Archive for the ‘Encountering Nature’ Category

Wassailing – Blessing the Apple Tree

Friday, January 6th, 2012

Wassailing is an ancient tradition of blessing apple trees at Twelfth Night and asking the spirit of the tree for a bountiful harvest of fruit the following autumn. Some wassailers adhere to the Gregorian calendar and mark Twelfth Night on 6th January (although it strictly begins at dusk on the day before), whereas others adhere to the older Julian calendar and leave their wassails until the 17th January.

Wassail is an Anglo-Saxon word and is thought to mean ‘Be In Good Health’. Whilst there is a tradition of wassailing neighbours with songs and good wishes at yuletide (similar to the modern tradition of carolling), apple trees had to wait until Twelfth Night, a time when the world is turned upside down, the Lord of Misrule reigns for a day, and the spirits draw close, including those of trees.

People who cared for an apple tree – and the tradition is still strong in the cider growing areas of England and the marches of Wales – set out with gifts of hot cakes and cider as an offering to the spirit of the tree. Usually, a cider soaked cake was hoisted high and left in the fork of a branch, with more cider splashed on the earth over the roots. Whereas many people think that tree spirits are called Dryads, this word actually only refers to the spirit of oak trees. The spirits of apple trees are called Epimeliads.

In order to drive away any malignant influence, people might shout or bang pan lids together, and some even fire shotguns into the air. Then, all present sing the wassailing song, asking for a good crop of apples the following autumn. If you want to wassail your own apple tree (or, with amendment to the words, any other sort of fruiting tree) here are some traditional words to use.

Old Apple Tree, we wassail thee
And hoping thou wilt bear,
For the Gods do know where we shall be
‘till the apples come for another year.
For to bear well and to bear well
So merry let us be.

Let everyone here take off their hat
And shout to the old Apple Tree:
“Old Apple Tree, we wassail thee
And hoping thou wilt bear,
Hatfuls, capfuls, three bushel bagfuls
And a little heap under the stairs”.

Wassail! Wassail! Wassail!

Following the formal part of the ritual, the ceremony concludes with sharing cider and cakes among all those present. Traditionally, a single bowl of cider was passed around the company so it became a ‘loving cup’ binding all there in fellowship and community.

It is interesting that in Nordic tradition, the Goddess Idun held the apples of immortality that kept the Gods young and the world cared for. To people of the time, including the Anglo-Saxons who probably began the wassailing tradition, apples may have been more than fruit; they also kept the Gods in the heavens and the world on its course. No wonder such an effort was made to respect the spirits of these trees and to ensure a healthy supply of apples. If you wassail your trees this year, maybe you should also dedicate a little of the crop for Idun and her invaluable store.

But however you celebrate, Wassail and be in good health!

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Oak Apple Day: Echoes of Our Druid Past

Friday, May 27th, 2011

Oak Apple Day or Royal Oak Day is a festival celebrated in Britain on 29th May to mark the restoration of the monarchy in 1660, after the interregnum of Oliver Cromwell’s Republic. Its roots, however, like those of the oak itself, might go far deeper.

First, however: the recent history. On a bleak 3rd September in 1851, Charles II lost his last battle against the same men who had signed his father’s death warrant. Knowing that his only hope was to flee, he escaped the skirmish and, seeking refuge with Catholic royalists (who were used to hiding their priests from the puritanical regime of Cromwell), he evaded capture. It was at Boscobel in Shropshire that Charles disguised himself first as a woodsman and, when a crossing of the River Severn into Wales failed, hid in a hollow oak for the day to avoid marauding soldiers.

When Charles regained his throne in 1660, he remembered the oak tree that saved him and declared 29th May as a public holiday in its honour. Everyone wore sprigs of oak upon their lapel or else oak apples, which are galls formed among the leaves by a parasitic wasp. These small round ‘fruit’ give the day its name.

Although the holiday only lasted until 1859, when it was abolished, some aspects of the tradition still survive in parts of the country, where they seem to have merged with customs of those other great lovers of the oak: the Druids. Perhaps some aspects of this great tree move us in similar ways.

For the Druids, whose name may mean ‘wisdom of the oak’, the oak is never more sacred than when mistletoe grew upon its branches. Drawing an analogy between the sticky substance extruded from mistletoe berries and human sperm, the Druids believed that mistletoe enhanced fertility in animals and people alike. In effect, the plant produced the sperm of the oak. We remember something of these beliefs when we kiss under garlands of mistletoe at Christmas.

Charles II was clearly no Druid and yet his Oak Apple Day began to take on saucy overtones. Anyone not wearing an oak apple or a sprig of oak leaves had their bottoms pinched in what became colloquially known as ‘Pinch Bum Day’. Harmless fun. But perhaps also a conflagration with the Druid’s mistletoe ceremony and its overtones of fertility. Even the oak apples people wore looked slightly rude.

At Castleton in Derbyshire, a man garlanded in flowers still rides through the town on Oak Apple Day, invoking a pre-Christian nature spirit as much as Royalist sensibility, despite the Stuart costume he wears under the mass of flowers. At Great Wishford in Wiltshire, people exercise their ancient right to collect branches of oak from nearby Grovely Wood. (It is surely a coincidence that Druids carried branches of oak to their rituals.) At Aston-on-Clun in Shropshire, a tree at the centre of the village is dressed in flags, which remain in place until the following year.

For the more masochistically minded, the pinch on the bum for not wearing the requisite oak decoration could be replaced by a jolly good thrashing with nettles. Grammar school boys from Wem in Shropshire used to insist their teachers sit on nettles for the day, before running out of school grounds to wreak havoc. In fact, they started a rhyme, which went “29th of May is Oak Apple Day. If you don’t give us holiday, we’ll all run away”.

Since Britain now has a bank holiday on the last Monday in May, their wish came true but its origin is now largely forgotten. It would be good if the traditions of Oak Apple Day gained wider appeal but, rather than focus on the return of the monarchy, we should honour the oak tree itself. Held sacred from Druid times and still the symbol of our land, it has provided us with food, shelter, and protection. And let’s not forget, the day is also an excellent reason to pinch someone’s bum, unless that is, they are wearing an oak apple on their lapel.

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Foretelling the Future: A Walk of Divination

Friday, May 20th, 2011

Our prehistoric ancestors used many techniques for foretelling the future but most involved observing the natural world. A flock of birds across the sky, the way horses galloped across the hillside, even the darting of a running hare may all have been portents of the future and reveal a glimpse of what destiny has in store. The trick was to be attentive and alert to these signs and the messages they might hold. This is easy to achieve, even in our modern world, and you can even condense your search for portents into a walk around town in a lunch hour. I call it a Walk of Divination.

Think of something in the future that you want guidance about. Do not make the subject too specific, as divination seems to bring impressions rather than definitive answers. Make it something like: What path will bring me the most contentment? Then, holding this thought in your mind, go for a walk. Where and how far you walk is entirely up to you, but make this a walk of purpose, a walk of divination rather than just a leisurely ramble. You might like to repeat your intention under your breath, rather like a mantra to focus the mind and you might like to ask your inner guides to accompany you on your route. Take notice of everything about your surroundings and look for three things that really catch your eye, things that make you stop and take notice. These are your portents. Now, finish your walk and interpret them. Meanings might come easily to you or you may have to meditate to find the secrets contained in whatever you encountered. Again, you might want to consult your inner guides and ask for their help.

Maggie, a single mum, for example, was worried about her son and his lack of progress at school. He had always done so well but, recently, had been falling behind. She did not want to make things worse by confronting him, however, if it was merely a temporary phase he was going through. Undecided what to do, she went for a Walk of Divination during her lunch hour in the town where she worked.

Maggie walked down to the park and saw two ducks squabbling over some crumbs in a lake. She took this as her first portent. Walking away from the water, Maggie passed a group of trees and disturbed a flock of pigeons that had taken refuge there. They noisily flapped around until, realising she was no threat to them, they settled again in the trees. Maggie took this as her second portent. She did not see anything else of note in the park but, on her return to the office, passed a colleague, a friend from Accounts. Commenting on the late spring sunshine Maggie’s friend beamed and said “Summer’s on its way”. Something about the comment touched Maggie and so she took this as her third portent. Reflecting over a sandwich later, Maggie interpreted the squabbling ducks as an indication of what would happen if she confronted her son. Best not do that, she concluded. The disturbed pigeons she took as her son’s recent behaviour and the fact that the birds had quickly settled, she took as a good sign. Finally, the comment that ‘Summer’s on its way’ she took as an indication that her son would quickly be back to his studious self. She worried no more and the portents came true: her son settled at school and the incident quickly passed.

Observing portents in the natural world is an ancient technique for divining the future. All it takes is a short walk, an attentive eye, and a bit of interpretation. Remember that the portents are for you alone and so interpret them as they are relevant to your life rather than relying on any general associations you might have read. This is particularly important for animals, which can mean different things to different people. On a Walk of Divination, the only thing that is important is what something means to you. Why not try it yourself and see what the future might have in store.

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The Darkness of Night

Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010

At this time of year, without staying up very late or getting up extremely early, it is difficult to see any darkness at all. Certainly, I like my sleep and have not seen a dark sky for many weeks now. Apart from Venus, which is an early-evening presence in the western sky, the stars are nothing but a memory. I miss it all: the darkness, the stars, the moon shining brightly against a velvet black sky.

In the dark days of winter, we lose the sunlight and, for some, this can be serious, leading to Seasonal Affective Disorder or SAD. This debilitating condition causes depression and other physical symptoms and is treated through light therapy: exposure to bright lights that serve as a replacement for the sun.

But what can serve as a replacement for the dark during the summer for those of us who need our sleep? And what it is about the dark that makes me miss it so much?

The night conceals me. Just as I wrap my winter clothes around me, so the dark falls like a cape, covering my being and drawing me into its depths. If the moon should hide her face, then a torch lights my way as I pass over the ground, my visible world bounded within a bobbing circle of light.

With my sight gone, other senses take over and I hear the sounds of the night. The stillness of the air, especially after heavy snow, brings even the smallest whisper to my ears. The darkness has a taste that lies thick on my tongue, and the smell of an approaching storm assaults my nose with its musky trace of rot.

Fear rises quickly in the dark, as my heightened senses detect every murmur about me and my imagination works hard to plumb the source. The cry of a fox, the hoot of an owl; these are primordial sounds and they reach a part of me that remains buried in daylight. The night is when I can confront such fears, walking into the blackness and allowing myself to become prey in its jaws.

As I move through the dark, I can feel the animal within me, the part of my self that harks back to a time when my ancestors lived this way. The blackness of the night is a place where my soul finds its home. Spirit is close in the devouring ink of night and I reach out, speaking my mind freely in a manner that only the dark can draw forth. I know that the blackness will hear my secrets and keep them safe, locked forever in the depths of its form.

For me, the darkness is a friend that I miss dearly in the summer months. But, as the seasons turn, so my friend returns to me, touching me in a manner beyond anything the day can bring.

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Being in the Prehistoric Forest

Wednesday, May 26th, 2010

Our prehistoric ancestors, who lived when forest covered much of Europe, experienced their world very differently to us. The trees would have hidden much of the landscape and people could only move between separate locations by well-worn tracks. Time, for them, related to distance.

The trees would have been hugely significant and individuals probably interacted with their favourite tree at a spiritual level (think of the Na’vi in Avatar). We can perhaps imagine people measuring their life’s progress against a tree, perhaps carving images on its trunk, or even singling it out for use as a totem pole. Modern hunter-gatherer forest dwellers in Siberia do similar.

In deciduous forests, people would have noticed the passing of the seasons from the trees, with the buds, leaves, and fruit forming key means of orientating the time of year. The subtle nuance of such change, experienced by people who lived their entire lives in the forest, is probably beyond our understanding. The sounds they would have noticed as they travelled through the forest told their own story and people probably relied upon their ears as much as their eyes.

People would have been far more aware of the cycle of the moon and the times when its light enabled them to move freely through the night. Rather than organising their sleeping patterns around the sun, as we do, they were probably far more in tune with the dark and light times of the lunar cycle. In coastal regions, the shifting tides would determine people’s activities, with intense periods of fishing and gathering interspersed with rest. The rising and setting of the sun may have been irrelevant.

In each case, Mesolithic people took their cues of time from the natural world and the environment in which they make their living. For many of us, it is a completely different way of being in the world.

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