The second of the harvest festivals after Lughnasadh, at the Autumn Equinox day and night are of equal length – and light and dark are held in balance. Then the weather begins to grow colder and the days shorter, giving way to longer nights until the Winter Solstice. During the Autumn and Spring Equinoxes, the sun rises and sets at the midpoint between its furthest northern and southern positions, marking a seasonal shift between these two extremes. The Celts, skilled astronomical observers, noticed these points in the solar year as times of change, tidal shifts in the productivity of the earth herself, which were of great spiritual as well as practical significance. In the northern hemisphere, the Autumn Equinox takes place on a day between 20–23 September; in the southern hemisphere it falls between 20–23 March.
Key Themes
Equinox
balance
equal nights and days
Celebrating and honouring
darkness and lightness
taking stock
gathering in
preparing resources
gratitude
fruition
completion
contentment
fulfilment
harvest of the soul
As the summer draws to a close, its last days are filled with a special brilliance and abundance, unparalleled throughout the year. There is a mellow quality to the light, as the sun is lower upon the horizon. Life is now at its most abundant; the work of the spring and summer is coming to completion. The Autumn Equinox is a time of fruitfulness, with the turning leaves painting the forest in fiery tones, the smell of wood smoke upon the first cold winds and the scent of ripe apples in the orchards.
Now is the time to reap the rewards of our year and consider our own harvest. Have our activities produced the results we desired? Now we take stock, learn from our mistakes and preserve our resources for the winter ahead. This might be anything from storing harvested fruit and filling up the wood store to making sure we’ve had enough days out in the sunshine to cheer us through the grey winter months, and put sufficient money in the bank to pay the cold-weather fuel bills.
Known as Alban Elfed, ‘the light of the water’, to the Druids, the Autumn Equinox is a time of completion, when projects begun at the time of promise, the Spring Equinox, come into fruition. This can be seen in the fruit in the orchard and the berries on the bramble, and in our lives where the plans of spring and the busyness of summer have, hopefully, also led to the harvest. This is the time to draw inward once again to the comforts of the hearth and prepare for the dreaming season of winter ahead. On the wheel of the year, the Autumn Equinox, related to the element of water, is in the west, the position of old age, the setting sun and the gateway to the otherworld.
Another, modern name for the Autumn Equinox is ‘The Feast of Avalon’, referring to the sacredness of the apple at this time and also to Avalon, the magical island associated with Arthurian legend that is the gateway to the Celtic otherworld, the land of the dead. In this way we can see how the lore of the autumn and harvest festivals of Lughnasadh and the equinox gently give way to the great festival of Samhain, or Halloween.
Harvest time in the fields
There are many sacred sites around the world aligned to the equinoctial sunrise or sunset. One of the most famous is found at Loughcrew in Ireland, a complex of Neolithic stone structures also known as Sliabh na Callighe or ‘hills of the veiled one’ (Calliaghe or Cailleach being a Gaelic term for an old woman or magical hag, an ancient goddess). At the equinoxes, the rising sun penetrates the passage tomb known as Cairn T, illuminating the elaborate stone carvings within. Loughcrew is over 5,000 years old, and may have been a place of equinoctial pilgrimage for much of that time, as it was used well into the Celtic Iron Age. It is now regularly visited and honoured by Irish pagans and Druids, their ascent up the hill to its summit perhaps following the same path their ancestors took so long ago.
On the Utah–Colorado border is Hovenweep Castle, built c. 1200 by the Anasazi people. In one room of the western tower, two doors are aligned with the position on the horizon of the setting sun at the equinoxes, allowing a beam of light to penetrate the heart of the structure. At Chichén Itzá in Mexico, there’s an even more spectacular effect at sunset on the equinoxes, when a beam of sunlight snakes down the northern staircase of the pyramid of Kukulkan, as if the great serpent god Kukulkan himself were descending.
In Celtic Scotland the Autumn Equinox celebrations were joyous occasions, accompanied by feasts and dancing. These practices later merged with the Christian celebration of Michaelmas on 29 September (see page 195), but traces of their pagan origins remained in a ritualized dance known as Cailleach an Dudain (‘hag of the mill dust’), which played out the mysteries of the turning of the seasons and the way Mother Earth lies dormant in winter and rises again in spring. Pagan beliefs were also evident in some areas in the bringing in of the last sheaves of harvest, where the corn spirit was thought to take refuge. To cut them was to slay the spirit, so it became tradition to bind the last sheaf and make a ritual of reaping it.
This magical last sheaf was known in different parts of Britain as the ‘mare’, ‘neck’ or ‘kern baby’; in the Highlands it was called the ‘maiden’ and was often harvested by the children. It was then woven into a corn fetish, a crude straw figure that was placed above the hearth until the following year when its pieces were scattered in the fields, imbuing the crop with the corn spirit once more. In the Hebrides the last sheaf was known as the Cailleach (‘the hag’, see also page 228) and great care was taken not to take the last farm reaping, ‘lest the Cailleach stay with you all winter’. In South Wales this harvesting tradition was called Y Gaseg Fedi (‘harvest mare’) and the last sheaf of corn was thought to convey luck and fertility for the coming year. It was reaped in a sickle-throwing competition, the winner being the one to take it home. Great fights to take the sheaf from the victor would sometimes ensue, so the luck could go to another house.
The last sheaf was often bound into a female form and its various names mentioned above hint at this being a forgotten Celtic grain goddess, now lost to antiquity. The mare is a totem animal in the British Isles and Ireland, a symbol of the goddess of the land, and of sovereignty, while ‘Cailleach’ and ‘maiden’ are also reminiscent of ancient goddess forms. In Somerset these fetishes were called the ‘harvest queen’, a figure who seems to have been embodied in harvest festivities across the British Isles in various forms, including by women in costume. The tradition of making corn dollies (see page 205) is a more modern development of this practice, and one demanding great skill.
The Abbots Bromley Horn Dance takes place in Staffordshire in early September. These days it begins with a church service, after which the six ‘deermen’ collect their horns – reindeer antlers preserved in the town since the 11th century (although they are thought to have replaced far older ones) – and perform a ritualized dance in various locations in the village and its surroundings. This dance may well be a surviving thread of ancient fertility magic, to ensure good luck on the hunt in the coming winter. The six antlered dancers are accompanied by six others, including Maid Marian, perhaps once a goddess figure, and the famous Hobby Horse (see page 98), another ancient figure thought to be a harbinger of fertility magic, bringing in the change of season. The ancient revels hark back to a time when the blessing of the spirits of the forest and the hunt was required, now that summer was at an end and winter was on the horizon.
Much of the sacred flavour and pagan ritual of early harvest and Autumn Equinox celebrations seems to have been transplanted to the Hebridean feast of Michaelmas, held on 29 September. St Michael is the patron saint of the sea, something central to any islander’s survival. On Michaelmas Eve the women, often the eldest daughter, would bake a special bread called a struan (see page 210). In the morning everyone gathered for a church service followed by a great meal and procession sunwise or deiseil (clockwise) around the church, with hymns and songs, in honour of those lost at sea. In some places the struan would be eaten, while in others it would be hidden for the children to find – such activities are likely to be remnants of yet older traditions of leaving offerings to the spirits or ‘the little people’, for their blessing and continued goodwill.
The practice of making offerings to the spirits of the earth, crops or sea, as a way of thanking and honouring them at this time of autumnal abundance, is both ancient and widespread, and can be a way of deepening our connection to the landscape and its inherent consciousness, and feeling gratitude for our own blessings.
Choose a day around the equinox and prepare a small cake, perhaps a traditional struan or a bird seedcake. Make sure that your offering is biodegradable and can be eaten safely by the wild animals in your area.
Find a suitable spot, such as a tree in your garden or a local park, and place your offering on the ground. In your own words, say thank you to all the forms of life that dwell there. You could say something like this:
‘Spirits of this garden, spirits of bird and badger, fox and mouse, faerie spirits, spirits of wind and rain, of river and soil, thank you, for all your gifts, for all that you are, in making this blessed earth.’
Perhaps follow this up by making a gift to a food bank or some other charitable donation to a local cause.
Avalon, the otherworldly Isle of Apples of Arthurian legend, is a place of healing and respite, where the seeker finds wholeness and communion with the Divine. The apple in the Celtic tradition is a tree of healing and wholeness, not only in a physical sense but also in a spiritual one, as this tree is associated with the soul. In many ways the symbol of the apple can be seen as interchangeable with that of the grail and the cauldron (standing for the womb and the goddess). In the Celtic mind, healing comes not through asceticism but rather through the regeneration of our physical senses and our acceptance of our nature; through complete immersion in the present and the human experience; through the sensuality and eroticism of nature and our place within it. Thus the apple also signifies pleasure, sexuality, knowledge, abundance and generosity. Wholeness in this sense sees no division between spirit and physicality, between the individual and the collective, between the present and the infinite. And so Avalon offers unconditional love and healing to those who reach its shore. Like the grail and images of heaven, the apple and the Isle of Avalon signify the completion of the soul’s journey into awareness of itself, into this sense of wholeness. It is no surprise, therefore, that the apple became a symbol for sin in later cultures, which focused on empowering forces outside oneself rather than on knowledge of the divine within.
According to legend, the Isle of Avalon was ruled over by Avalloc, or Afallach, also named after the apple. Now largely forgotten, Avalloc, an early Green Man, is a god of healing and sensual reward. He is later remembered as the Arthurian Sir Evelake.
The Feast of Avalon is another name for the Autumn Equinox. This time of harvest serves as an opportunity to consider the nourishment that your body and soul needs for its wellbeing, for the restoration of balance in your life and psyche.
Begin by sitting comfortably and closing your eyes. Take some time to let the activities of the day fall away and your body slow down into the present moment before taking three deep breaths.
Imagine that you are walking through an apple orchard on a bright autumn day. Rays of mellow sunlight filter through the leaves. The grass at your feet is long and golden green, and the apples ripening on the trees are rich and full. Some have already fallen to the grass, a feast for the birds and wildlife all around.
Wander slowly through the trees, focusing your attention on your feet firm upon the grass and earth, one foot after another, taking your time to gaze around and look at the trees. Listen to the birdsong and the gentle wind blowing through the slowly turning leaves.
Ahead you see a man, dressed in green and brown, attending to the trees. He is halfway up a ladder, resting against a trunk and partly hidden by the branches and leaves surrounding him. At the ladder’s feet are baskets of apples. As you approach he climbs down the ladder and waves to you in greeting. You see that his face is ageless, but with deep lines around his eyes and mouth. He has a broad smile, and firm, waxy, ruddy cheeks like a ripe apple.
Greet him respectfully and see what he says to you. His words are the first you imagine him saying. He reaches out and offers you an apple. You take it and give thanks for his gift, before turning your attention to it.
What is the apple like? Feel it in your hands; is it smooth and firm, soft or rough? What colour is it? What is the texture of its skin, how does it smell? How do you think it will taste? You take a bite. Is it sweet or is it dry? Is it ripe and ready?
This is your wholeness. This is your harvest at this time. What does it teach you? Does it bring you nourishment?
When you look up, the orchard keeper has gone, but his gift to you remains. You now do as you choose with the apple: eat it, discard it, plant it or take it and all it represents with you.
Avalloc, god of healing and sensual renewal
Retrace your steps through the orchard and find yourself back in your body, in the present time. When you are ready, open your eyes but remain seated. Take some time to consider the orchard keeper’s words, the apple that is your harvest and all it represents to you at this point in your life; and all it makes you feel inside emotionally, as well as with your logical mind. You may wish to make some notes in a journal about this exercise, to help your deeper exploration of its themes and their relevance to your soul’s journey.
At this time of year the darkening nights gradually make the stars appear brighter and brighter in the velvet sky. Some summer stars are fading from sight now and the winter stars begin to rise upon the horizon. In the northern hemisphere, Arcturus, the guardian of the Great Bear goddess in stellar form, has set and Ursa Major is sinking ever lower into the northern horizon. From late August, Orion the Hunter (associated with Gwyn in Wales and Herne in English folklore) begins to rise again in the north a short time before sunrise; he will stride across the sky during the long winter nights.
The great harbinger of autumn in the northern skies is a group of tiny blue-white stars, the Pleiades, also known as the Seven Sisters. The Pleiades rise in the eastern sky during the autumn evenings of September and October, and several Neolithic monuments across Britain and Ireland, such as Avebury and Callanish, appear to contain alignments to their rising or have features intentionally designed to mark them in some way, suggesting Autumn Equinox ceremonies going back thousands of years.
In Greek myth the Pleiades are sisters who are being pursued across the sky by Orion the Hunter, and it may be that these stars were associated with a similar myth, now forgotten, in the Celtic lands. Hunters like Orion, or Gwyn in Welsh folklore, are mythical guardians of Annwn, the underworld. According to the Welsh poem ‘Preiddeu Annwfn’ (‘The Spoils of Annwn’) by the bard-god Taliesin, in the heart of Annwn there is a magical cauldron, which signifies the great womb of the goddess of the land, attended by nine maiden priestesses. The seven sisters of the Pleiades are associated in Celtic lore with mourning and are held to be another version of these priestesses, attending to the descent of the goddess deep into the earth during the winter, and pursued by the hunter god who both guards and desires them. By honouring this time of descent and decrease like these priestesses, we can come into closer union with nature’s rhythm, and find compassion for our own rhythm and inner life at this time as the fertility of the earth fades away.
In this meditation you can honour the descent and surrender of the earth goddess at this time, and discover the season’s resonance in your own soul’s journey as you prepare to give yourself to the winter ahead.
Sitting comfortably, close your eyes and take three deep breaths. Let your eyes gently relax behind your closed lids, and allow your imagination to sink into the darkness. Let your breathing deepen and slow naturally, then expand your awareness to imagine that you are walking on a soft earthen path, along the ridge of a high, narrow hill. It is dusk. On either side there is an open expanse of sky – to your left the sun is setting and the sky is brilliant with golden, peachy light, darkening to purples and blues to your right where the stars are beginning to rise.
The ridge becomes narrower and narrower until there is only the path itself, just wide enough for you to walk along. Ahead of you the summit opens up to the sky and glimmers with silver light. The hillside drops away all around, deep green in the gathering dusk.
As you approach, you hear a faint choral singing, the wavering tones of female voices upon the wind. And as your draw nearer you see seven women ranged around the summit. They are impossibly tall, and seem to shimmer and f licker with f lashes of silver light. You draw nearer still and you see they surround an eighth woman, lying upon the ground. She is wrapped in a mantle of earth and leaves and green grasses, and her eyes are closed. As you look upon her you feel a deep grief.
Each of the women flickers in your vision and grows taller still, as though they have become silver flames. Each carries something: one holds an apple; another, a sheaf of wheat; a third, a baby of golden light; the fourth, a chalice; another holds a great lit candle; another a sickle; and the seventh holds a wheel. These are the seven sisters, priestesses of the earth goddess. As you study the things they hold, they imprint themselves on your inner vision, although their meaning may be a mystery. You know that these sisters are beings of great power and wisdom.
Finally, you turn you attention to the woman upon the ground. Like them, she is tall and beautiful, but she lies so still. She breathes deeply and slowly, a smile upon her face. ‘She is sleeping,’ says one of the sisters, ‘but she will wake again in time.’
You turn to look at the sister who has spoken. She is the one with the apple in her hand, which she raises up to catch the last rays of the summer sun, lighting up the sky in all its glory behind her. ‘The wheel turns,’ says another sister, the one who stands furthest from the sunset. You turn to look at her and see that behind her night has gathered, and the sky is studded with stars.
Stand here for a while, at this ancient sacred place between the dark and the light, between winter and summer. The sisters fall silent and a soft wind blows. Breathe deeply and feel this place of balance within you: the light of summer on one side, the coming winter upon the other. As you breathe and feel the still pivotal point within you, you see the sun has set. The night is brilliant with stars and wonder. The seven sisters have gone and the woman upon the ground has vanished, a mound of earth in her place. Deep in your heart you know she will return when spring is once more upon the horizon.
When you are ready, return the way you came, the starlit sky all around you. As you come to the bottom of the hill, feel yourself slip back into your body, into the present time. Hold for a moment the memory of what you have seen and felt, and know it is yours, always, before wriggling your fingers and toes, and opening your eyes as you return to the everyday world. You may need to ground yourself carefully after this exercise by eating and drinking and taking your time to feel yourself back in your body.
This is the best time of year to plant spring-flowering bulbs. Nuts, too, can be gathered, dried and used as talismans for health, wisdom and empowerment, as well as planted fresh for spell work, their growth in the spring carrying your intentions into life. Try using verbal or written spells as you plant, asking for anything you want to come to you in the spring. Whether it is fertility, love, money, luck or healing that you yearn for, your desire shall become manifest as the first green shoots break the surface of the soil.
Use this spell to draw what you need toward you over the coming year. It can be performed using any spring-flowering bulb, which you plant in a pot or any suitable patch in your garden. As the bulb grows green shoots and then flowers, so the new things you have called into your life will begin to appear.
Before you start, take a few moments, or even hours, to look over your life and decide what you need to change, what you need to draw to you for greater balance and wholeness. This might be better health, the ability to earn more money, more friendships or romance. You can also ask for more abstract things that nonetheless are essential for your wellbeing, such as patience, self-esteem, tenacity and so on.
Write down what you wish to manifest on a small slip of paper. Now pick up the bulb and take three deep breaths. Visualize what you wish to bring into your life, what you want to grow. With each breath let this image become stronger and clearer. Still holding the bulb, imagine that, just like a plant, you can draw up energy and nutrients from the soil. With every in-breath draw this energy and goodness up through the ground and into your body, and with every out-breath send this energy into the bulb. From time to time, restate in your mind’s eye what you want to bring to you, and imagine that this intention is also sent into the bulb, until it glows with energy.
Place the paper in the soil, making sure it won’t inhibit the bulb’s root growth as it decomposes, and plant the bulb on top. If necessary, wrap the paper around the bulb like a collar before planting. Cover with soil and pat it down firmly, before watering gently. Finally, place your hands upon the soil for a moment and thank the bulb for your life to come.
Acorns, the seeds of the oak tree, have long been associated with good luck and are powerful, magical talismans. Keep one in your purse or wallet and whisper to it from time to time, asking it to bring you prosperity. Alternatively, hold one in your hands and ask the spirit of the oak to assist you with your desire, and then plant it in good rich soil. You can also draw tiny symbols on acorns, such as a heart for love, or a simple dove outline for peace, to encourage those things to come into your life in more abundance.
The same spell can be used with hazelnuts, which are especially good at attracting wisdom and inspiration to help you find new ways to deal with problems or achieve your goals, or when filling out forms or writing important letters. Again, inscribe symbols upon them according to your desires and carry them with you in a small pouch.
You can plant an acorn or a hazelnut with prayers to draw in what you seek as it starts to grow into a tree. Say these words, or use your own, as you hold the acorn or hazelnut in your hands:
‘Spirit of the acorn [or hazelnut], I ask a boon of you. Grant me prosperity, and resources, just as all that you need is within you, make my life full of all I need so that I, too, may grow strong and tall! Blessed be!’
In the Celtic calendar, this is a time of balance, when the wheel of the seasons pauses briefly in a moment of completion and fullness before tipping toward the decay of winter. Making use of nature’s abundance in seasonal crafts can really add a special magic to this festival.
There are several different traditional designs of corn dolly to choose from, many demanding great skill to make. They do not usually look like humanized dolls, but are rather a loop of woven corn (wheat) with a plaited tubular ‘body’ culminating in the corn ears at the bottom. They can then be covered with ribbons and clothes, or left plain. The simplest kind of doll or kern baby to make, known as the ‘lovers’ knot’, is also used as a love token.
• 4 long stalks of corn
• Pale-coloured embroidery thread
• Ribbon
Soak the stalks in hot water until pliable, then dry them. Tie them in a bunch with thread, just above the ears. Separate the stalks into a cross configuration so you can see what you are doing, and number them 1–4, perhaps by marking them with a small, removable sticky label.
Begin the weaving by bending straw 3 over to straw 1. Then bend straw 1 over to the position of straw 3. Bend straw 2 over to straw 4, and straw 4 over to where straw 2 was. Continue in order, crossing opposite straws, until you reach the required length. Tie the free ends of the straws with thread and fasten in a loop above the ears of corn with a ribbon. Trim off any stray ends neatly and remove the number stickers.
Autumn leaves can be used to make wall hangings, to decorate your home as part of your equinox celebrations and to act as a reminder of this time of abundance and balance. Before starting work you might want to preserve the colour and flexibility of the leaves by gently painting them with melted beeswax or paraffin. Your creations might explore the themes of harvest and thanksgiving, or you could create a picture of Avalloc, as an offering to him. As well as leaves, you can use twigs, seedheads, pieces of coloured cloth and other items, glued or sewn into place. Don’t worry about getting everything just so. A picture that is less than perfect often has the most spirit presence about it. Try to work out a simple design first, before you attach any leaves, for the best effects. Children will also enjoy making leaf pictures.
In autumn and winter the themes of letting go, sacrifice and transformation are important. Wearing a leaf mask at a seasonal celebration is a way of exploring these ideas, surrendering ourselves to the natural processes of decay and regeneration. Leaf masks are easy to make, with any imperfections only making them more wild and expressive! As you work, you may like to invoke the spirits of the forest, or Avalloc or an earth goddess, so that your mask embodies something of their wild and free nature.
You can buy a ready-made mask or make the backing yourself from a piece of card and some elastic. Alternatively, use a piece of thick card, cut eye holes and attach a small stick to one side so that you can hold it in front of your face. Cover your mask with autumn leaves and seedheads, arranging them first before gluing into place.
You may like to make dolls to represent nature spirits and faeries as a means of expressing your gratitude for the magical way in which your personal harvest has once again been brought to fruition. Perhaps you could use them as decorations on a celebratory autumn-themed altar (see page 208). Try using suitably shaped twigs and leaves, as well as seedheads, nuts, berries or beads. Scraps of cloth or painted leaves could make clothes, and wings and a tail can also be added with leaves, twigs or ivy. You may need twine, thread and glue.
Allow your creativity free reign – the dolls don’t have to be perfect, the important thing is enjoying making them. This is in any case the best way to imbue them with magic and energy, so give yourself free reign.
A leaf spirit doll
The Autumn Equinox is the second of the harvest festivals, a time to honour the change of season, so decorations of orange, red, brown and green are suitable. Coloured candles and altar cloths can be lovely, while natural decorations of seedpods, nuts, pine cones, autumn leaves and berries make evocative and sensual additions to focus on when contemplating gratitude for nature’s abundance and the turning of the Wheel of the Year. You may also wish to include antlers, sun wheels and oak leaves to honour the lord of the hunt and the spirits of animals and trees that are preparing now for the winter ahead.
The harvests of the Autumn Equinox are an auspicious time for feasting and revelling in the delight of our appetites, as well as for bringing a more sacred way of being into our lives. One way to become more spiritually conscious is to be more aware of what we eat.
Easy to make, these lovely decorations celebrate the harvest and will spread gratitude, contentment and fulfilment through your home along with their delicious autumnal scent. They also taste wonderful.
You will need
• 6 large eating apples, cored and thinly sliced horizontally
• 6 lemons, juiced
• Ground cinnamon to taste (optional)
• Grating of nutmeg (optional)
• Embroidery thread
• Florist’s wire
• Handful of cinnamon sticks, cranberries, rowanberries and clean (washed) autumn leaves
• Ribbon
Place the apple slices in a large bowl. Cover with the lemon juice and leave to soak for about 10 minutes. Drain the apple slices and gently pat them dry with paper towel. When they are completely dry, dust them with cinnamon and a little nutmeg, if using.
String the apple slices onto a long piece of embroidery thread or florist’s wire, and hang them in a bright window to dry for at least a week. To dry the apple rings more quickly, place without overlapping on a baking sheet, and bake on a low heat (150°C/300°F/gas mark 2) for a couple of hours. Check them regularly so they don’t burn and adjust the temperature and cooking time accordingly. Baked dried apples are crisper than those dried by air.
Using some florist’s wire, string the apples together with the cinnamon sticks. Then add some colourful leaves and berries – cranberries and rowanberries work well. Remember to add a loop to each end of your garland, so that you can hang it up and finish it off with a ribbon bow. The apples will last for a few weeks if kept dry.
This traditional recipe makes about 2.25kg (5lb) of dough, which is enough for three loaves of 450–650g (1–1½lb) each. After you have baked your loaves you may wish to make them part of your harvest-time celebrations and bless them before eating. In the Hebrides, struan bread was made using the different grains that had been gathered in the harvest; as you bake you are therefore celebrating all your achievements over the preceding months.
You will need
• 900g/2lb/6½ cups high-gluten or strong bread flour
• 110g/3¾oz/¾ cup polenta (uncooked weight)
• 110g/3¾oz/1 cup rolled oats
• 60g/2oz/½ cup wheat bran
• 75g/2½oz/⅓ cup brown sugar
• 3 tsp sea salt, freshly ground
• 3 tbsp instant yeast
• 180ml/6fl oz/¾ cup buttermilk
• 240–360ml/8–12fl oz/1–1½ cups warm water
• 175g/6oz/½ cup honey
• 110g/3¾oz/½ cup cooked brown rice
• 1 egg
• 1 tbsp poppy seeds (for decorating)
Mix 300g/10½oz/2 cups of the flour with the rest of the dry ingredients in a large bowl. Then add the buttermilk, water, honey and cooked rice, and mix it all together. Add the rest of the flour, a little at a time, and knead the dough until it becomes lighter in colour and the grains look evenly distributed (approximately 15 minutes by hand – less in a machine.) It should be pale golden, stretchy and ‘tacky’ still, but should not crumble or flake.
Leave the dough to rise by placing it in a clean bowl, covered with a damp cloth, somewhere warm for about 1 hour. When the dough has doubled in size, remove it from the bowl and divide it into three pieces. Roll each piece into a loaf.
Place each loaf into a greased 23 × 11.5cm (9 × 4½in) bread tin. Brush the top of the loaf with an egg-wash and sprinkle with poppy seeds.
Again cover and allow the dough to rise further until it reaches the top of the tin, and then bake in a preheated oven (350°F/180°C/gas mark 4) until the loaf has domed nicely and is dark gold, approximately 45 minutes. The fully baked loaf should be a uniform colour and sound hollow when tapped. Allow the bread to cool thoroughly for at least 45 minutes before slicing it.
Blessing the struan
You might also wish to bless your bread in the traditional Celtic way. The following blessing comes from the Outer Hebrides and is recorded in Alexander Carmichael’s The Carmina Gadelica (see page 25). It reflects the Christian beliefs of the time but is much older and has evolved through the oral tradition of the culture. Feel free to adapt it and include the gods and goddesses of the sun, or the spirits of the land, or any others that you choose. The blessing suggests sprinkling holy water onto the bread, but you can use fresh spring water, and sprinkle the water and crumbs onto children or the land, to send them blessings and protection.
‘Each meal beneath my roof, they will all be mixed together, in the name of God the Son who gave them growth.
Milk, and eggs, and butter, the good produce of our own flock, there shall be no dearth in our land, nor in our dwelling.
Consecrate the produce of our land, bestow prosperity and peace, in the name of the Father the King and of the three beloved apostles.
I will put water on them all in the precious name of the Son of God, in the name of Mary the generous, and of Patrick.
When we shall sit down to take our food
I will sprinkle some in the name of God on the children.’
This is the time to gather sloes – the berries of the blackthorn – and make a festive drink for the coming winter, perhaps to share with friends as you discuss your achievements of the year and plans for transformations to come in your life. Make sure you identify your sloes correctly, checking the leaves and the thorns, as well as the smooth black berries against images in a book or online if in any doubt. Sloe gin takes time to mature, so it is best to make a batch for the Winter Solstice or keep it until the Autumn Equinox the following year.
You will need
• 450g/1lb/3½ cups sloe berries
• 225g/8oz/1 cup sugar
• 1 litre/35 fl oz/4 cups gin
• Sterilized bottle with airtight lid
• Muslin cloth
Wash the sloes and prick their tough skins all over before placing them in a sterilized glass bottle.
Mix the sugar and gin together then pour over the berries. Seal the jar with an airtight lid. Store in a dark cupboard and shake every day for about a week, then once a week for at least two months.
Finally, strain through a muslin cloth to remove the berries and store in a freshly sterilized bottle.
An important element of the Autumn Equinox celebrations is becoming conscious of, and giving thanks for, the harvests in our own lives. The old adage ‘we reap what we sow’ is very true, as our attitudes and actions throughout the year have consequences that shape our lives, from the emotional and spiritual to the physical and material. Becoming as conscious as possible and focusing on gratitude helps us to maximize the positive and minimize the negative effects of our behaviour.
To do this we need to stop and take stock, and let our images of ourselves fall away so that we can see ourselves and acknowledge what our lives are really like and why. This can be hard, so it’s important to focus on the good as much as possible, to honour and to feel grateful for all the blessings, support and signs of positivity that have affected our life’s journey. This is not about ignoring the negative, but it does mean treating ourselves, as well as those around us, with compassion when times are hard or when we’ve made mistakes and placing our attention on all that has gone well in our lives as well as on those things beyond our personal stories that lend beauty or wonder to our days. In this way we can feel good for everything positive we experience as well as for those times when we have been patient with ourselves, and have endured or persisted when tackling a problem, rather than placing our energy on the problems and wounds themselves.
By strengthening the positive, by nurturing what is healthy, we grow a greater harvest within ourselves year on year. This is rather like an emotional form of organic gardening – we need not poison the ‘weeds’, only nurture healthy growth where we want it to be, so that the weeds have less and less opportunity to overrun our lives.
In this guided visualization we explore the mysteries of the harvest and the themes of the season, encountering the spirit of the grain to contemplate the cycles of our own lives through the years.
See yourself walking along a dusty country lane, in the golden light of an early autumn afternoon. There are tall hedges on either side of you, bowing leafy branches full of hawthorn and sloe berries. The air is warm. There are others – men, women and children – all making their way along the path ahead of you and behind you. Out of sight drums and flutes are making music, while the birds trill and call in the hedgerow, weaving in and out of the tune with their own wild song. There is an atmosphere of ease and wholesomeness all around.
Eventually the path turns and you enter an open field. A great many people are walking to and fro carrying tools and tying fat bundles of golden wheat. The earth is a rich brown where the crop has been reaped, with scattered chaff and straw providing a feast for hundreds of birds that dive and peck. They fly up in great clouds as the people approach, only to descend to their feast once more. Small children scurry around competing with the birds for the last of the fallen wheat stalks. At the edge of the field men and women are beginning to lay out a picnic, and you see that two old men sitting on beer barrels under an ancient elder tree are playing the music. You notice that one final stand of wheat is still to be reaped, at the far corner of the field.
As you gaze at the unreaped wheat, you sense a change in the atmosphere. The music dulls and quietens, seeming to become more distant. You notice that no one is looking at this final stand of wheat, and the children are avoiding it in their games. The very air in this lonely part of the field seems to buzz and hum, and your vision blurs as if a heat haze were making ripples in the air.
A soft wind blows against your cheek and you hear a low voice murmur in your ear, ‘I am the golden one, the spirit of the grain, I rise and fall to rise again …’
A small group of men are approaching now, their sickles in their hands. Their voices are low as they acknowledge you and each other. They laugh sheepishly, their shoulders just a little tense, as they gather for the reaping game. They line up to cut the last of the grain, invoking the maiden and the Cailleach.
‘I am green in spring and golden in summer. Hide me in darkness, in the old woman’s lap and I will be reborn.’ There is a touch of fierceness now, in the strange voice in your ear, and you know that something ancient, something strong, something wild is here. Your heart beats a little faster, as though it would break through your chest to meet this strange wild thing … and join its dance of life and death, rising and falling with the seasons.
The men take turns to throw their sickles, trying to reap the last sheaf from afar, as if they fear the spirit of the grain, their ancient friend, which gives so much year on year. As if they would not be the one to cut its final golden spears. Most of the throws are in vain: each man cuts only a stalk or two, leaving many for the next – one man after another. But the golden stand of wheat is getting thinner and thinner, until one last throw and all the golden wheat has fallen to the ground.
‘Aaahhhh,’ the wind blows again, a soft sigh that swirls around the dun brown field, and the men and women give a great shout. ‘We have her! We have her!’ In a rush they gather round and collect the last sheaf, tying her tight with a red ribbon. Suddenly, the music sparks up loud again, and the men and women hurry around the field, carrying the sheaf high over their heads. They take her to a woman who sits beneath the trees, dressed in red with a garland of flowers in her hair. She takes the precious bunch of golden wheat and binds flowers about its waist with her clever brown fingers, and wraps it in a shawl of white wool. Standing slowly, holding the sheaf like a babe in arms, she speaks softly to the crowd.
‘The maid has fallen, the Cailleach has come … The maid will rise again.’ And with that she turns her back and carries her bundle reverently home. All around the men and women dance and whirl around the field, feasting on loaves and jugs of ale, but you pause. You know in the magic of this moment that the wheel has turned. There is a sense of fullness, of completion. As you stand there, the brown earth under your feet, take a few breaths and acknowledge this time of harvest. There is no other like it.
Ahead, the winter is gathering; the old woman, the Cailleach, has come, and these last golden days of the year are precious. You raise your head to feel the sun upon your face, before returning the way you came, down the lane, your feet upon the dusty earth, your breath full in your chest, before letting yourself return to your body once more. Take your time. Feel yourself back in the here and now, and wiggle your fingers and toes before moving about.
Remember to ground yourself well afterwards by eating and drinking and perhaps recording your experiences in a journal.
While harvest festival traditions have waxed and waned over the years, the tradition of bringing in the harvest with a feast and a celebration has seen a revival in more recent times. By marking the harvest through a ceremony, we fulfil an ancient need that is common to us all (whether we work on the land or in an office) to appreciate the rewards of our work – our harvest.
Celebrating with friends, family and/or the wider community
Choose a space where everyone can gather comfortably, perhaps with a large table where you can enjoy a feast together. To add atmosphere add candles and sheaves of grain or corn dollies (see page 205), as well as with gold and brown cloths or leaf hangings (see page 206). You may also like to set up an Autumn Equinox altar, by decorating a table with seasonal items (see page 208), and place some offerings here during the ceremony, which can be donated to a local food bank or other charity afterwards. You might also wish to include bundles of wheat and bowls of berries and seeds, which can later be given to the birds and animals.
Then each person could take a turn announcing aloud all the things they are grateful for at this time, before placing a basket of food upon the altar, so a great array of abundance builds with each offering. Home-baked and blessed struan bread (see page 210) would make a perfect offering. When the ceremony is over, share a feast together of seasonally, home-baked dishes and produce while revelling in each other’s stories of harvests past and present.
Autumn Equinox offerings
Celebrating alone
In the days leading up to the equinox, decorate your space with leaf dolls or corn dollies (see pages 207 and 205) and apple garlands (see page 209) and, as above, you may like to set up an altar where you can leave a few offerings. To begin your ceremony create a sacred space, by calling in the four directions (see page 14) and calling to any gods that you feel drawn to, such as the Seven Sisters, the earth goddess or Avalloc, as well as the spirits of the animals and the plants that give us so much sustenance, so that you can give thanks for their sacrifices. Alternatively, you may wish to call upon your ancestors to bless and support your life and path, or to help with anything that concerns you. Use your own heartfelt words to call upon your chosen deities, as this is always more authentic and powerful, but you might say:
‘Avalloc, lord of the orchards, ancient spirits of the corn and grain, please join us and bless us at this sacred time.’
Now would be a good time to perform the stellar meditation or the meeting Avalloc or Autumn Equinox visualization (see pages 197 and 214), as well as either the spring-flowering bulb or the acorn or hazelnut spell (see pages 203 and 204). You may also want to light a candle or a fire. When it is lit, take a moment to gaze into the flames in silence. In your mind’s eye, consider the balance between the light and the darkness in your life; the balance between how much you give and how much you receive. Consider where you need to bring balance and where the balance is shifting, giving way to decay and death so that new life may come in due course.
An important part of an equinox ceremony is to become more aware of the blessings in your life, and focus upon giving thanks. Try listing all the things in your life that you can feel gratitude for, and ask that the spirits of the harvest and the good earth bless each of these things in turn. Use your own words, as these will be the most heartfelt, but you could say something like:
‘I give thanks for my relationship with [insert name/names], and ask that all good spirits bless them and our time together!
‘I give thanks for my beautiful, warm, safe home, and ask that the spirits of the earth and land hereabouts bless this house, this home and all within it!’
Whether you are celebrating with friends and family or alone, finally, take a moment to give thanks and gratitude to each direction and element, as well as to any gods or ancestors for their help in your ceremony and their presence in your life. Give thanks for all the blessings of every kind that have come to you over the last year. This makes us conscious of the bond we have with all creation, and the interconnectedness of all things, which helps us grow into greater harmony with life.
In celebrating the Autumn Equinox we give ourselves time to focus on gratitude and open our hearts to the great abundance of the natural world around us. Gratitude is so empowering and healing: it helps us to create a conscious connection with each other and the universe and see our life’s journey as an endless cycle of in-breath and out-breath, of giving and receiving. We can learn to have confidence in this eternal flow so that, when autumn turns to the death of the year at Samhain, we can embrace sacrifice and surrender with grace and trust, knowing that the tide will turn once again.
Blessed be!
