The ancient Celts used the first alphabet in Europe which is called the Ogham script. Each letter is associated with a tree or an important plant. The alphabet was used as a mnemonic device to encode knowledge, the Celtic song of the universe, Ceolta na Cruinne (Diana Beresford-Kroeger). The thirteen months of the year (pre-Gregorian calendar) were each represented by a particular tree. The new year began on Nov. 1st with Birch, followed by Rowan in December, Alder in January, Willow in February, Ash in March, Hawthorn in April, Oak in May, Holly in June and Hazel in July. The “tree” associated with August is the Blackberry (Bramble) or Vine.
Some authors say that the plant for August representing
Muin or the letter M, is the Blackberry or Bramble and others say the
Vine. Grapes were introduced to Ireland
so the original plant was likely Blackberry.
Both grapes and blackberries are used to make wine so they are linked
with intuition and prophecy. They are
both plants which bind themselves to other plants and are thus understood as connectors.
These plants travel wherever they want.
Blackberry has roots that sucker up wherever they can. Their branches grow out into space until they
are heavy enough to touch the ground.
Then the tip produces a root. In
this way, the blackberry “leapfrogs” along.
Grapes send out strong tendrils to wind around whatever the plant is
climbing on. I have seen wild grapes
cover a small tree and weigh it down once the grapes form. Both these plants have a strong life force that
can teach us about the tenacity that
comes from being both tough and flexible.
Blackberries brambles create a safe place for a community of beings including
small mammals, birds and saplings. In
this way, it links different energies into a community. Muin is also about weaving your consciousness
with the consciousness of everything.
As I pondered the teachings of Blackberry with a small
group of like-minded women, I could sense Blackberry wrapping around us, providing
a safe container for us to open to its teachings. We talked about the seeming opposite
qualities of thorns which can really hurt human skin and the delicious soft, ripe
berries. One woman pointed out that it
takes skill to reach through the thorny branches to pick a ripe berry. You can’t just rush in there and take. And it takes patience to wait for the berry
to be ripe. It won’t come away into your
fingers unless it is ripe.
As an older woman, many of my friends are also older
people. After a few years of the
pandemic, social changes, fear and uncertainty, I am noticing that some of my
friends are struggling. Age reduces one’s
need to people please and be socially “nice”.
I notice that some of my friends can be quite thorny at times. The ancestral and personal wounds that they have
been carrying their whole lives are becoming more visible. It takes some skill to not take their thorniness
personally. It takes patience to wait
for those moments of beauty when their best selves shine through, like a delicious,
ripe blackberry. It takes skill to find
a way for these experiences to act as connectors, weaving the safe space of
community. Walking away at every painful
moment doesn’t build community. Finding
ways to stay connected does build community.
I have experienced the tenacity of blackberry’s life force
as I seek to keep the Black Raspberry canes in one of my gardens from taking
over the whole space. The little plants
pop up everywhere from suckering roots.
I usually don’t have my gardening gloves with me at this particular
garden and so I try to pull out the little plants with my bare hands. Sometimes, little thorns get left in my skin as
a reminder.
This summer, my partner and I have been part of a new
community garden in our village which I have already written about in this
space. Part of the idea for this garden
is to let the plants teach us how to build community. We have the Three Sisters; corn, beans and squash,
which are companion plants, as the centrepiece of the circular garden. The
squash is heading out in every direction now, putting roots down at nodal
points where flowers and fruit also emerge.
My partner and I are experimenting with co-creating community with these
plants. When vegetables are ripe, we
encourage people to pick them and take them home or we pick them and give them
away. Sometimes, this give away is to
people who are visiting the park and sometimes we teach children how to harvest
carrots, lettuce, kale, beets or zucchinis.
Little carrots can be washed off and eaten right there. Food is a great connector as everyone eats.
We hope that people will feel more connected to the plants and the Earth as
they get their food from the garden. And
somehow this space will connect them all in the energy of community.
We like to walk as a form of exercise and since we live on
the shores of Georgian Bay, walking is also a chance to take in the natural
beauty that surrounds us. As we walk
through the village and along the shoreline trail, we encounter all kinds of
people. Some are year-round residents,
some are cottagers and some are visitors.
I am imagining myself as a Blackberry branch that grows out into the air
and then touches the earth and puts down roots.
Perhaps the act of going for a walk is grounded or rooted when I stop to
chat to someone. At times, we take vegetables
to people’s homes and have a little chat.
We as humans have the ability to take the garden to the people. Perhaps
all these acts of connection create a sense of community. Blackberry would tell me that it is.
Often, when we pick a vegetable because it is at its best,
I hold it and cast my mind out to see who might like it. I access my intuition this way and often
someone pops into my mind. One evening,
I had a nice big Golden Zucchini and some Kale that needed a home. One of my neighbours popped into my mind as I
held the food. Trusting this intuitive
lead, we set off on foot to her house and knocked on her door. She was delighted to receive the food. She told us that earlier that day, she had
been driving past the garden and she was struck by the beauty of all the plants
growing together. She had also come
across a zucchini recipe that day but didn’t have a zucchini. Somehow, I had intuited her connection with the
beauty of the garden and her desire for a zucchini and had walked the
vegetables over to her house, like a long blackberry branch.
References:
Diana Beresford-Kroeger (2019) To Speak for the Trees. Random House:
Canada.
Danu Forest (2014) Celtic Tree Magic: Ogham Lore and Druid Mysteries.
Llewellyn Worldwide: Woodbury, Minnesota.
Sharlyn Hidalgo (2019) The Healing Poser of
Trees. Llewellyn Publications: Woodbury, Minnesota.
lennie Kindred, (1997) The Tree Ogham. Glennie Kindred: UK.
Liz and Colin Murray (1988) The Celtic Tree Oracle. Connections Book
Publishing: London, UK.
No comments:
Post a Comment