Winter Imaginings

a visit from the Cailleach

Dec 05, 2024

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It happened the other day, at the dawn of December, when the cloud-laden sky was silvery, and the sunbeams high above the cloud layer illuminated them from behind. Below, the pond was equally silvery, a magic mirror looking more like sky than water. The bare branches of the gray trees were also lit up in silver light. They brought to mind gossamer threads wildly woven in a lacy pattern of helter-skelter design, intricate but not orderly, lively but not composed.

A soft, chill breeze disturbed the remaining leaves that clung to the stubborn oaks. The cold of the earth seeped through the soles of my shoes and sent an icy current through my body.

Winter birds, chickadees, titmice, and sparrows were busy hunting for the remaining seeds of weeds and wildflowers in the shrubby meadow at the edge of the woods.

In the limbs of the exposed canopy, several squirrel dreys were visible. A quick movement in the branches signaled that bushy-tailed gray acrobats were about.

It was all how I expected it to be when something unexpected caught my eye. I cannot say precisely what it was, but I will tell you what I think it was.

Through the lattice of underbrush in the gap between two tree trunks, I spied what I supposed to be an old woman at the edge of the pond. (Unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, which I decidedly believe they were not.)

She was large, though her bulk was compressed as she bent over the water. Her unkempt hair, blowing wildly in the breeze, was white, streaked with gray. Her dress was old-fashioned and an unextraordinary color, like that of the white-tailed deer in winter whose coat turns as gray as the trunks of winter trees.

The old woman’s focus was intense as she stared down into the murky water. I watched in silent fascination as the silvery light flickered through the woods and rolling mist rose from the water’s surface.

Pearly gray clouds gathered overhead, washing away the tinge of orange the setting sun cast. Dusk was beginning to settle on the land.

I watched the old woman's strong shoulders move, and her body gently rock. She grasped a stout staff in her large hands, which she used to stir the water. Round and round in mesmerizing circles, the water began to move. She stirred until the waters were a spinning cauldron (or was it just the play of silver light on the ripples of the water as the breeze blew stronger?)

What was she doing? It seemed to me that just as the breeze turned to a sharp gust of air and a cluster of red leaves from a swamp maple fluttered down to the surface of the water, the old woman, with a flourish, swung off her tartan shawl and began washing it the whirlpool.

A rustle of squirrels in the trees set the dogs barking and my attention was pulled away from the curious sight of her. When I looked back, expecting to see her busy at work, I saw only a large gray boulder and a broken tree trunk sloping gently down at the edge of the water.

I could not say for sure what had just transpired. The next morning, I woke to heavy frost covering the ground, dark clouds hanging heavily, and large snowflakes flying everywhere, whisked along by the wind. Then, there was no question in my mind. It had been the Cailleach washing her tartan white as snow and stirring up a cauldron of winter storms.

I glanced across the fields and saw the pond turned to ice. I heard a soft boom echo between the hills and a low rumble, which happens as the pond water freezes deeply and then cracks. But I knew that it was actually the Cailleach pounding the ground with her stout staff, freezing the earth and water.

I wondered how she had found her way here from Scotland, Ireland, and the Isle of Man or even how she bears a striking resemblance to the Norse deity Skadi, the goddess of winter and darkness, and the Germanic Holle, wife of Wotan.

Perhaps she followed my ancestors. Did she arrive with Brendan the Bold, who navigated his way from Ireland to North America in the mid 500’s? Legend has it that Celtic monks found their way to Gungywamp, a mere 30 minutes from my home, evidenced by the Christian Roman-Briton and Byzantine symbols carved into standing stones dating between 500 and 700 AD. Maybe it was later, around 1,000 when the Norse settled at L'Anse aux Meadows in Newfoundland. Of course, she could have arrived much later in the 17th - 19th centuries when many Irish, Scots, Germanic, and Scandinavians came to these shores.

However and whenever she arrived, she is undoubtedly here. Perhaps she found camaraderie with Biboonike, the Algonquin winter-maker deity who roamed these lands, and together, they now bring the snow, ice, and storms of the season.

Of course, I welcome them both. They are necessary and, while fierce, even at times deadly. Their winter work is needed to complete the cycle of the seasons.

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