Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Harvest Home Offering

Click thumbnail for larger image.

Is it criminal that we haven't been back to the semi-local standing stones since walking to them for the first time earlier in June? (YES, PROBABLY.) In June it was effort - it was a fucking EXPEDITION - that had us cutting through sopping wet cow fields, hugging the linear trail of dashes along the sides of country lanes, receiving shocks from electrified fences and cutting through fields of growing wheat as summer's morning sun beat down on us with a crazy amount of ferocity for six in the fucking morning.

But now? But now we have a car - A CAR! AFTER NEARLY TEN YEARS! A FOR REAL CAR WITH FOR REAL WHEELS AND A FOR REAL ENGINE AND A FOR REAL GAS TANK - and the Scottish countryside is my oyster. (<- Hence the lack of quality posting recently. First we were sick, then we were having country sex in historical settings (OH, NEOLITHIC MONUMENTS AND ANCIENT CEMETERIES AND IMPOSING SCOTTISH CASTLES) and THEN Harvest Home hit and I've been scrambling madly to try and retain a quickened pace of urgency to ensure all of my proposed activities, celebrations and rituals come to fruition.)

Click thumbnail for larger image.

When I picked up the fox roadkill on Lammas (I haven't yet written an entry about it, but there are pictures of me processing the body nearly step by step in LAMMAS 2009) I didn't waste ANYTHING. The majority of its vital organs were gone (the stomach cavity must've exploded on impact leaving nothing noteworthy except a friction burned heart) so what remained was carefully extracted and frozen - the hide was gently peeled from the mangled carcass, the feet cut and bundled together, the windpipe, eyes, tongue and teeth meticulously removed and muscles from the mostly undisturbed haunches were stripped off and frozen into little fox steaks.

What I couldn't salvage and use I carefully wrapped in plastic and froze as well, packing it alongside the rabbit, crow and female blackbird in the outside freezer. (LOL @ THAT GODDAMN FREEZER TURNING INTO MY CREEPY GIRL ROADKILL MORGUE. IF ONLY MY IN-LAWS KNEW THEY WERE PAYING EXTRA FOR ME TO RUN AN EFFING FREEZER FOR WILD ANIMALS AND THEIR BUTCHERED PARTS.) I wanted to give those remains as an offering, but I couldn't make up my mind WHERE I wanted to leave them. (The standing stones were the first place I thought of, but I was afraid if people found the pile of gruesome leftovers there'd be some SATANIC PANIC in the air. <- POOR LITTLE MISUNDERSTOOD DEVIL-WORSHIPING WITCH!)

In the end, though, the idea came full circle and the fox remnants were left at the foot of the original standing stone (the other two in the background were later added - they seem to be proper standing stones, although probably not part of the original circle). And to combat any SATANIC PANIC I naturally went overboard making the offering look EVEN MORE SUSPICIOUSLY LIKE DELIBERATE WITCHCRAFT. (Although how BLACK MAGIC can it be if I'm also leaving plums, rowan berries and a small loaf of bread? <- CLEARLY, I AM IN LEAGUE WITH SATAN HIMSELF.)

This is my offering to the Old Woman, the Cailleach, my "darker" self (as opposed to the Virginal Spring Bride, my "lighter" self). With this offering I'm effectively giving thanks for what I received during my reign as the Bride and passing on a portion of my gifts and bounty to my other self. I've sowed, I've nurtured, I've reaped, harvested and learned, and by giving a portion to myself I'm also accepting the experience, wisdom and riches that comes from work. (LOOK, I NEVER SAID IT WAS GOING TO MAKE PERFECT SENSE, DID I? Although it makes PERFECT sense to me...)

The magenta pile of raw meat are the remains of my beloved fox (I DID EVERYTHING BUT STRIP NAKED AND FLING THE BLOODIED AND FLAYED PELT ON MY BARE BODY) and behind it is a huge ass soup bone that I picked up for Chippy, our live-in demon who's been house trained like a dog. (<- WHAT DOES AN AUTISTIC GIRL DO WHEN AN ANCIENT SUMERIAN DEMON COMES KNOCKING? SHE PUTS A DOG COLLAR ON IT, GIVES IT LOVES AND HUGS AND FLIES KITES WITH IT.)(HE HAPPENS TO LOVE FLYING KITES V. MUCH, THANK YOU.)

The round loaf of bread is a traditional Ukrainian bread called babka (it's sort've like a cake bread; rich, sweet and fragrant like brioche) that I normally bake during our Easter/Hieros Gamos celebrations. Normally I only bake babka (or paska) in Spring, but I found a recipe for a pumpkin version and after THAT I wouldn't consider anything else. Thanks to me being me the bread wasn't gloriously orange-gold like it was supposed to since I opted to substitute sweet potatoes for pumpkin (I think they have a better, more rounded flavor) and the tres swish potatoes I used were more corn silk gold than pumpkin orange. (SIGH.)

The babka is sitting on a jellied stack of bones from the three different birds consumed during our Harvest Home celebrations. (Long story short? Because I identify the Cailleach as my MONSTER HAG BABA YAGA SELF I offer Her/Me/Us primitive witch food - booze, bread and bones. <- THREE THINGS, LOLTASTICALLY ENOUGH, UKRAINIANS ARE VERY FOND OF.) I made a stock using the frozen bones and gizzards of last year's Christmas goose (I always offer the carcass of the body to the Woman, but keep the shit trimmed away prior to roasting for stock making) and then added leftover roast duck to the soup. The last set of bones comes from our ROADKILL PHEASANT which I butchered, tidied up and then casseroled with venison.

The plums are windfall fruits from the two plum trees that I've been babying for the past couple of years. (It's taken A LOT of effing work to get those fuckers to flower and bear fruit. Like NEARLY THREE YEARS WORTH OF EFFORT AND WORK AND CAJOLING, PLEADING, DEMANDING AND THREATENING.) I promised any fruit, vegetable or herb that touched the ground to the Old Woman which made plum picking V. interesting when Italics was forced to shake branches way above me because he couldn't reach the ones at the very top. (OH, BUT IF ONLY YOU ALL COULD'VE SEEN ME HALF-NAKED AND RUNNING BACK AND FORTH WITH A HUGE ASS BASKET OVER MY HEAD TRYING TO CATCH EVERY PLUM PLUMMETING TO THE GREEDY GROUND BELOW.)

Last are a huge handful of fresh rowan berries from our overloaded tree in the dirtyard which sits at one of the perpendicular angles of the crossroad we're situated on. (I've been meaning to sit down and string the fuckers up into necklaces and garlands and shit BUT I JUST HAVEN'T HAD THE TIME. Currently I have bunches of rowan berries liberally scattered throughout our altar and in various ceramic bowls throughout the house.) Italics said that it was the berries that finally pushed the Harvest Home offering into OBVIOUS WITCHCRAFT TERRITORY. (BECAUSE, LIKE, PILES OF ROTTING MEAT, PLUMS AND A LOAF OF BREAD ARE CLEARLY AMBIGUOUS UNTIL YOU ADD ROWAN BERRIES.)

OH WAIT ALSO! I also offered water at the stone, pouring it over the very tip of the stone and letting it race down to the earth below. (You can kind've sort've see the streaks in the first picture, especially if you view it in a larger size.) As we departed I managed to unearth an oddly shaped stone - really reminiscent of the one we were just at - from the soil and I took it home with us in the hopes I can create a miniature recumbent circle at the base of the Shango (Bone) Tree's altar next year.

(I'm just going to let the next few pictures speak for themselves. ME? RUIN THE THE PERVASIVE ATMOSPHERE? SURELY NOT!)

Click thumbnail for larger image.

Click thumbnail for larger image.

Click thumbnail for larger image.

Click thumbnail for larger image.

Click thumbnail for larger image.

The nipple peak tentatively emerging from the dense morning mist is Bennachie, also know as "Mither Tap" ("Mother Tap" due to the breast shape of the hill). In ancient times it had a significant religious role in the indigenous people's lives. (The Old Woman, the Cailleach, usually inhabited the largest hills and peaks in the area.) While I can't see Mither Tap from any of our windows, the second we're on the road that winds down to the cemetery it (She?) comes into view.

For a year or two now I've been desperate to get to the summit to collect materials to create my own neolithic/stone age hammer. (In stories the Old Woman brings Winter down by striking the ground with Her hammer.) I have no idea how to fashion a hammer out of stone, sinew, leather and wood BUT THAT ISN'T GOING TO STOP ME. (FEAR ME, SCOTLAND, FOR ONE DAY I WILL CONTROL WINTER AND YOU WILL TREMBLE IN THE RIPPLING WAKE OF MY AWESOME POWER! (<- Actually, LOLOLOLOL, I just want to ensure A WHITE FUCKING CHRISTMAS EVERY YEAR, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.))

Click thumbnail for larger image.

After collecting a mostly perfect roadkill rabbit (THAT'S ANOTHER STORY I'M SAVING FOR LATER, BUT THE CONDENSED VERSION IS: FOUND A DEAD RABBIT - RATHER BLOATED BUT 100% IMMACULATE FUR - ON THE WAY TO THE STANDING STONES AND SKINNED ITS PELT TO BEGIN THE LONG ROADKILL FORAGING PROCESS OF CREATING A HOMEMADE RABBIT BLANKET; YAY FOR STANDING STONES PAYING IT FORWARD!) and offering this year's bounty at the stones we casually drove around the country as the sun rose, admiring the mist riddled landscape, gawking at the sheer number of pheasants and carefully looking for even more roadkill.

This is mist rising from the local loch (a man made feature created hundreds of years ago) during sunrise. If you have a super great memory you might remember me mentioning "THE LOCH" when pointing out the glimmer of water in the distance in pictures taken at the new cemetery (as opposed to the old cemetery where we go to leave offerings and gifts and help tend the graves of complete strangers since I'm unable to care for the resting place of my family and ancestors).

Click thumbnail for larger image.

The loch and village containing both cemeteries are named after an infamous magician that lived and practiced the black arts just a mile away (the "Wizard Laird"). He spent part of his youth in Italy, supposedly studying magic, and upon returning home continued his "satanic" practices here. He's buried in the very graveyard we visit - the same cemetery where he allegedly stole corpses of unbaptized babies for his nefarious deeds - although the exact location of his burial site has been "lost" and a modern marker in the shape of a headstone was created to commemorate him and his family.

(I have a kind've sort've maybe idea of where he is. Occasionally I leave a treat for him when we visit the graveyard, knocking on the totally nondescript monument to "wake" him up. The first time I did that I requested that he send me his magic birds - crows, rooks, magpies and jackdaws (I already had the crows and magpies, I eventually got the rooks but I'm still waiting for the jackdaws) - and that very night I had an unsettling dream where I found myself standing in a very specific location in the cemetery, practically choking on the overwhelming, blinding presence of something with big heap ju-ju.)