Leapin' Litha, part 1

Mama Nature is being really bitchy this year.

I can’t say I blame Her—just look at how careless, ungrateful, and generally stupid we humans have been with Her gifts.  "Hey, thanks Mom, for all the glorious bounty You’ve handed us without question.  Now I'm gonna waste half of it, hoard the rest, and then rape You repeatedly with this great big oil drill.  Have a nice day.  Oh, I'm sorry—were you gonna eat that?"

And thus Summer came in on wings of flash flood, accompanied by immense oppressive heat.  It doesn't bode well for the rest of the year in terms of temperature and hurricane activity.  At least the drought hasn’t started yet.  As I type, there's a storm raging outside so loudly I can hear it deep within the bowels of an environmental laboratory filled with large machines that hum and whir.

I've been physically pretty miserable since Beltaine.  The dampness in the air has glued every piece of clothing to my body and left me sweating like a whore in church, to quote my grandma.  I've been covered in mosquito bites and there are flies everywhere.  Now, I grew up on the Gulf Coast, which is basically a giant fetid swamp, but it's amazing how quickly you become accustomed to lower humidity.  Austin's relative dryness is heavenly, but for some reason this year it's sticky and gross, and it’s killing me, along with everyone else I know who has trick knees, bad backs, sinus issues, and migraines.

My point is not to complain (okay, maybe a little), but to highlight one of the differences between celebrating the Wheel of the Year here in the Southern US and celebrating it, well, anywhere else.  Each environment has its own challenges.  The Summer Sabbats here are a health hazard.  There's sunburn, heatstroke, fire ants, yellow jackets, mosquitoes, venomous snakes, scorpions…from late May till October going outside is a risk up there with making toast while in the bathtub or buying tacos out of the back of a van.

On the one hand, a great many Pagans are downright lazy in our practices, preferring to stay inside where it's climate-controlled and insect-free.  How connected are we to Nature, really, if we never go outside?  Can you even practice an Earth-based religion indoors? 

On the other hand, we all have to do what we're capable of doing, and landing yourself in the hospital isn’t terribly conducive to mirth or reverence.  If celebrating outside when it's comfortable and inside when it's potentially dangerous (and if you think I'm exaggerating all of this, obviously you've never been to Texas) is laziness, well, color me lazy.  I seriously doubt our ancestors-of-faith in the Much Debated Days of Yore were out in the six-foot snowdrifts dancing around at Yule.  They were indoors with their families burning the Yule log and drinking everything they could mull.

My coven has found a compromise; part of our Midsummer ritual is indoors, and part of it is outdoors (at dusk, thank goodness).  As for Lammas, well, we'll be inside making offerings to Freonus, the god of air conditioning. 

Personally, I think Lammas would be a good time to ritually express our gratitude for the modern conveniences and technology that allow us to live in hostile areas of the world.  Whatever you may think about our society and its assault on Nature, chances are you owe your livelihood, your comfort, and a good deal of your entertainment to technological innovation.  Barring major catastrophe, in which case this blog won't exist anymore anyway, these things are here to stay.  Is that necessarily a good thing?  Obviously not, given how much of our invention has been used to subjugate and destroy other cultures and brainwash the masses into a cycle of mindless consumption.  But is it wholly a bad thing?  Ask yourself that next time you flip a light switch, log on to your email account, or don't die of the flu.

Getting back to Midsummer, however:  I have finally figured out a personal tradition that manages to simultaneously capture the essence of the season of Fire, and keep me inside as the temperatures climb past 95 on their way to their eventual goal of 103. 

How do I celebrate the Solstice?  Well, you’ll have to wait for my next entry to see. 

(There are pictures to include, but thanks to a cat vomit incident this morning I was running late and left the house without uploading them, so I can't access them here at the office.  Blame Cosmo.  I've rambled enough for one entry anyway—this evening I'll have a full report.)

Comments

[Rose]

I can't wait for installment 2 being a desert dweller (not by choice).

On a serious note: climate change evidence #89897890... The Flamingo Casino in Las Vegas had to relocate their penguin habitat. Why? Because after all the years they've lived there (a pretty nice place for a penguin) it's finally getting too hot in the summer for them to survive.

Rose

[Sharon]

I grew up in Dallas, where the climate throughout the 50s, 60s, and 70s was just as hot and humid as you describe, even though it's over 400 miles inland from the Gulf. Maybe it has something to do with all the man-made lakes. In any case, it would be virtually uninhabitable for most Americans were it not for Mr. Carrier and air-conditioning technology, with all its ecologically unfriendly products and by-products. I think about that every time I think about moving back to Dallas to be close to family, and I put off that decision for another year. The climate where I live is also getting warmer, of course, and I don't doubt that the deadly creeping and flying critters are making their way further north, but summer here is still tolerable (and relatively brief) with a combination of awnings on all the south-facing windows, and fans in every room and in the attic. Maine is stating to look pretty good, though.