BRIDGET'S EVE : IMBOLC

SIA BEATHA A BHRÍD

So at last, winter is over. Tomorrow is Imbolc, Bridget's day, first day of spring. The last grey light of the last grey day of winter was fading as we paddled about in waterlogged fields gathering rushes which we wrapped in Pa's red cashmere scarf, the one he doesn't wear because it leaves red fluff on his black crombie, and carried home. Second daughter, as the youngest female in the house, brought the rushes to the front door and knocked, in accordance with old Donegal custom.

"Who's there?"
"Bridget"
"Sia beatha, sia beatha, a Bhríd (hail Bridget). Come in"

Whereupon Bridget entered.

(Note: For meteorologists and suchlike persons who like precise weather detail, you can observe the last grey light of the last grey day of winter waning over grey Donegal Bay, through the front door which is reflected in the mirror)

By some miracle of nature, no matter how severe the winter, rushes are always plump, flexible and long, ready for gathering on Bridget's Eve, but not this year.

For the first time in a lifetime of making Bridget's crosses, I could find only rushes that are short, brittle and weatherbeaten. What does that portend for the coming year, I wonder? Good or ill?




Second daughter has claimed the red scarf which has acquired healing powers today from being used to carry Bridget's rushes. Along with the healing gooseberry spines she brought from the garden today, it will make her into a probationary Wise Woman.



We gave away some crosses and hung one in the kitchen, near the back door. It looks puny because the short rushes can make only small crosses.


I was tempted to leave the crosses uncut to increase their size, see below.

I asked second daughter to take some pictures and just look at how she managed to send lightning streaks down the mirror towards the rushes. Did she do this in her role as Bridget? Or is it a sign that she has received her healing powers? Hmmmmm.......