Celtic Cross-Quarter Days

We humans have always had a need to mark the passing of seasons. Modern people keep a precise calendar, as we tick off the days, months, years. We take special note of days like Christmas, New Year’s, and the solstices. We celebrate them and attach much significance to them—even though many of them are arbitrary milestones. (Why does the new year fall on January 1? Or the week begin with Sunday?)

For most of my life I have observed these popular milestones, and had my activities governed by them. The four seasonal days—the solstices and equinoxes—are not arbitrary; they are precise astronomical events. They signal summer’s longest and winter’s shortest days, as well as the in-between times when day and night are exactly equal in length. When I lived in an urban environment, in mainstream culture, these were the notable benchmarks of the year.

For the close-to-the-land, rural life we now lead, however, I have discovered four other seasonal days that hold more meaning for us: the Celtic cross-quarter days. They fall halfway between the solstices and equinoxes. Why do they have more meaning for us? Although the summer and winter solstices have definite astronomical significance, their passage can barely be discerned. Since the root meaning of solstice is “sun stand still,” the solstices are a pretty sluggish time of the year. Despite knowing that it’s an eventful day, the weather pretty much stagnates in the days before and after a solstice. Just the opposite happens at the equinoxes: the day’s length is changing so fast that one can’t keep up with the pace. They’re gone, before one can get tuned into the change.

The cross-quarter days meant much more to our European ancestors, because they marked turning points of the seasons, signaling the advent of a new period that could be felt right then. The life of an agrarian dweller turns a corner at the cross-quarter days, shifting into a new phase. The ancients threw major celebrations at these times, to show gratitude for being alive and to entreat the gods to smile upon them. These four days did not fall on a precise day. Since seasons vary from year to year, the cross-quarter days fell within a week-long window.

The Celtic New Year began with Samhain (inexplicably pronounced, in true British Isles tradition, as SOW-win); on or around November 1. Thus it falls halfway between fall equinox and winter solstice. It begins the dark quarter of the year—the onset of winter. Nature is preparing to shut down. Many plants and insects die to next spring’s generation, or go dormant. Death is at hand. Halloween is our modern marker of Samhain.

Three months later Imbolc arrives, at the beginning of February. This is the time when winter is losing its grip on the land. It’s the earliest hint of spring. Buds swell, underground seeds stir, cows lactate. (Imbolc means “in milk.”) The European ancients divined the near future (Is winter really over?) by consulting hedgehogs. In Pennsylvania, German immigrants found that ground hogs worked.

Near the beginning of May, Beltane is celebrated. Life is thoroughly blossoming. Plants are beginning vigorous growth. But our ancestors, leery of cold days still hovering in the woods, felt the need to encourage the fecund summer to fully arrive by dancing around a maypole—a phallic symbol of an erotic and sensual time of the year.

The last cross-quarter day of the Celtic year is Lughnasad—at the beginning of August. It’s harvest time—time to reap the benefits of Nature’s gifts. Named after Lugh, the solar god, Lughnasad was a time to celebrate the horn of plenty, but also to note the closing of summer and turning the corner into fall. With the harvest in, they knew colder days were coming—the Wheel of the Year turns ‘round once again.