Illustration © Kaitlynn Copithorne
Can you call it Ostara/Eostre?
Historians have “debunked” the history of Ostara, linking her to Easter eggs and bunnies. This doesn’t, however, mean that you can’t celebrate her. All religions were once new and all stories started somewhere. Myths are seldom literal, anyway—but speak to deeper truths—things we often need now. As Professor Ronald Hutton articulates in his book The Triumph of the Moon, maybe such figures that appear suddenly in the collective unconscious—whether we call them archetypes or deities—come into being when we have need of them. Much in modern Pagan belief systems speaks to our longing to rewild and find some harmony with nature. Polytheistic pantheons such as Hinduism often express the idea that all deities are but different aspects or faces of the one—and different ways of reaching the universal. These will change regionally and in a lifetime, depending on changing needs. So there is no need to abandon Ostara, if she means something to you. But there is another side to this, too: the beauty of knowing the history behind such figures—or of learning about the ingenuity of human creativity—is that we do not dogmatically have to venerate anything or anyone who does not connect with us. What are organised religions if not a cherry-picking of different stories from folklore, brought together into a standard? We’ll know if something or someone in the world calls out to us. Robert Graves believed “true poetry” was “always the invocation of the white goddess, and the realm in which she presides.” We may feel it when our skin is goose pimpled and our eyes start to water. To you this response might be the result of an invocation of a wood nymph, a familiar spirit animal, a whale god, an ancestral spirit, a character from a story. If a story, poem or celebration—new or old—doesn’t instil in you wonder, you don’t have to observe it. You may wish to think about what it is about this time of year that inspires or moves you. We can revisit old stories and tell new stories, and create new rituals, respecting where we’ve been and where we’re going, adding to our personal and collective repertoire of symbols.
Read about different celebrations of the Spring Equinox
The spring equinox is an astronomical event and its celebration has historical precedent. In the Northern Hemisphere, March 20 signals the end of winter and the beginning of spring. For one day, most places will see 12 hours of night and 12 hours of darkness. In Ancient Rome, Hilaria was celebrated on March 20, a festival to honour the goddess of Cybele, associated with fertility, wild animals, mountains and city walls. The Babylonian calendar began with the first new moon after the March equinox, while today the Persian, or Iranian, and Hindu calendar begin on March 21. That the new year should start when the world is reborn seems apter than our current date in midwinter.
Spring cleaning
Spring, like the new moon, is often envisioned as a time for new possibilities. This can mean cleaning the house, your computer files, getting a few tasks off your list before you embark on something new. There can be a bit of melancholy and apprehension at the prospect of setting off on this journey. There’s a sense of liminality and fear at the prospect of being thrust back into the heady pulse of living. Kenneth Grahame in The Wind in the Willows expresses it well: ’The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing.’ So too does Edna St. Vincent in her beautifully dark poem “Spring”: To what purpose, April, do you return again? / Beauty is not enough … It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, / April / Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.”
Learn the uses and lore behind flowers in bloom
The flowers are already in bloom again here. In particular our city parks are awash with daffodils and crocuses, piercing through the earth where so recently there was snow. Different commentators and traditions may assign different folkloric meanings to plants, but their medicinal uses may be universal. Scott Cunningham tells us that daffodils are lucky and associated with love; placing them in the bedroom, he says, can help with fertility. He says that crocuses also attract love, but can also help us capture thieves: “Burn crocus along with album in a censer, and you may see the vision of a thief who has robbed you. This was done in Ancient Egypt.” Unsourced as this compendium is, we cannot ascertain its reliability. Read about the Victorian language of flowers, or floriography, and see how you might communicate a message through thoughtful floristry. The Complete Language of Flowers by Theresa Dietz may prove a helpful resource.
Eat seasonal foods
Here in the UK, Asparagus and artichokes are in season, and delicious simply served with olive oil, sea salt and if you like, lemon. Rhubarb can be stewed with ginger and sugar and served with homemade custard or on porridge. Wild garlic is in season and can be made into a delicious pesto — Maggie Eliana wrote a piece for our Water issue titled ‘Along the Backwater: Plants of Riverbanks and Waterscapes’, where she noted the uses of willows and watercress, among other plants. Here is her wild garlic pesto recipe, from this article:
Wild Garlic Pesto Recipe
Ingredients:
One large handful of wild garlic leaves
½ cup of pine nuts, sunflower seeds, or pumpkin seeds
¼ cup olive oil or sunflower oil
3 tbsp nutritional yeast
Zest of one lemon
Pinch of salt and pepper
Pinch of chilli flakes (optional)
Method:
Rinse the wild garlic.
Optional: Toast the nuts or seeds.
Blend all the ingredients in a food processor. You can also use a pestle and mortar for a more ‘back-to-basics’ approach.
Spread on toast, use as a pasta sauce, dollop into soup or on top of risotto; the options are endless.
Cultivate your garden
“Il faut cultiver notre jardin” — or “We need to cultivate our garden” ends Voltaire’s Candide. The characters have travelled the entire world and experienced the absolute worst of the humankind. Returning to their garden, they are able to shield themselves from the worst of it while cultivating the best of it, making in this hell a little slither of paradise; some consider this a retreat from the world, but others, yet, a commitment to improving the world through a kind of constructive pessimism. Like Candide, and perhaps Voltaire, go ahead and cultivate your garden, real or metaphorical or both: sow seeds that will grow into beautiful flowers and into foods that can be eaten, gifted to others or traded. Leave seeds out for the birds who at this time of year have young hatching from eggs. Perhaps much in this world can’t be redeemed, but here is a corner of the world you can make better, starting from today.