​Beltane marks the beginning of summer in the Northern Hemisphere and is considered one of the four major seasonal Celtic festivals along with Samhain, Imbolc, and Lughnasadh. As well as joy and renewal, Beltane is often associated with fertility, abundance, and growth, and has been celebrated for centuries with feasting, dancing, and bonfires.

​​In ancient times, bonfires would be lit on hilltops to honour the sun and promote fertility. The bonfire would be the centrepiece of the Beltane celebrations, symbolising the return of the sun and the warmth of summer. It was also believed to have protective and purifying powers, and people would jump over the flames or pass through them as a form of ritual cleansing and purification. They would also drive their livestock between the fires, believing that the smoke and ashes would protect them from disease and bring fertility to the animals.

​I grew up in a large council estate called Burnfoot. It was built between the 1950s and 1970s and, in the early part of these years, a group of local people decided to revive the Beltane traditions and create a festival that would celebrate community and bring the people of this new housing estate together. Central to the festival was the crowning of a local girl as the Burnfoot Queen who, like the May Queens of the past, was chosen for her character and community spirit, and was considered to be a role model for other young people living on the estate.
 
I remember the crowning ceremony to be a big occasion. It was attended by a large crowd of locals and visitors and once it had taken place, there would be procession through the estate, with the Burnfoot Queen at its head, on an elaborately decorated float. To the small boy that I was, the parade was a colourful and lively event, featuring floats and displays from local businesses and organisations. So much so, that it would bring together people of all ages and backgrounds to celebrate what was known as the Burnfoot Festival and ultimately the community of Burnfoot.
 
As far as I’m aware, this Festival still takes place and I find it fascinating how this event from my distant childhood memories was a revival of Beltane traditions that can be traced back to pre-Christian times in Scotland. 

​By the middle of the month most of the numerous wooded areas around the Peninsula are normally at or near their “autumn peak”, having swapped canopies of green for tapestries of vibrant reds, golds and ambers. The image above was taken around this time in 2019, which was a particularly good year for the autumn colours, and it shows the trees around the Old Shiel Bridge at Blain in their full autumn splendour.
 
The Old Bridge was built by Thomas Telford in 1804. It spans a narrow chasm through which the waters of the River Shiel pass and seem to come to the boil before they expand in the House Pool, slow down and then run both still and deep. This single span bridge provides an interesting subject that can be photographed from many different angles. This, combined with how the smooth waters of the House Pool and the river downstream of it reflect the autumn colours, make it the perfect place to capture the splendour of the trees at this time of the year.

​I’ve visited the bridge a few times over the last week or so to find that the arrival of the autumn colours is not quite as advanced as it normally is. Indeed, I can’t help feeling it is a week or two behind and although there are now hints of golds in the landscape, I find my myself wondering if their late arrival means that there will be a poorer show this year.
 
So, what makes for a good show of autumn colours? Well, the answer lies in the fact that leaf colour comes from pigments, which are natural substances produced by the leaf cells to help them obtain food. There are three pigments: chlorophyll (green), carotenes (yellow) and anthocyanins (reds and pinks). It is the mix of them, as influenced by the weather, that determines depth of colour we get each year:
 

• Cold nights: low temperatures destroy chlorophyll so the green leaf fades to yellow, but if temperatures stay above freezing, anthocyanin production is enhanced and the leaves take on a red colour.
• Dry weather: the sugars become concentrated in the leaves, more anthocyanin is produced and consequently the leaves are redder.
• Bright sunny days: photosynthesis can still occur on sunny autumn days, using the remaining chlorophyll. Sugar concentration increases, then more anthocyanin is produced and the leaves are redder.

 
In addition to this, a warm dry 'Indian summer' is needed so that the leaves work for longer and therefore stay full of these pigments until the reducing hours of daylight and lower night temperatures trigger the colour change. So, if we’re to have another great show of autumn colours this year, let’s hope for some settled weather over the next couple of weeks, followed by some cold nights and dry, bright sunny days.

As my fourth Spring of living here on the Peninsulas comes to an end and we move towards Summer, I find myself reflecting on a sight that never ceases to mesmerise me during April and May. It is the sight of delicate Bluebells creating intense blankets of colour in the woodlands, on the hillsides and along the verges throughout the length and breadth of the peninsulas. However, things might not be as they seem. Are these really bluebells that I am seeing in this incredible wildflower spectacle?

There are many legends and much folklore associated with both the English Bluebell (Hyacinth) and the Scottish Bluebell (Harebell). Over the years, both have been referred to as the same thing, so it is often difficult to decide what tales apply to which flower. 
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However, it would appear that many of the English Bluebell tales involve dark fairy magic with bluebell woods being portrayed as scary, forbidding places that should be avoided. They say that if you do enter, you should never pick or step on a bluebell. This is because the faeries hang their spells on the bluebell flowers and if you break their spells, they get extremely upset and seek you out. It is believed that once visited by an upset faerie, you will be led astray and find yourself wandering lost in the woods for evermore.

Legend and folklore say that you need to be equally careful with the Scottish Bluebell as its alternative name, Harebell, has its roots in magic. As well as being called the Harebell, the Scottish Bluebell is also referred to as Witch's Thimbles, Witch Bells, Fairies’ Thimbles, Dead Man’s Bells, Aul’ Man's Bells, the Devil’s Bells, and Milk-ort to name but a few. 

Some would argue that Harebell was the name given to the flower because witches would turn themselves into hares and hide among them. This may also be the reason why the names Witch's Thimbles and Witch Bells were used.

Fairies' Thimbles was given to it because it was widely thought that fairies live among the flowers, while Dead Man's Bells arose from the belief that fairies cast lethal spells on those who would dare to trample on or pick the delicate blooms. 

“Aul’ Man” is an old Scottish nickname for the Devil himself and was used as a way of naming the Devil without invoking him by speaking his name.  So Aul’ Man's Bells and the Devil’s Bells were used as some thought that if the flowers were disturbed, they would ring and this would attract evil spirits, including the Devil himself.

Finally, Milk-ort (meaning "milk herb), was sometimes used because Harebells (Scottish Bluebells) produce a white milky sap which was thought to be an element in the hallucinogenic “flying ointments” used by some witches. 

So there you have it. Hyacinths or Harebells? English Bluebells and Scottish Bluebells? What’s in a name?
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I’m left thinking it doesn’t really matter because, as the wonderful carpets of English Bluebells in our damp and shady woodlands begin to fade, I’m looking forward to a second coming of blue as the Scottish Bluebells emerge from the dry, grassy places that fringe our sandy beaches.

If lockdown allows, I’ll venture to these beaches out to the west of me to capture their delicate papery flowers nodding in the sea breeze, all the while taking care not to summon the faeries, the witches or indeed the Aul’ Man himself.

What’s in a Name?

​If you take a walk through Ariundle Oakwood, you’ll see a woodland floor covered with hundreds of moss-covered boulders which, with a little bit of imagination, could be mistaken for mounds that are home to the mythological sídhe, a supernatural race comparable to the faeries or elves. Indeed, the nearby village of Strontian got its name because of the faeries. In Scottish Gaelic, it is called Sròn an t-Sìthein, which translates as the ‘nose of the fairy hill’ and means a knoll or low round hill inhabited by the sídhe. ​