We are walking into the season of final harvest and the reaping of seasonal crops and plants. October ushers in a time of tucking in for the coming of the darkness and cold of winter. Coats and sweaters are resurrected, warm wool socks on the ready, and we are digging for both gloves of the pairs of gloves we put up months ago. The spirit of the season is overflowing with myth and mystery and a cold touch on the shoulder as the veil between worlds thins and those otherworldly things move closer.
I am graced by a surrounding woods with a row of pines that sing when the wind blows, and in this season, there is always a symphony playing. Nestled in the surrounding woods, I live in a house nearly 150 years old with an incredible history. The oldest segment of the house was built in 1878 to be a community poor house. The histories of poor houses are often sordid, and while I don’t know the actual history of who was here, and for that matter, still here, I can imagine that some of their experiences were quite sad.
This house is haunted not only by its history, but by the wispy traces of those who passed through it. I have heard the ghosts in this hill house and seen their handiwork. There are too many stories to tell here, but I will share two short ones. I work in the kitchen whose hearth you see in the accompanying photo. The adjacent room is a sitting room with built in bookcases. Sometimes, in the early part of the evening you will hear a book slide from the shelf and drop with a slap to the floor. When you enter the room, absolutely nothing is disturbed.
I play Celtic harp and a few years back I was practicing some music in the far end of the sitting room by the fire place. As I played, I began to hear creaking above me. I noticed that the creaking was in time to the music. I stopped. The creaking stopped. I started again and so did the creaking. It sounded like footsteps. It sounded like dancing. I kept up the playing as long as my fingers held out. The dancing was my percussive accompaniment. I found great joy in sharing the music with my obviously appreciative audience. I never heard a single “boo” from the crowd!
There are so many more stories to tell, perhaps next year’s workshop for this season will be the sharing of ghost stories from here atop the hill and those of your own. Perhaps if you are very brave, we’ll share stories here in the house as we sit by the hearth. This year’s workshop for the sacred season of All Hallows is entitled, “Roots and Branches, Ashes and Bone, The Veneration of Our Ancestors.” There will be three offerings of this same workshop at various times to allow more people to attend. For more information about the workshop, dates, times and registration, head to the events page at www.asandyplace.com. I would love to meet you and share this hallowed time with you.
In parting, I want to share a story with you that I wrote about experiences and sensations of the harvest season. This simple, sweet story of pumpkins and elementals should warm your heart, readying you for the celebrations of the season. Here is the link to the story. I hope you enjoy it. Visit the store at www.asandyplace.com for more of my writing.
