#13: A Midsummer Ritual
on finding magic even when you’re stuck indoors
The past five weeks have been a blur of postpartum recovery and adjustment into life as new parents; they have both flown by and felt like an eternity. I can’t imagine a time when our son wasn’t here with us, but I’m also reeling at the fact that I am now a mother.
It’s been splendid, the newborn bubble a soft, comforting thing. Yet at the same time recovery from surgery has meant that our bubble confines me to our house - I can’t drive, can’t walk any farther than to the end of the garden, can’t lift anything heavier than the baby. I’ve recently taken to wrapping Viggo in a blanket and sitting outside on the back porch at dusk, after a day spent inside stuck on a rotation of feeding, changing, cuddling. The air smells so good at dusk. I make sure I am barefoot, that my soles meet the grass, if only for a moment. The sky is lavender, the scent of evening blooms heady. It is my medicine.
The enforced time inside has made my body soft and my mind clouded. When I was stuck in the hospital for a week I took to sticking my head out the tiny window in my room and gulping down great mouthfuls, desperate to taste something other than stale hospital air. Now I content myself with sitting on the couch with the window open, with my little twilight backyard moments of quiet. Patience, I tell myself. This time is precious. Don’t rush it.
Outside, beyond my small bubble, it feels as though the world is burning. I wish I could join the crowds making their voices heard out on the street. My heart swells with pride seeing all of the work my friends are doing back in the city. I feel small and useless, hanging laundry and changing nappies while democracy crumbles. But we must do what we can with what the resources we have.
Soon, the summer solstice will be upon us. On Friday my family in Sweden will be celebrating Midsummer, my absolute favourite holiday. With pagan origins, the celebration honours fertility by the building of the midsummer pole, which, with its phallic shape, symbolises the fertilisation of the earth ahead of harvest season. When I was young my mother told me that if I collected flowers from seven different meadows on midsummer’s eve, then slept with them underneath my pillow, I would dream of my true love. I’ll never forget the magic of crawling over fences through the mist laden twilight, my small bouquet in hand, determined to see the face of my beloved in my dreams. As an adult, the midsommar revelry is dominated by the imbibing of copious amounts of aquavit, the Scandinavian spirit flavoured with caraway and other herbs. The night is always a wild one, full of feasting and dancing around the midsummer pole deep into the night in which the sun doesn’t set. Perhaps we are subconsciously channeling the pagan heathenry of our ancestors of old. Maybe it’s not so subconscious at all.
Last year my friends and I attended the largest Midsummer celebration outside of Sweden, held in New York, right on the Hudson river. We danced, drank, ate pickled herring and scream-sang along to ABBA and other nostalgic Swedish anthems. It was a glorious night. Two months later I would be pregnant, and the entire trajectory of my life would shift seismically. This year there won’t be any late night revelry for me, but if you happen to be in NYC I highly recommend donning a flower crown, grabbing yourself some aquavit if you can find it, and checking out the celebration. Instead, this year, I’ll be celebrating with small gestures like the ones I recommend below, and, weather permitting, some time spent in the garden, smelling the flowers and savouring the sunshine.
Equinoxes are potent times, crossroads and thresholds into other worlds. The air is full of magic. It is a time to commune with the faeries, to give thanks to the sun, to dance wildly and burn all that which no longer serves. After this day the days grow short once again, the tides of the seasons turning. So, in celebration of the equinox, here are some small rituals you can do to connect with the earth. Even if, like me, you are home-bound.
Solar-charge your water - place a glass of water on a windowsill where it catches plenty of sunlight and leave it for at least an hour. Let the sun’s rays imbue it with warmth and healing energy, then drink it with intention.
Take full advantage of earth’s summer bounty - eat strawberries and notice how sweet the fruit tastes on your tongue. Let the eating be a ritual in itself. Slow down and savour it.
Decorate with flowers - buy a bouquet at the farmer’s market, weave a flower crown, hang some floral themed art or see if you can spot some flowers on your walk to work.
Go outside late in the evening/at night, but before the sun has set. Smell the air, notice the colour of the sky, see if you can hear birdsong.
Spend time with friends and loved ones. Even if you’re at home and you don’t feel like or aren’t able to venture out, take advantage of technology and facetime someone who makes you smile. Even sending a text telling someone you love them can set the tone for the rest of the day.
Work with fire - have a bonfire or light a simple candle. Traditional summer solstice celebrations centred around the ‘bone-fire’, the origin of our bonfire, which warded off evil spirits and ensured a good harvest ahead. The smallest of flames can still be powerful.
And that’s all from me 🌼 if you try any of the above, please let me know! Thank you as always for reading, and happy solstice.
You have captured ’svensk midsommar’ so beautifully! Wishing you could be here and celebrate with us. You are missed 🥰