, the waters are the most dynamic and hence, where I spend some of my focus.

 

The Butzemann (Magical Scarecrow)

The newest addition to my own Imbolc celebrations is the creation of the Butzemann.  My

Butzemann from 2019

grandmother used to keep a scarecrow in her garden, and I always thought it had a life of its own–in fact, traditionally, many scarecrows did! The Butzemann is another tradition that comes from PA Dutch culture and is, essentially, a magical protective scarecrow.  You build the Butzemann at Imbolc, out of things that will burn, preferably, materials from last year’s garden and from the land around you.  At the spring equinox, you walk the Butzemann around the property and invite a good, protective spirit into the Butzemann. You give the Butzemann a name (there are some fairly complex traditions around naming, but essentially each year, you add a new name to your Butzemann, but keep all the older names as additional names.  Eventually, the name gets quite long indeed, demonstrating the Butzemann’s legacy over the years). You hang the Butzemann somewhere prominent for the remainder of the year, where it can protect your crops, flocks, and home for the growing season. I also like to make offerings to my Butzeman at each of the major holidays where he is active (Beltane, Summer Solstice, Lughnasadh, and the Fall Equinox). At the end of the growing season, by no later than Samhain, you burn the Butzemann so his spirit can go on the wild hunt.  If you don’t burn the Butzemann, the good spirit will leave anyways and your Butzemann could become possessed with a bad spirit.  At the end of the season, you may also save some special materials to construct your Butzemann the following Imbolc.

 

Strategy for Selecting this Practice: I was so excited to learn about this practice from the folks who are developing Urglawee (PA Dutch Heathenry). I was looking for a practice that helped tie the growing season together and that would protect our flocks and land.  Wassail traditions are part of the blessing and protection fo the land but are very orchard and tree focused. This tradition offers another layer and is a wonderful way to tie the seasons together and offered me another great bioregional and cultural practice.

 

Sowing the First Seeds of the Season

Catnip seedlings!

Catnip seedlings!

On the full moon nearest to Imbolc, we start our first seeds of the year for our garden (other than garlic, which you plant the previous fall).  I think this is an important part of our traditions surrounding Imbolc because it lets us focus not on the remainder of winter (all six weeks of it, according to Punxataweney Phil) but rather, this pulls us into the light half of the year.  Tending the seeds, watching them grow, and planning for the future is a powerful reminder that spring will come again.

Strategy for Selecting this Practice: This one is fairly pragmatic.  We have big gardens on our five-acre homestead and Imbolc is usually about 12 weeks out from our first frost–the first opportunity to start seeds for the year. This is when we start slow-growing herbs like Lavender and Sage, our allium crops (onions, shallots, leeks, and chives), and our greenhouse starts. It’s more meaningful to do this work tied to a druid holiday.

 

Concluding Thoughts

As you can hopefully see from this list, I’ve rooted my own Imbolc practices and activities in a way that is tied both to my specific life (as a homesteader growing my own food in a rural environment) but also to my specific landscape and local/regional culture. While it took me a number of years, the effort and intention I put into making Imbolc “mine” has really enriched my experience of this holiday and, honestly, took it from being my least favorite to one of my favorites.  I hope these symbols and activities are useful and inspirational to you on this most sacred day.

Sacred Dreaming at the Winter Solstice

” When the body is awake the soul is its servant, and is never her own mistress. … But when the body is at rest, the soul, being set in motion and awake … has cognisance of all things-sees what is visible, hears what is audible, walks, touches, feels pain, ponders”- Hippocrates, Dreams

Entering the Dreaming (Hawthorn card from the Plant Spirit Oracle Deck)

Dreams are a critical part of what it means to be human–every night, we dream.  We may not remember our dreams.  Our dreams may be fun, terrifying, illuminating, or simply mundane.  There is magic in dreaming, and magic in our dreams. This magic of dreaming is particularly useful to consider at this time of year, at the Winter Solstice, when the darkness is all-consuming, the sun lays so low on the horizon, not even seeming to be able to bring power and light to the world.  This is the time of dreams and of the night. In today’s post, in honor of the coming winter solstice, I consider the role of dreaming and I share some dreaming techniques that you can use to deepen your relationship and attention to your dreams this time of year.

 

In the last few years, at the Winter Solstice, I’ve spent some time exploring the darkness, dreams, and the spaces of the night. Two years ago, I wrote about embracing the darkness and experiencing candlelight living. Last year, I explored how nature offers us suggestions for embracing the darkness through the quiet of the seeds and lessons of nature.  This year, we’ll explore the human realms and think about how the darkness may encourage our souls and spirits to dream and to travel beyond our physical bodies, gain messages, and gain a deeper connection with ourselves and spirit. The solstice, here in Western PA, gives us 14.5 hours of darkness–plenty of time for deep dreaming and dreamwork.  In the first part of this post, I’ll explore different ways that humanity has considered the role of dreams and dreamwork, and then in the second half of this post, I’ll share some techniques to help explore dreaming more fully.

 

Dreaming in the West: Subconscious and Psyche

In Western Culture, at least here in the US, dreams are not really given much importance, and certainly, they are considered free from mystical qualities. Modern psychologists, including those who study dreaming, see dreams only as a way for the subconscious to process our experiences. A good example of this kind of thinking is found in “Dreamtime and Dreamwork: Decoding the Language of the Night” by Stephen Krippner and colleagues from 1990. This work is a useful perspective on how psychologists view dreaming and how dreams interact with layers of the psyche. Going back further, Carl Jung recognized that humans have a psyche (a combination of the mind, the body, and feelings) and that dreams were one way in which the psyche communicated to us.  He writes:

 

“Dreams are impartial, spontaneous products of the unconscious psyche, outside the control of the will. They are pure nature; they show us the unvarnished, natural truth, and are therefore fitted, as nothing else is, to give us back an attitude that accords with our basic human nature when our consciousness has strayed too far from its foundations and run into an impasse.” –Carl Jung, Collected Works Volume 10, paragraph 317

 

Thus, within the realms of the west, dreams are mostly considered manifestations of our own psyche or subconscious.  We also have plenty of expressions to show how unimportant dreams seem to be with phrases like “only in your dreams”.  While there is certainly validity in the Western Perspective, it lacks any connection to spirit beyond us.  As a druid and an animist, I know there is much more going on than just my psyche speaking to me.

Ancient and Indigenous Understanding of Dreams

Plant material for a dreaming/journeying oil

Plant material for a dreaming/journeying oil

We might look to indigenous wisdom for an understanding of how non-industrialized cultures view dreaming.  In many native cultures, dreaming is a way to connect with spirit (ancestors, deity, etc) and hear messages and to travel in a different world, a world that is just as real as our own.  In the book Black Elk Speaks, much of the teachings that Black Elk conveys to his people were passed to him through his dreams. Dreaming was important to all of the Ogala Sioux people.  As Black Elk shares about Crazy Horse, ““Crazy Horse dreamed and went into the world where there is nothing but the spirits of all things. That is the real world that is behind this one, and everything we see here is something like a shadow from that one.”

 

The Aboriginal Austrailian Dreamtime is one of their most important concepts, the essence of who they are as people.  As described by Clanchy (1994), the Dreamtime dates back at least 65,000 years and part of it includes stories of how the universe was created, how humans were created and what their purpose was, but also that the dreamtime continues eternally and is both past, present, and future.  The Dreamtime is also the land that they inhabit, the spirit of the place. Dreams that individuals themselves have function within this culture in a variety of ways, including “dreams of passage” (den Boer, 2012) where individuals have powerful dreams surrounding various rites of passage (deaths, births, marriages, etc).

 

We can see dreams at work in various ways with the cultures that influenced modern Druidry, including the Welsh.  In the Mabinogion, The Dream of Rhonabwy, where Rhonabwy dreams for three days, visiting the time of King Arthur, engaging in battles, and playing chess.  The Irish believed and closely linked dreams and omen.  Ettlinger (1946), drawing upon a variety of ancient sources, notes that dreams to the Ancient Irish were considered divinatory, visionary, and healing.  She notes a number of different ancient Irish stories where prophetic dreams lead kings to avoid conflict or seek it out, and they often sought out advice to interpret their dreams.

 

The ancient Egyptians, and later, Romans, Greeks, and Jews created “sleep temples” where people would go, rest, be hypnotized, dream, and have their dreams analyzed.  These temples often helped people with more psychological ailments, recognizing the importance of dreams and sleeping to well being.

 

While I could present much more information here, what is presented is hopefully sufficient to demonstrate that for many pre-industrial and indigenous cultures, dreams have incredible power: they can offer us messages, connect us with our ancestors, connect us with spirits of the land or landscape, offer us augury or predict things to be, and help us connect deeply with ourselves.  While the psychic interpretation of the west is certainly *part of* dreaming, dreaming can also connect us to the metaphysical aspects of the world and spirit well beyond our own minds.

 

Dreaming the Winter Solstice: Some Dreaming Techniques

If you are going to start doing dreamwork, or pursue it at a more serious level, the Winter Solstice is the best time to begin this work–this is when night has the power, the darkness is in the landscape, and dreams have power. The deep darkness is a place of dreams, a place of spirit. Our conscious and controlling selves meld into a dream where we are simply along for the experience that is more than us and yet, intimate with us.  While we dream every night, there are a variety of tools to help us dream deeply, more powerfully, and with practice, more intentionally.  I’m going to outline a few of those practices now as a way to get started.

 

Herbal Allies for Dreaming

In what grows here in North America, Mugwort is the clear choice for dreaming.  Mugwort helps us dream powerfully and intensely, and can be useful for those who have difficulty remembering their dreams and also those who want to work on more intentional dreaming.  Mugwort, fresh or dried, can be made into a tea (don’t brew it too long or it will get very bitter), and is usually quite good when sweetened with some honey.  Mugwort can also be put in a smoking blend or smoked on its own.  You can make a dreaming oil with mugwort (and possibly other herbs like rosemary, borage, or lavender) and rub it on your temples and heart before bedtime. Finally, you can make wonderful mugwort smoke sticks (smudges) either with mugwort alone or with other herbs like sage, cedar, or rosemary.  Any kind of interaction with mugwort can put you in a place of intense dreaming–for that’s what she does–create intense dreams!

Other herbs that help with dreaming are those that calm the mind and body. Many use Valerian or Hops as aids to fall asleep more readily and stay asleep. These kinds of herbs can help put us in a ready state for sleep.

 

Mugwort gives us more access to dreams (Mugwort card from the Plant Spirit Oracle)

Grove Sleep (Temple Sleep)

A technique that I use often is derived from the Ancient Egyptian “Sleep temples” above. The goal of this is to create a sacred grove (ritual space) that allows me to experience dreaming in a more intentional and sacred way.  I recommend this practice when you can sleep in and you don’t have any pressing things on your agenda either before bed or when you wake up. The presence of a significant other can complicate this practice (or, if your significant other has a spiritual practice, you might do it together).

 

What I do is just before bed, brew up some mugwort tea and place my dream journal by my bedside. Then, I turn out the lights and leave a single candle burning.  I open up a sacred grove (using the AODA‘s solitary grove opening) in my bedroom. After I have the sacred grove open, I engage in some mind quieting and meditation techniques, lying in bed. These vary, depending on what I need and where my mind is. If my mind is racing, for example, I might engage in some empty mind meditation. If my mind is already calm, I might use some discursive meditation to help prime me for dreaming (both of these techniques are described here).  I attend to my breathing.  I fall asleep.  Usually, using this technique, the most memorable and potent dreams come in the few hours before I wake up, but this is not always the case.

 

When I wake, I write down anything of meaning in my dreams (including when I wake in the middle of the night).  Then I fall back asleep and keep dreaming.  In the morning, before I do anything else, I write down the remaining notes on my dreams and then close out the sacred grove and go about my day.

 

I don’t obviously do this every evening (that would be a lot!) but I do it often enough that it has become a regular spiritual practice of mine.  Attending to dreams in this intentional way has made my dreams not only more meaningful, but has given me more control over them as well as more chance of remembering them.  I started this practice some years ago, at the Winter Solstice, and it has become a welcome addition to my spiritual path.

 

Dream Journaling

A final dream technique I highly recommend is keeping a dream journal.  I have found that it is helpful to write down at least meaningful dreams, if not all dreams.  I kept a daily dream journal for a year, and since them, usually, write in my dream journal at least once a week.  I keep it by my bed so that I can wake up and immediately write.  If you think you will remember your dream later, I’m sure experience tells you that writing it down immediately after waking is the best way.  If you don’t have a dream journal handy and you have a powerful dream, just hit the record button on your phone or keep a little voice recorder (that is often easier than writing and turning on the light).  The important thing here is to help you remember your dreams and then, you can return to them as time passes.

 

Conclusion

Thus, at the Solstice, you can walk in the landscape of the dreamscape and see what comes. See who you meet, what spirit tells you, what your own subconscious tells you, and enjoy this dream journey! I would love to hear from my readers about your own experiences with sacred dreaming and the techniques you have developed!

 

PS: I will be taking several weeks of a hiatus from regular blogging for spending holiday time with my family, holiday travel, and rest.  I will return to blogging in early to mid-January.  Have a wonderful Winter Solstice / Alban Arthan / Holiday season, everyone!

 

References

Krippner, S. E. (1990). Dreamtime and dreamwork: Decoding the language of the night. Jeremy P. Tarcher, Inc.
Clanchy, J. (1994). Aboriginal Australia: An Introductory Reader in Aboriginal Studies.
den Boer, E. (2012). Spirit conception: Dreams in Aboriginal Australia. Dreaming, 22(3), 192–211. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0028402
Ettlinger, E. (1948). Precognitive Dreams in Celtic Legend. Folklore, 59(3), 97-117.

The Lessons of Nature at the Winter Solstice

In the fall, I always feel like I’m fighting against the coming dark at the time of the winter solstice, and each year, I have to learn the lesson anew.  This year proved particularly challenging for a few reasons. After the time changes at Daylight Savings time, and the sun starts setting at 3:30pm.  It is down by 4:30 and completely dark by 5:15pm. As a homesteader, in preparation for spring planting and the winter to come, there always seems to be so much to do.  Bringing in the harveset, preparing the greenhouse, preparing and clearing garden beds, stacking wood, cleaning gutters, shoring up the hen house, and doing all of the necessary multitude of other preparations for the coming winter.  As the fall deepens, each day, the light continues to wane, and there is less light each day to work with. On many days when I go to work, I rise before the sun rises, I am on campus all day in a windowless office, and I leave campus after the sun has set–literally never seeing the sun, sometimes for days on end. These “lack of sun” issues were certainly heightened this year, by our region having the rainiest season on record.  Many of us in Western PA felt like summer never happened; an extremely rainy and cold July and August meant that the warmth never had a chance to seep into our bones. These climate changes are the new norm, but they certainly make it difficult to adapt! Finally, and perhaps most salient, I think the cultural darkness has also left its mark on many of us in 2018; it was a hard, dark year.  No wonder as the light wanes, I found myself really mentally fighting the coming darkness of the winter solstice.

 

Snowfall at our homestead

Snowfall at our homestead

But whether or not we want to face the darkness, it is now upon us, as it will be each year of our lives.  Earlier, I wrote about embracing the darkness at the winter solstice on this blog.  I’ve also written about enacting a winter solstice vigil during the darkest night of the year and about sustainable and magical activities for the winter solstice.  In re-reading these, I remind myself that the lessons of this year are powerful, and perhaps, each year, we must learn to embrace the darkness anew. So today, I offer three additional insights for the lessons of the winter solstice and thinking about embracing the darkness during this time.

 

Lessons of Darkness, Again and Again

The irony is that in my earlier posts about the winter solstice, they seemed so certain, so firm, as if I had found the answer that helped me embrace the dark.  The truth is, for this druid at least, there is no “one” answer to addressing the coming of the darkness.  I am in a different place as the wheel turns again, and the darkness of each year finds me in a different mindset, different life circumstances, different present time.  Such that, particularly for this holiday, learning how to work with the Winter Solstice must be learned and deepened each year anew.  Each holiday on the Druid’s Wheel of the Year offers us this same lesson–a chance to deepen our experiences with the magic of that sacred time.  For Alban Arthan, the darkness requires a different kind of interaction and engagement with the world–a time of quietude, slowness, of otherness.  And we must simply let ourselves be present in it and embrace it.  And for some of us, we have to teach ourselves this lesson again each year.

 

Perhaps, saying that we have to learn a lesson is not the right way of thinking about it.  It is almost like we have to come to a place of acceptance of this time, this dark, this cold.  There is something so joyful about the light of summer, and that light is so far away. As the light wanes to nothingness, those of us who are stuck indoors at jobs may notice that all of our “light hours” are gone during the working week.  Further, the cold and dreary days set in, and some days, it hardly feels like the sun is there behind the clouds at all.  Darkness requires us to step away from “business as usual” and re-orient ourselves to this time.  Culturally, this re-orientation is extremely difficult because the hustle and bustle of the holiday season is in full effect. If anything, our lives are the most busy this time of year, yet nature is telling us hey, you’ve got to slow down.  I think this is part of why there is so much depression around the holidays: we are fighting our natural instincts. And perhaps that’s why each year,  it seems of all of the wheel of the year holidays, I find this one to be the most difficult to adapt to, to embrace, and to accept.

 

Indeed, my first lesson is that the darkness may always be difficult for many of us.  In the same way that nobody wants to have bad things happen in their life, experience pain or loss.  But like the dark, these things are inevitable, just as the darkness of the winter solstice is inevitable.

 

The Lesson of the Seed

Spirit of Black Cohosh (from my in progress plant spirit oracle deck)

Spirit of Black Cohosh (from my in progress plant spirit oracle deck)

In the last week, two seed catalogs arrived, reminding me that while it may be dark, planning for the coming season offers hope.  As I browse the seeds, thinking about their magic and life, I realize that we can learn a lot about embracing the darkness from starting seeds.  I think about all of the seeds of the self-seeding annuals, perennials, and nuts that the squirrels buried this past fall season: those seeds are there, covered in dark soil, awaiting the spring. Awaiting warmth, moisture, and a chance to grow. The darkness holds these seeds, preserves them, allows them to be in  a time of stasis before they spring forth.

 

In fact, many of the seeds of some of the most rare and medicinal plants require “cold stratification.”  The seed packets tell you to put the seeds in your refridgerator for a period of time, usually some weeks or months, for without this period of cold, the seeds will not grow. Black cohosh, a critically endagnered forest medicinal plant, is one such plant that requires cold stratification.  For years, I attempted to do just as the seed packets asked–putting them in the fridge in a damp paper towel for three months, as requeted, then planting them indoors with my other seeds and hoping they would grow.  For years, no sprouts happened. The seeds simply would not grow.  Last year, I stuck the seeds right in the ground in the fall, after clearing away and marking little areas.  Sure enough, in the spring this year, the seeds came forth and now I have several beautiful black cohosh plants growing on the property in addition to some live plants I had purhcased and planted.

 

I wonder: how many of our most sacred and magical ideas are just like that Black Cohosh, requiring that darkness and incubation period? There are seeds we plant that must have their own time of darkness and cold before they can spring forth into the light of day. We need the darkness, just as the seeds need the darkness.  We need the quiet, the slowness, the time for reflection and introspection, before the seeds of our ideas can sprout in the spring.

 

The Lesson of the Roots

Another aspect of nature reminds me of another important lesson about darkness. Roots on trees and plants are extremely sensitive and require darkness to live. If roots are exposed to air and light, they will almost immediately be damaged.  Enough exposure will kill the roots, thereby killing the plant. I remember the first time I was planting trees as a new druid.  I had no idea how sensitive roots were, and I had left a number of trees’ roots exposed to light and air while I dug holes.  These little planted seedlings struggled mightily, I hadn’t realized that I had damaged their roots by exposing them as such.  They eventually did live, but only after a tremendous amount of care: water, singing, sunlight, and sitting with them. This was certainly a powerful lesson for a new druid!

 

Roots go deep

Roots go deep

Even many root crops, like potatoes and Jerusalem Artichokes, prefer to stay in the darkness and space within the soil.  When exposed to too much light, these crops go “green”; this greening produces Solanine.  Solanine is actually slightly toxic to humans, creating symptoms of nausea and upset stomach when consumed. How ironic that that which we want to embrace–the light–is so detrimental to the root crops.

 

But there is a deep lesson here about darkness and why we need this winter solstice time. Our own roots–that of our spirits, that of our creative practices, that of the core of our beings–are in need of the same kind of darkness.  Our roots are our grounding, the place of spirit and of the soul.   If the dark offers us a time for quiet contemplation, for rest, for rejuvenation: all of this is necessary if we are to bring any fruit into the world.  Fruit will not happen without strong roots, and strong roots do not happen without darkness.  Otherwise, we are just producing Solanine.

 

Concluding Thoughts

The seed needs dark soil to spring forth.  The roots cannot be exposed to light without damaging or killing the whole plant.  Potatoes go green in the light.  Maybe we are the same. The roots of our being are found only in the times of darkness: within ourselves, in our dreams, in the promise of a new beginning, in the quietude that can only be found in rest and open time.  We need the darkness as we need the air to breathe.  Blessings to you on the upcoming long night–may your spirit soar.

 

PS:  I’ll be taking a few weeks off of blogging for some travel and deep spiritual work over this period of darkness.  I will resume blogging again in mid January!  Blessings of the snowy white pine and sheltering Eastern hemlock upon you!

 

PPS: Larisa White, who is a fellow AODA druid and fellow OBOD Mount Haemus scholar, is working on a World Druidries Survey for her 2020 OBOD Mount Hameus lecture. If you haven’t already taken it, please consider spending time taking her survey!  Here is a link.

Wildcrafted Yule Tree Ornaments – Painted Wood, Wreaths, Awens, and Pentacles

As the Winter Solstice is coming up quickly and the tree just went up this past week, I’ve been busy in my art studio and out on the land looking for great things to add to the Yule tree.  As a druid who is deeply concerned about the amount of plastic and “throw away‘ quick purchase items, like cheap plastic ornaments, I didn’t want to buy any ornaments for the tree, but rather, to make them from wildcrafted materials. So today, I wanted to share two simple ways to make nice ornaments for a Yule tree from natural materials and simple tools.

Handmade Stag and Pentacle Tree Topper with Handmade Ornaments

Handmade Stag and Pentacle Tree Topper with Handmade Ornaments

Painted or Burned Wooden Round Ornaments

One simple method for creating ornaments is a painted or woodburned wood rounds. These are simple slices of wood that you can decorate in a variety of ways–painting them, burning them, or staining them.

A variety of wood rounds that are burned or painted. These are just about ready to hang!

A variety of wood rounds that are burned or painted. These are just about ready to hang!

Obtaining Wood:

You can cut rounds from either fresh or dry (seasoned) wood.  Most wood cracks as it dries out, so if you are cutting wood rounds fresh, you want to cut extra because some will crack as it dries.  If it is already seasoned wood, you can cut it without too much concern as the cracks are already present.  Even if you find dry wood in the woods, if its a rainy year, it may still crack a bit as it dries. The longer the wood sits outdoors, the more dark areas it will have and at some point, it will start to break down.

 

You might spend time looking for wood–what I like to do is take a small foldable hand saw with me regularly on my walks or hikes, and if I see a nice piece of wood that has recently fallen, I’ll take a piece of it back with me, using it as a walking stick till I get home.  I store these in my garage, and eventually, I have a nice pile for cutting.   You want fairly long pieces for using the saws (see below).

 

Some of my favorite woods to use are sugar maple, red maple, oak (harder to woodburn), sassafras, walnut, eastern helmock, or cherry.  Different woods produce different grains and colors, which you can all use to your artistic advantage.

 

Cutting rounds: In order to cut your wood rounds, you need either a table saw or miter saw to cut them; you could also use a hand saw but it would be very tedious.  If you don’t have one, ask around; chances are, a lot of people have these saws and would be willing to cut wood rounds for you or let you take 30 min to cut your own. I was without such a saw for many years, but finally invested in my own.

 

Cut your rounds to any thickness or size.  A miter saw also lets you cut them on a nice angle.

 

If you are cutting wet or fresh wood, one of the ways to minimize cracking is to put your freshly cut wood rounds in a paper bag for a few days.  The paper bag slows down the drying and there is less cracking.

 

Regardless, you will want to wait a few days before painting or burning them to make sure they aren’t going to crack.

 

Cut rounds of different sizes and woods.

Cut rounds of different sizes and woods.

 

Decorating Wood Rounds: You can do many different things to decorate your wood rounds. If you have a woodburner, this is a great and simple way to decorate them. You can also paint them with acrylic. Wood stains are not meant to be precise and will likely leak all through your wood, so unless you are staining the round all one color (say, on top of a woodburned design), stay away from traditional wood stains.  Yes, I learned this the hard way!

 

If you are not confident in your drawing skills, two options may help you.  First, you can purchase or make stencils of simple shapes and symbols, and use a stencil technique for your wood rounds.  The second is to print out designs and use a transfer paper (available in any art or craft supply store) to transfer the design, then paint or burn over it.

 

Simple woodburned rounds

Simple woodburned rounds

 

Stick Wreaths, Awens, and Pentacle Ornaments

This second kind of ornament is a little more involved, but produces beautiful results.  For this, you will need some hand clippers or loppers, wire of various colors, wire snippers, and access to various kinds of brush, shrubbery, vines, and/or small sticks. Here’s a photo of what we will be making next.

Some ornaments laying out to dry out

Some ornaments laying out to dry out

Finding the Right Woods

To make these delightful ornaments, you need two kinds of wood: one that is relatively bendy and one that is relatively firm and less bendy. You can test the bendability of wood by trying to bend them in half–if they bend easily, you have a good “wreath” material.  If they snap, that is a good “straight” material.

Bendable material should be able to do this without snapping

Bendable material should be able to do this without snapping

Wreath materials can be a lot of different things: most woody fines work great (Fox grape, other kinds of grape, buckthorn, bittersweet, to name a few).  Willow branches are fantastic for this–look for them of various kinds near wet areas.  Other bushes and shrubbery of various kinds can also be used.  For mine, I used an unidentified shrub (that was planted by the previous owners of the land) as well as some very young dogwood branches (that I needed to cut back anyways near my coop). Ideally, you should be able to bend it at least as far as in the photo above before it snaps (if not more, in the case of many thinner vines, etc).  Thin materials and new growth are best for the smaller ornaments.  These materials *must* be cut fresh and used within a few hours or they will dry out and lose their bendable quality.

 

Straight materials can be anything that you like.  I have some really lovely rose bushes that produce thornless straight branches–I like them for the green color.  Other branches I used this time around were some beaked hazels, cherry, and some maple.

A harvest for wreath materials

A harvest for wreath materials

Plan on harvesting the woods the same day you will make your wreaths and ornaments.

 

Making the Wreath

Depending on the length of your bendy wreath materials, you will likely need 1-3 pieces of material for each wreath.  You will have to coax the material to do what you want it to do.  Start by making a circle of the initial material, tucking in the end so it is held by the wreath.

Making your first loop

Making your first loop

For this, I like to start with the thicker end first, and keep working around, twisting it as I go.  You may have to help the wood bend by slowly bending it till it will keep the bend–each wood is unique.  The stuff I’m working with for this demo was definately less bendy than willow or grape vine, but still did a fine job as long as I was patient.

Wreath - step 2

Wreath – step 2

At some point, you should be able to have the end tuck in around the wreath.  Don’t worry if its completely circular at this point yet–just keep adding material.

Wreath - Step 3

Wreath – Step 3

You can see above where I have a little bend in the wreath material–once I add more, you won’t be able to see the bend.

Wreath 4 - Adding more material

Wreath 4 – Adding more material

Now I’ve added in a second piece.  Don’t yet worry about the ends–we will deal with those at the end.  Keep wrapping the material until you get a wreath the size you want.

Wreath trimming

Wreath trimming

 

As the wood dries, it will become very tight and the wreath will hold together on its own and hold its own shape.  When the wood is wet, however, you may need to secure it with some wire (that you can remove when its dry).  You can also, at this stage, trim any ends that are sticking out (as I am doing so above) or wait till they are dry to trim them.

 

Make as many wreaths as you like!  They are great on the tree on their own, or, you can take it a step further and make an awen or pentacle.

Various wreaths drying

Various wreaths drying, some with temporary wire.  These are made of the unidentified shrub material (tan/green) and some young dogwood branches (red).

Awen Ornament

Choose three straight pieces and cut them to just larger than your wreath.  They don’t have to be perfect at this stage–you can always trim them later.

Cutting branches for an awen symbol

Cutting branches for an awen symbol

Once you have your three straight pieces, begin attaching them at the top.  Simply wrap a thin wire around the branches and the wreath a few times till they are secure.  You could alternatively try to glue them, but I don’t think this is a good idea with shrinkage. Try to attach them as solidly as you can–if you are working with wet wood, they may losen and shrink as they dry.

Close up of awen top

Close up of awen top

Awen attached at top and middle bottom.

Awen attached at top and middle bottom.

Once you have the top attached, attached the middle bottom.  Then you can decide how far out you want the two outer rays of the awen.

Finished Awen ornament

Finished Awen ornament

Pentacle Ornament

Once you get your feet wet with the awen ornament, you can tackle the more complicated pentacle ornament. This is one with rose bush branch and the shrub from my yard.

Pentacle ornament on the Yule Tree

Pentacle ornament on the Yule Tree

For this, you will want five straight pieces that have a little give in them. They should be fresh wood, as you will have to bend them a bit over each other to get the effect right. As an optional step, if your pieces are quite thick, you migth shave them down on one side. This isn’t necessary if you have thinner pieces.

Shaving down edge of pentacle pieces

Shaving down edge of pentacle pieces

Now, begin to construct the pentacle.  Start by attaching two of the pieces to the top of the pentacle.

Two pieces attached.

Two pieces attached.

Here’s how the back of this looks at this stage. You can see how if you shave it, you can get a closer fit.

Top of pentacle with wire

Top of pentacle with wire

Now, 1/5 of the way down from the top, attach the next two pieces at the point of the star.  This gives you two of the five sides attached. You can mess around with which ones should lay on top of each other as you go–some sticks will fit better on top or bottom than others.

Attaching second two pieces

Attaching second two pieces

Now, go ahead and attach the other star point that can be completed (on the bottom right). Next, add in your 5th branch and figure out how to best fit it (it might fit better under rather than over previously attached sticks).  Keep attaching each of the sides.

Pentacle with all five sticks

Pentacle with all five sticks

Finally, attach your last sticks. You work with these wet because at this later stage, you may have to bend them a little to attach them to the wreath together.

Finished pentacle

Finished pentacle

At this stage, let them dry out for at least two days. The wood may shrink a bit, which will firm up your wreaths but may require you to tighten up the wire (which you can do by putting a simple bend in it or re-wrapping it).

 

Once they are dry, if you want, you can brush these with paint or just leave them natural.

 

I hope you enjoyed this simple tutorial for creating wonderful yule ornaments!  If anyone does this, please share a link to your creations or tag the druid’s garden on Facebook or Instagram (@druidsgardenart).  Thanks!

 

The Samhain of our Lives

Just last week, we had our first hard frost. After homesteading for a number of years, you grow to be vigilant for the signs of the first frost. The air smells different somehow in the two or so weeks leading up to it. The bird and wildlife patterns change.  The nights have a crisp bite to them that they didn’t even a few days before. And then, just like magic one day, the frost is there, glistening in the morning light. The garden radically changes overnight–even for those things you covered–the entire landscape lies in disarray.

 

Sunrise at First Frost

Sunrise at First Frost

I could feel it on the air, and for the last few mornings, have been going to to see if it had arrived. That morning, I turned the corner and first saw it first on the strawberry patch–white and glistening. The frost is beautiful, magical, and yet, destructive. While the garden was growing powerfully the day before–with the last harvests of our remaining tomatoes, eggplant, beans, squash, and gourds all ripening and growing abundantly–this morning, frost covers all.  By mid-day, the garden of yesterday is but a distant memory. The garden of the frost is a disaster zone for summer crops–the tomatoes are wily, the half-ripened crookneck squash spongy on the top where the frost hit, the eggplant fallen over in sadness.  By the second day, the leaves of these plants are withered and dead, former husks of what they had been less than 48 hours before.  The first time you see this destruction, its really something to behold.  It is shocking in how the cold can do so much damage in such a little time period by a temperature difference of only a few degrees.

 

Samhain is certainly here, and already, my garden has gone through increasingly hard and bitter frosts. The temperatures continue to plummet, the leaves drop from the trees, the animals and birds fatten up, hibernate, or fly south–and winter sets in.

 

This year though, this Samhain, it seems a little different. Maybe its the general collective despair and demoralization present right now, at least here in the US, which is affecting so many (and what I was responding to in my post a few weeks ago). Maybe its the latest UN report that suggests that–if we are lucky–we have about 12 more years to stave off the worst of climate change, but only if we act now. Maybe its reading that report and knowing that action, at least in my own country, won’t happen.  And, knowing, I will have to live to see the results of inaction, results that will irrevocably harm the live and lands I hold sacred. Maybe its the growing open conversations I am having with my new college students about their own futures and their fears.  I’ve been teaching college for over a decade, but it has only been in the last 1-2 years that I’ve heard my college age students start to openly discuss these things and their impact on their futures.

 

This Samhain, the changes in the landscape and in my garden, seem to reflect the changes going on culturally.  We’ve had more than a few hard frosts.  We’ve had bitterly cold days.  Some of our favorite summer plants are dying off. I think a lot of people are asking–is this a sign of things to come?  Are the darkest times, at the Winter Solstice–still to come?

 

Kale loves the frost!

Kale loves the frost!

In my frosted garden, I turn my eyes away from the summer crops, the eggplants, squash, and tomatoes that cannot handle even a 33 degree night with cover. Instead, I look to the carrots, onions, spinach, lettuce, celery, kale and cabbage that we had planted in late July. These plants are much more resilient, and all of them are doing fine despite the glistening of frost on their leaves. Some, in fact, had been enhanced by the frost–the cabbage leaves are more succulent, the kale more sweet. Rather than harming the plants, the frost had simply made them better versions of who they already were. This, too, seems to be a powerful lesson, both for the garden and for our larger culture.

 

It seems that I’m not the only one smelling frost on the air more culturally, and processing what to do about it. A few days ago, I saw a new thread on a permaculture forum written by a 22 year old girl who was asking serious questions: “Given the state of the world, do you really think permaculture offers us what we need to save the world?  If the older leaders refuse to act, can individual action save us? And if you are using permaculture this way, how do you stay focused when all of this is happening around us?” It was a good question, a reasonable question, and had a range of useful responses. One of the most powerful responses was from a man who had seen a world war, had worked industry, and had retired to a little one-room cottage in the woods. He shared some of the things he had seen in his life and said, “Its the cycle of life. The reason we practice permaculture is that it gives us hope. This is a season, others will come and go. I always ask is how do I respond.  And my response is to hope.” I wonder, too, if that’s why so many of us practice druidry.  It gives us connection, it gives us peace, but most of all, it gives us hope.

 

The practice of druidry, of living by the seasons, helps me process the inevitability of the crisis of climate and culture that seem to be bearing down at present. Samhain is in the air, both for us this year, but also for us culturally.  It might be that this time will pass and spring will arrive quickly.  Or, it may be that the world will have to endure the difficulties of winter, for some time to come.  Most of us think, or already know, that we are in for the latter, but I must remind myself of all that I learned as a druid gardener, all that I learned from celebrating the wheel of the year is present here this Samhain.

 

So much wonderful food in the greenhouse!

So much wonderful food in the greenhouse!

As a druid homesteader, I respond to the frost–and the incoming winter– by good planning and good design. The “problem” of winter  becomes a “solution” if I simply plan accordingly. I choose my plants more carefully for the fall and winter season–knowing some are resilient and designed for the cold, and others, like the tomato, fall at the first brush with frost.  I start these plants in July, when summer appears to be endless.  But soon enough, the fall will come, and these plants will thrive.

 

Using shelter and layering, the plants can survive much more than a bit of frost. Our little greenhouse will have a third layer of protection this wee, and our spinach, lettuce, bak choi, and arugula will be able to be continually harvested till January or later. Carrots and potatoes will stay in the ground waiting to be unearthed anytime the ground is unfrozen enough for us to do so. The greenhouse itself, combined with a second inner hoop house and then a thick floating row cover offers shelter. Embedded stones and a back covered wall allow the design of the greenhouse to be even more resilient, pulling in the warmth into the stones when the sun is out. The stones radiate that heat into the soil in the cold nights. Nothing will succumb to the frost or cold in that greenhouse unless it goes considerably below freezing. And if it does, we will make our final harvests, put wood on the fire, and wait till mid February or early March when the soil to warm enough to plant again.

 

Further, as a druid gardener, I think about the “problem is the solution” from the permaculture principles.  With the right plants and planning, we can thrive and grow.  Our world *needs* to change. The current course of our society is radically unsustianable, and every bit of communication from this wonderful earth is letting us know that with in creasing frequency.  Finding new ways to live, to be, to inhabit this world will require us to adapt to the harsh realities that Samhain brings.  We can’t be tomatoes in the coming years to come: we must be kale, cabbage, carrots, tatsoi, arugula, spinach–all of the plants that can withstand the harsh winter and still offer abundance.

 

As a druid, likewise, I have many lessons that help me think about and process this difficult time. I have celebrated the turning wheel of the year and the seasons for many, many years. I know that looking to my ancestors and honoring the season in the moment brings me quietude and peace.  I also look to my ancestors to re-learn how to live more sustainably and simply, in line with the living earth. I know that winter is coming, and it will be dark, and harsh, and cold.  But somewhere in my bones, woven into my DNA, I know my ancestors got by with much less than I did, and they thrived–if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here today.  I also know of the beauty of winter when it arrives; I know of the freshness of the snowfall and the cold nights where the stars glisten.  And most of all, I know that spring will come once again.  The maples will once again begin to run, the crocuses will once again bloom.

 

 

In the meantime, I’m going to shore up this greenhouse and plant more kale.

Weather Prognostication and the Wooly Bear Caterpillar

In the last week, I’ve seen almost 50 wooly bear caterpillars. These caterpillars are also known as “wooly caterpillar”, “bear caterpillar” and “wooly worms” (latin: phyrrhartica isabella). These fuzzy, brown and black caterpillars come out just as the weather grows cold. I often find hidding in woodpiles or garden mulch getting ready to hibernate till the spring. The cold seems to summon them forth–you see nothing of them all summer, and then, a few weeks before Samhain they are everywhere. And, dear readers, they are here with a message.

 

These caterpillars, not unlike other famous wildlife in the area, have long been known to predict the harshness of winter. If a wooly bear caterpillar has more brown than black, that means the winter is mild. But, if the caterpillar has more black than brown, the winter will be tough. Here’s a graphic I made to share this wooly bear caterpillar prognostication!

 

The more advanced version of this was taught to me by my grandfather, George Custer, who said that you can “read” the beginning and end of winter with the caterpillar. The brown and black do matter, but the more black at the beginning of the caterpillar, the harsher the beginning of winter will be. The more black at the back of the caterpillar, the more harsh the end of winter will be, and the more prolonged.

Here’s some live examples from photos I’ve taken over the last few years.  This wooly was from last year (and did, in fact, predict a terribly harsh and cold winter!)

 

 

This is a wooly I just found this year–I’m hoping this little guy is right and that winter will be mild and very pleasant!

 

There are stories about where this tradition originated and how it was popularized in the mid 1800’s (you can read more here). This particular folk tradition appears to exist all along the Appalachian mountains, anywhere that the caterpillar typically lives. And the wooly bear is not the only weather prognosticator in this region; we also have Punxsutawney Phil, the groundhog 45 minutes north of where I live who also does weather predictions about winter and the coming of spring.

 

I think that embracing these kinds of folk traditions is an important part of rewilding our druid and nature-based spiritual practices. These kinds of locally-based traditions get is more intune and aware of our surroundings.  And folk traditions, whether rooted or not in reality, have tremendous power.

 

Before modern weather prediction, humans relied on a large number of subtle cute from the land and clouds to know what kinds of weather was happening and what to expect both short term and throughout the winter.  Preparation for winter, effective preparation, was critical to survival.  Being able to read the land in this way was a skill that many people once had. I don’t think a lot of us realize how much we see without understanding.  A book ( Finding Your Way Without a Map or Compass by Harold Gatty).  really helped illustrate just how much I didn’t know, and Gatty’s book is a great place to start regaining this lost wisdom.  Gatty shares a lot of information about how to read the landscape, the clouds, the trees, and so on to establish prevailing wind patterns, read the weather, and get from one place to another. His is a rather scientific and observational approach. I like to combine his approach with more esoteric approaches, like the wooly bear’s weather predictions. The combination of these things can help us be more aware and prepared in our environment.

 

The Wooly Caterpillar!

The Wooly Caterpillar!

 

I love seeing the wooly bear caterpillars this time of year. Yes, they say, winter is coming. And yes, you need to prepare. I think its great that they live in my woodpile–just what I need to be attending to before winter comes. I hope that you, dear readers, are settling in. The caterpillars tell me that winter will be fairly mild this year.

 

(I’d also be delighted to hear about other folk customs of similar animal/insect divinations if you have any to share!)

Diary of a Land Healer: March/April

Mid-March - Crocus in the Snow

Mid-March – Crocus in the Snow

The landscape waits, with bated breath, for the warmth to finally arrive. The last two months have been unseasonably cold, and the longer that time passes, more anticipation is present in the air. The plants and buds swell, but are unwilling to come out while the temperatures still go into the teens at night. At Imbolc, Punxsutawney Phil, our local divination oracle, predicted six weeks of winter, but in truth, winter has turned from 6 weeks more, to 12 weeks more, and now almost to 18. Just two days ago, the weather broke, and it seems that spring is finally in the air. Here at the homestead, we are all growing weary. Each morning, my cat Acorn runs to the door, ready to go outside and explore.  When I open the door for her, a breath of cold air hits her face and she recoils back into the warm house. She looks up at me with a look: “fix this, human.” I laugh and tell her that we are all waiting for the warmth come and to stay–the trees, the river, the cats, and certainly, the humans. The humans in the area are running out of wood and fuel, and this situation is certainly causing financial strain for many winter drags on. Even someone such as myself, who revels and glories in the winter and the snow, has a limit–and I think I passed it as we moved into April and the cold and snow showed no signs of breaking.  Itching to be in the garden and in my kayak, itching for the spring to finally arrive. Still, the dark and cold of late winter and early spring offers a number of healing lessons, which we’ll explore today.

 

This is my “diary of a land healer series”, where, once a month I write about and document the changes on the landscape here at my home as I collaborate with the land for healing and regeneration.  These are in-progress thoughts as the seasons go on. You can read the first two entries here: January and February.

 

The Lesson of “Should Be’s”

This unseasonably cold spring offers a number of powerful lessons. The first is in studying people’s reactions to the cold vs. the land’s reactions to the cold. Humans have grown to expect predictable certainty; the certainty of the seasons coming on a schedule that we could depend on, the certainty of USDA zones and last frost dates. But that’s not what this planet can offer us anymore. Predictable certainty says that by mid April, we “should be” firmly in the spring months. There “should be” buds and flowers. There “should be” warmth. But climate change prediction models say otherwise–the East Coast of the USA, where I live, is likely to see shorter springs and longer winters, particularly as the jet stream continues to shift. The truth is that spring will come, but it may take longer than any of us would like. Spring will come and frost will come, and summer and fall will also come–but no longer on predictable schedules. The daffodils understand this–they simply wait.  The animals and insects understand this–they wait. The flowers and seeds understand this–they, too, wait.

 

It seems that the bulk of nature here on this land has less of a problem waiting and adapting to the changing and unpredictable climate–but humans certainly do.  I have found that there are a few things we can do to acclimate.  First, I have found it helpful to stop thinking in terms of “should be’s” and start thinking in terms of resiliency. Resiliency is the capacity to endure, to adapt, and to be ready for anything. I’ve worked hard to this in this extended winter season to do so, knowing that each year will be less and less predictable than the last. From a gardening perspective, this means planning for these climate extremes. One of my favorite gardening books, Carol Deppe’s The Resilient Gardener tackles this exact issue–she suggests we plant and plan gardens with the understanding that climate unpredictability and uncertainty will happen.  A resilent garden is not surprised when it takes till June to get warmth, or when it warms up in February–plans are in place for both situations. Also, using equipment to mitigate tempreature extremes can also help us be resilent gardeners, things like greenhouses, hoop houses. Planting polycultures of many species rather than monocultures of a single species, too, helps the ecosystem adapt and thrive and all of us become a bit more resilient.

 

In our broader culture, however, this same unpredictability and need for resiliency is unfortunately very present. I think that a lot of us are having a hard time with this extended winter season because of the state of the world and the political turmoil we face, particularly those of us living in the current political climate in the USA. We are so tired of the cold, and yet the cold keeps coming. We are so tired of all of the ridiculous drama, the media fiascos, the lack of integrity in leadership. There is not a single person I know that isn’t weary, and the dark in the cold winter months, especially as spring just doesn’t seem to come, are a reflection of what we experience culturally. But this same lesson that nature provides us concerning resiliency is also meaningful: learn to live with the unpredictability and find ways of adapting to that which we cannot control, just like the ecosystem does. I wrote about a few druid-influenced strategies to do this here.

 

April Snowfall

April Snowfall

And yet, the promise of spring is still in the air.  Despite the snowfall last week that blanketed the ground with eight inches and then melted by midday–adaptation and resiliency is the lesson here. The only constant is that change happens, sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always change. Living here on this land teaches me that, despite the cold, spring will return again.

 

The Lesson of Carrying Capacity

During our extended winter season, I’ve also been taking a lot of time to reflect on the journey that brought me to this land, to be here and present. Late winter/early spring is a useful time for reflection. I begin my druid your journey 12 years ago on the spring equinox, and every year on the equinox, I take some time to reflect back on that journey by reading my old journals. What strikes me about the last year of this journey is that I finally faced a lot of my fears. I face the fear of being alone, and the fear of feeling I wasn’t good enough if I wasn’t doing it all. I faced the fact that just like the land, I have limits and they are important to recognize.

 

The land speaks to this lesson: this land here, and all land, and our entire planet, has a certain carrying capacity. This carrying capacity is what the land can support: how many humans, how many plants, how many trees, and so forth. There are limits to how much abundance it can produce, how many mouths it can feed, and so forth. The land here is a powerful lesson in this: my current land is at a severely diminished carrying capacity for several reasons: a large swath of lawn which produces no food or habitat (soon to be transformed into gardens), a damged forest due to sustainable logging (which I spoke about more in January’s post in this series). As I wrote about in this series in January, I can see this diminished carrying capacity in people who have been the victims of trauma and pain–we can no longer offer as much light to the world. Like the land here, we need time to heal and grow.

 

Humans in Westernized society don’t like the word “limit”; we see it as something  negative, something to overcome and break through. But that’s not the way nature works–we live on a finite planet with resources that are growing more scarce. Our land has her limits.  This land, here, also has her limits–five acres can only produce so much. But the more that we learn to work with her, rather than against her, the more that we can think about that carrying capacity as a good thing–and work to increase the damage that has been done to so much of our land. Here, in a few short years, through the collaboration of humans and nature to regenerate and heal this ecosystem, the land will become an abundant place with regenerated ecosystems and a much higher carrying capacity.  She will still have limits, although she will be used to her full capacity and bursting with life.

 

Of Daffodils and Dogsbane

Not yet - Daffodils in March

Not yet – Daffodils in March

We’ve been talking on this blog before about growing where you’re planted, and I really like that metaphor for this time of year becuase of the early spring flowers. While the temperatures remained cold, the daffodil buds swollen but closed, waiting to emerge. I kept visiting them, and they kept saying to me, “not yet.” As soon as the temperature hit 70 this past Friday, the daffodils knew the time had come and they all burst forth. As I walk among the blooming daffodils, they offer us a lesson of hope. On this land, the patches of daffodils are all through the forest floor in the woods, even along the floodplane and right next to the stream (which I wrote about in February’s entry). This afternoon, they are calling for almost 2″ of rain, and these big patches of blooming daffodils may end up underwater as the floods come again. Given the size of the patches of daffodios, I know that if the waters come up, these daffodils will endure–they will just go under until the waters receed again.  The daffodils are opportunists and offer lessons in adaptation.

 

Even the dead husks of the plants from the previous season, however, offer promise. Another exciting find on a recent walk was the dead stalks of dogbane, it is a kind of milkweed that is used for cordage and is well loved by bees and butterflies. I harvested a number of the dead stalks from last season, spreading the seeds all along the field. As I harvest the stalks, I spread the seeds encouraging this patch to grow even more abundant than it already has been. Finding the dogbane offers a wonderful reminder that nature keeps on giving, even when it appears like the land is barren. In fact, this time of year is a perfect time to harvest dogbane–a wonderful natural crafting material (I’ll share more about this in an upcoming post). What appeared to be a barren and snowy field has much to offer, for those with eyes to see.

 

And there they are!

And there they are!

Closing

I know that things will start to move quickly now that the warmth is coming back into the world. In the last few days, it feels like spring is finally in the air. The land will grow and heal, and each day new blessings await. I am thankful for the lessons of resiliency, carrying capacity, daffodils and dogbane, and am once again grateful to be in the light half of the year.