Feather, Pencil, Trowel & Moon: November 2019

I am supposed to be drawing, but my mind is wandering back through days to when the wind gripped the temperature with bony fingers, and brought her to her -7F degree knees, that morning not so long ago, when the Black Dog and I rambled out for our daily hike, and though darkness lingered at the edge of dawn, the last light of the Full Frost Moon still sparkled like diamonds on the spindrift snow, and cast indigo shadows in the heart-shaped tracks of a doe, and the splayed paw-prints, blurred at the edges from the heat of hunger, of the coyote that sought her. The hound and I followed their lead out until their tracks disappeared into the frozen cattail marsh, behind flaming wands of red-osier dogwood, and the Sun was a faint glowing crystal orb in the cold gray sky. Their fate lost its meaning when I heard the dark song sung low from this grove beyond the marsh. It was the words and melody of Winter. Bitter and shrill. Stark and sweet. Verse and chorus in the old language of the Borderlands, crooned in the voice of the Witch Mother, hag and goddess, ominous and luring, her song weaving the weft on the warp of dried cattails, reaching out toward me like the silver, tangled strings of an old crone’s hair on the wind. The Black Dog raised her nose from the coyote track, pricking her ears toward the hag’s incantation, a sound not soon forgotten, and I hurried her on, back toward hearth and home, not wanting to linger. The hair on both our necks raised, and we shuddered, not from the cold.

I shudder, now, remembering it.

Allhallowtide, Hallowtide, Allsaintstide, or the Hallowmas season, is the triduum encompassing the observances of All Saints' Eve, All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day, which last from October 31st to November 2nd, annually.

Halloween came from the ancient Celtic festival Samhain. Samhain (pronounced sow-in) comes from old Irish and means 'end of summer'. This word is still used in Irish/Gaeilge today when referring to the month of November which is mí na Samhna (pronounced me na sow-na) meaning the month of November.

In our household, all three days are observed and celebrated, throwing my birthday into the mix on November 1st. Behold!

October 31st/All Hallows' Eve ~

Pre-dawn, pre-Samhain hike with the Black Dog through the black woods, and I meet a still-steaming pile of entrails on the path. Giddy with my good fortune, and with a smirk and a wink of gratitude to the Wild Gods, I adjust my eyes to the barely-light, and perform divination in the coils and curls of the gut pile. Haruspicy. All Hallows Eve, Oíche Shamhna, the Eve of my Birthday, and I read the future of my life in the end of another. This works well for me, and the message is auspicious. But, as the hound grows less interested in the viscera, and more interested in who, I assume, is waiting in the deep brush to finish this final, or first, meal of their day, we hike on. Black Dog hunts rabbits while I contemplate the reading, and the season - the end of a year and beginning of another. Death and Life. Red-wing blackbirds rise en masse from the dying stalks of cattails at the edge of the marsh. The bereft and mate-mourning call of a lone goose haunts the sky. The red branches of dogwood, and the ethereal tufts of goldenrod seed heads stand against the sepulchral gray of a cold morning. We turn, and hike back, against the wind. Now, in the first light of the day, the entrails have been rearranged by the teeth of the one who ate them, so I ask a new question to the hovering Spirit, and receive my answer in the remains. Then, I head home to begin preparations for the upcoming festivities. This will be the first time, in 25 years, that I will not have a child out trick-or-treating. Both girls will join me in the tradition of a post-sunset Halloween hike. Wearing iron, and red thread around wrists and ankles and necks, we will come back to this place, bringing with us offerings to leave. In this way, we give thanks and beg favor from the Others. The Spirits. Ensuring safe passage in the year to come.

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(artwork by Alexandra Dvornikova)

November 1st/All Saints' Day ~

Last night’s table for our All Hallows Midnight Dumb Supper. It was exquisite. The whole night was. We were joined by our Beloved Dead, both Near and Far Back. Then, after, we were up beyond 2am, long-engaged in talk about our Ancestors. For some reason, maybe their ages, both girls were more deeply touched by the reverence and ritual of the meal, and felt a more profound connection to the Departed. It was wonderful, and emotional, for all. Tomorrow, we will road trip one state over to visit their graves. Now, I am enjoying a relaxing birthday, surrounded by love on Both Sides. Bloodlines are the ties that bind.

November 2nd/All Souls' Day ~

All Souls’ Day.
The third day of our Ancestral celebrations.

We took to the road, and drove one state over to visit the graves of our Irish Far Back Dead. The Mahers/Ó’Meachairs. We left offerings of whiskey and buttermilk, apples, pumpkins, and fresh flowers. It was too windy for the candles, but we lit incense. It was too cold to picnic, there, as we traditionally do, but we said prayers and sang songs in Irish/Gaeilge, and sat in the shelter of the big familial tombstone, and simply acknowledged them as our own.
Then we drove to the local pub for some warm food, a version of The Feast of the Dead/Lá Féile na Marbh, and asked for an extra plate (we didn’t tell our waitress it was for the Spirits), and I maybe had a Guinness, or two, while I shared stories with my daughters about our Mahers, and the things I’ve read about them in that very town’s newspaper, from the early 1900s. We were very good great-granddaughters and great-nieces, to be sure. Tonight, we will light candles in the windows, and provide a loving, warm and welcoming place for our Departed to rest.
I wish Them, and You and Yours, a very blessed All Souls’ Night.
Sláinte mhaith!