Samhain: the end of summer
Celebrating the liminal space between light and darkness
Dear readers and friends,
Remember, remember, the first of November…. that’s not quite how it goes, is it? In a thoughtful, November-y mood, I am pondering the changing seasons and mulling over a conversation with my youngest (by two minutes). Our conversations cover so many topics, and in these times of unease and restlessness often circle back to religion. Answering the door last night to a parade of children, in costumes ranging from cutesy to not-quite scary and from “really made an effort” to “don’t really care”, I wondered whether these children would learn that Halloween, once understood as a corruption of All Hallows Eve (and latterly just another day on the calendar of consumerism), stems, like so many of our festivals and days of remembrance, from a tradition rooted in the pagan past.
Samhain, the ancient Celtic festival of the end of summer, is celebrated on 1st November with the festivities commencing on 31st of October. Why? There are two answers. It’s because the Celtic day began and ended at sunset, and, perhaps more pertinently, because in 2023, we need to know when things are happening. Dates must be planned and events scheduled in a calendar. But we can’t foresee the weather, we can’t plan and schedule it. Originally the festival of Samhain was a moveable feast, informed by the changing of the weather. The last day of harvest marked the end of summer and the beginning of winter. A chill edges the air, a dampness pervades and mists settle. Days draw in. Any hay still in the fields must be left to rot. Samhain is a liminal time, a time of borders and crossing over. The ancient Celts believed that at Samhain the veil between the live and the dead was particularly thin. Perhaps spirits from another world were able to visit. Perhaps festivities and ritual created the necessary conditions for a visitation? Regardless, this time, these days at the beginning of November are indeed inbetween. The clocks fall back and our mornings are lighter, but we know this brief respite will not last.
Walking the tip path, the sky grey and the grass green, I notice patches of white. White bramble flowers, white campion, hogweed, cow parsley, late flowering all. Yarrow is on time. My grandmother swore by yarrow tea to prevent colds, and it appears just as it is needed. The white back of a black poplar leaf. Fields are flooded and patches of reflected light gleam white. Multitudes of water birds, pale and grey, pepper the wet pastures. Gulls, herring and black capped, a pleasing quantity given the end of days tenor presented by the continued outbreak of avian flu. Similarly the beach has been well visited this past week with dense flocks of waders, stopping to rest and feed, swooping low in dense murmurations, performing their synchronised, crowd pleasing choreographies.
Snowy white Egrets - two on the way out, four on the way back. The RSPB announced this week they will allow under 24s free access to all sites - wonderful news, please take advantage! The wonderful Society for the Protection of Birds was founded by Emily Williamson to protect birds, including, specifically, Egrets. Threatened with extinction due to the fashion for feathers and exotic plumes - but the feathers always look better on the birds. This summer I visited RSPB Burton Mere and saw the wetland bordered by at least 40 Egrets, and I regularly see them both on the beach and the tip path so - feather-free hats off to Emily who set out to achieve something wonderful and did so. Spectacularly.
Samhain is a time of taking stock, of bedding in for the winter, of looking back over the past seasons and preparing for the hardship of winter. I love these green tunnels, paths which become both darker and lighter in the winter months, the dark wood of the leafless trees illuminated by light filtering through the naked branches above. I pass several other walkers, cyclists and a runner, nodding and saying hello. There is a quiet community amongst the path users early in the day. A woman stops me to compliment my hair - very kind - more white patches. Another woman petitions me to urge the council to clear the paths so she can always see sky above. I demur, these green tunnels being magical to me.
My daughter questions the validity of the structures on which our societies are based, and I cannot blame her. I turn off the news and stare into the sky, watch the birds dancing and enjoy the grey spaces, between the dark and the light. Far rather Samhain and a celebration of changing seasons. I wish for her a recognition of the bounty of nature and a deep understanding of the need to rest, replenish and recover, ready to re-emerge in the spring to witness the green shoots of new life and regrowth.
Happy Samhain my friends.
With love and until next time, Ling
In other news… When not writing, I am busy dyeing papers, searching for the perfect shade of green for a White Passion Flower, and busy creating swathes of my beloved bindweed. If the gentle art of creating paper flowers appeals to you, I am launching a new evening class series to start in early February. Drop me a line to reserve your space either in the comments or via paperbydragonfly.com
I enjoyed reading this Ling - and I love your name btw, we have Ling growing here too, and my first few posts were somewhat purply. The way it’s written, the procession of whites, the tunnelled paths... Thanks for sharing your observations.