It's been a WET winter. Pretty much the wettest on record, here in the wilds of Yorkshire. Living on top of a hill has its advantages in this sort of winter. All this water has, even on our hill, caused problems. I've lost a lot of the alpines that were dotted about through the herb patch, as they hate sitting with their roots in water. The Cinquefoil I planted in our first year here has also succumbed. And yet there has been magic afoot, even in this strange weather. Mother Elder may not have have graced us with snow, or even more than a couple of crisp, crunchy, frosty mornings, but I'm glad to see the back of the short days and long nights nonetheless.
So, First Spring arrived with the first snowdrops.
The family altar was decorated for Bride, with a bed for her, wrapped in ivy, the Bride doll made of fresh Rosemary, dried poppy seed head crowned with rowan berries watching over a cauldron filled with this years seeds, and offerings of mead and poppy seed bread were given to ask for the blessings of fertility on my garden this year.
I even managed to fashion my own Brighid's cross from last year's wheat stems. Not bad for a first attempt.
For some reason, this year didn't start in January for me (I can't quite get my head around it starting at Samhain/Last Harvest, either) and it seems as though First Spring is the real beginning for me.
The last few months have been a period of frustration and stagnation for me, personally, (I promise to share more on this next time) and it seems now things are moving again.
At long bloody last. So hopefully I will feel there's something worth posting more often this year!
Got to love my hellebore this year, too.
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