Mabon Blessings to those who share in today's celebration! Happy Autumn everyone!

Yesterday I wrote about the harvest as a metaphor for our accomplishments. Today, I want to speak about the real thing. Growing vegetables. Being a farmer.

Throughout the year, I try to eat as much locally grown food as possible. My supper shouldn't have more frequent flyer miles than I do. Ideally, my food should come from my own garden, but I live in a place where it's only possible to grow window box herbs and the occasional tomato plant.

Memories of gardens past sustain me. Oh, the tender lettuce in spring. I had so much that I used to give it away. How I remember the warm, rich scent of tomatoes growing in the sun! Eating a fresh-picked  tomato in the field is a sensual, spiritual experience.

Dreams of future gardens sustain me. Next time, there will be a small orchard. A patch of grain. I want to breathe hope onto each seed before it is planted.

The gardens of my present are tended by others.  By shopping at the farmers' market, at least I know the names of the farms, and have met the farmers and their employees. My produce comes from their hands to mine.

Goddess bless the farmers. May this harvest continue to completion. Let winter be a time of rest and rejuvenation. May the springtime bring gentle rains and warm days. May everything grow with abundance through the summer. May we meet again. So mote it be!

These are the farmers who sustain me. I thank you from deep within my heart.

Adair Vineyards
Gaia's Breath Farm
Kontoulis Family Olive Oil
Meredith's Bread
Migliorelli Farm
Northwoods Apiaries
Orwasher's Bakery
Phillips Farms
Pomona Orchards
Ronnybrook Farm
The Orchards of Concklin
Tierra Farms
Yuno's Farm

This is the harvest season in the wheel of the year. We celebrated Lughnasad in early August, and will observe Mabon on the Equinox. I am savoring the gifts of the Goddess' table. Everything is so fresh and delicious. The sweet corn is surprisingly tender, but the harvest came late this year because early summer was cold and wet. There is something marvelous about food that was in the farmer's field in the morning and on my table at sunset. There is something wonderful about seeing the farm name on the chalkboard above the baskets of produce. I always include the farm in the blessings said over the food.

Today is a personal harvest day for me. I have reason to look back at the past year, and look forward to the next. It has been a year of people. I sat in this same cottage a year ago, struggling through my first pair of hand-knit socks. I came here for sanctuary; being in a familiar place put into perspective all the unfamiliar changes. Going forward, I see a year that focuses on my growth as an artisan and witch. In other words, this path suits me, and I am glad to see it continues on.

This year, the knitting comes easily to me, and I am seeking a different sort of sanctuary, a rest from a life that's a bit too full of people. I adore them all, and have interwoven my life's thread with theirs for now, but I still need to step away and focus on the ideas that only come into a quiet mind.

I am reading Anastasia by Vladimir Megré. It's one of those books that either is or isn't fiction, and it doesn't really matter. It's a beautiful story that reminds us how far we have strayed from our true nature and how we must re-establish our connections with the land. As you know, I am looking to buy a few acres of land in the next year or so. I already have the lock for the potting shed that doesn't yet exist, so I've made the symbolic gesture towards being settled in a new place.

 It's a chilly October morning and there is no heat in the Aerie yet. I had better get used to this, because I am going to be staying in a rustic cabin (ie. no running water) later this month. I am no stranger to camping. I used to go tent camping in the summer, so this little cabin will be quite luxurious by comparison.

What a change from last year's retreat, where I stayed in the white cottage with the green door (and I promised to write about it. Shame on me. I never did). I was anxious and still filled with grief, and created a hauntingly sad mask woven from white wool.  If I make a mask this year, it will be bright.  I have returned to color. If you don't believe me, just look at my sox:
              



I have also found the stillness, within and without, so that I can spin and knit my meditations. Mantra and mudra. Treadle and spin. Knit 2, purl 2, repeat until at peace. As I spiral into the heart, on my autumn's journey into darkness, I will carry  my own light, and bring my own warmth.