Chapter 3 : A Celebration of Lammas

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Magdalena’s Solitude

The morning light streamed through the forest canopy as Magdalena stepped outside her cottage, the scent of ripe wheat and wildflowers filling the air. Lammas— Lughnasadh in the old tongue — was here marking the first harvest. For Magdalena this was a sacred day, a time to honour the earth's abundance and the cycle of life.

She carried a woven basket into her garden where sunflowers nodded their heavy heads and herbs like basil and thyme thrived under the summer sun. Carefully, she harvested what was ready, whispering thanks with each snip of her shears. Her fingertips brushed the dry, golden stalks of wheat she had nurtured through the season, cutting a few to braid into a decorative sheaf.

Inside her cottage, the hearth was warm, a loaf of freshly baked bread cooling on the table. Magdalena had kneaded the dough with intent, infusing it with gratitude for the harvest and hope for the season ahead. The table was set simply: the bread, a bowl of honey, fresh fruit, and a small jar of mead she had brewed months before.

Magdalena lit a beeswax candle and sat quietly, her hands resting on the smooth wood of the table. She whispered a prayer to the spirit of the land, giving thanks for its gifts and offering her own promise to care for it in return.

Her rituals were unhurried and deeply personal. She cast no spells and spoke no elaborate incantations, instead, she wove a wreath of wildflowers and wheat to hang on her door, a simple act of celebration and protection. Standing at the threshold of her cottage, wreath in hand, she gazed out at the forest with quiet contentment.

Lammas was a time of reflection for Magdalena. The solitude of her celebration was a deliberate choice to honour the quiet rhythms of nature and her own life. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, she sat by her fire, sipping mead and watching the flames dance, feeling a profound connection to the earth and its cycles.

Aria’s Gathering

The scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling vegetables filled Aria’s kitchen as she rushed to prepare for her Lammas gathering. It had been months since her time with Magdalena and while her life was busy and chaotic, she had made a promise to herself to carry forward the lessons of gratitude and intention.

The patio table was set with a linen cloth and decorated with small bouquets of sunflowers, lavender, and wheat. A platter of breads, cheeses, and fruits stood as the centrepiece surrounded by bowls of dips, roasted vegetables, and honey cakes. Aria’s friends began to arrive, their laughter and chatter filling the house with warmth.

Once everyone had a drink in hand, Aria gathered them around the table. She felt a pang of nervousness; hosting a celebration rooted in such ancient traditions was new for her. But as she looked at her friends—some curious, some intrigued—she felt a sense of calm.

“Welcome, everyone,” she began, her voice steady. “Tonight, we’re celebrating Lammas, the first harvest. It’s a time to give thanks for what we’ve accomplished and to set intentions for the season ahead.”

She invited everyone to take a piece of bread from the platter. “Before you eat, hold the bread for a moment and think about something you’re grateful for—something you’ve ‘harvested’ in your life recently. When you’re ready, take a bite as a way of honouring that gratitude.”

The group fell quiet, each person lost in their own thoughts. Then, one by one, they shared their gratitude aloud, creating an atmosphere of connection and reflection.

Later, they moved into the garden, where Aria had set up a small fire pit. With the stars above them, the friends wrote down what they wanted to release—old fears, grudges, or habits—and tossed the papers into the flames.

The night ended with music and dancing, the group swaying to the rhythm of drums and tambourines under the moonlight. Aria watched her friends laugh and spin, their joy a tangible energy in the warm summer air.

As the gathering wound down, Aria stood by the fire, she thought of Magdalena and the quiet, grounding presence she had been in her life. This celebration, though louder and more vibrant, carried the same essence—a deep gratitude for the earth’s gifts and the connections that sustained her.

Lammas, she realised, was not just about the harvest of the land but also the harvest of the heart. It was a time to celebrate the abundance of life, whether alone in the forest or surrounded by those she loved.