Tucked into the northwest corner of my property is an outcropping of basalt rock. Dark grayish brown in color, with a surface area measuring less than three square feet, the rock is physically unremarkable in appearance. What is remarkable about it is the pull of elemental fire energy emanating from that igneous remnant of another age.
Sometimes fire energy presents in a manner that feels wild and nimble, similar to lightning, or to the roaring flames of a bonfire. The energy of this stone is different, though. Burning slow and low, it has a steady, resonating pulse. Like the embers in a smoored fire, it comforts and strengthens rather than consumes, and is evocative of Brigid in her aspects as goddess of the hearth.
A candle-lit altar to Brigid [B. Rhodes, courtesy]
I was drawn to explore the space around the outcropping, and I gradually became aware of a susurrant hint of the presence of moving water beneath the fire energy. I was intrigued by the magical prospects of the confluence of these elements, but because of time constraints, I tucked the knowledge of their presence away for safekeeping until a later day.
I have lived here through three springs now, and I have spent much of that time getting to know the practical and magical aspects of the land and her spirits. How does the light fall and where is the shadow through the different seasons? Where does water flow and what are the runoff patterns when it is raining? How do I safely co-exist with the wildlife that moves along the bear corridor? What offerings please the land spirits?
The appearance of the land has changed in that time. I built a rock wall garden and added four raised bed planting areas, two small orchards, and a modest English-cottage style garden. We installed several water reclamation and mitigation systems, and most recently, we added a small barn to house a small flock of chickens.
Sometimes I cannot believe how much has been accomplished here, and how different the property looks. I began this endeavor with minimal experience and education in gardening and absolutely none in homesteading. I had never even met a live chicken before my husband and I brought four of them and their small coop home with us last year. What was I thinking?
I was thinking that I trust the relationship I have with my land and land spirits, developed through meditation, deliberate observation, and literally spending time on the ground at all hours of the day and night and in all kinds of weather. “Adopt the pace of nature,” Ralph Waldo Emerson advised. “Her secret is patience.” And so I have done. Every decision about planting or building, adding or removing, has been made after time spent talking with my land and asking for guidance. No matter how excited or eager I am to begin a project, I am never in such a hurry that I do not wait for the land to answer.
All the while these other projects were happening, that rock outcropping and the stream I suspected lay underground were never far from my mind. That area is particularly peaceful, and I am often drawn there for meditation or quiet time.
From a geological and geographical perspective, the presence of a rock outcropping and an underground water source is not unexpected. Nestled near the base of the Black Mountains in the Blue Ridge Mountain range, this property is in a river valley neighborhood that was once farmland. A creek runs fewer than 100 yards to the east and is a tributary to the Swannanoa River which is a quarter of a mile down the road. From talking with neighbors and conducting some records research, I learned that the main house for a farm once sat on this property and that the well was probably located to the west of the house.
This scientific and practical knowledge does not render this site or the energies here any less magical.
For nearly a year I considered various ways to use the space around the outcropping, but nothing felt right. Then in May of 2020 I bought a small hawthorn tree and set it, pot and all, near the rock. The energetic response over the next couple of days was a gentle but definite affirmative. I had no plans beyond that at the time, but it seemed like a good first step.
When I tried to plant the tree, I gained a better understanding of the size of the rock below ground. After starting four holes and gradually moving fifteen feet away from the visible outcropping, I managed to dig a hole deep enough to accommodate the tree. Although it got off to a slow start, the hawthorn tree is now thriving and has grown 12 inches in the last year.
One day while I was sitting near the hawthorn, watching the chickens in their run, the image of a small barn came to me. Situated within the boundaries of our interior fenced yard, the barn would be placed about 50 feet south of the rock. That type of project would be a large undertaking for my husband and I, so I left it to simmer in my mind for a week or two and periodically talked it out with the land spirits and with my husband.
Building the barn would allow for a more secure chicken coop, which is important in an area with a healthy predator population. It would also create a larger run and allow me to expand the size of the flock, potentially adding more food independence. It was the right thing to do, and so the long-term project was started in the summer of 2020.
The barn and the new coop inside it were nearing functional completion as the wheel of the year turned towards Imbolc. I began to think about altar set-up and crafting a ritual for the holy day. During one of my morning walkabouts I realized that the hawthorn tree had become big enough that I could begin to use it as a cloutie tree, and as a place to honor Brigid. A humorous and gentle nudge from the land spirits later, I also realized that I could create a permanent altar for Brigid next to the hawthorn. The pieces of that particular puzzle began to fall into place. The fire-formed rock, the mystical water, and the hawthorn tree combined to create a sacred space for Brigid. A perfect plan revealed by patience and time.
Not long after that we dug post holes in the chicken run on a direct line from the rock outcropping. When the post-hole digger hit a foot deep into the ground, it hit running water that moved with such force it created a short-lived miniature artesian well. I finally had physical confirmation that there was water moving under this land.
Earlier this month I was working in the barn, tidying up and preparing for the arrival of eight new chickens. I found evidence of a rodent incursion, which did not make me happy, but which is part of having a barn and having chickens. I was thinking about how grateful I was to have seen the presence of a black snake near the barn just a few days earlier when something heavy thudded, hard, on the roof of the barn. It made an impressive sound on the tin roof and hit hard enough to shake the barn and set off the shivering, thundery metal noise from the hardware cloth that installed under the flooring. My immediate thought was this: “Brigid, goddess of the forge and goddess of agriculture, making her presence known.”
Not until that very moment did I realize that Brigid’s little altar under the hawthorn looks over the barn. I had not consciously considered that when I placed it, guided as always by the land. But as I was thinking of her in that moment, I glanced out the open barn door in the direction of the rock outcropping, and there she was. Keeping watch, as always. Keeping the farm animals safe. Standing on the cornerstone that helps hold everything else in place.
This land has a way of making sure things are as they should be.
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