Issue 57 - Moon-bathing
SEPTEMBER 2023
For the first time this August, I read about the Wheel of the Year, the ancient Celtic calendar that revolves around eight festivals, from Imbolc to Yule – each one signalling a shift in the season, weather and nature around us. I love this doubling of our traditional seasons, focusing on natural markers to celebrate, and making suggestions of when we might try new things, let things go, or take time to take stock.
If you ever want to get to know a person, ask them their favourite month.
Mine is a toss up between three (sorry.) First up, December, because of Christmas, obviously. A close second is May, when you feel the greenery and the warmth is perhaps seeping into your very bones. And then - then there is September.
Cliched as it may sound, moving away from a major city has made me much more connected to the seasons, and this very specific few weeks it’s a time I feel it more than most. As August turns to September, I always think we are in a bit of limbo. Something about the light changes, doesn’t it? Mornings start with an increasingly clear chill, turning to blazing sun as the days open themselves up. We head towards a point of perfect balance on the Wheel of the Year - the period of Mabon (the name Mabon comes from the Welsh God, who was the son of the Earth Mother Goddess) is the Autumn Equinox, the pagan period of Thanksgiving.
Two nights ago, we ate nutmeg ricotta tart with roast potatoes, and for the first time it was dark enough to light candles and turn on the lamps. It was the first sign of a gathering of ourselves. A desire to retreat a little. And yet also, last night, we swam out under the full super moon, enjoying the sea at its near-warmest, bathing in the brightness.
In my dad’s garden, the corn of the summer has finally ripened, the tomatoes have yet to peak, the figs are literally dripping from the tree and there are cucumbers on every available surface indoors and out. But the orange squashes too are nearly ready, the ground is already scattered with damp apples, and blackberries are in full flow, pitstops of any of the jogs I will myself to go on. It’s a melding of summer and autumn - a summit of green overflowing into burning orange. I make corn fritters and beautifully stodgy Dorset apple cake*, drink the first pressed apple juice, and Negronis with a handful of blackberries.
Every year in September I go to Abergavenny Food Festival, and as we set up early doors you need at least a warm jumper, but as you have the first (Hard Lines) coffee of the day, probably with a cinnamon bun from the Angel Bakery, you’re probably wishing you had brought shorts.
There’s something about the hum of the Market Hall that says Mabon to me. It’s in the camaraderie of the stallholders, the moisture of the air, the stacks of wildflower Welsh honey for sale, the heaps of ruby tomatoes from the Isle of Wight. When I visit the town outside of this time of year, it doesn’t feel right to me - it’s the same clock with a different chime.
Mabon, according to Google, is a good time to set intentions that involve decrease and reduction - for example, ending bad relationships, unhealthy habits or self-destructive beliefs. A good thought to go into autumn with.
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*add marzipan chunks for maximum delicious
Good Things to click on
Modern day witches - a show i can't get enough of
I blame Jen for me listening to this whole series
I also thank Jen for making me a brilliant new playlist to run to
This is a beautifully illustrated version of the wheel of the year
Squeeze in these roasted cherries and burrata before summer ends
A homage to Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, but a story all of its own - I was sad to finish it