This is not, I think, what the ancestors intended.
Just sitting in my backyard, drinking a glass of lemonade, on the first reasonably cool morning I’ve seen in a while, and simply watching the world go by, is not exactly what I think of when the celtic festival of Lughnasadh comes to mind.
I’ve always thought of it as more of a “working holiday”, with everyone busting ass to bring in the first grains of the season, performing all the mechanical alchemy that turns raw grain into flour, and then the truly ‘High Magic’ that renders freshly baked bread unto a formerly barren world. Meanwhile, those not otherwise engaged in the sacred rites of food preparation begin to gather in the newly clear fields, to compete with each other in contests of strength, endurance and athletic finesse.
To be fair though, my particular ancestors never had to deal with Texas heat.
And they knew what they were contributing to their community, they could see, touch, feel and even taste the things they produced. A celebration of the first harvest was a culmination of their own efforts and the benevolence of the land upon which they worked their lives.
For many of us, in this age, the day to day yield of our efforts is a little more difficult to see.
We can sit on a cool morning under the shade of the oaks, looking through the blooming echinacea, out over the cats playing in the grass and the birds taking turns at the feeder, past the workshop which is nearing completion and out to the stands of honeysuckle which are consuming the white trellis I built for them. The bushes in the back need trimming (again) and the mosquitoes are buzzing, but there’s always something needs doing and there are always those moments, however brief, when we can choose to let those chores and distractions go for a while, and just savor the moment for what it is.
A celebration of everything that brought you this far.
I wish a joyous Lughnasadh to you all.