Feast of the fields
Myth has it that Lugh was born what might be termed mixed-race in that his father was of the Tuatha de Danann, the tribe of the goddess Danu, whist his mother was of their mortal enemies the Tuatha de Domnu - she being the goddess of the abyss in the deep sea. Descriptions of her offspring rather make them sound like something dreamed up by Lovecraft. Not all of them are horrific though, and Lugh's mother Ethniu is one of these.
The tribe of Danu arrive in great, impenetrable clouds that descend upon the Iron Mountain in what is now County Leitrim and discover that Ireland is already inhabited by the Fir Bolg. The people of the sky meet the people of the land. circling them are the people of the sea, the mostly hostile spawn of Domnu.
Lugh is conceived at a difficult time when the peoples of sea and sky are warring, yet like Romeo and Juliet his parents come together to form a bubble of peace amidst the wider conflict - and Lugh becomes a symbol of potential reconciliation and unity.
As was standard practice (at least amongst the wealthy) in the Iron Age, the child Lugh is fostered out as he grows up. This was a way of forming alliances between families - and perhaps passing on stroppy teenagers to foster-parents to cope with! One of young Lugh's foster-parents is Tailtiu, a queen of the Fir Bolg who lives in the part of Ireland now called Connaught. An alliance between the gods of the sky and gods of the earth is formed and, as was so often the case with mortals, a very close emotional bond developed between foster-mother and foster-son.
Connaught was a rough place to live at that time with dense forests, mountains, bogs - very little to eat beyond what could be hunted or gathered int he woods. In the years following the end of Lugh's fosterage Tailtiu resolves to provide her people with farmland so that they can live settled lives rather than the nomadic existence of hunters following the herds. The effort required to clear the land (conjuring up images of the queen wielding an axe and hauling logs) are such that Tailtiu falls dead at the end of it - a clear analogy of the farmland falling into winter's fallow once the Earth has given her all in producing a crop.
Lugh is so grieved by Tailtiu's death that he inaugurates a week-long festival to commemorate her passing - Lugh's nasad (a nasad being a large gathering). Lughnasadh becomes the funeral of the goddess who creates agriculture for her people and, like any grand Iron Age funeral, was marked with poetry, song, and sporting festivities which Lugh invents specifically for the occasion - particularly horse racing and the gambling associated with it. There are no surviving myths inking Tailtiu to horses, but she might well have had some association once - reminiscent of the Greek Demeter, Gaulish Epona, and of Ireland's own Macha. Lughnasadh is, if you like, a wake for the goddess of fields, crops, and agriculture in general. Like any Irish wake it should be celebrated in style.
The death of the devoted queen and foster-mother stands for the lives and deaths of countless women throughout history who have shed blood, sweat and tears to look after their families, their communities, their farms and all the living beings on them. She is all the mothers, grandmothers, aunties, big sisters, and women to whom we are unrelated but whose labour keeps us alive and thriving - doctors, nurses, teachers, care workers etc. Countless men have also broken their backs and lost their lives for loved ones, but their sacrifices are noted at a different juncture of the year.
Lughnasadh remained an important date in the agricultural calendar long after Ireland converted to Christianity, forming one of the quarter days when various events (like the paying of land rents) took place. County fairs took place for the buying and selling of livestock, farming tools, and such like. It was also a popular time for people to form temporary marriages which lasted through the winter to early February - partly do that single people could support each other during the harshest time of the year, but also as a sort of trial run that might lead to a lifelong marriage if the couple proved compatible.
So if you are looking for ways to celebrate this time of year - gives thanks for the land and most especially for any crops you especially enjoy eating (or drinking, in the form of whisky etc.); enjoy a celebratory meal and share it with others if possible; make a corn dolly and hang it somewhere that will creep the hell out of anyone who wasted two hours of their lives watching the Blair Witch Project; feed the horses; place a friendly wager on whatever type of racing can be managed (if all else fails, there's always clockwork toys); recite the female lineage that brought you here (in as far back as memory will take) and think of their hardships and efforts; decorate horseshoes and hang them up; in essence, remember that life is not all toil and tears but also a chance to rejoice and give thanks and make the sacrifices of others worthwhile.
If anyone knows who the artist is of the picture inset, let me know and I will add a link to their page.
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