We live in California’s great Central Valley, where arguably, we have a kind of fake winter. We put up symbols of deep winter, and cope pretty easily with inconveniences like fog and brief freezes that kill garden plants.

Imbolc, or Candlemas, if you prefer, marks the middle point of winter.  Signs of spring are always welcome no matter where you live, don’t you think? The lengthening days bring a bit of relief from gray winter doldrums. Not much of a “proper” winter, truth be told. As evidence, I present this daffodil, which bloomed on January 26.

These two lambs were born this morning at our school’s farm. Farmer Steve estimates they arrived without help at around 6:30 this morning. I would have missed them completely, as they were kind of hunkered down and resting, but Farmer Steve pointed them out to us. We couldn’t get very close, so it’s not a great shot. But there they are, small, briefly feeble, and perfect.

“The source of increasing light and heat is Brigid. On Imbolc, she moves across the land, bringing the promise of renewal and the return of joy. The name Imbolc means “in the belly,” and Oimelc means ‘ewe’s milk.’ The fertility of sheep and the abundance of their life-sustaining milk are at the root of this holy day. The dangerous part of winter, when sheep might die, when lambs might freeze, has passed. The tribe has survived.” This is from Tending Brigid’s Flame, by Lunaea Weatherstone.

I wrote a bit about Brigid and Imbolc in the past here.

(This handsome fellow is Atticus the llama. He looks after the sheep.)

The other three lambs at school were born about a month ago; they’re looking robust and strong. Weatherstone says, “Brigid is the life force embodied. Brigid is the protector of all newborn creatures, and she blesses new mothers with abundant milk and the instinctive knowledge of nurturance.”

“Brigid of the lambs,
Brigid of gentleness,
Brigid of the new milk,
I welcome you in.”

Everywhere there is a quickening, it seems. My plants are beginning to grow again. The sun is shining brighter, stronger, with more vigor than before. Snowdrops and jonquils are coming up, and soon the forsythia and quince will be blooming.

Today I discovered we had the all stuff to make a Brigid’s cross. I’ve wanted to make one for a long time, but never have. After dinner, Lucas sat down and helped me do it, and we talked a bit about Brigid, and why I’m interested in her. It went kind of like this, “So, for me, as a woman, observing and existing in a world that is usually trying to erase or omit the contributions of girls and women, and seeing religions either actively not liking us and saying we’re bad, or thinking so little of us that they ignore us completely, for me, the goddesses like Brigid are interesting, meaningful, and important.” He said something like, “Yeah, I can see why you might feel that way.” And he tied on the thread to make the cross arms.

I thought it might also be nice to provide some winter treats for the birds. This seems like a nice activity for Imbolc. But we’re going to have to do it tomorrow. Also, if I am really ambitious tomorrow, I may clean out my fireplace. “This is a Sabbat of purification after the shut-in life of winter, through the renewing power of the sun. It is also a festival of light and fertility, once marked in Europe with huge blazes, torches, and fire in every form. Fire here represents our own illumination and inspiration as much as light and warmth,” according to Cunningham’s Wicca book.

Happy Imbolc to all! May you find inspiration and renewal in the day, and find nourishment for your dreams and your energies for new challenges quickening.

I’ll write more later about Asher’s 9th birthday, which totally consumed our weekend with festivities and delights aplenty.

“If Candlemas Day be fair and bright, Winter will take another flight. If Candlemas Day be cloud and rain, Winter is gone and will not come again.”

This has been a weekend jam-packed with holidays and special events: Asher’s seventh birthday, Lunar New Year, Super Bowl today, and Imbolc, or Candlemas, and Groundhog Day. I have a post or two brewing, particularly Asher’s birthday celebration. Unfortunately, we’ve been pretty sick and down for the count for a couple of days.

Asher and I had some time this morning while Lucas and Ian were at basketball practice. We thought Imbolc would be a good time to bring out the wool roving and make something wooly and beautiful. There’s something soothing and lovely about the feel of warm, soft wool in your hands. Asher has never needle-felted before, but he was ready for it. We used a white wool base that I had felted into a rough oval at some time in the past. Asher got to choose the colors for our meadow scene. We worked together and I taught him how sharp and stabby the needle can be, and that we must be very careful. He seemed to enjoy the felting. It was fun making this little wool painting of sheep in a meadow with him.

Last week, one of the school sheep gave birth to two sweet lambs. We enjoyed a little bit of rain, too. These are some of the many blessings in our winter. What are your wintertime blessings?

Since today is quite fair and not rainy, I’m hoping that we have more weeks of (wet) winter ahead of us. We really need the rain.

If you’d like more info about this festival, I wrote about Imbolc last year here. And here is a little family ritual we did to focus on the hearth and home aspects of this Celtic holiday.

Happy Imbolc, or Candlemas, or feast day of Saint Brigid, Groundhog Day, or Super Bowl day! Whatever you do today, be sure to do it with people you love.

(photo from Imbolc celebration 2007 by Mark Kelly; used with permission)

Today is the Celtic fire festival of Imbolc, which is so deliciously wrapped up also in the Catholic festival of Candlemas, the Irish Saint Brigit, and the goddess Brigid, who is the Celtic Triple Goddess. I find all these synchronicities and conflations of culture, myth, ritual, and worship to be fascinating.

Imbolc welcomes the warming sun, ushering it back into the world so that spring may come. It’s said that if Imbolc (and Groundhog Day, which is tomorrow, February 2) is sunny and bright, winter will hold on a good long while. If the day is sunny, then the Gaelic divine hag, the Cailleach, can gather plenty of firewood for an extended winter. If the day is stormy, then she’ll sleep in and the winter will end sooner because she will run out of firewood.

The goddess Brigid is associated with fire, with early spring, and is the patroness of poetry, smithing, medicine, arts and crafts, cattle and other livestock. Her symbols include arrows, bells, thresholds, and doorways. Several animal correspondences are also tied to Brigid, particularly ewes, dairy cows, bees, owls, and serpents. (Thank you, Wikipedia, that will do.)

Today I learned that Saint Brigid was a patroness of students, and also founded a school of art, including metal work and illumination. She is known as Saint Brigit of Kildare, or Brigit of Ireland (variants include Brigid, Bridget, Bridgit, Bríd and Bride), and was nicknamed Mary of the Gael.

She’s awesome, right?

(photo from St. Joseph Catholic Church in Macon, Georgia)

Two years ago we were able to have a lovely family Imbolc celebration, which I blogged about here. This year we have been very busy with preparing for Asher’s sixth birthday, and his birthday party is happening tomorrow on February 2. I honestly don’t think I have much in me for Imbolc this year, except to quietly observe it and take comfort in knowing that winter is now halfway over. We are closer to spring now, and that’s a joy and comfort.

My hope for tonight is simple because I need a rest. Glass of wine. Fire in our fireplace. A little crafting to finish up for tomorrow’s party. Maybe over the weekend we’ll roll some new beeswax candles to light our home and warm our hearts. We’ll take it slow, and if candle-making happens, great. If not, that’s OK too. For me, this is a festival of home and hearth, and snuggling in with our beloveds.

In honor of Brigid’s association with poetry, I offer a poem I wrote for children last year. OK, don’t laugh.

(“Beneath The Snow Encumbered Branches” by Joseph Farquharson, 1903)

Wool Dreaming

Shepherd, shepherd,
Tend your sheep
In the snowy yard.
Rams and ewes, heavy with lambs,
Endure the winter’s cold.

Shepherd, shepherd,
Take good care
Of charges in your fold.
Their wool will be a comfort
To newborn, young, and old.

Shepherd, shepherd,
Feed them well
That their fleece grows soft and fine.
I would like wool warmth to wear
All through the wintertime.

—by moi, Sara E. Wilson

Here’s another roundup post, which is all I can manage at the moment.

But first …

“Knock, knock”

“Who’s there?”

“Ding-dong!”

“Ding-dong who?”

“Floooooo!”

That’s Asher’s joke du jour, or rather joke of the week. We hear it a lot these days.

It’s raining. The thunderstorm the weather folks predicted is right on schedule. Holy hailstones! We are getting a wee bit sick of the rain, here in Northern California. We’re far more used to dire predictions of drought and onus of water conservation than full rivers, threatened levees, and flooding. Ian’s been running about in his galoshes, tending to pumps vigilantly to keep the water moving from our backyard, where it wants to stay, out and around to the front yard, where it can go on its merry way toward Arcade Creek. The neighbors generously give us all of their runoff, and our drainage—which I swear is like 100 percent better than it used to be—cannot keep up.

Speaking of Arcade Creek, I’m wondering if there’s a place where we can go and visit it—some kind of public land or easement where we can see and appreciate it. You see, all of our neighborhood drains say, “No dumping! Protect Our Creeks … Drains to Arcade Creek.” Asher has memorized this very important message and is keen to point out every such oval placard he sees on every storm drain in the neighborhood. This makes me happy; he’s getting an environmental consciousness at a young age. Don’t you think it would be good if we were to actually find Arcade Creek and explore it a bit? I’m betting Arcade Creek is plenty full right now.

Now, a paragraph ago I mentioned Ian’s galoshes. He’s very practical, you see. His galoshes are all black and he and bought them from Home Depot on one extremely rainy day in January. I’ve decided that I need a pair of galoshes, too—not so much because I slog about in our flooded backyard, fussing with pumps and worrying about our house flooding, but because I am, as you may know by now, a chicken farmer. If you don’t believe me, you can read here on my blog about our chickens, our chicken coop, and the ten baby chicks that we’re raising. Or, you can head on over to The Wonder of Childhood, a new online magazine published by my friend Lisa Boisvert Mackenzie. Lisa is bringing beautiful articles and inspiration on the topics of parenting, education, nourishing, living, and story, with a flourish and all the seasoning of her experience as a Waldorf childcare provider and mother. If you click on “Living,” you’ll see my article, “Raising Chicks,” detailing our chicken farming adventures. Many thanks to Lisa for letting me be a part of her inaugural issue. I’m looking forward to being inspired on a regular basis by The Wonder of Childhood. (Thank you, Lisa, for including me!)

Okay, so back to the topic of galoshes: Dang it, I need my own! Because chicken farmers, like me, need to walk into mucky chicken runs to feed hens, collect eggs, and scatter oh-so-yummy scratch for the girlies. Said chicken run was delightfully dry and clean last July when we built it. But now, almost eight months later, it’s a muddy, poopy mess. I’m really looking forward to things drying out around here! So, galoshes. I have found a colorful pair I want to by for $39.95 and a black and white pair I could live with for $29.95. What do you think I should buy? Wellies style in paisley or black and white, William Morris floral?

Okay, I’m done now. Generally speaking I’m too keen on writing about stuff, even though I admit I really like stuff. I try not to make it my focus in life.

So, on to other things…. Did I mention that it’s raining? Today, Lucas’s third-grade class at Sacramento Waldorf school was supposed to shear the sheep. Unfortunately wet fleece doesn’t shear well or easily, I’m told. I have been asked to take photographs of the third graders shearing the sheep, which is thrilling on so many levels. Although, I have to admit I’m not sorry today’s shearing was canceled because of the weather. Although the sheep probably don’t care much about the rain, and third graders (in my experience) don’t care a lick about getting wet, my camera prefers to stay dry, dry, dry.

And now, it’s dinner time. Bye!