Since moving here, I’ve found myself finding more and more of an affinity with nature. Even greater than when in France, although in fairness I think as part of my learning that was the start of it. Perhaps coming here, to the land of my Father it has brought that feeling to the fore.

I love this land, The mountains, the glens, the multitudes of green. A lot more than forty that’s for sure! The Wild, wild Atlantic Way, that almost took RD and Wiglet one blustery January day.

From the moment, way back in January 2021 when we walked down to that tiny beach and saw the majestic Mount Errigal, snow topped, towering in front of us, even though it was many miles away, I felt it. The land spoke to me.

Lammas is the Christian word for this time of year where nature has one foot in the summer, and one foot in the Autumn. 🍂 It is the time when the new cycle starts to turn, and Autumnal signs seem to appear.

I prefer to use Lughnasad, the true Irish tradition it is named after the Irish god Lugh, god of skill, light and craftsmanship. His mother died clearing the land for planting, and so a festival was born to celebrate the harvest and to remember that every harvest comes about because of effort and care, and selflessness. But most importantly it is about the ability to let go. As with most pagan festivals it was taken by the Church and made theirs. But let us not forget it’s true origins.

I follow the Farmers Almanac, I believe that Autumn starts at the beginning of August, in the same way as in Ireland the 1st of February is seen as the beginning of Spring. It make sense, at this time of year we bring in the harvests ready to hunker down for the winter.

I have always seen beautiful Autumn as a reminder that all things must die, the cycle must go on.

Those who feel at one with the earth, often called pagans (such as derogatory word, wonder who made that up?! ) druids, and Wiccans, celebrate this festival as it is seen as one of the eight cycles in the year. As the wheel slowly turns to Autumn.

The signs are all around me. I can feel it, as the summer, which is not just about weather, starts to drift off.

The Swallows (which I swear followed us from France!) have raised 2 batches of babies this year, and are now sitting on the phone cable chattering to themselves in their own indomitable way, probably planning their long flight to warmer climes. You can tell from their movements that they will be moving on soon, and we can only hope they survive their arduous journey.

As I sit here I can hear the farmers in their tractors, bringing in the hay for the winter feed.

Our ever growing rookery is quiet now, the occasional chirrup as dusk settles, there must be at least sixty of them that live in our large tree now. If this was 200 years ago I would have been burned as a witch! But we look after them. Everything is welcome, providing we all know our limits. We have fed the birds for so long now, some of them are becoming tame.

Due to the heat in Ireland this year the apples on Wiglet’s tree ripened early, already falling from the tree to be gorged on by hungry wasps, and the occasional pine martin that visits our garden.

But my baskets are the give-away, as the lobelia is starting to sprout in all different directions, like an eccentric professor. Although they have been beautiful this year.

The Prayer Plant’s leaves are just starting to yellow, and the other morning I could feel that autumn nip in the air, early in the morning. Not every morning, but that how it starts isn’t it? As summer tiptoes into Autumn.

This morning, as I pulled out I could see the blackberries thick and deep red, in our hedgerow. We leave them for the birds, and other animals. Everything has a right to eat from the abundance that Mother Nature supplies.

The sun is warm, but it’s a different heat. As if it has a voile shawl wrapped around it, changing the intensity.

I change my garland every season, and today I found myself looking at my summer garland, surprised that I would be changing her soon.

I can feel it, all around me. I am currently sitting in my summerhouse, with the door open on a balmy evening. Very unusual for Donegal! I have a small lamp, giving off a wonderful light, and the fence lighting has just come on.

So I will sit in my garden more this month, watching as the wheel slowly turns, and Autumn creeps in.

As always, I will treasure every moment.

Moisy