Meeting the Othercrowd in a Scented Land.

St. John’s Eve had not long passed, the air on the Slieve Aughty mountains was warm and along the way the foxgloves bloomed, a portent of what was to come.

Foxglove, Lus Mór, has long been associated with the Good People.

Also known as fairy thimbles, fairy gloves and witches’ bells they were considered 

unlucky to bring indoors.

A ritual involving foxglove was utilised by parents whose child had suffered a ‘fairy stroke’ 

and was thought to be a changeling. 

Three drops of foxglove were put in each ear and on the tongue of the infant before placing it on a shovel at the house door. 

The door was swung open three times whilst saying “ if you’re a fairy away with you.” 

If it was a changeling the child would die, if not the infant would recover.

St. John’s Eve was believed to be the best time to collect foxgloves but unless you were being paid 

to cut the flowers, great care had to be taken not to cross the Good People. 

One story tells that a woman was stopped from collecting them by a voice which called  

“ Don’t cut that if you’re not paid, or you’ll be sorry.”

Soon I was back on the Burren, truly a fertile rock at this time of year. 

The Land of the Fertile Rock - link to previous post HERE

I was greeted by mossy islands. 

 And miniature landscapes.

A green swathe around St. Fachtnan’s well.

Clear water pooled & a creature swam within, too fast to capture.

New offerings had been left, a tribute to Brigid.

From limestone crevices ferns unfurled.

 And orchids bloomed.

My destination lay hidden in peaceful hollow, a scented land.

Founded 40 years ago, The Burren Perfumery is a self-sufficient island 

where limestone walks lead to sensual delights. 

Over 700 species of flowering plants flourish on the Burren and the perfumes, soaps and creams created here are fragranced by indigenous plants. 

Leaving buildings and visitors behind I entered the herb garden, built on the site of the original 

old farmhouse garden of 1800’s.

A path, leading deeper into dappled green 

brought me to a secluded nook, a wilder place where foxgloves flourished.

Breathing deeply, eyes closed, I sat on old stone and cast my mind adrift.

It was in that silence I heard Them.

Quiet laughter at my side, a quiver in the leaves close by. 

I held my breath, all senses keen, 

but only the bowing foxgloves betrayed the passing of the Othercrowd.

***

To discover more about The Burren Perfumery please visit their website - HERE

Take a brief tour of the perfumery, the tea rooms and the grounds -

Whitethorn ~ on the threshold of the Otherworld.

The month of May sees a procession of whitethorn stretching their long white fingers across the green land. 

They stand in the liminal places, between land and water,

beside sacred wells.

They guard ancient sites,

Oweynagat, “Cave of the Cats”, Co. Roscommon, home of the Morrigan.

Grange Stone Circle, Co. Limerick.

And gathering points where the Good People meet.

Distant whitethorn on the local Fairy Path where the Daoine Sídhe are said to gather. 

They trail across forgotten pathways

The path to Sheean. Link to read more: SHEEAN

and carry healing spells.

The Rag Tree at Killeigh, Co. Offaly. Link to read more: RAG TREE 

Standing between this world and the Otherworld the whitethorn, An Sceach Gheal, ‘bright, shining thorn’, is steeped in folklore and regarded with respect for fear of supernatural retribution. 

Felling a lone thorn brings bad luck and today many farmers continue to work around them.

Injury or even death could also befall anyone who damaged or cut down a lone bush. 

The close relationship between tree and Good People was acknowledged across the island. 

Some thorns were believed to have almost human attributes. 

In Co. Cork it was understood that a stick of whitethorn would have a temper of its’ own if used in anger and elsewhere blood was believed to flow from a lone bush if felled.

The kinship between thorn and Daoine Sídhe was occasionally utilised by people.

In Co. Laois it was once customary to sprinkle sprigs of whitethorn with holy water before planting them in fields in the belief that banishing the connection to the Otherworld would discourage the Good People from taking the crops.

Within old church yards thorns are left in place although they are often pruned 

to reflect Christian symbolism.

This bond was understood to be of service to cattle too.

Farmers would hang the afterbirth of a premature calf on a whitethorn believing that the bush would help it to survive and in some areas a sprig from a fairy thorn was hung in the milk parlour to encourage cows to produce creamier milk. 

The May Bush decorated skeletal remains of whitethorn and ivy.
Link to read more: MAY BUSH 

On May Eve when the bush was decorated there were differing views on the use of whitethorn for this purpose. 

In some areas it was acceptable and in others, using a branch of thorn was considered unlucky.

Throughout the country however, it was believed that bringing blossom into the house would shortly be followed by illness and death.

Whitethorn blossom exudes a scent that many find unpleasant and it has been found that the chemical trimethylamine, which is formed when animal tissues decay, is also present in the blossom. 

Unbaptised infants who had died and were denied internment in consecrated ground, were buried in the ‘sacred space’ beneath lone thorns, especially if they stood within fairy forts.

Lone thorn on Rath Coffey used as an infants' grave.
Link to read more: Cillín

Others mark age-old stopping places from hearth to grave.

Whitethorn standing between farm yard and road. 

It was customary for bearers to rest the coffin at the foot of this bush and local lore states 

that the thorn must not be removed. 

By the end of Lughnasadh the Whitethorn has become the Hawthorn,

limbs laden with red haws. 

And as the year progresses the tree reveals her true nature.

Thorn on the Burren - image © eyeem.

Living an average of 400 years, with some reaching 700, they become twisted and gnarled, claws sharp and fingers bent with age.

Thorns on the Burren coast.

A procession of bent forms reminiscent of hags, ridden by the wind.

'Wind-blown Trees' by Paul Henry.

At Samhain, standing starkly on the threshold of the Otherworld, they guard supernatural paths awaiting transformation.

The Many Coloured Land.

Yesterday, as daylight dwindled, I was sitting by the stove re-reading AE’s book

‘The Candle of Vision’ when my mind returned to the start of this year. 

I began 2016 here with a post dedicated to George William Russell, AE. 

His writing continued to inspire me through the bleak days of winter and later led me to seek out the Many Coloured Land, places of vision and creative power within myself and the landscape of Ireland.   

To read - Æ, artist & mystic - 

“And the old enchantment lingers in the honey-heart of earth.” LINK HERE

This January was icy but as daylight slowly grew I made preparations to honour Brigid on the Eve of her festival.

The cross was woven and set above the door. 

The brát was placed on the windowsill to catch her blessing as she emerged from nearby 

Croghan Hill, to walk the land. 

To read - "Brighid returns from the Otherworld" LINK HERE

The long desired greening had began by the time I travelled to Kildare, home of her eternal flame. 

Her fire pit held evidence of ritual 

and at Brigid’s Well I felt the rising of the year.

To read - "The promised Spring arrives" LINK HERE

In hindsight I now understand that water has flowed throughout my year. 

Visits to rivers, lakes, bogs and sacred wells have inspired me and strengthened my connection to the spirits of the land. 

I see now that it really began on the shores of Lough Gur, sacred to the goddess Áine. 

To read - LOUGH GUR - “a personality loved, but also feared.”

LINK HERE

Then on morning walks to my local river I spied white blossom on dark limbs.

The blackthorn blazed like pale spirits across the country.

To read "Blackthorn, dark sister of the May" LINK HERE

Pale primroses peeped from beneath hedges and gold glinted in the fields.

Bealtaine came nearer. I welcomed summer on May Eve in the old way by decorating a May bush 

and lighting a bonfire at twilight. 

To read - "The May bush ribbons dance as the Fairy Host pass by" LINK HERE

As the land brought forth her flowers and the sun stretched the evenings

I felt a strong pull towards water, the west and Irelands’ many sacred wells. 

To read - "Sacred water and three thousand Holy Wells" LINK HERE

To read - "By Stone, Whitethorn and Well" LINK HERE

One well in particular, Rathin Well in Co. Clare, was to connect me to a deep sorrow still felt
by many communities.

To read - "In silent need they searched for Holy ground" LINK HERE

The year turned towards harvest but water still drew me to loughs 

To read - "Lughnasa, loughs and a last salute to Summer." LINK HERE

and the dark bog spirits of the Midlands.

To read - "Dark Spirits of the Bog" LINK HERE

There were places where the Otherworld felt close

To read - "The Burren: Land of the Fertile Rock" LINK HERE

and a morning when I stepped into The Silence.

To read - "Otherworld Shenanigans: The Silence" LINK HERE

Throughout this years’ adventures The Cailleach, the Old Woman, has been close by.

She has threaded her way through images.

To read - "The Cailleach - Hag of the Mill & Mother of the Herd" LINK HERE

And words. 

To read - "A Samhain Story - The Lament of the Old Woman" LINK HERE

As I prepare to celebrate the birth of a new year she whispers in my ear -

“ There is more, much more yet to come. You have merely glimpsed the Many Coloured Land.” 

Outside The Cailleach traces frost upon the leaves but I know she has already planted 

the seeds of next years’ adventures.

Many thanks to you all for reading, following and commenting on this blog. 

May your New Year be filled with good food, good health & good company!