Intro video, Into the woods photo essay, Grandma's call video, 'Grandmother (I am the Earth)' song, Ali on the radio, Cailleach's Circle, 'Call me a hag - I dare you' poem, and other marginalia
Arrived at Killyon Manor about 4pm and parked by the holy well. My friend Jenni had just arrived too. She had chosen the Foraging course with Lucy O’Hagan of Wild Awake, and I had chose Willow Weaving with Rosemary Kavanagh of Wild Rose Basketry.
I was nervous; I hadn’t done anything like this before, and it was a long time since I had wild camped. We carried our tents and beds and food supplies through a wild grassy meadow past a tiny overgrown churchyard and into the woods. Lucy had left arrows made of twigs on the ground to show us the way.
Sunlight filtered between tall trees obscuring the sky but dappling the forest floor. Whilst the rest of Ireland baked in a heat wave, it was cool, much cooler under the trees. The forest was not dense, but it was disorientating.
A small wooden animal trailer has been converted into our only toilet, a dry composting one using leaves from the forest floor to cover our deposits. And no, it didn’t smell bad! To the left you can see a white bottle hanging from a tree; this was rigged up by Lucy and had a foot pedal which tilted the bottle to let water out for handwashing… genius! On the other side of the toilet is the river. A path led over a footbridge to the left, taking us to the camping area.
We camped under the trees in a very private spot. My tent is on the right. At night I was so cold I slept in my pyjamas, two fleeces, two pairs of socks and a heavy sleeping bag. When I say sleep, what I actually mean is I listened to night animals rustling in the undergrowth from dusk till dawn, and birds that never seemed to stop singing. I’m sure they perched actually on the roof of my tent! I did not sleep much, it has to be said.
The camp hearth, where all the magic happened! Built from logs and stones, it is slightly raised from the forest floor. The tripods are made from horse shoes. All meals were cooked here, apart from a leg of venison, which was cooked in a pit in the ground overnight for our final feast. Each day, we had a team that made breakfast, another which fetched water, another which chopped wood for the fire, and another that made dinner. We cycled through all these teams so that we all shared in all the work.
A room with a view! Here is where we ate our meals. The space is covered by a tarpaulin in case of wet weather. We were so lucky, it never rained at all while we were there. To the left, the ground drops to the river, but it can’t be seen in this image. Our group consisted of 8 weavers and 12 foragers, and unusually, was all female. I’m a bit socially awkward, and introverted, so I was feeling anxious about being part of this community of strangers. But nobody minded. Maybe I am enough as I am, after all. One of the things I learned from this experience, was that I didn’t have to resist who I really am anymore. All these years ‘challenging myself’, trying to be something I’m not… what a waste of my time and energy!
This is where we washed up. There was a specific system. The first tub contained river water and was used for rinsing the big bits from our plates. The second tub had soapy water for washing, the third had clean fresh water for rinsing. Crockery was left to dry on the plank bench. There was a bin for food scraps and recycling and another for general waste. The dirty water had to be carried away by the water team and was used to water trees in the new part of the forest. I liked collecting water. We had to wheel a cart containing the empty containers through the forest, through the wild meadow grass and up to the house to fill them from a tap. It was lovely to see the sunshine.
Gathering for breakfast on day 1. There was nowhere to charge our phones, so I knew power was going to run out soon. There was a call we learned to make to bring people into community; it was loud and resounded joyfully throughout the woods. Where the forest met the meadow, the river broadened and here we went to swim every lunch-time; there were no other washing facilities. The water was icy-cold and swift, and teemed with fish beneath graceful willows crowding its edge. I began to feel like I had slipped out of time into another dimension. I was surprised at how quickly it became normal… and how much I liked it. It felt right.
Our third gathering space. In the day-time, this was my classroom, but after dinner, a fire was lit and people gathered to sing songs, tell stories, play games, and just chat Not since childhood have I spent so much time out in nature, literally from waking until sleeping. In the forest, I felt sheltered. Trees, it seems, absorb all our worries and fears, so that our shoulders seem lifted. Maybe it is something unconscious in us, to straighten and lengthen our spines to be closer to them. It was a privilege to come here every day and do nothing but weave, whilst other people took care of all my needs. Of course, I took my turn and did the same for them, but I certainly felt like I received more than I gave. Perhaps, that is how community works, that caring is so natural and organic and seamlessly woven into the everyday of just being, that we become selfless without noticing. I wonder if we all felt like that.
Examples of Rosemary’s willow weaving which serve as our inspiration. Once I got used to the strangeness of the task, I became utterly absorbed in the process, often to the exclusion of all else. Weaving brings such peace, it frees the mind as the fingers do their work. Sometimes we chatted softly, or someone sang, a lone voice drifting through the trees like a spell. Sometimes we retreated inwards, and the repetitive nature of the task encouraged us to do so. My inexperience snapped me often back into the present as I made mistakes and learned how to undo them. But I settle into the rhythm, and find myself weaving more into my wonky little basket than just willow.
Texture and strength. Soft velvety moss resting on tough, wiry willow. Nature provides for our every need, but we have forgotten this. I am already learning about wild plants as food and medicine, slowly but surely, as I walk my local landscape. But here, I am learning so much more. Lucy teaches her group how to extract fibres from nettles that can be twisted into cordage, and one of the group shows me. I am hooked; it is fine as any sewing thread, but immensely stronger. I am looking at the plants around me differently now; can they be woven, will they produce good cordage? A new obsession is building in me, and I will take this home and nurse it into expression over the coming months. Rosemary tells us our baskets will outlive our grandchildren. I look at my wonky willow basket and realise that I am weaving an heirloom.
My wonky willow basket is beginning to take shape. It has rough edges, kinks, protrusions that need trimming, and uneven bones. It is a work of art, a work in progress, a labour of love. It is flawed and imperfect, and still beautiful. I spend ages choosing the right willow fronds; they must be of equal thickness, the right colour, the right length, and this work, the preparation, is harder than the weaving itself as it holds so much potential for perfection or disaster. My basket, I realise, is a lot like life. It is, in fact, much like me.
We gather around Rosemary, as she shows us the next step in our basket-making. She is teacher, guide, and storyteller. She is petite and heavily pregnant. She is softly-spoken and vivacious. She knits her own socks, and wove the cradle for her soon-to-arrive baby. I think we all fall under her spell. In this same space, in the darkness of night lit only by the fire, I watch her emergence as storyteller, and understand the spoken word as performance, as power, as magic. It is what people expect of me, but that is not what I have to give. When all eyes are on me, the words shrivel in my throat, or scatter into the shadows of my mind. In this space, I realise I have to stop trying to become what I am not. In this space, I confess to my new community. Instead, I talk about the Cailleach, and it sparks a vibrant conversation, and I think, maybe this is what I can do, maybe all I have to do is talk openly and share what I have learned, and maybe that is enough.
Selecting willow for our baskets. Not only have we commandeered the living area as our classroom, but now we have taken over the dining area as our workshop, too. Willow needs space, in the growing of it, the curing of it, and the weaving of it. It has filtered into our two main living areas, and that seems right. When you are in love with the willow, it becomes your companion. Willow has naturally infiltrated my garden, gathering itself into my outdoor spaces, and now it is finding its way into my home and my heart. Rosemary tells me that the willow in my garden is probably not suitable for weaving, and when I get home, I test it as she suggests, and find she is right. I am a little down-hearted about this, but not for long. I love the willow anyway, for its beauty, grace, and tenacity. It called to me, and eventually, I listened.
carrying logs to the woodpile, The fire never goes out. Lucy shows us how to cover the fire with ashes so that it stays alive overnight. I have heard of this, but never seen it done. It works. When I am on Team Breakfast, I rake the embers from the ashes, red and glowing brightly, and try to coax a flame but without success. I am terrified I will be the one to let the fire go out, but fellow team member, Aoife, saves the day. Modern living makes us so helpless. I determine that fire-tending will be one of the future skills I will learn. I watch Lucy teaching her group these skills, and celebrate the whoops of joy with every flame of success conjured.
On the last day, whilst we willow weavers were putting the finishing touches to our baskets, our foraging friends began preparing our final big feast using plants they had foraged over the last few days, and wild meats and fish Lucy had obtained for us. They used their new fire-tending skills to cook this food; a whole venison haunch had been roasting in a fire-pit dug deep in the ground and covered over with earth while we slept, and whole fish were wrapped in leaves and baked in the open fire. Here we can see flatbreads being baked on a metal tray over glowing embers. Watch Lucy’s video below to see nature’s banquet laid out for us.
gathering at the hearth, preparing food for our final feast on the last day, Lucy O'Hagan sitting on the right. Lucy said this was the first all-female group she had led on Willow and Wild. I don’t know if she felt this changed the dynamics or not, but for me, the company of women made this experience all the more special. As we moved closer to the land and ancestral ways, many of us had experienced moments of emotional overwhelm. I can’t speak for others, but I certainly had not expected that. Although I have so much to learn, I settled into this way of being remarkably quickly. I did not want to leave. My emotion came right at the end, when we formed a circle of women and Lucy sang a very moving gentle song. Grief is painful to feel, but it is necessary, and it is cleansing. Grief is a liminal space marking transition, the end of one thing and the beginning of another. Our severing from the land has caused us, and it, untold harm, but it can be mended, and we can all heal.
1. basket with elderflowers 2. me weaving the handle to my basket 3. baskets and willow 4. Always, our sentinel guardian trees. 5. My finished weird and wonky basket!
At Lughnasa 2023, 300 people gathered on Sliabh na Caillí at Loughcrew in gentle peaceful protest against the closure of Cairn T. The closure was due to safety concerns and was supposed to be temporary, but has lasted 5 years. No structural assessment has yet been made. The community wants this unique site preserved and restored, but the act of locking a gate is not preservation, and the site continues to deteriorate. These places were built by the community for the community. They were communal spaces. People still come here for all sorts of reasons, from simply stretching ones legs to admiring the view, from interests in history and archaeology to celebrating the equinoxes and solstices, for seeking clarity following trauma, to honouring the ancestors. What a privilege to have been able to access the interior of cairn T so freely, to view the unique carvings which still look so freshly chiselled after thousands of years, to trace their lines with wonder and contemplate what they might have meant to our predecessors who made them. And what a tragedy that in our generation’s care, this site has been left to crumble and decay, when we should be preserving it for our children and all future generations to enjoy.
The OPW had banned us from using a drone camera to capture the circle of women that wrapped cairn T in loving embrace, weaving song and movement and intention into a powerful call for the care of this magnificent place. It would have been a symbolic and unforgettable sight. The whole event was certainly moving and memorable for us all. Thank you to everyone who came, and to all those who could not be there on the night but supported by sharing the message. Please feel free to share this video far and wide to get the message out there.
Special thanks to Polly, Val, Trish and Derval, a powerful circle of Cailleachs indeed for making this thing happen; their energy was light and loving and immoveable! Thanks also to Santi and Lar for their involvement and support. And finally, a huge thank you to Callum Cunningham for making the above film and gifting it to the cause.
I was recently invited onto Bart Sharp’s radio show, Becoming Quantum Conscious on United Public Radio Network and UFO Paranormal Radio Network in the US.We discussed the Cailleach and Brigid, what we can learn from them, and how they relate to us in our modern world today. It was an enjoyable and enlightening conversation. Apparently, 261,000 people listened in, so if you were one of them, thank you so much… I hope you enjoyed it! If you missed it, you can watch below.
Cailleach’s Circle?
Chat’s been quiet, but that’s ok. I get it. We’re all sick and tired and overdosed with social media. Our feed is full of junk and ads we don’t want. I only have Instagram left now, because I find social media platforms either mundane or toxic. Plus, they soak up so much of my time, and achieve… what exactly? I’m an introvert, so to me social media feels like a crowd of strangers in my living room shouting for attention! I tend to avoid crowds in real life, so why would I want one on my online presence?
Our private chat is not like that. It’s a small personal space just for me and the handful of you who have paid membership to this community. There are no ads, no trolls, no one trying to sell you anything. Just us wannabe Cailleachs sharing the craic.
You might not want to download another app on your phone, and that’s ok, you don’t have to get the Substack app if you don’t want to. You can sign into your Substack account either on your phone or computer and click the speech bubble. You won’t get any annoying notifications or emails alerting you to new chats, unless you decide to enable it. It’s entirely within your control. If you do want to check out the app or join the chat, I’ll post the links below.
On Friday 18th August, I’m going to open a thread to you, the Cailleach’s Circle. You’ll get an email for it. It’s a similar thing to chat but its via this newsletter instead, and it’s more limited; only I can start it, and it won’t intrude on your time like social media can. I’m aware that we might not all live in the same time zone, but please feel free to jump into the thread when you receive it. It might be a better fit for us.
Finally, you can contact me personally, if you want to, by hitting reply to any newsletter from me.
You are all marvels! Thank you for joining me on this wonderful, grounding, and life-changing journey. Thank you for reading my words, and for showing me they have meaning. Send me some words back. I want to hear from you. I would love for this to be a two-way thing. Hugs and blessings to you! Ali x
So happy to see and read this post Ali! I cried again, as your photos and words of the Wild Woods evoked wonderful memories of this powerful time.
Why did I cry so much those few days? I have a perfectly content life! No tragedies, a fantastic family, a job that I love, many things to be thankful for. What induced the overwhelming emotions? One of our fellow wildlings had an answer for that. That when we are born, we have within us all the deep-seated ancestral potential to live a life in harmony with nature, in community, but the modern world we are born into no longer provides us with that opportunity. So we grieve its loss without fully understanding what we’re grieving for. That sense of community and care we experienced in the woods was wholly nourishing and possibly reawakened some of that wild potential.
Now, all that said, we were blessed with the weather. If I’d had to climb into a cold, soggy tent every night, I probably would have hated everybody;)
The Grandma’s Calling, especially the short video account, very special. I have wondered how to really talk about this on Nature Echoes, but just using that video next Sunday will be a huge help. Thank you. Those voice together, incredibly enchanting and beautiful.
Darn OPW and their ban on drone photography. Well it’s not a complete ban, just a call to pay them quite a large sum of money to do so, plus proof of aviation permits etc. But I have had horrible OPW experience relate to Holy Wells. I think they should be NOPW.
What this also demonstrates how how offline gathering is so, so important. That is truly ‘social’ that ‘media’ can never really be. You are motivating me to get much more back into this as this was my way up until the lockdown.
Most of my social media before lock down was posting, billboarding “hey everybody, we are doing this and that, at this wonderful space, do come along”.
Lockdown threw me into online broadcasting, that was incredibly popular during lockdown. But I got into disability challenges, and I now slow to get to public and community events, and even slower putting them together again. I am getting better as South Leitrim, where I live, is truly increasing with lovely interesting events to share, especially around the folklore I love.
Looks like you are heading that direction Ali? I look forward to more events networked around what you share, as I am now motivated to get people together around some of what I cover on Substack. Several folks asking me to get back into tree folklore stuff again, and people meeting up among trees and water to share their voice.
I look forward to further events where you gather people for such wonderful purposr, intent and connection.
So happy to see and read this post Ali! I cried again, as your photos and words of the Wild Woods evoked wonderful memories of this powerful time.
Why did I cry so much those few days? I have a perfectly content life! No tragedies, a fantastic family, a job that I love, many things to be thankful for. What induced the overwhelming emotions? One of our fellow wildlings had an answer for that. That when we are born, we have within us all the deep-seated ancestral potential to live a life in harmony with nature, in community, but the modern world we are born into no longer provides us with that opportunity. So we grieve its loss without fully understanding what we’re grieving for. That sense of community and care we experienced in the woods was wholly nourishing and possibly reawakened some of that wild potential.
Now, all that said, we were blessed with the weather. If I’d had to climb into a cold, soggy tent every night, I probably would have hated everybody;)
The Grandma’s Calling, especially the short video account, very special. I have wondered how to really talk about this on Nature Echoes, but just using that video next Sunday will be a huge help. Thank you. Those voice together, incredibly enchanting and beautiful.
Darn OPW and their ban on drone photography. Well it’s not a complete ban, just a call to pay them quite a large sum of money to do so, plus proof of aviation permits etc. But I have had horrible OPW experience relate to Holy Wells. I think they should be NOPW.
What this also demonstrates how how offline gathering is so, so important. That is truly ‘social’ that ‘media’ can never really be. You are motivating me to get much more back into this as this was my way up until the lockdown.
Most of my social media before lock down was posting, billboarding “hey everybody, we are doing this and that, at this wonderful space, do come along”.
Lockdown threw me into online broadcasting, that was incredibly popular during lockdown. But I got into disability challenges, and I now slow to get to public and community events, and even slower putting them together again. I am getting better as South Leitrim, where I live, is truly increasing with lovely interesting events to share, especially around the folklore I love.
Looks like you are heading that direction Ali? I look forward to more events networked around what you share, as I am now motivated to get people together around some of what I cover on Substack. Several folks asking me to get back into tree folklore stuff again, and people meeting up among trees and water to share their voice.
I look forward to further events where you gather people for such wonderful purposr, intent and connection.