Apples and Cauldrons - Samhain is near!

Why apples? Why cauldrons? Let’s explore…

Like Snow White, I bite into the magical fruit of Avalon: a rosy apple. Red for humanity; white flesh for Annwn, the Otherworld; the apple carries the colours of the dragons of Britain, of Merlin’s prophecy, of the red and white rose and hawthorn. By biting, I pierce the skin of this world to reveal the Otherness beneath; the nourishment hiding the seed of potential.

Apple is the mystical fruit of this season. And what does it symbolise?

Magic, temptation, mystery, discord, eternal life, health

Apples’ multi-layered message accords perfectly with the chancy nature of Samhain, All Hallows’ Eve, the Celtic New Year when tradition says the veils are thin. In the UK it’s the season of fog and mist, and the certainty of the summer is well past. We look to the future with trepidation…

Is the apple treacherous, about to poison Snow White? But it cannot: it sticks in her throat to propel her to her destiny.

Apple was once a generic term for most fruits - and today, we still eat earth apples (pomme de terre) and tomatoes (pommes d’amour): they are the fruit of temptation in the Garden of Eden; theirs is the tree of choices and of Life in the testing of Digory in CS Lewis’ The Magician’s nephew; and the heart of the apple is the hiding place of a giant’s soul in Irish folktale.

For apple eroticism, we go to the Bible: “As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste,” and they are also the panacea for lovesickness: ‘stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love” (both from the Song of Solomon).

The apple holds all these associations, before we even get to ‘Celtic’ imagery – of which there is a plethora.

But our question was, why apples at Samhain?

I believe the ancients were profoundly pragmatic, and the apple is unparalleled when baked, as pie and tart filling. It is one fruit that can be stored over the dark times. Go back to recent history, before cold storage and global food chains… Look to your larder. If you are eating seasonally, you already know what a valuable crop it is and if not, imagine the joy of sweet fruit at a time of turnips and barley. Does this practicality detract from or diminish the apple’s mystical aspect? In no way; its roots in our ancestors’ lives as a valuable resource around which myth can constellate enhances it.

Suggestions for this Samhain

Sit cosily and read - instant connection to our legendary past! I am preaching to the choir with apple myths of the Brits and Irish, so will just mention three stories still loved in the Celtic lands. The magical Silver Branch is a passport to the lands of the ever-young in The Voyage of Bran with a beautiful silver branch in white bloom, or the story of Cormac’s adventure in the Land of Promise with its shining branch having nine apples of red gold.

This Samhain night, as we read we can dream, and find deep within us lands of orchards which constantly leaf, flower and fruit to nourish us; be inspired to greater action by inhabitants long-lived and gracious; be awed by magic which, from the blossoms of tree, will conjure a woman, ‘skin as white as apple blossom, her hair as yellow as broom.’ Between Ireland and Wales, apple lovers are well served every Samhain!

And getting out and about

The best way to celebrate the season? Live in it - for a walk. If you are physically able, just go. If not, try to be taken to a place where you can smell the season: open your windows to the cold and drizzle; watch the leaves flying past.

Gwion, this page’s Druid detective, has been on Forest Patrol and come back with ten ways to communicate with the season. Go walking with him here. Or if you haven’t time for a chat with him now, here are a couple of ideas to start you on your own exploring

Go to where you can breathe in the smell of wet earth, composting leaves, the ever-present fungi: feel the crumbling earth, see it sticking to your fingers as you run them along the damp grass
Feel the bark on a tree trunk, sense the life within, slowing becoming dormant as the cold advances. Look at its shapes, its swirls. Hum a lullaby
Find some trees, enough to provide leaf litter so you can become as a child as you scuff leaves, kicking with abandon
Celebrate the transience of the scene by clearing a space and making a leaf sun – here’s my ten-minute effort that had children in the local park starting to make their own:

And, for artistry and beauty, google Andy Goldsworthy’s stunning ephemeral natural art. What beauty! Here are two inspirational examples:

And do take a thermos with you; take a camera or notebook, take anything that will encourage you to slow down, breathe deep and reflect. Take your ancestral memories to the trees - ancestors of blood or spirit, role models - and the trees will witness your story which you will tell lightly, with beauty and grace, before drinking, libating the tree roots and maybe sprinkling a few nuts for the wildlife.

Night is falling; the path is growing dim and it’s time to be home now…

Back to the safety of the hearth - the cauldron

We’ve answered, why the apple? Now, why the cauldron?

Take a moment, relax and sink down, travelling back a thousand years or more, to an Iron Age life…

The day’s work began with the light, as it will end, though regular checking of livestock will call you out under the stars.

And, all day, the freezing rain has soaked you, despite your clothes: you can hardly feel your feet and your stomach gnaws with hunger. The last animal has been safely penned; the tools put away; a curtain of raindrops is falling from your hood as you draw aside the hide curtain to the roundhouse.

Smoky warmth envelops you as you shed your heavy wrap and coat. All is dim and mysterious, exuding warmth and home. Someone moves, revealing the fire at the centre, flames licking around a broad-bellied steaming cauldron: the centre of your world, holding the food of life. Barley bannocks are on hot stones by the fire and their toasting smell mingles with the savoury goodness of the stew. You take your place by the fire; receive a bowl of stew and a bannock. You are home.

That’s the practicality: the cauldron, steaming with nourishment and comfort; the stuff of life.

The cauldron is a frequent motif in Welsh mythology, from the Cauldron of Rebirth (2nd branch, Mabionogion), The Cauldron of the Irishman in Culhwch & Olwen, The Cauldron of Annwn and, beloved of Druids, Cerridwen’s cauldron, the catalyst for an initiatory journey into bardhood. So much more than a pot!

The energetic system of the Druids is lost, but its power and coherence is preserved in an ancient Irish poem, The Cauldrons of Poesy, from which we can construct a workable system, using breath, movement and imagination. This is a big subject but, if you would to know more, send in a comment and I’ll write an article to unpack the poem a bit…

But now, Samhain approaches, and, like the ancestors, we must check our stores and prepare the cauldron of nourishment – and what a choice we have!

Cauldrons and stews

Eating seasonally often means a pot of soup simmering on the hob, and every country which has enough fuel has a definitive stew dish. From the British Isles come Lancashire hot pot (hodge potch – a mix of what you have), Scouse from Liverpool, Welsh cawl and tatws pum munud (five minute potatoes), Scottish stoved tatties and Irish stew. We all have a favourite saucepan, and stews around the world are named from their dedicated pots: guvech is new to me - a Bulgarian stew from the Turkish for ‘earthenware pot’ and we all know the North African tagine.

So, travelling around Europe, whether your preference is for … take a deep breath… cassoulet, navarin, hachee, waterzooi, puchero, főzelék, bosanski lonac, chanfana, espinacas con garbanzos, cacciucco, broéto, ghiveci - and more – and so many more -

… dust off your biggest saucepan/cauldron/tagine and cook a stew – enough to be reheated the next day, when it always tastes better.

Make your house ready for the coming winter:

Put away the vestiges of summer still hanging around, and check your winter gear. With so many refugees and others in dire poverty, donate your surplus to their warmth and comfort. When shopping for your stew, donate to a food bank.

Decorate your home to honour the madcap joyful misrule season – let your imagination run riot!

Light lanterns to shine in the darkness. Bob for apples, give the neighbours’ kids sweets if that’s your custom, and play traditional games. If you want to key in to predictive folklore, find traditional methods here .

After the food and fun, relax and indulge in a time between worlds: bathe and anticipate with pleasure the evening stretching ahead.

Snuggle down with an inspiring book or art materials or a favourite CD, and ponder the mysterious nature of our lives.

Ask for a blessing on yourself, your loved ones and all who have brought you to this place.

Nibble your Apple of Avalon, and take some out into the darkness, for the wildlife.

Other ideas you have already – write your suggestions in the comments below – but I’m finishing now, for night approaches, and I’ve got to retreat to dream of Avalon, of Annwn, with an apple pip under my pillow as a passport to enchantment -

Blessings of leaves and mist, Penny

PS The exotic stews are described and gloriously illustrated here and (purists cover your eyes for this bit) plenty can be converted for vegetarians and vegans. Is your native stew on the list? Do you cook it regularly? Have I missed it off? All these, things, we need to know! I’m challenging myself – and maybe you, dear reader? - to construct a stew new to you. If you join in, please post and share the delicious results. Happy Samhain, and bon appetit!