In 2024 I’ve decided to openly embrace my witchy self. It’s about time. For instance, I’ve been quietly learning about tarot for over 25 years. I also know a fair amount about western astrology, which I used to find embarrassing. I can’t help that the cyclical nature of planetary movement has always appealed to me. I’ve got a brain for seasons and calendars, always deeply aware of where I am in the wheel of the year, as well as what I was doing five/ten/twenty years ago this time. As I grow older, I feel more attuned to subtle shifts in nature’s cycles, like the difference between summer and winter’s sunrise shadows, or how the wind sounds in November versus May. I pay more attention to where the sun transits the sky and what moon phase it is. 

In that spirit, I’m very excited for a pagan holiday soon approaching. According to the ancient Celts, Imbolc (February 1) marked the start of spring, though not as we define “spring” in modern terms. Think less of tulips and bunnies, more of tiny green things shooting through frosty ground. It’s a holiday celebrating the first inklings of the warmer season ahead. Imbolc translates to “in the belly,” which refers to the first sheep milk of the season. As ewes gave birth following winter gestation, they were once again ready to produce milk – a very exciting development for their ancient human friends who’d been hibernating throughout the harsh, cold season. The taste of fresh milk was a welcome harbinger of light and growth to come.

Imbolc celebrates the ancient Gaelic goddess Brigid, who was later appropriated by Christians and transformed into a Catholic saint. Brigid was a powerful maternal figure, heavily associated with birth, fire, transformation, home life, and the protection of women and girls. Traditionally, girls would make straw dolls to represent Brigid and parade them around their neighborhoods. Learning that tidbit was the first thing that really sold me on this holiday.

I also love that Imbolc falls halfway between the winter solstice and spring equinox, which is a time of year I once found unbearable. When I lived in a harsher northern climate, I had no hope for spring on February 1st. In fact, that was just the start of the worst month of the year. But here in the Carolina piedmont, there really are hints of new life by then. The daffodil photo below is from February 7th of last year. We were still a long way from the lush buds and blooms of April, but how I remember that flash of yellow dazzling my eyes! 

Much to my delight, my twelve year old daughter recently developed her own independent interest in Celtic folklore. I told her about Imbolc and we’ve decided to celebrate it together. We’re gonna make yogurt cheese, bake soda bread, light candles, and honor Brigid in our own way. Being the homebody that I am, I can’t think of a better way to make an otherwise average winter Thursday feel far more special.