All you need to know about Lughnasadh

Lughnasadh: Ancient Harvest, Forgotten
Rituals & the Rise of the Crone

As we move past the height of summer and the days begin to subtly shorten, we find
ourselves arriving at Lughnasadh, or Lammas, as it became known in later Christianised
Britain.
It’s a time that often gets brushed over on the Wheel of the Year, somewhere between the
bright blaze of midsummer and the golden rituals of autumn equinox.
But Lughnasadh holds its own, not just as the first harvest, but as a deeper moment of shift
that has been observed, argued over, and layered with meaning for thousands of years.
Most people know Lughnasadh as a Gaelic festival tied to the god Lugh. But the actual roots
of this time of year are older than Celtic mythology. In fact, we’re not even sure what it was
originally called! We know it was marked, though, and that it mattered.
If we go back far enough, well before the Irish myths we’re familiar with today, the ancient
people of these islands were building monuments that aligned with this seasonal threshold.
Cross-quarter dates like Lughnasadh - halfway between solstices and equinoxes - were
observed through standing stones and megalithic structures that still mark the land.
We don’t have any direct record of how the people who built these monuments honoured this
period. There’s no carved instruction manual or passed-down ritual script. But we do know
that Lughnasadh was later named for Lugh, and that the stories tied to him offer clues.

The Myth of Lugh
According to myth, Lugh was a god of many skills, often associated with light, sovereignty,
craftsmanship, and contracts. But the part that often gets overlooked is that Lughnasadh was
originally created in memory of his foster mother, Tailtiu.
She died after clearing the land for agriculture, and Lugh supposedly held funeral games and
gatherings in her honour.
Some scholars believe Tailtiu was once a much older earth goddess, connected with the land
itself and perhaps even linked to megalithic sites in Ireland going back to 5,000 BCE.
That would place her in a lineage well beyond the Gaels, part of a deeper, more ancient
relationship between people and the land they depended on.

There’s something about that that feels important, especially here in Cornwall.
Growing up and living in a place with its own long, complicated lineage, pre-Celtic, Celtic,
Roman, Christian, and so on, you get a feel for how time stacks up.
So much of what we now think of as “tradition” is really just the latest layer. Lughnasadh is
one of those times that pulls you back underneath it all, into the older questions.
What was this season to the people who came before? What did they notice, celebrate, fear,
or grieve as the grain ripened and the light began to change?
There’s a kind of spaciousness in admitting we don’t know. But that doesn’t mean it’s
meaningless: quite the opposite! The land remembers, even if we don’t have the words.

Time for Reflection
For me, Lughnasadh has become a time of reflection.
Not just in a surface-level “what am I grateful for?” kind of way, but in a deeper, more
practical sense.
What am I harvesting? What has grown well in the past few months, and what hasn’t? What
did I think I wanted that turned out to be more effort than it was worth? What am I proud of?
What needs to be composted, reworked, or let go entirely?
There’s also an undeniable shift in energy that starts to creep in at this time. Summer is still
technically here, and the days are still long.
But the sun has tipped past its peak. If you’re sensitive to the seasons, you’ll start to feel the
edges softening; like something turning over quietly, getting ready for something else. It’s
subtle but very real.

The Wheel as a Woman
This shift also holds personal resonance for those of us navigating perimenopause or the slow
transition into Cronehood.
There’s something deeply appropriate about entering this phase of life in sync with the land’s
own movement away from fullness and toward a slower, more inward rhythm.
In many traditions, the Crone has been sidelined. She is seen as irrelevant, invisible, past her
prime. But what I’ve found (and witnessed in many others) is that the Crone isn’t fading,
she’s sharpening.

There’s clarity, discernment, and a no-nonsense wisdom that comes through once you’ve
stopped trying to please everyone or keep up with expectations. Just like the land, there’s a
drawing-in of energy.
In the context of Lughnasadh, the Crone energy feels especially relevant. This is the first
harvest, a time to assess and begin storing what will carry you forward. It’s a time when you
start to become more selective. You can’t take everything with you. You don’t want to.

Land Abundance
And yet, in many ways, this is a time of abundance.
The fields are full. The trees are heavy with fruit. Even the hedgerows are offering more than
usual. I’ve always loved that contrast: the sense that we’re starting to let go, but at the same
time we’re surrounded by gifts.
It’s not a cold, bleak turning inward. It’s warm, rich, and earthy. It invites gratitude, but also
realism.
In Cornwall, where land and sea are so deeply entwined, Lughnasadh can feel especially
poignant. We’re between tides in more ways than one. The farms are busy, the festivals are
winding down, and the coastal paths are full of late-summer walkers. But underneath it all,
the energy is changing.
There’s a different quality to the light, and the wind starts to hint at the coming equinox. It’s a
time to pay attention.

World Festival
Lughnasadh is also a reminder that nothing exists in isolation. This festival doesn’t just
belong to Ireland, even if that’s where the name comes from.
Cultures all over Europe (and beyond) have had similar harvest festivals, honouring grain
gods and goddesses, holding games, lighting fires, gathering to share food and stories.
From Osiris and Ceres to Pomona and Neper, the same themes show up again and again:
harvest, sacrifice, change, gratitude.
In many myths, the grain deity dies to feed the people. The land gives up its bounty, but not
without cost.
In some versions of the Lughnasadh story, Lugh must battle for the harvest, or trick a dark
figure (like Crom Dubh or Balor) to release the grain. These stories echo the idea that we
don’t just get abundance, we have to work for it, earn it, and often let go of something to
receive it.

That’s a lesson that still holds today. Whether you’re running a business, raising children,
creating art, healing, or simply navigating a big life transition, you’re harvesting something.
The question is, what? And are you honouring that process?

How to Celebrate Lughnasadh
This year, I’ll mark Lughnasadh by keeping it simple. Some quiet time outside.
A good meal with seasonal food. Taking stock of what this year has brought so far. And
maybe lighting a small fire, just enough to sit with, and to consider what I need to let go of to
make room for what’s next.
Of course, in my Shamanic Wheel of the Womb year group immersion its always a ceremony
and celebration too!
There’s no single right way to mark this festival. That’s part of what I like about it. It invites
reflection without demanding performance. It offers meaning without requiring you to
recreate ancient rites that may not even be yours.
It’s enough to pause. To notice. To ask: what am I harvesting, and what am I done carrying?
Because at this point in the year, and maybe, for some of us, at this point in life, that’s what really matters

Trudi xx