by Luke Eastwood

Much has been written of the Druids and their knowledge and wisdom being an oral tradition that was carried down generations through schools and teachers of Druidism. While it is entirely true that the oral tradition was of primary importance, it is not the whole of the truth. In the post-Pagan era the Druids and Pagans generally have been portrayed as largely illiterate and uncomfortable or unconcerned with the written word. However, from my investigations and study over the last 30 years, I’ve concluded that this is not the case at all.

Julius Caesar noted (in his account Gallic Wars) that Gaulish Druids used Greek (in chapter 14, book 6) to write. Although it must be noted that Greece is rather far from Gaul, the Greek trading colony of Massalia (modern Marseille) was well established by the Greeks from the city of Phocaea by 600BCE. It is most likely that the Druids learned Greek and other popular languages (such as Latin or Akkadian) via entrants to Gauls first city, lying on the south-east coast of France.

There are various other indicators regarding the use of written language, such as carved sticks described by Pliny as having characters on them, but it is to Ireland that we must turn for the most striking evidence of writing by the Druids.

The generally accepted academic opinion is that Ogham (the unique Irish alphabet) was a creation of the 5th century CE, most likely in response to Latin and Greek being introduced to the country by French Bishop Palladius (a few decades before St. Patrick) or by St. Patrick after his arrival as a Roman Catholic Bishop, given officially as 432CE, by tradition. Why anyone would create a special unique alphabet instead of just adapting Greek or Roman characters remains a mystery to me. Other examples of this set a precedent (Hebrew and Cyrillic) where another alphabet was recycled for use by early cultures. Before St. Patrick, Palladius had been a Deacon in Gaul Pope Celestine I consecrated him a bishop and sent him to Ireland “to the Scotti believing in Christ”. The Church itself undermined the role of Palladius later on, in the creation of the fantastical hagiography of St. Patrick, most of which is pure invention and not based on any verifiable information about Patrick’s actual life or works.

The tradition that St. Patrick ‘educated’ the Irish and taught them writing is completely unproven an Ireland’s own annals and physical evidence (including at Killeen Cormac), contradict this ‘establishment’ view of Irish lack of literacy and sophistication. Some of the early literature acknowledges the sagacity and erudition of the Druids, but nowhere does it acknowledge their ability to write. However, some of the annals of Ireland do inadvertently tell the truth on this matter.

The famous king Cormac Mac Airt (of Connacht and High King of Ireland) is recorded in the ‘Annals of the Four Masters’ to have lived in the late 2nd Century CE and during his reign he ordered that all of the knowledge of Ireland be written down into books. Cormac was the grandson of Conn Cétchathach (Conn of the Hundred Battles) who was a contemporary of the legendary Fionn mac Cumhaill. Interestingly the Ogham device ‘Fionn’s Window’ , sometimes referred to as ‘Fionn’s Shield’, is named after Fionn mac Cumhaill who was reputedly both a warrior chieftain and Druid. The ‘window’ is a circular diagram that can be marked on ground or on cloth and used in divination, in a similar way to ‘I Ching’. The origin and age of this novel ‘window’ is unknown but if it did originate at least two generations before Cormac Mac Airt, then it could be from the end of the 1st century CE, which would shatter preconceived ideas about writing in Ireland.

References to Ogham go much further back, even to the time of Cú Chullain, the legendary Ulster hero, who famously left messages written in Ogham for his enemies in the ‘Táin Bó Cúailnge’ (The Cattle Raid of Cooley). There are 3 clear examples in this story:

“So, much unwilling, the charioteer drove to the fortress of the sons of Nechtan, and there on the green before it they found a pillar-stone, and round it a collar of bronze having on it writing in Ogham.”

“…so he went into the forest, and there, standing on one leg, and using only one hand and one eye, he cut an oak sapling and twisted it into a circular withe. On this he cut in Ogham characters how the withe was made, and he put the host of Maev under geise [taboo] not to pass by that place till one of them had, under similar conditions, made a similar withe ; “and I except my friend Fergus mac Roy,” he added, and wrote his name at the end.”

“But before they left the Ford they took the body of Ferdia and laid it in a grave, and built a mound over him and set up a pillar-stone with his name and lineage in Ogham.”

Interestingly enough, of the 3 Bríatharogaim (Word Oghams) that describe the Ogham alphabet, the Bríatharogam Con Culainn is named after and reputedly written by Cú Chullain himself. This comprises of a list of two-word ‘kennings’, which explains the meanings of the names of the letters of the Ogham alphabet. Three variant lists of bríatharogaim or “word-oghams” have been preserved, dating to the Old Irish period, although the only extant copy of this particular Bríatharogam comes from the 16th century CE.

Before returning to king Cormac and his life and legacy, I should also mention the discovery of the ‘Dovinia stone’ which is on the Dingle Peninsula in county Kerry. The name of the Goddess Dovinia (goddess Duibhne) was clearly marked in Ogham on this stone, which still stands at Dunmore Head and which reads ‘ERC MAQI-ERCIAS MU DOVINIA’, commemorating both Erc (a person) and the Pagan goddess!

Such evidence would be shocking enough were it the only example to be found in Ireland that referenced Paganism, but it is not. At a site know as Killeen Cormac, on the border of counties Kildare and Wicklow we find an ancient graveyard, attributed to the Pagan era and High King Cormac Mac Airt. Later analyses of this site in the modern era have veered away from this towards a Christian attribution and a King/Bishop of similar name – Cormac mac Cuilennáin. This Cormac was a bishop (later made a saint) and also King of Munster from 902-908CE, meeting his death at the Battle of Ballaghmoon (Cath Bealach Mughna). Bishop Cormac was beheaded and his head taken to Flann Sinna (the High King) and his body was buried at Cill Corban (in modern day Naas town).

From the story of Cormac mac Cuilennáin, it is clear that he was not buried at Killeen Cormac, but far away in Naas, which leads me to believe that Killeen Cormac is indeed named after the esteemed High King Cormac Mac Airt, as believed by the locals in oral legend and recorded by those writing about the place in the 19th century.

I have been fortunate enough to visit this site on two occasions and draw my own conclusions from those visits. Today this site has a stone wall enclosing it and it is full of trees, but this wall was constructed around 1830 and drawings of the site, from the early 1800s show that it was not originally forested – with only a few trees beyond the perimeter of the large mound.

Another change to the site is that some of the stones, in particular a unique stone that we will come to shortly, have been removed. This uncredited pencil drawing shows Killeen Cormac before it was enclosed and completely covered in trees.The remains of a building on the mound were described in the 19th century, but this has not been confirmed by later writers or modern archaeologists. King Cormac Mac Airt was reputedly buried here but with no major archaeology undertaken, no bodies have been exhumed from this ancient site. Whatever it once was, this place is deeply significant within ancient Pagan society, but its importance seems to have been completely forgotten if not deliberately excluded from modern narratives about Irish history.

This site was almost completely forgotten but knowledge of it was spread by the late Ben MacBrady, a Druid (of Druid Clan Of Dana/DCD and ‘The Order’) and close friend of the late Lady Olivia Durdin-Robertson. She of course knew well all three of the Chosen Chiefs of OBOD, including former Chief (Philip Carr-Gomm) and our current Chief (Eimear Burke) is still also Arch-Druidess of DCD. Some of MacBrady’s writing from the 1990s are preserved in the republication of one his articles in ‘Pagan Ireland’ magazine. Ben MacBrady highlighted the ancient stone that has now been removed to The National Museum: Archaeology, in Dublin that is the sole example of a bi-lingual Ogham/Latin stone in Ireland or anywhere in the world.

This stone references the Druids buried there ‘Four True Druids’ and inscriptions were written in both Ogham (Irish script) and Latin (Roman script). In Ogham: ‘OVANOS AVI I/VACA/TTOS’, in Latin: ‘IVVEṇ/̣ṛE DRVVIDES’ although they may not have the same meaning. In the drawing the stone is show lying down here for convenience, but it was upright in situ and is also upright on display in the museum. According to the Ogham in 3D project it is currently on display at Kildare Street, however it has not been on display for most of its time at the museum over the last 100 years or so. You can see a photograph of the stone here: https://ogham.celt.dias.ie/stone.php?lang=en&site=Colbinstown&stone=19._Colbinstown_I&stonei

This is perhaps the most important and significant stone that was once standing at Killeen Cormac and perhaps in all of Ireland. While there is not a single book remaining from the pre-Christian period (St. Patrick is credited with burning 400+ Pagan books), I believe that this stone proves that the pre-Christians, of the Druidic era, could write and not just in one language! Despite, the modern view has long been that the ancient Irish could not read or write, evidence of contact with Rome and Greece Stretches back to the beginning of that millennium. If King Cormac was buried here and also Druids of his time period, then this stone could date to the late 2nd century CE or perhaps even earlier.

Cormac was a significant king in late Pagan Ireland, no less so due to a work that has survived the purges of Elizabethan Ireland and the prohibition of Gaeilge (the Irish language) to be with us today. This work attributed to Cormac Mac Airt is a short book entitled ‘The Wisdom of Cormac’ (Tecosca Cormaic), which was only translated into English in 1909 by German academic Kuno Meyer. While some would question whether it is genuinely the words of Cormac, considering the book burnings by the early Catholic Church (under Patrick) and subsequent prohibitions in the post-Norman (Tudor) period, I see no reason to believe that it isn’t a genuine survival, like so many of the medieval texts that somehow survived the purges and are miraculously still with us today.

The significance of Killeen Cormac has been downplayed, to the extent that it is barely discussed. However, there is a long history to this place, which you can still find in books from the 19th and early 20th century, but it has been largely overlooked in the last 100 years. To the due North, facing the entrance and to the due East are two matching Ogham stones, constructed from a light coloured stone that is different from all of the stones inside the graveyard. Given their orientation and similar distance, I wonder if there were once 2 more stones, to the South and West, which are no longer present. Whatever the case may be, this is a significant site from the late Druidic era and early Christian era, that may well date to long before that. We simply do not know the truth of this place, as it has not been professionally examined in any depth with modern equipment and techniques.

From “On Some Inscribed Stones at Killeen Cormac,Near Dunlavin” by The Rev. John F. Shearman (1866):

“A very curious legend is told about this stone.Tradition says that it marks the gatateof Cormac King of Munster, whose name is an affix to that of the cemetery where he rests; it more-over states that he was carried to Killeen Cormac by a team of bullocks, which were allowed to follow their own instinct—a mode of settling disputes regarding sepulture not uncommon among the ancient Irish. The same tradition, though unable to state at what period or under what circumstances King Cormac died, avers that he was carried through Ballynure, from the direction of Timolin, in the county of Kildare; and when the team reached that part of Ballynure known as The Doon, the bul-locks, in the eagerness of their thirst, pawed the earth, and that water issued forth.

Another version states that the teamster struck his goad into the ground, and thereupon gushed up a bubbling fountain, which is still to be seen near the roadside, and is used as a watering place for the herds of the fertile pastures of The Doon of Ballynure. The bullocks, having satiated their thirst, journeyed on till they came to the place now called Bullock-hill, beside the Griese, and opposite to Killeen Cormac. Here they halted, and would proceed no farther; so that Killeen was thus determined to be the last resting place of King Cormac.”

Another interesting text from 1897, Lord Walter Fitzgerald’s “Killeen Cormac” contradicts the current academic view and that held by bodies such as the Office of Public Works (OPW). To accept that Ireland was a land of ‘Scholars’ before the arrival of the ‘Saints’ seems to be unthinkable to many, even today when the Roman Catholic Church no longer has a tight grip on Irish society. Fitzgerald, also quoting others of his time, has this to say about the site’s pre-Christian origins:

“This monument was evidently created in the pagan age ; the absence of any sacred emblem or pions formula- such as we find on the earliest of our Christian memorials—all evidence to its pagan character. It is a monument to its four members of the Druidic order, probably priests, whose names are given in the Ogham legend, whose profession- that of True or Just Druids—is given in the Roman letters : 1Y VERE DRVVIDES.

In conclusion, Brash sums up thus :—

‘The inscribed monuments at Killeen Cormac are of exceeding interest. Firstly, as having been found in a part of our island hitherto supposed to hare been destitute of this class of our national antiquities; secondly, as having been found in situ in what was evidently a pagan cemetery of the prehistoric period; thirdly, as presenting us with the only Irish example of an Ogham-inscribed stone bearing also an inscription in Roman letters probably of the same date.’

Sir Samuel Ferguson writes :-

‘There can be no doubt that the word ‘Druids’ forms part of the Roman epigraph; and this being the only instance of the mention Druids on any known lapidary monument anywhere, the double inscription cannot but be regarded with extraordinary interest.’ “

This site has perhaps (or rather once did have) the largest collection of original Ogham inscriptions (7) in one location. Unfortunately, time and the weather have made the ogham inscriptions either invisible or incredibly difficult to read, although modern scanning techniques may still reveal what is written on them. When I visited this site on two occasions and was unable to decipher the few Ogham inscriptions that I was able to find. The 19th century accounts mention a temple that once stood on the top of the mound, that had been dismantled and the stones re-used for Christian burials. One can only guess as to what this was and what it might have once looked like.

Who knows what Killeen Cormac can teach us about the Druidic past and what secret it holds under the ground? Apart from the one stone at the Kildare Street museum. where were the missing stones taken and why were they removed? While some dismiss the idea of Pagan graves, from my own inspection of the early graves, one can see a clear distinction in style from the flat headstones and the stone pillars, which were used as grave markers. I suggest that at least some of the graves are of Pagan style and may predate the Christian era. Of course, the reality of the transition from Paganism to Christianity is that it took approximately 400 years to complete – with overtly Pagan burials being found as late as 800CE.

How many Pagan graves are at this site and will they ever be excavated? At the moment few (if anyone) have answers to these questions. One can only hope that this significant site will be re-examined and its full significance might come to light. While some dispute that is is a pre-Christian site at all, the links to Cormac Mac Airt, the style of some of the grave markers and the reference to Druids would suggest otherwise – a complete excavation of the site would prove whether or not this is the case.

As stone is near enough impossible to date unless it references a specific time period, we can only hope that excavations would yield organic matter that can be dated (e.g. bodies) or some other physical evidence, such as grave goods, remains of a temple or other artefacts that might enable us to definitively place Killeen Cormac in the correct time period. Given the clear resistance to any re-examination or revision of the ‘establishment view’ of the time-line of Irish literature, the creation of Ogham and the transition of Ireland from Paganism to Christianity, it is down to some brave archaeologists to actually excavate this site before the truth of my theory, outlined above can be entirely proven or disproven.

Regardless of what academia has to say about Killeen Cormac, or indeed fails to say, based on the evidence that I have laid out, it is a highly significant site in Irish early medieval history and should be remembered as such, rather than shoved into a forgotten corner of the Irish consciousness. Not only is it significant for Irish Druidism and Irish history, its existence poses questions about our attitudes towards Druids across Europe and how we perceive them today, in modern Druidry.

Luke Eastwood is a graduate of City University in London, he has worked for financial institutions and publishers in London and Dublin. He is a student of Druidry since 1995 and an OBOD member since 2004. After ‘dropping out ’and retraining in horticulture he began his career as a part-time author, he currently lives in the west of Ireland. You can read more of his work at https://lukeeastwood.com 

Here is a virtual tour of the Graveyard:

by Tim Billbrough

Introduction

With an unusually large burst of Awen this past January, though, I set upon a quest to feast the Wheel of the Year with a special food item for each of the eight festivals. In these dishes, I try to capture the spirit of the specific festival, my own native land, and the ancient Celtic culture we derive from.

I do not hold these dishes as special in and of themselves, but I try to make them special through the consideration, intent, and symbolism that goes into choosing what to make and the ingredients that go into it.

I have four rules that I try my best to follow in pursuit of this goal:

1. The dish must represent the festival in question, its themes and what we revere about it. This is how I honor the festival.

2. I must use only ingredients I grow myself/can source locally, or are native to my home in New Hampshire, USA. When I can do both, that is preferred. This is how I honor the land I live and practice on.

3. The ingredients must be seasonal to my own land, either through ripeness or appropriate preservation. My climate is slightly different than that of the Celtic Isles, so this is how I honor the Wheel of the Year itself.

4. The dish must be an interpretation of what our Celtic ancestors would have eaten around the time of festival. This is how I honor our Druid traditions.

Using these rules, I seek to channel my own self into my cooking and seek deeper connection between myself, my practice, and my land.

Symbolizing Lughnasadh

Lughnasadh is one of my favorite festivals. To me, the solstices carry weight and tradition while the equinoxes bear more reflection and introspection, but the fire festivals are times to let loose and celebrate the seasons. Lughnasadh is a time for celebrating the fruits of our labor, in some cases literally. It is the time of plenty, the beginning of the harvest and, necessarily, I feel, is also the time for the giving of thanks.

As an American, Thanksgiving is probably our most culturally significant holiday and occurs at the end of the harvest season, in late November. But as a Druid, I wish to give thanks for bounties at all points of the year. Traditionally, this is done with the baking, and sometimes the offering, of bread, celebrating the grains that form the staple of our ancestor’s diets (and at least mine as well!).

Lughnasadh is also a time for letting go and for celebrating the skilled works of tradespeople and artists. It is a time where we not only celebrate the work we’ve done to get bounty from the land, but a time to share what our personal talents can bring our communities as well. Sounds like the perfect festival to apply my love and talent of and in food to celebrate with everyone.

What to Make

With its focus on grains, one might think it would be difficult for me to find something fitting to bring to this celebration, considering none of the traditional bread making grains are native to my area. Not wheat, nor barley, nor oats. But, in fact, the qualities of this festival have made it one of the easiest to find a suitable dish for. For it, I turn to my childhood and a dish that has pervaded New England since the native tribes of the area taught it to the earliest of colonials: succotash.

If you’ve only heard of succotash from Sylvester the Cat, don’t worry, it is a traditional dish of the Native Americans of the northeast, comprising of the Three Sisters: corn, beans, and squash. Variations have followed the Native Americans across the continent and now most rural areas of the country have a version of it. The one my grandmother used to make used milk, a family adaptation based on three centuries of New England dairy farming.

But succotash is the perfect dish for Lughnasadh. Not only is one of the central ingredients the major grain native to my area, corn or maize, but by utilizing the other two sisters as well, it is a dish that represents the community that the three plants have, coming together to make a meal where each sister contributes their own talents and tastes.

I’ve talked about the three sisters before, but I do not believe I have gone into detail. If I have, please excuse this brief recap. The three sisters are corn, beans, and squash, and they represented the main agricultural efforts of many Native American tribes and confederations. The term itself is a translation of Iroquois, but the Cherokee and Wampanoag, the tribe native to my area, used it as well. Corn would be planted first and allowed to get a head start. She is the oldest sister. Then beans would be planted at the base of the corn stalk and allowed to use it as a trellis. She is the middle sister, and though she climbs on her older sister, she strengthens the soil by, as we now know, adding nitrogen to it. Finally, Squash is planted around both. She is the youngest sister and the fastest growing and she uses her broad leaves to shade the soil, retaining water and smothering weeds. Working in this harmony, all three plants strengthen each other and grow better for it.

Hopefully you can now see why I easily thought of succotash as the perfect dish to represent Lughnasadh. It is one that celebrates grain, yes, but also the community that

goes into growing the grain, combining many talents into one. Of course, since I don’t have a cow and they are not native to my area, I will be leaving out the milk in this version, making a more traditional succotash.

Making Succotash

This is an incredibly easy dish. For this, I am using sweet corn, a zucchini (called in the UK a green courgette), and butter beans, which I shelled and par-boiled before beginning this recipe. You can use whatever mix of corn, beans, and squash you like. In the winter, it is often made with dent corn and pumpkin or other winter squash, and in the summer I have also made it with green beans. These are what I had on hand in my garden, so these are what I am using.

To start, you’ll want to cut up your zucchini (courgetti) into bite sized pieces. Then, you’ll want to cut the corn kernels off the cob. The safest way to do so would be to cut the end of the cob off to make it flat, and them place it on an overturned ramekin in a large bowl or saucer. Holding it steady, use a sharp knife to slice a large row of kernels off and let them fall into the larger dish. I have included a photo of this. Then you’ll want to get your beans ready, making sure they will cook in a short amount of time in a frying pan (hence why I par-boiled mine).

A note on fat: butter and the various oils I generally use day-to-day are not native to my area, so I couldn’t use them for this effort. Traditionally, Native Americans from my area would render bear fat into tallow and use that throughout the year. Bear fat is rather near impossible to find, nowadays, though, so I am using duck fat, which would have also been available. Use whatever fat you wish.

Once your Mise is En Place, get a small amount of the fat of your choice into a frying pan. Then simply add the igridients in the order that they will take time to cook, starting with whatever will take the longest. In my case, I started with the zucchini (courgetti) and beans at the same time. Once they started to take on some color, I added the corn and some salt. I continued frying and stirring until everything was tender and had some good browning. Then simply put into a bowl and it’s time to enjoy!

Needless to say I enjoyed the dish. I grew up eating succotash and still make it occasionally now. While eating it dry and fried, rather than simmered in milk, is a new experience, I have to say it was quite good and something I might ad to my regular rotation just to mix things up. I’m always looking for ways to make veggies taste good.

From a culinary perspective, I think this could have benefited from some onion mixed in as well as a few herbs. All of which I grow and could have added by my rules for this journey. However, from a spiritual perspective, I purposefully omitted them because I wanted the

three sisters to shine in their community together, to better symbolize the dish and for the purposes of making a festival-specific celebratory dish, I believe that I made the correct decision. Though I think I could have doubled up on the sweet corn, both for flavor and to emphasize the celebration of grain in Lughnasadh. So I would recommend doing that.

Conclusion

Succotash has been, in my opinion, the perfect dish to symbolize and celebrate Lughnasadh, at least for my area. I think I have belabored the reasons why too much already. Instead, I would love to hear what you think it might be in your area!

Recipe

Ingredients

Two cobs of sweet corn, raw

About 8 oz (half pound; 227 grams) of fresh beans of your choice, either quick cooking or par-boiled

Summer squash of your choice

Fat of your choice

Salt to taste

Method

Shell and par-boil your beans if needed. This is simple boiling them in water for 3-5 minutes.

Set a ramekin upside down in a larger shallow bowl or dish. Cut the ends off each corn cob so they stand flat. Working with one cob at a time, place it flat side down on the ramekin and use a sharp knife to slice the kernels off the cob and into the dish below. Repeat with the other cob.

In a medium frying pan, add the fat. When it melts, add the ingredients in the order of hardness, starting with the hardest first, probably the squash. Then add the salt and the rest of the ingredients in order, stirring constantly until everything is tender and has taken on a golden-brown char.

Serve and enjoy!

by Maria Ede-Weaving

Ogham has never been a big part of my Druidry. I was never particularly drawn to it, finding Runes more appealing and accessible as a Divination system. However, my own relationship with the tree and plant world has been hugely helpful and inspiring for me along the way. I am so grateful for the healing experiences I have been blessed by with trees and plants, their wisdom and guidance helping me through some particularly difficult times. Rather than depending on traditional meanings, I try to pay attention to which plants and trees are drawing my attention, and then I attempt to remain open to the gifts of that particular plant, trying not to impose any previous magical meaning or association on them, but letting them speak; exploring their botanical nature and qualities as clues to their gifts but also tapping into the deeper spiritual significance that the plant holds for me personally, at that moment.

Building intimate relationships with the unique characters of plants, can, like human friendships, foster a deeper love and appreciation of that being. The same with the animal and mineral kingdom: the care and intention that we take to build and sustain relationships with both human and non-human beings is such a key practice in Druidry. It can do much to heal that sense of separation from Nature that has led to so much of the destruction of our environment, not to mention the emotional alienation that comes from not feeling ourselves a part of the Natural world; not feeling at home in it. I am so thankful for the help I have received from all of those non-human beings; it never fails to astound me of how generous Nature is; of how it’s rhythms and seasons deepen our understanding of our own peculiarities and cycles; of how a deeper sense of belonging so often starts in a connection with the non-human world.

Lately, I have been drawn to Reeds. My local park has a small lake that is edged by them. They are so tall and abundant at the moment, and the wind becomes a soothing hush as it moves through them; I find them incredibly calming. Coots, Moorhens and Ducks disappear into the tangle of stems and I can sense how safe a refuge it must feel in that watery forest.

Reeds have the most extraordinary ability to cleanse water; if there is sewage in water, given time, Reeds will purify and clear it, and because of this amazing gift of transformation, I have found them a brilliant plant to meditate upon when dealing with emotionally toxic situations. Like non-moving water, stuck emotions can become stagnant. We all know those moments when we realise we have held on a little too long to hurt, anger or grief without processing it, or we find ourselves carrying the anger and grief of another. It can poison our emotional waters and steal our joy and energy; our feelings becomes murky, making it hard to navigate; left unchecked, it can even make us physically unwell.

If you are struggling with your own toxic emotions, or the difficult feelings or behaviours of others have gotten beneath your skin, or if the world’s injustices has you consumed with rage and sorrow, I recommend exploring the magic of Reeds as a self-care practice. I have watched swans sitting on their stunning nests built amongst enclosures of Reeds. This inspired me to recently construct – in my imagination – my own bed amongst the reeds, a place in my meditation that I can go to, to rest, recover and let the Reeds perform their cleansing magic. This cosy nest amongst the Reeds has become my safe place; a place of Sanctuary where I can choose to surrender over the burden of those murky waters to something greater and wiser, trusting in Reeds’ ability to cleanse, whilst feeling held and protected by the mesh of their stems, soothed by the breeze in their leaves. Remember always to give a little prayer of thanks for the support you have received from these amazing beings!

Working with Reeds in this way, doesn’t necessarily mean that those feeling will not return – we are human, life can be challenging and the process of healing can be lengthy and meandering – but I hope this offers a small practice of self-care that can help when times are tough.

by Tim Billbrough

Introduction

With an unusually large burst of Awen this past January, though, I set upon a quest to feast the Wheel of the Year with a special food item for each of the eight festivals. In these dishes, I try to capture the spirit of the specific festival, my own native land, and the ancient Celtic culture we derive from.

I do not hold these dishes as special in and of themselves, but I try to make them special through the consideration, intent, and symbolism that goes into choosing what to make and the ingredients that go into it.

I have four rules that I try my best to follow in pursuit of this goal:

1. The dish must represent the festival in question, its themes and what we revere about it. This is how I honor the festival.

2. I must use only ingredients I grow myself/can source locally, or are native to my home in New Hampshire, USA. When I can do both, that is preferred. This is how I honor the land I live and practice on.

3. The ingredients must be seasonal to my own land, either through ripeness or appropriate preservation. My climate is slightly different than that of the Celtic Isles, so this is how I honor the Wheel of the Year itself.

4. The dish must be an interpretation of what our Celtic ancestors would have eaten around the time of festival. This is how I honor our Druid traditions.

Using these rules, I seek to channel my own self into my cooking and seek deeper connection between myself, my practice, and my land.

Symbolizing Alban Hefin

The days are nearing their pinnacle and the light in the world is almost at its maximum. Now comes Alban Hefin, the Summer Solstice, and once of the most important and complex rituals in the Wheel of the Year.

In a word, the symbology of Alban Hefin is simply: Light. It is the longest day of the year, summer and the warm weather is truly here and the cold nights of winter are behind us. As the days begin to get shorter again, it is also in front of is, but that is the realm of Lughnasadh, first of the harvest festivals. For now, here in Alban Hefin, it is a time of natural plenty. The natural fruits of summer are well under way and the first of the agricultural plants are being reaped.

When faced with he idea of how to represent the symbology of the festival, I struggled to think of something that could represent light itself. That is, until I remembered that the traditional ceremony for this day was actually two parts, a vigil over the shortest night and a feast at noon. I decided that the best way to represent what Alban Hefin symbolizes would be to have two separate dishes, one for the nighttime vigil and another for the noontime feast, and that, as a symbolism of summer’s bounty, they should be foods that would be wild caught, rather than grown.

What to Make

With that in mind, I now had to figure out exactly what it is that I would make. The first thing that came to mind was easy: strawberries. Not only to I grow two different types of cultivated strawberries, but the edges of the forest surrounding my home covered in wild, and native, Virginia Strawberries.

As a sweet summer treat, I figured they would easily give a boost of natural sugars to those who are holding the nightly vigil and might need a quick pick-me-up snack.

As for what I would make for the noontime feast, I dove back into my research to draw inspiration from the ancestors. As usual, finding definite answers on these topics for the ancient Celts is nearly impossible, but what archeology and history can tell us is that for this celebration, roasted meats would be the main food of the feast.

Now I had to decide what meat to use. In the end, this was fairly easy. As I wanted to symbolize the spirit of the festival with wild-caught foods rather than cultivated ones, I really only had one option: a local fish. At this time of year and in my region, rainbow or brown trout would be the local inland fish most available. I also happen to volunteer as a fishing instructor for my state’s Department of Wildlife and know where the best fishing spots around me are.

So it was settled, I would make a two-part feast. Fresh strawberries to keep up through the nightly vigil and a roasted trout for the main feast at noon.

Making the Feast

And this is where, as they say, pride goes before a fall. After getting my initial burst of Awen and scrambling to find something to make in time for the festival but also to get these out before the festivals themselves for the first three, I sat down several weeks ago and did the research on what to make for each festival for the remainder of the year. I had anticipated easily finding the berries and catching the fish.

Well, as I write this, we are experiencing our 13th straight week of rain and temperatures somewhere 10-15 degrees cooler than usual. A very cold and wet spring we haven’t seen in

ages. Which means that, with the Solstice a week away and my deadline for this blog post in only days, the strawberries, while beautifully blooming, have not fruited and the fish have stayed in their winter hideouts. I haven’t been able to tease them out despite my experience and best efforts.

So, while I am going on with this feast, I must confess the strawberries I am using are among the last of those frozen from last fall and I had to buy the trout. Both remain homegrown or locally caught and both are native, so the rules of this effort are not in jeopardy, but the representation of nature’s bounty is a bit more symbolic than I had hoped.

It’s a bit of a blow to my ego, especially the fish, but, regardless, with that disclosure out of the way, we move on.

Just having a bowl of strawberries is nice, but something I think would be nicer, especially with thawed berries, would be to macerate them in some sugar. In order to do that and keep within my rules, I decided to use some maple sugar, which often comes, nowadays at least, in the form of small shaped candies.

I added the candies to my mortar and pestle and pounded them up before mixing them in with the berries and leaving them on the counter to macerate. I also thought it would give them a nice maple-y flavor on top of the strawberry.

For the fish I treated it simply. I opened it up, one of the benefits of buying it meant that I didn’t have to clean it or pick out the pinbones, so there are blessings everywhere, and used a bit of salt and some herbs from my garden: chives, thyme, and tarragon. I would have loved to add some lemon and pepper, but, alas, neither are native to me nor do I grow my own.

I tried to wrap the fish in fresh sweetcorn husks, but had a devil of a time doing it, so instead, I used them as a bed for the fish. I placed them on my grill with the fish on top and, using indirect heat and a small piece of local hickory, I smoked it until it was cooked.

Having done that, I actually recommend you just grill the fish directly on the grates. Because they cook so fast, the smoke did almost nothing and the husks cooked more than the fish, causing it to steam more than grill.

That said, I got my feast together and tried them. The strawberries were great. Not only did the maple sugar not overpower the strawberry flavor, as I was slightly worried about, but it did add a very subtle maple flavor that went very well with them. I would have loved some cream on them, but, again, neither native nor home-grown for me. Still, I expect those will help me keep my vigil on the actual festival.

Despite my comments above, the fish was still quite good. Trout is a very mild fish and the herbs did a great job of adding flavor. I think I will do this again next weekend (I bought two fish and froze the other!) but with my own tweaks and it will truly be a feast worthy of Alban Hefin!

Conclusion

So, while things did not go entirely as planned, the two-part feast still turned out to be quite delicious. A reminder that we are at the whims of the natural forces around us and will have to make do or adapt as we need to, as well as striking evidence of the climate change our planet is facing. As the light of Alban Hefin shines bright this year, many blessings to you all.

Recipe

Strawberries

Ingredients

½ pint of fresh or frozen strawberries.

2 teaspoons (or three small pieces) of maple candy, pulverized.

Method

Wash and hull your berries, if fresh, and place in a small mixing bowl. Add the pulverized maple sugar and mix well. Cover and set aside for several hours, or until they are softened and sweetened to your taste.

Rainbow trout

Ingredients

1 whole rainbow trout, gutted and cleaned.

Salt to taste

Small bunch each of thyme, chives, and tarragon, or herbs of your choice.

Method

Sprinkle salt all over the inside and outside of the fish. Open up and stuff the inside of the fish with the herbs. Preheat your grill with indirect heat. This means turning on one side of a gas grill and not the other or putting all the coals of a charcoal grill to one side. Place the fish directly on the grate that is not over the heat source and cover the grill. Cool 10-15  minutes or until the fish reads 145F/63C internally. Remove from the heat and let stand 5 minutes.

by Tim Billbrough

Introduction

With an unusually large burst of Awen this past January, though, I set upon a quest to feast the Wheel of the Year with a special food item for each of the eight festivals. In these dishes, I try to capture the spirit of the specific festival, my own native land, and the ancient Celtic culture we derive from.

I do not hold these dishes as special in and of themselves, but I try to make them special through the consideration, intent, and symbolism that goes into choosing what to make and the ingredients that go into it.

I have four rules that I try my best to follow in pursuit of this goal:

1. The dish must represent the festival in question, its themes and what we revere about it. This is how I honor the festival.

2. I must use only ingredients I grow myself/can source locally, or are native to my home in New Hampshire, USA. When I can do both, that is preferred. This is how I honor the land I live and practice on.

3. The ingredients must be seasonal to my own land, either through ripeness or appropriate preservation. My climate is slightly different than that of the Celtic Isles, so this is how I honor the Wheel of the Year itself.

4. The dish must be an interpretation of what our Celtic ancestors would have eaten around the time of festival. This is how I honor our Druid traditions.

Using these rules, I seek to channel my own self into my cooking and seek deeper connection between myself, my practice, and my land.

Symbolizing Beltane

Beltane, the first of the summer festivals, and the first of the year that is truly warm. Its main theme is fertility and many of the traditions that our ancient ancestors, and the traditions of our increasingly less ancient ancestors, focus highly on it. In fact, only within the last 150-200 years has the significance of Beltane, or rather the May Day festival it became, begun to fade. Being one of the most well-preserved festivals we have in terms of continuity of traditions, Beltane makes fascinating research. That is not the heart of what I am here to speak about today, though, but if you’re interested in the topic, I highly suggest the Tasting History with Max Miller’s episode on May Day, which can be found on YouTube.

Unlike the Imbolc and Alban Eilir, when I went about trying to figure out what our ancient Celtic ancestors would have eaten around this time, the answer was actually quite easy to find: whatever they could find growing and edible. Less than helpful, though, really.

So I looked at what would be new and green in my area and the answer was also easy to find. In fact, I have memories of going down along the marsh on my father’s farm as a kid picking the very forgeable I decided to cook as my Beltane dish: Fiddleheads.

If you don’t know what fiddleheads are, I’m not overly surprised. They’re a classic foraged food in the northeast of the US and southeast of Canada, but efforts to grow them commercially have failed, so they remain a local dish, getting less well-known with each generation. Fiddleheads are the newly sprouted heads of a species of Ostrich Fern that come up, along with Ramps (also known as wild garlic) as some of the first green things to show after winter in my area, with their season starting in late March, peaking in early May, and quickly ending.

Not only are they seasonally appropriate, but they symbolize the facets of Beltane perfectly as well. As one of the first greens they symbolize renewal, but when picked in season, they resemble upright sprouts that curl into spiral shaped heads, rather phallic in appearance. When left to mature into the full fern, the spiral unfurls into a lacy triangle of delicate hairs that resembles the growth of hair of a woman’s pubic region. Perhaps it is these qualities that fueled the local folklore that calls them an aphrodisiac. Fertility indeed.

What to Make

Now that I knew what I wanted to make, and a few phone calls to my dad to keep an eye out so I would know where to get these rather hard-to-source veggies, I still had to come up with a dish to symbolize Beltane.

Normally, I would wash them thoroughly (they are much like leaks in that they hide dirt and sand in their layers) and then give them a quick blanche in boiling water for just a few minutes (this step must be done to deactivate a toxin they contain naturally) before I would then coat them lightly in oil, season generously with salt, and roast at a very high heat for a very short amount of time. Fiddleheads have a very delicate flavor, comparable to asparagus, that is easy to destroy or overpower. That doesn’t leave much room for symbolism in my dish, though.

My grandparents actually preferred their fiddleheads pickled and would preserve them that way. That has potential, but I don’t make my own vinegar and while our Celtic ancestors would have had access to it through trade, it is not a native ingredient to my area. The First Nations of my area did a lot of brining and fermenting, but pickling didn’t come until the Europeans did.

Ultimately, I found a recipe from The Forager Chef for lacto-fermented fiddleheads that would be the base of my recipe. It is close to pickling and I could work with the ingredients to include what I grow myself or what I can source natively. As a plus, there are studies that

suggest that fermented foods can help with healthy sexual biology and even increase libido. Spot on for the Beltane fertility connection, right?

Making the Fiddleheads

From here it was a pretty simple process. I collected my fiddles from my dad’s farm, gave them a thorough wash. I blanched them for a couple of minutes and put them into some ice water. While they were cooling, I assembled the rest of what I decided to use. Though not native, I grow classic chives in my garden and they are sprouting now too, so I cut a healthy handful of those. I used a poblano pepper from last year’s garden that I dried last fall and rehydrated it, before cutting it into strips. Finally, a bunch of salt, which I didn’t source myself but is native and was used my indigenous people, and a close f garlic, again from last year’s harvest, if not native. Once again, I don’t have a native substitute for black pepper, so I am leaving that out. The base recipe from Foraged Chef uses grape leaves, but while there are native grapes, their leaves are not ready to use yet and I do not have any stored in any way. I don’t usually use them. The only ones available to me are non-native ones from the grocery store, so I omitted them. They are supposed to help keep the fiddles crunchy, so I will expect them to be softer than usual.

Once the fiddleheads had cooled down, I put my mason jar on my scale, zeroed it out, and then put all of my ingredients in it and then filled it with water. I noted the weight in grams, multiplied that by 0.03 (for a 3% solution) and added that amount of kosher salt to the jar. I put the lid on it and shook it up and kept it out at room temperature, but in a dark place, for 4 days.

When I tried them I was pleased to see that, while not crisp, they were still firm and not mushy. The fermentation adds a bit of zing that would want from a pickle, and the other flavors were present, if only barely. Far from overpowering, the other flavors were only just detectable. When I do these next time, I think I might use one of my dried jalapenos to kick things up.

Conclusion

All that said, they really were good, the salty funk of the fermentation went a long way to making these foraged goods a unique treat for the season and while my wife hates them, so my Beltane blessings probably won’t be helped by them, having a cool, tangy taste of spring is quite welcome. I encourage all of you to learn about safely foraging in your area. Learn not just from books, but going out with a reputable teacher and learning what might be in your neck of the woods, quite literally, and have a blessed Beltane!

Recipe

A special Note and Thank You to The Foraged Chef for the original recipe I based this on.

Ingredients

Enough fresh and tightly packed fiddleheads to fill a pint jar.

One clove of garlic.

A small handful of fresh chives

One dried pepper (mild or spicy, your choice) rehydrated and sliced into ribbons.

Kosher salt

Fresh water

Method

Wash your fiddleheads thoroughly and cut stems to equal length. I used just the heads, but you can use both. Bring a pot of water to a boil and have a bowl with ice water nearby. When boiling, blanche your fiddleheads for two minutes and then scoop them out and place in ice water bath.

On a scale, place a pint jar and tare out its weight. Once cooled, dry the fiddleheads thoroughly and place, with the remaining ingredients except the salt and water, into the jar, making sure to mix the pepper slices and chives among the fiddleheads. Fill with cold fresh water and read the weight in grams. Multiply this weight by 0.03 and add the resulting number of grams in grams of salt to the jar. Put a light on finger tight, shake well to dissolve, and place in a dark but room temperature place for 3-4 days.

Please consult your local regulations and food health department on safely fermenting foods at home.

by Tim Billbrough

Introduction

I am not an overly creative person, I don’t sing, dance, or make music. I can tell stories, but it’s not my forte. Most of my bardic passion comes from my love of food and cooking.

With an unusually large burst of Awen this past January, though, I set upon a quest to feast the Wheel of the Year with a special food item for each of the eight festivals. In these dishes, I try to capture the spirit of the specific festival, my own native land, and the ancient Celtic culture we derive from.

If you joined me for my Imbolc Bannock, you’ll know that these dishes are not special in and of themselves, my Bannock was essentially a cornbread interpretation, but what makes them special is the consideration, intent, and symbolism that goes into choosing what to make and the ingredients that go into it.

I have four rules that I try my best to follow in pursuit of this goal:

1. The dish must represent the festival in question, its themes and what we revere about it. This is how I honor the festival.

2. I must use only ingredients I grow myself/can source locally, or are native to my home in New Hampshire, USA. When I can do both, that is preferred. This is how I honor the land I live and practice on.

3. The ingredients must be seasonal to my own land, either through ripeness or appropriate preservation. My climate is slightly different than that of the Celtic Isles, so this is how I honor the Wheel of the Year itself.

4. The dish must be an interpretation of what our Celtic ancestors would have eaten around the time of festival. This is how I honor our Druid traditions.

Using these rules, I seek to channel my own self into my cooking and seek deeper connection between myself, my practice, and my land.

Symbolizing Alban Eilir

So, Alban Eilir, the Vernal Equinox. Also Eostra’s festival. It symbolizes balance, rebirth, and fertility, and the promise of the warm seasons to come.

As seems to be the norm for this, when I researched what our ancient Celtic ancestors would have eaten, there is little known to find. What we do know, however, is that this festival heavily influenced the Christian Easter and that rabbits and eggs were highly symbolic, both as images and as food. With that, I decided to make an egg dish of some sort.

But what, exactly, to make? There are many traditional ways to cook eggs. Boiling, and roasting seem to be the most chronistically appropriate for our ancient ancestors, but, however appropriate, I wanted my Alban Eilir dish to be something even just slightly more complex, with more room for symbolism and meaning.

I mentally stumbled down two clarifying avenues of thought. What are some more modern egg dishes that we enjoy? And what would have been in season, or available, to our ancestors?

Figuring it Out

I spent a tremendous amount of time on these questions, but it is an uninteresting story to tell. What I landed on is a simple dish called “nested eggs”. Or, alternatively, in the the UK as “egg in toast” or here in the US as “toad in the hole”. It is just a simple piece of toast with a hole cut from the center in which an egg is fried.

That decided, I now had to adapt it for my four rules.

First, the egg. This is easy enough. While chickens are not native to my homeland, they came over with the Europeans, and the indigenous people would have collected wild duck eggs about this time of year, I raise my own hens and have homegrown eggs aplenty.

The toast would be a bit more difficult. Wheat is not native to my area either and, in this instance, nor do I grow my own. I do grow some native wild rice, but not in great enough quantity to bother storing back. I grow it for its benefits to the pond on my property and simply harvest a small sheath for my Alban Elfed altar. Wild I can easily source more locally, I think I want to save it for Alban Elfed itself, so I will revisit it in six months. I could also do maize, or corn, but I just used that in place of oats for my Imbolc Bannock and I want to vary things up on this quest when I can.

No, I’m not going to use maize, but I am going to turn, once again, to the indigenous people of my area and look at maize’s younger sister, squash, the youngest of The Three Sisters of Native America: maize, beans, and squash. All three would have been set back for winter and would be available this time of year and I happen to have grown acorn squash in my garden last summer and have a couple left in my basement. A nice homegrown replacement for my toast.

I am including a walking onion bulb, some dried oregano, and dried sage from my garden as well. They are not native, but they still fit Rule 2 and should add quite a bit of flavor. I am also using salt. Not locally sourced, but an ingredient ubiquitous to just about everywhere, especially to my home, a gentle 20-minute drive to the ocean.

Making the Nested Egg

I started by cutting the acorn squash in half longitudinally and scooping out the seeds and fibers. I put them on a baking tray, salted them, and then baked them at 350 degrees Fahrenheit (177 C/gas mark 4) for about 45 minutes until they were soft. While that was happening, I diced my walking onion bulb finely and fried it briefly with a tiny pinch of salt and aa much heftier pinch of both the sage and oregano. Once the onion was soft and the herbs were fragrant, I cut the heat and set them aside.

When the squash was done, rather than just plopping the eggs in the already existing cavity, which was tempting, I thought the dish would taste better if the ingredients were combined more. I scooped the squash flesh from into a mixing bowl and added the onion and herb mixture as well as a last-minute dash of maple syrup, which my brothers and I still help our father make on his farm every year, and a bit more salt.

I mixed everything together using a potato masher to get things fine and returned the mixture to the squash skins, where I made a depression to hold the egg. This is where I made a brief mistake and didn’t make one of the depressions big enough, so when I cracked the egg into it, some of the white

ran down and spilled onto the baking try, where it later burned. I recommend making the depressions quite deep!

I salted the tops of the eggs and plopped the whole tray back into the oven at the same temperature again for about 20 minutes, or until the white was set and the yolk still a little runny. I thought it would be quite nice mixed into the squash.

I was quite right, too. As I dug in to test out my recipe, I found the squash to be quite delisicous, but especially as I mixed in the yolk. It added a creaminess to the squash that was just delectable. The sage and oregano added to the savory flavor and the slight sweetness from the maple syrup kept things from getting too bitter. It could have used a bit of pepper, but pepper is not native to my area and can’t be grown here either, so I left it out. There is a local forage plant called Virgia Pepperweed I could use in its stead, but I don’t have any on hand and it isn’t forage season quite yet. I am going to go looking this summer though!

Conclusion

So there it is, my Alban Eilir dish. Nested Egg using a chicken egg and acorn squash. The egg itself is a symbol of Alban Eilir’s promise for the future, a classic symbol of the season. The squash a winter staple. The two together show the balance between the seasons as the equinox shows balance between the light and dark. And the reinvention of the dish itself symbolizes the renewal of spring. All the aspects of the Alban Eilir itself.

Recipe

Ingredients:

1 acorn squash

2 large chicken eggs

1 small onion or large shallot

Dried herbs to taste

Maple syrup/honey/other sweetener to taste.

Salt

Method

Split the squash and remove the seeds and fibers. Place on a tray, salt, and bake at 350F/177C/gas mark 4 for 45 minutes or until tender. Remove from oven.

While the squash is cooking, finely dice the onion and briefly fry with the dried herbs and a tiny amount of salt until transparent. If you want to use a fat here, go ahead. I did not.

When the squash is out of the oven and can be handled, remove the flesh to a mixing bowl, being carful not to tear the squash’s skin. Add onion and herb mixture as well as a bit more salt and your sweetener to the mixing bowl and mash all the ingredients together.

Once incorporated, return the mixture to the squash skins and make a depression in each to hold the egg. Make sure to make the depression big enough. Once done, crack one egg into the depression on each half and return to the oven for 15-30 minutes or until the eggs are done to your liking. Remove from oven and let sit 5 minutes. Enjoy!

Introduction

The following story was originally conceived many moons ago when I was first studying astrology. I hope it will be appealing not just to students of astrology, but also to anyone interested in the deeper meanings inherent in the language of symbolism.

I view astrology very much as a ‘symbolic language’, and there are many different layers and combinations of symbols that come into play within this vast subject area.

An astrological birth chart shows the 12 zodiac signs around the edge of the circle (known as the ecliptic, where these constellations are seen in the sky). The chart is also divided into 12 sections, known as ‘houses’. Within these signs and houses the positions of the planets at the time of birth are shown. Certain spatial relationships between the planets, known as ‘aspects’ are yet another layer of symbolic information to work with.

The planets represent different facets of the personality, the ‘drives’ and ‘energies’ at play. The zodiac signs represent the way in which these energies will be expressed, and the ‘houses’ represent the area of life in which they are most likely to manifest.

In ‘Digging for Treasure’, an astrological fairy tale of sorts, I have concentrated specifically on the symbolism of the planets. It is not intended to be a comprehensive guide – more of a ‘flavour’ of the astrological characteristics and meanings of each, which become so relevant when applied to human psychology and experience…

To read the entire article, please click on the Pdf link below: 

DIGGING FOR TREASURE FINAL – story and analysis

Simone’s Website and Simone’s Elements of Alchemy