Lughnasadh
The grain falls. The first loaf is baked. We begin the long gathering before the dark.
Here, wheat fields and warm bread; where you are, what have you grown that is ready to cut?
Lughnasadh—Lammas—the feast of first fruits. The grain that was planted in spring, tended through summer, now stands heavy-headed in the fields, ready for the scythe. The blade falls. The sheaves are bound. The first flour is milled, the first bread baked.
This is named for Lugh, the many-skilled god, who instituted the games in honor of his foster-mother Tailtiu, who died clearing the plains of Ireland for agriculture. Every harvest carries this weight: something dies so something else can live.
Practice
Bake bread. It doesn’t need to be good bread or complicated bread. Flour, water, salt, heat. Your hands in the dough. The smell of it baking. This is the simplest and most ancient magic.
If you don’t bake, buy a good loaf—from a bakery, not a factory. Break it with your hands rather than cutting it. Share it with someone if you can.
Take stock of what you’ve grown this year—not just plants, but projects, relationships, skills, changes. What is ready to harvest? What needs more time? Not everything ripens at once.
Reflection
What have you sacrificed this year in order to grow something else? What is ready to be gathered in?
Notes
The last sheaf cut was often kept, woven into a corn dolly and preserved through winter—the spirit of the grain held safe until spring planting. Consider: what will you carry forward from this harvest?