"Winter mild and humid, summer warm and dry" - or words to similar effect - summed up the seasons for us as schoolchildren. The idea of two seasons as opposed to the Continental four is appropriate to our climate, and lends itself neatly to the limits of a two-pronged adage. During the past few decades, climate seems to have changed less than education. Schools have abandoned the quaint and uncluttered certitude of the maxim, and my six-year-old daughter, for one, is having trouble coping.
Birds and trees"Winter comes first, because January is the first month of the year. And January is the first month of winter, because that is when it snows. Spring follows winter. That's when birds make their nests, and when the trees turn green. But spring starts on St Brigid's day, and six weeks later only the chestnut has its leaves. Do the birds nest on the bare branches? Summer means school holidays, but they don't begin until the days are getting shorter. Autumn follows summer. That's when the trees lose their leaves, or is it when the hay is saved?"
Best to observe nature, I tell her. The native Celtic division of seasons is also most helpful. Those who lived by it obviously hadn't heard of Vivaldi, white Christmases, or paid holidays in the sun.
The winter-summer dichotomy is borne out in the expression, "Samhain go Bealtaine" - "Hallowe'en to May Day". "Samhain" is documented in the Calendar of Coligny, This is a Gaulish calendar unearthed in France in 1897. It is inscribed on a bronze plate dating from the second century AD. Our "Samhain" occurs in it as "Samon", which marked the beginning of the Celtic year, Bealtaine being the start of summer. "Samhain" to "Imbolc" is the three-month span from Hallowe'en to about St Brigid's day. This was a period of hibernation, when normal life was suspended during the dark days. The meaning of Imbolc is obscure. Some scholars believe the verb "folcadh", to "wash the head" is one of its constituents, the washing being part of a ritual.
The three summer months in the Celtic calendar correspond to May, June and July. "Cetamain" is Gaelic for "first summer", and still exists in this form in Scotland. "Meitheamh" means midsummer. For "summer's end" we must look to the Welsh "Gorffenhaf", which means just that.
Harvest festival
"Lunasa" is Irish for August. Two thousand years ago, the city of Lyons, or Lugudunum, had already been dedicated to the Celtic sun-god Lugh. When the Gauls capitulated, the Roman procurator Augustus set himself up as patron of the city, replacing Lugh, and reserving Lugh's festival, the first of August, for himself. Lunasa is (usually!) the month of golden sun and ripe corn, and Augustus would be peeved to know that "La Lugha" is still spoken of in Ireland.
The harvest festival is known as "La Mhuire Mhoir", The Day of Mary. It falls on August 15th, a date when the harvest was in, though Mary, like Brigid, was a late intruder. MidAugust is still a time of storms and seasonal change. Musty autumn smells tinge the air as early as the second week of lthe month and the weather is often unsettled until Michaelmas.
Climate varies in Ireland from the blustery north-west to the more clement banks of the Shure and Barrow, but these are brothers in changeability compared with the seasons in Continental Europe, which clock in punctually each year.
Trees anywhere from the Loire Valley to Munich, from Brussels to Milan ripen and blush through October, and leaves swirl around underfoot only when gusty November arrives. Spring is interrupted by the eis-heiligen, or saintes-glaces - the "holy frosts" in early May. (Holy because they fall one lunar cycle after Easter, thus occuring around Ascension or Pentecost.)
Irish anomalies
Ireland, blessed with a prevalent south-westerly airflow, seldom experiences this cold blast, but this year northern winds left snow on high ground and saw our swallows sheltering from hailstones. Summer in Europe takes a firm foothold after the eis-heiligen, and only then will people put plants out and start to sip beer on the terrace with neo-urban ease.
February as a month in Spring, and August belonging to summer - these are the outstanding anomalies in our calandar - or so my daughter thinks. The problem is trying to coerce each season into being three months long. Striving for regular working hours might satisfy some needs, but the seasons here are definitely on flexitime. Chaos was an integral part of the Celtic vision of the world - a little flippant when offered as an explanation to a six-year-old.