In which I get kicked in the butt by the Old Woman

So there I was, checking the snowdrops and sure enough, one was open. Cue squeals of delight from the Witchlets, who were virtually upside down checking out the little green fairy footprints on the inside of the flower (snowdrop fairies dance on the lawn, then go to bed without wiping their feet, ya know!) and excitement from me (Spring’s nearly here!!) Time for me to make a Bride doll and place her in her maiden’s bed (ready for deflowering… and/or ready to return to the world after forty days of “laying in” after the re-birth of the sun at Midwinter - can’t quite explain it, as I haven’t got it straight in my own mind yet and I’m working with stuff that is coming to me through some very vivid dreams and intuitive shit. I’ll get there, eventually.)

Bride, made from rosemary and pine branches, wrapped in yellow silk, resting in her ivy-wreathed bed

There’s a local modern stone circle near me, and four times a year a very good Wiccan friend of mine holds an open ritual there, which I try to help out with. This year I was tying white ribbon around sprigs of rosemary (from my garden, always so chuffed when it’s something I’ve grown/made/cooked that’s required), and making some almond riciarellis for the ‘feasting’ bit, and taking two thermos - one full of hot Oolong tea with vanilla pieces in, and the other with hot elderberry cordial with rosehip syrup. I should have fucking known things weren’t going to plan when on the morning of the ritual I woke up to the period from HELL (precisely eight days early; damn my perimenopausal hormones) and freezing temperatures. So I got all the ritual stuff to the circle, but had to go home to my hot water-bottle, fluffy blanket and sofa to wallow in self-pity.

Never mind, the following morning I woke up feeling better, only to discover Witchlet Two was going down with a vomiting bug. After a cup of tea, it transpired we both had it. Neither of us could keep anything down for twelve hours, although we both felt fine in between puking episodes. Witchlet One helpfully ran a temperature so he could stay off school with us. Finally, forty-eight hours later, normality returned. Food was consumed and not regurgitated, temperatures stayed within normal ranges, and I decided it was time to bake Bride her snake bread offering. Ok, here’s a tangent for you: if you have Witchlets of your own I SERIOUSLY recommend “Circle Round” by Starhawk et al. It’s great for ideas to bring into witchy practice with your mini-witchkin. The Bride Snake Bread Meditation is in the Imbolc section, and it had been pecking away at the back of my mind as THE RIGHT THING TO DO (and I’ve slowly learnt to take that pecking-type-thought process bloody seriously.) I’m not going to post it here; if you really want to do it - buy the book, or borrow it from the library. It’s basically a soda-bread type dough, with jam/jelly and raisons in the centre. There is a meditation to go with it, which I did faithfully (I do sometimes follow book instructions, you know) for the first one, and then Witchlet Two and I made two more.

I should have REALLY FUCKING REALISED THINGS WERE NOT AS THEY SEEMED…. when the fucking snakes came out of the oven and looked like albino turds with eyes. Or as my lovely Twitterpeeps eventually decided - Phallic Turd Loaves. Even decorated with ivy and hyacinth flowers, it still looked like something a sick Great Dane had produced. Nevertheless, I placed it carefully under the forsythia, next to the snowdrops, to honour Bride and to welcome back the spring.

Less than sixteen hours later, the Old Woman dumped six inches of fucking snow on it. 

I had to build a snow-witch, didn't I?

Apparently Winter was not over, I’d jumped the fucking gun and she was not happy. It took a week for the snow to melt enough to expose Bride’s Offering.

Bride Snake Bread/Phallic Turd Loaf looking a bit worse for spending a week under the white stuff

(I’d got tired of waiting for Old Hag to leave, so I decided to take matters into my own hands, put the last of my good malt whiskey outside the patio doors, packed the Witchlets off to their Grandmother for the weekend and shagged The Hubster senseless.)

Hello Spring.

First Spring... and I'm shivering!

Blessed Imbolc/Imbolg/Oimelc/Candlemas/St Brighid/Brigid/Bride’ Day! (Have I got everyone there? Did I miss anything out?)

Well, First Spring here is when the first snowdrop opens its delicate flower enough for the Witchlets to scream that they’ve found green fairy footprints up inside the flower (snowdrop fairies like to dance barefoot on the lawn, and they NEVER wipe their feet you know!), and this year the first snowdrop opens - and we’re hit with the coldest bit of weather we’ve had all winter. Ha! The Old Woman has a sense of humour, you know, you think you’ve welcomed the Bride, the blushing maiden, back into home and garden, and the Old Woman whips her backside with the wind-chill factor.

I’d wrapped sprigs of rosemary for the local open ritual, baked almond riciarellis (recipe below; I love these because they are so pale and are gorgeous dipped into hot frothy milk), and made a Bride doll of rosemary and pine sprigs, wrapped in a white, yellow and green floral printed silk scarf. I’d even sowed some chilli seeds, made room for lots of seed trays, and planted out some rhubarb. I get the distinct impression this has displeased The Old Hag. Frankly, she’s hardly held up her end of the deal - up until this week I’d only had one decent hard frost out there. I had lobelia and the hypericum still blooming from last year in the back garden, and the grass has got so long I really thought I’d have to get the mower out. Witchlet One was most put out at the lack of snow: “But it HAS to snow, Mummy, it’s WINTER, it’s the RULES!”

So now I’m freezing my effing tits off, we’ve all picked up a sickness bug (I’m writing this between dry-heaves) and I have just put out a VERY GENEROUS shot of whiskey for the Old Hag. Hope this will appease her somewhat.

(I still say it’s all her own fault for turning up late. But I do so *shush* very quietly.)

Almond Riciarellis

150g ground almonds

Pinch salt

1 large egg-white

115g caster sugar

¼ tsp vanilla essence

½ tsp almond essence

Icing sugar

Preparation:

Beat the egg white and salt until stiff and dry

Slowly add the caster sugar and beat until smooth and shiny

Stir in the almond and vanilla essence and the ground almonds

Take teaspoons of the mixture and roll in your hands, then shape - you could do a flattened circle, a crescent, a diamond - whatever you fancy. Just keep the shape about a centimetre deep, or it will over-cook. Dust your hands with icing sugar if the mixture is too sticky.

Place on a lined baking tray, and bake in the oven at 140 deg Celcius for approximately 20 minutes or until they are just starting to turn golden. Allow to cool, and dust with icing sugar before serving.

In which I get a phone call....

It’s extremely hard keeping track of your dreams when you have two young Witchlets who consider five in the morning a suitable time to get up and jump on your bed. Time to write down my dream? No chance. Time to even go over it in my head? You’ve got to be joking. Believe me, the gods tell me things, The Old Man has a good old time and Hekate teaches me in my dreams. This I know. It’s very, very frustrating to just lose it all because I am accosted by my offspring each and every morning. I know it’s still in there, somewhere, but I have no idea how to access it. Still, I am ultimately grateful when I do manage to retain a glimpse of the hidden nocturnal world. I woke up at three o’clock (yes, in the wee small hours) yesterday with full recollection of a very short dream. In it, my mobile had rung with the tune “Let it Snow”, and when I answered it, Mother Elder said “I’m coming. If you want to save your pelargoniums, dahlias and begonia, do it now.” And then I woke up.

Well, something as direct as that definitely has to be acted on. So, in the five hours of kid-free time I had yesterday, I decanted the dahlias from their containers, absolutely chuffed to find that they had produced HUGE hand-like tubers in one year:

(I grew ‘em from seed this year - go me!) So I brushed them off to go into the greenhouse (also known as the four-tier plastic covered shelving unit, but greenhouse sounds like I REALLY know what I’m doing), along with the one surviving begonia (eight corms bought this year; a real extravagance. Four didn’t do anything at all, two rotted off, and one more got attacked by vine weevils) and two gorgeous orange-red pelargoniums, pruned back and re-potted. The last, and biggest of the pelargoniums is still in full flower, so I’ve brought it indoors and told it that it’s on holiday. 

Just imagine you’re in the Med, my dear, I said, and stuck it on the dining room table with a fervent prayer that the pot is too big and heavy for the Witchlets to knock off.

Just as I was about to finish up for the day, the postman arrived with my pot of the necrofuckingtastic plum rum sauce from Ms Graveyard Dirt. Just for good measure, she stuck in a plum pit and some wheat seeds (getting a package from Ms Dirty is always a delight; the wheat seeds came in the most adorable little envelope), so off I went back to the garden to plant both pit and wheat. I’ve had quite a bit of luck with growing trees from seed - numerous apple trees from seeds, a nectarine, holly, rowan and even a walnut (although that was Witchlet One really - he stuck it half in to a pot of compost and I was shocked to find that it germinated!) - so we’ll see how the plum pit goes. Give it ten years, I might be weighed under by 24lbs of plums!!

And while I was lugging various pots about the garden, I discovered a pot of spring onions I sowed back in May and forgot about.  What a bonus!

So, Mother Elder, thanks for the warning. Bring on your frost and your snow; cover my garden in your carpet of frozen white. I am ready for you now, I offer my garden up to your care for the winter. Take that which is your right, and I will gladly take the garden back from you in the spring.