#irish myth

This weekend is the pre-Christian Irish holiday of Samhain - celebrated more widely as Halloween! Due to my current circumstances, instead of a recipe this week, I’ll be doing this instead! Pumpkins weren’t present in Ireland until well after the Columbian Exchange, but turnips are an indigenous vegetable here - and were carved for millennia.

In any case, let’s now take a look at The World That Was! Follow along with my YouTube video, above! If you like what I do, consider checking out my Patreon!

Ingredients
A Turnip

Method
1 - Cut top off turnip
To begin making a carved turnip, you of course need a turnip! Try and get a large turnip, as it’ll be more sturdy once carved. Cut the top off the root bulb - alternatively you can cut the base off the turnip, using the leaf bundle at the top as a handle!
Either way, be very careful when cutting into this. Turnips are notoriously difficult to cut easily. Plus, if you’re careless - like I was earlier - the turnip will win against you.

2 - Core turnip
When the top of your turnip has been taken off, start scoring the inside of your turnip with a knife. Leave about a finger’s width of a wall of the turnip. This will make it easier to carve a face out of later, and will also give the whole thing a bit of structure when it’s done.
You may find it easier to use a metal spoon when scraping the inside of your carved turnip - use whatever is easiest for you! But try and not scrape more than your spoon can handle, as it can and will bend to the will of the turnip.

3 - Carve Face
When your turnip is suitably hollow, you can now get to grips with gouging out it’s eyes and mouth. Traditionally, turnips were carved in the image of scowling faces - in an attempt to dissuade evil spirits present at Samhain. But of course, you can carve whatever you want these days! Try and carve some teeth if you want!

When the whole thing has been carved to your liking, place a lit candle inside it, and set it out somewhere for you to enjoy!

Carving vegetables or fruit is found worldwide, throughout various cultures and time periods. While the art of carving turnips for Halloween has fallen out of style due to the ease and hardiness of the pumpkin, turnips are still used around Samhain in rural areas of Ireland, Scotland, and Wales!
The term Jack-o-Lantern is an 18th century name for these decorations, and we are unsure of what they were referred to in antiquity - in Irish it was likely called a carved turnip. A simple name, but it does the job well enough!

Look, even saints get in trouble sometimes.

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at the end of all things
when you face the long walk into the darkness
do not despair for your lot—
instead, look to your host

donn, who safeguards the dead
has a fire for you
a bed, too, and a seat at his long table
warmth and laughter will you find there
or simply a place to rest your head
while the dark one, stern and silent
pays mind to your care

donn, who drowned in a stormy sea
asks nothing of his guests:
generous of heart and spirit
he serves his foaming ale
to all who cross his threshold
as he was lost before us
so he will see
that we are not lost in our turn

and so before the end of all things
when the darkness of the night encroaches
do honour unto donn—
look to your own table

thunder on the rooftops:
the wild hunt rides out
baying as they cross the western skies
stormclouds boil, lightning crashes
the wind whips rain across our cheeks—
or snow falls like a blanket to the earth
hooves spark on nothingness
and the northern lights erupt across the stars

we watch as they gallop, we earthbound dreamers
our faces tipped to the heavens
the hunters are a cavalcade;
the hunt rides for its own
tell me, then, if you would have what is theirs—
who rides for you? and more than that
who do you ride for?

dare to reach after them
and you might just find you can fly

a riddle:
how do you build a home on a boundary line?

our land is crossed with borders
we are cut upon the edges, turned us-against-them
while some of us are neither one thing nor the other:
marginal existences in pushed-aside lives
and if a border lies like a knife between us
how can we balance on the blade?

there is sea and there is shore;
rain and sun; sky above and land below—
but what then, the tide pools?
what then, the mist that seeps across the fields
and leaves the air so thick with water
you can nearly breathe it in?
what then, the ocean
where you may hang suspended
between sky and stone
cradled in the salt embrace
of the world that long ago bore you?

what then, the path of light over water
by which you may walk to the edge of the world
and over into the next?

an answer, which manannán knows well:
the boundary is a land unto itself;
your home awaits you there

how do you make your way forward
when the path ahead has grown dim?
not difficult, that: look to nuada

nuada knew the cost of war
he led his people to a place of succour
and took the field that they might live
one cut: enough to change his world forever
nuada, pained and wearied,
set down both crown and pride

but kingship would not set him down in turn
made strong again, he bowed to the call
his people had a need and he would answer
nuada, your shining brow
is crowned not with gold
but by devotion

airgetlám, when battle came again
did you know it would be your last?
what did you foresee, my king,
as you took the field a second time
blade gleaming in a hand of silver?
in your final hour
as you faced down the poison
of hatred and jealousy
i wonder, nuada, were you afraid?

perhaps so; and yet you stood
you fought, you fell
even facing hopeless odds
you shone radiant and undaunted

and though you did not live to see it
your people found their home

it is said thus of rulers:
kingship is a man
but sovereignty a woman
without her blessing, he must sicken and die
on through the ages, the phantom queen
moves from lord to lord
outlasting them all

in her is the power of the land:
as she is battle and blood
so is she also the abundance
of a just and prosperous reign
great queen, by your strength are we made great
when we too stand against oppression

sisters of the badb, let ferocity be our watchword
when the skies grow dark around us
let us not fear:
for we know that you have summoned this storm
mórrígan, who foretells the death of champions
let no man stand against you
may we take the bit between our teeth
and learn how to run

how then shall you change the world?
will it be war? or will it be words?

ogma knows this truth:
that they are one and the same;
that war can be as skillfully fought
with clear voice and steady heart
as with strength of arms;
that battle may be won by death
but hearts are won by song

and he is as honey and gold
his voice a brassy trumpet-call
take up the cry, you who would be warriors
and speak a pure and sunlit truth
into the darkened halls of power
and if they close their ears to you
show them the teeth behind your smile

champion, give us strength to stand
and we will claim our justice
with a mouth of honey and blood

brigid walks barefoot through winter snows
a lantern in her hand and flowers in her train
the season has been long and cold and dark this year
and we, weary petitioners
are huddled in our homes for want of warmth

up then, your hopes!
sing of spring to come and growing golden light
as she is exalted, so we exalt ourselves
let every creature be blessed in its byre
every mother be watched over
every child born be in care
let all who are in need take shelter from the storm
let us feed each other
let us build our halls together

flowers will grow
where we make the choice to plant them
in the darkness of the night
light a candle and set it at your window
lady, i pray you will lead us home