High Day Explanation: Lammas/Lughnasadh

Lammas, Freyfaxi, Hlafmaest, or Lughnasadh (named in honor of the Celtic God Lugh), marks the first of two harvest festivals and is celebrated at the beginning of August.

I grew up in Green Bay, WI, a city surrounded on all sides by miles and miles of corn fields and dairy farms (so much of it has since been sold off to developers) so I had a very rudimentary understanding of what the growing season entailed.  Driving west out to Seymour Lake many times over the course of the summer, I could gauge whether or not the corn was growing on schedule (knee high by the fourth of July).  Late summer heralded the beginning of the Brown County Fair and the grocery stores were flooded with sweet corn and farm stands began popping up everywhere.    

Now, as a baby homesteader on thirteen acres of land with ever expanding vegetable, fruit, and herb gardens, I understand the harvest in a much more personal and physical way than I ever did as a kid.  I’ve been enjoying the fruits of my labor since late June, but now the gardens are exploding.  I’m out in the gardens almost every day and my canning equipment has been dusted off and won’t be put away until December when I finish making my homemade sauerkraut.   Preparations for winter are underway and besides stocking my pantry with canned goods to last us for the next year, my husband and I are busy cutting, splitting, and stacking wood (which takes us at least two months to finish) that will feed our wood stove and keep our house warm throughout the many cold months ahead.

Virtue #2: Piety

Some thoughts on Piety…

I was raised Catholic but not in a religious household.   I can count on two hands the number of times we attended church as a family outside of weddings and funerals—it was such a rare occurrence that they tend to stand out.  I attended a parochial grade school for two years, received my first communion, and graduated from a four-year, all-girl Catholic high school.  I knew all the prayers, what happened when and where during mass, and when to stand and when to kneel.  Catholic was what was stamped on my dog tags when I joined the Air Force.  I loved the beauty and general concept  surrounding the rosary but found the prayers associated with it dull and uninspiring—spirituality by rote never appealed to me.     Catholic was more of a family identity than a religion I practiced.  “I’m Catholic” was just as automatic of a response as “I’m Norwegian and German” growing up.

It’s been difficult to create a regular devotional life.  It was a foreign concept to me and a habit I never cultivated in my life.   The word piety conjures up memories of dull masses, monotone prayers recited in unison, and stories of ancient saints that lived such austere existences that I couldn’t even begin to relate to them, much less muster up the desire to imitate them.  

I’ve had to pretty much start over from scratch—to throw away a narrow, lifelong held definition of piety and transform it into a beautiful and positive expression of my faith instead.   My new and improved definition includes two words:  relationship and practice.   I approach my altar every morning and evening, not from a place of resentment or forced obligation, but from a desire to nurture my relationship with the kindred—something as simple as saying  “good morning” and “good-night” helps us stay connected.  Every relationship in my life requires constant attention and nurturing—why would those relationships be any different?   I haven't kept my best friend for over 31 years by ignoring her phone calls.   

And my devotional life improves with practice.  Just like my first love -- the piano, I never would have progressed beyond "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" to performing Grieg's "Concerto in A Minor" without making a commitment to learning music theory and practicing every day.