The Good Old Summertime

Omigosh. Tomorrow is the longest day of the year. That makes tonight Midsummer’s Eve! (Or tomorrow night, depending on your time zone and celebratory preference.)

It kinda snuck up on me. The modern Gregorian calendar world we live in has me habitually aiming my solstice sights on the 21^st. Still, a day’s difference pre- or post- doesn’t derail me. It just lops a chunk off of my Midsummer blog-writing time or adds some hours to it.

Bealtaine did derail me. Par for the course. For me, the May-tide is a season of derailment, always has been. Some years I simply get overloaded. Too much crazy stuff happening, too many crucial obligations to honor, too many friends and family in need, too many household emergencies, or maybe too much of a good thing. Too many house-guests or graduations or whatevs.

Luckily, since I hit my crone years, stress overloads have generally been the worst Bealtaine has thrown my way, and the consequences have been no more dire than missing my window for a seasonally-appropriate blog-post. In my youth, Bealtaine delivered more intense, life-changing stresses.

Both my kids are merry-begots, accidentally conceived during May-tide. The one show Roy and I ever did together — Candide — opened at Bealtaine and ran through the tide, after which we packed up our Berkeley lives, traveled across the country, and split up (me going to Europe, him to LA). For all we knew at the time, we were splitting up for good. My mom unexpectedly died during May-tide, when I was 18 years-old … you get the drift.

Bealtaine must be forgiven for being so dramatic. All the stations of the sun — solstices, equinoxes, and cross-quarters — are seasonal gateways. But Bealtaine and Samhain don’t just move us from season to season, from spring to summer or autumn to winter. Bealtaine and Samhain are coin-flip days. Bealtaine tosses us from the winter half of the year to the summer half. Samhain swaps us back. Bealtaine and Samhain, the hinges of the year, turn the world upside down, shake everything up, and let the pieces fall where they may.

Of the two, Samhain has the scarier reputation, what with it being the Feast of the Dead and all. It’s got ghosts and goblins, witches and Wild Hunts, and the cold-dark of winter on the rise. But the dead are family, and getting cozy with them — indoors, as a rule — to share a feast, tell tales, cast the omens, and light the fires is a comforting, joyous occasion.

Despite its Tra-la! It’s May! vibe, Bealtaine is the far more perilous holiday. At Bealtaine, anything goes. I used to entertain the idea that Bealtaine was rough on me because I wasn’t celebrating it properly — meaning I wasn’t dancing drunk around a raging bonfire, then racing off to the woods with a random stranger to make passionate love till morning. While I no longer harbor such catholic notions regarding de rigueur May Eve celebrations, I def think Bealtaine’s got Maenad energy out the wah-zoo. And I’ve long contended that the rose-colored glasses view of the Feast of the Flower — the one with happy little critters bopping about the green-gowned woods, buzzy bees humming in the blooming meadows, and little birdies trilling gaily in the bright skies — belies the great truth that the season’s massive explosion of life is fueled by a massive explosion of death, that late spring/early summer is, in fact, the most violent time of the year.

Which, believe it or not, brings me back to Midsummer.

The explosion is over. Death is still fueling life, but it’s no longer a feeding frenzy. Nests are established, gardens are growing, days linger, nights are balmy. Life is sweet. (Friends Down Under, this will make way better reading in December.)

Showing ineffable grace, the Goddess (or whatever deity or power or natural cause you prefer) today shifted the local winds so that the Point Fire smoke is no longer choking our valley. Sadly, huge portions of our state are on fire again, but here at Casa Qué Pasa, little birdies are trilling gaily in the bright skies, a buzzy pair of huge, all-black bumblebees are doing their daily possessive dance around the flowers adorning my Mexican sage, and we’ve got a way too bold squirrel who often runs up onto our deck — while we’re sitting there! — so he can bury little nuts in my potted olive tree. Not exactly a blooming meadow, but hey, I’ll take it.

To top it off, this Hera-adjacent lady appeared in our yard this evening, made a few penetrating peahen-honk pronouncements, and proudly displayed her infinite charms whilst stepping elegantly across our portico and down our front steps. (I’ve no idea how to scale down the size of the video in my post … hope y’all can play it without any issues.)

I hope the universe sees fit to carve you out a little Midsummer’s Eve/Day bubble of calm and beauty as well.

Instead of closing by dropping a Midsummer’s poem into the mix, let me recommend some excellent summer reading.

If you’re into fantasy-adventure, are fantasy-adventure curious, or are just a fan of damn good writing, check out The War of the Dragons by Nebula Award finalist (and my dear friend and mentor) Dave Smeds. For far too long, only the first two books of this exceptional series were available. Now and at last, the trilogy is complete — a thrilling tale, brilliantly told, set in a wholly unique and richly realized world. Click on the title above to find links to editions in Kindle, paperback, or hardback formats.

You’ve seen her work posted here many times, but lately Janet Guastavino’s poetry has been appearing all over the gosh-darn place. Soon I won’t be able to spiff up my blog with her poems without paying royalties! (fingers crossed) You can find her latest publication, “Firm Resolve” by clicking on that title.

Blessed Be. Stay sane, cool, and happy here in the glorious fullness of the year.