Plant Harvest

    by | Jul 31, 2026 | Essay

    Today I am thankful for the perspective of my teacher Lar Dooley, on the topic of Lughnasadh. I honor this cross quarter on 7 August, though yesterday I was feeling that the energy is already changing. The first harvest is upon us.

    This is the time that Lugh honored his step mother, Tailtiu, keeper of barley, with a festival, Aonach Tateann, the ‘Fair of Tailtiu.’ Barley was a staple product to Ancestors who were forced northward from the Mediterranean and were challenged to grow food in a harsher, cold environment. This is why solstices mattered–identifiable timing no matter where you were located. From those the rest of cross quarter seasonality could be predicted, thus how to tend crops in foreign, new spaces became approachable.

    Lughnasadh is about the plants, how they give, how we are in relationship
    with them, and specifically how our Irish Ancestors had to adapt their
    relationship to plants to survive. They did it, consciously in relationship
    with the plant spirits.

    S. Kelley Harrell

    Rooted in animism. Guided by experience. Devoted to reciprocity.

    I’m Kelley Harrell, an animist, deathwalker, and author. Through Soul Intent Arts, I mentor people in reciprocal relationship with their ecosystems as a lifelong practice of eldering well, dying well, and ancestoring well.

     

     

    I usually thrill in the green of my ecosystem on Lughnasadh, but this year it is all brown. It has been brown for months, from drought, higher temperatures, and from the invasive critters that thrive in this new heatscape. It is neither familiar to me, nor hospitable, and I don’t find myself adapting as my Ancestors did. But in our relationship I have sung to them. I have frequently ventured beyond my air conditioning to remind them of their beauty and strength, that they will adapt. They will become what is next for this place, and that I will keep singing to them the whole way through.

    Affirmation for the Land

    I know you by scent and soil-breath. I feel you rising through my feet. In body, you root and hold — home to all of us. You feed us. You reprimand us. I watch you buckle under change, and I stand witness to your struggle. You will persist. You push through stone to grow. You shed and evolve, becoming what this moment demands of you. Every day I remember: I am you, wearing skin. And knowing where you must go to thrive, in my time I offer even that to carry you there.

    2 Comments

    1. Lawrence

      Hi Kelley, thanks for this timely message! I’m in north east Missouri and have had a kinder growing season. I felt in community with you as I read your venturing out from ac to sing to and encourage your plants. I talk to mine and occasionally a short song will come out of me. Keep pressing on! You’re making a difference in the collective.

      Reply

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