Young Celts' fancies

In the good old days in the Scottish Highlands, youngsters took their clans' sheep and cattle into pastures far up the surrounding slopes as the weather warmed. There they'd frolic through the summer, out of sight of their elders. And down in the glens, you can bet, their elders took advantage of this newfound privacy, too.

Fooling around, finding out about love ... once they reached "that age," they knew what opportunities warm weather would bring. They knew what Beltane was all about.

The traditional song "Wild Mountain Thyme" celebrates this free, unfettered approach to sex and love. At first the sentiment isn't much different than a typical Beatles song:

I will build my love a bower
By the pure crystal fountain
And on it I will pile
All the flowers of the mountains

Sweet, isn't it? But then, after a short chorus, we find out it what's really going on.

And if my love should leave me
I will surely find another
To pick wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather

"I will surely find another." Strange thing to find in any love song we'd hear today. But that's love as nature made it. No hangups, no taboos, no malarkey about soul mates. Just the excitement of intimacy, the immediacy of chemistry.

To us, this is the force that Beltane celebrates. Despite our window dressing of civilized behavior and elaborate courtship rituals, we are all animals and really nothing more. And we're subject to the same natural forces as the sheep and the cattle and the blooming heather.

We've been observing Beltane for years, so we know not everyone sees the holiday the same way. What does Beltane mean to you? Does it mean anything at all, for that matter, or is it just another excuse for a party? There's no harm in that. That's life as it's meant to be lived. That's love as it really is.

So thank you all for joining us Saturday night. We hope you had a love-ly time ... if you know what we mean (wink wink).

Thanks to Chris for providing the art accompanying this entry. Go to his link on FB or contact us to see more photos of the gathering. And a thousand thanks to Steph and Sean and Glimpse of Gaia for a bounty of botany including the roses 'round the tiki torch in Chris's photo.

Edward Woodward, 79

If not for a minor British film, the average American might never have heard of Edward Woodward. And our Samhain celebration would likely be little more than a beer bash by a bonfire.

Woodward is probably most familiar to Americans as the star of the late-'80s TV series The Equalizer. But his immortality had been ensured already by his role as Sgt. Howie, a dour police inspector stationed on the Scottish coast, in the 1973 cult classic The Wicker Man.

The Wicker Man followed the usual path of independent "horror" films, starting out in small theaters and quickly reaching the drive-in circuit. But its appeal to the back-to-nature movement of the '70s and the ambiguity of its message (not to mention great music, scenery and acting) guaranteed it a place in cinematic history.

Woodward's performance played a large role in the film's brilliance. His character stood for all the things post-hippie America and Britain deplored: blind devotion to authority, organized religion, chastity, conformity. Woodward easily could have played Sgt. Howie as a parody. Instead he crafted a character of depth and humanity. The viewer feels bad for Howie as he hits one dead end after another while investigating a disappearance, and shares his frustration pitting wits against the cunning islanders. The measure of a good story is how well it can sustain believability, and Woodward raised that measure higher than anyone had reason to expect from an independent film.

Those who've been to our celebrations know The Wicker Man inspired a central part of what we do. So today, with Woodward's death at 79, we feel like we lost a member of the family, of the clan.

Edward Woodward, you should have outlived Nicolas Cage.

The shining

Our Samhain decorations include pairs of battery-powered lights taped together side by side. We hang them in the raspberry bushes along the back boundary. When darkness falls they look like glowing eyes peering at us from the woods.

These lights aren't exactly green technology. They're designed so you can't replace the batteries, and typically they only last a couple of days. We're no tea light experts (they're such insufferable snobs) but we don't think we've ever seen a tea light stay lit as long as a week.

Tonight, fifteen days after our Samhain celebration, there is no moon. Utter darkness engulfs the back yard.

And from this backdrop of black, two pinpoints of light flicker like the eyes of a predator.

That's right - after more than 365 hours, our tea lights burn on. We're not kidding. That's a real unretouched photo above, taken tonight. Maybe it's not much as miracles go, but we think it's right up there with Jesus on a men's room door.

Tom suggests they're not the tea lights at all. There was a violent death in the local woods recently, and he says it's the victim's ghost. Maybe. After seeing tea lights burn for 365 hours, nothing would surprise us anymore.