In this missive:
Finding Tobar na Cailleach
My next Writing Workshop
My book launch at Lighthouse in Edinburgh
A video recording of the Virtual Launch with Jesse Bullington
Imbolc is my favourite spoke on the wheel of the year. Subtle, chthonic shifts burn deep in the earth, ushering in myriad euphorias of spring. In Northeast Scotland, this takes the form of snow melt from the mountains rushing the burns and swelling springs. Snowdrops appear en masse, and their white clusters form the illusory scrim of late winter.
I have a mind to find Tobar na Cailleach, the spring of the Old Woman, in a planted wood near me. M and I go together to the forest. The high lonesome banshee call of the humming power station at our backs, we make our way to the forestry road and then the path to the wood. It is as monotonous as these plantations always are—vast pine labyrinths. Above us a giant white windmill raises and lowers its arms as we go in.
Yet this wood is different, too—it could be a mire forest, running with burns, streams and rivulets—the waters of spring breaking over the land. A wide gravel path flanks the wood, but to get in to see the Cailleach, we will have to pick our way through almost-paths, doing the least damage to ourselves and the landscape. Crusts of snow float in the burn as I cross into the wood, sinking deep in the boggy earth. The water around me sings, its peals loose and steady. I try, but can’t make it in—it’s impossible even with wellies and my sticks. Moments like this I realise that even good things, like the book coming out, can bring on a fibromyalgia flare. I sit on a log and wait as M goes further.
In my fatigued defeat I discover a ruby-toned moss beside me—I believe it’s sphagnum divinum or Divine Bog-moss, but it’s rarely seen in Scotland, and never north of Edinburgh. I’m certain I’ve found divinum. A recent tweet from the Yorkshire Wildlife Trust described it in poetic terms.
“…eternally growing, the immortal moss perpetually creates its own habitat, laying down layer after layer. The carbon-fixer, trapping pollen to tell stories of the past, is a recorder of history and great hope for the future.” —Yorkshire Wildlife Trust
Perhaps all moss can be said to do this, too. This land of the Cailleach, with her spring at the heart of the wood, dresses in a damask garment that preserves her stories. Were we to read them, what would they say?
After a time, M returns. He’s found the Tobar na Cailleach!
He followed the sound of its song to its shelter of pine boughs, ice floating in its basin. He filmed it for me—for us. Someone had been there before and left a white and blue porcelain bowl for offerings or for drinking. The Northern Antiquarian website describes lore associated with the spring: here the Cailleach bathed in the waters and became young again—Cailleach into Bride—Brigid. Winter melts to spring.
Join me at these upcoming events!
Stoke your creative fires at my next workshop—there are places left!
In this workshop we will explore modes of creating a writing ritual for yourself and as well as warding your practice in the face of upheaval and uncertainty. 4th of February, 2023. 7pm GMT
https://www.eventbrite.com/e/writing-as-ritual-workshop-tickets-504809557977
If you are in Edinburgh, come to my launch!
Come to my in-person launch in Edinburgh at Lighthouse Books. 15th February 7-8pm
https://lighthousebookshop.com/events/ashes-and-stones-a-scottish-journey-in-search-of-witches-with-allyson-shaw
If you missed the virtual launch earlier this month, you can now watch it archived:
Finding Tobar na Cailleach