3. Snowdrop

It is only a few days to Brigit's Day and the first snowdrops are already in bloom.
These were planted at our Samhain Remembrance in November and seem to have popped up almost overnight, bringing a fresh beauty amongst the dull winter colours.

If daffodil shoots bring the promise of spring, snowdrops bring the spring itself - the first flower of the new season that blooms against the odds in the still-wintry conditions. So apparently delicate and yet so tough, snowdrops lighten the heart.

Snowdrops are one of Brigit's flowers. Brigit's Day - Lá Fhéile Bhríde, the 1st of February, the first day of spring in Ireland, Imbolc in the old Celtic calendar. Brigit, the source of inspiration out of which Brigit's Garden grew. Goddess, saint and holy woman, the name Brigit is thought to mean 'high one' or 'exhalted one'. The Brigit tradition carries with it a long, shining thread of the divine feminine that stretches back into prehistory, a thread that weaves patterns of wisdom, poetry and transformation and which can still speak to us today.

On 1st February Brigit is said to 'breathe life into dead winter', and I imagine her warm breath gently spreading across the countryside bringing life and energy  back into the plants and animals. I look forward to it with an sense of excited anticipation.

2. Birch leaves

Today was chilly and bright. The silver trunks of birch trees in the Samhain garden gleamed in the winter sunshine. The circle of trees around the pool reflected the stark simplicity of winter.

On the island, the leaf woman rests. She is close to the earth, listening perhaps, in a posture that indicates gratitude and humility. 

When setting up Brigit's Garden I came across a work by sculptor Linda Brunker of a woman made of oak leaves. I thought it exquisite - I had never seen such lightness in bronze, a delicate filigree of leaves creating a figure that was simple yet deeply moving. We commissioned Linda to make a similar figure from birch leaves, and designer Mary Reynolds created the Samhain garden around her.  And so here she is, dreaming through the seasons, providing a quiet heart to the Gardens.

I walked onto the island and noticed some of last year's birch leaves still lying around her. They seemed to emphasise her connection with the ground, as if she might dissolve back into it with the leaves. I picked up a few and laid them on her back, leaf on leaf. Soon it will be spring and I can imagine her coming back to life, stretching, her leaves becoming green again- like the trees around her - as light and life return.

 

1. Daffodil leaf

The year has turned. This time between the winter solstice and Brigit’s Day has a particular feel to it that is very different to the gathering darkness of December. Nature is in trickster mode - the slowly increasing daylight brings a lift to the heart yet we still have to brace ourselves against every kind of winter weather the Atlantic can throw ashore.

Snow falling on the Samhain (winter) garden

Today it snowed, a rare event here so close to the ocean. It was typical Connemara snow, not light and crystalline but falling in heavy, wet flakes that lasted only a few hours. But it was wonderful, and utterly transformative. The Gardens felt bleak and monochrome but also peaceful and at rest. Everything was black, white, grey.

Well, almost everything, because my eye was drawn to the vibrant-green spikes of daffodils pushing up through the snow. I love the resiliance of daffodils. Undeterred by frost, gales, lashing rain and the full force of winter they start growing when everything else stops, first sending out their white roots in the darkness underground and then pushing their green shoots upwards. To me they are wonderful symbols of hope, of the possibility of renewal and growth even in the most challenging circumstances. I picked a leaf and and it felt appropriate that a daffodil should be the first of my 104 objects. Winter is still with us, but the leaf carries the promise of spring and the year to come.