Midsummer

MIDSUMMER

The three sisters were sitting together on the couch, a photo album open on the middle sister’s lap. Yes, an honest-to-goodness photo album with old colour and black and white photos held in place with a sheet of clear acetate. They were all smiling, and pointing, an air of nostalgia surrounding them. Or maybe it was melancholy. Their mother, Esmeralda — Esmy to to one and all — had died last solstice, and this was their first celebration without her.  

The three sisters still lived in their familial home, the same home that their mother had been raised in, and her mother before her. It was a beautiful old Victorian mansion, perched on a cliff, overlooking the Atlantic ocean.

The sister holding the photo album was Rose. She was the oldest of the three, a very sophisticated thirty-two. She had long, wavy, red hair, that swung almost to her hips when she let it down. She rarely let her hair flow free. She felt that it was perhaps a bit too … too … too much. Esmy had said that Rose’s hair was literally her crowning glory. Rose was tall, as well, almost six feet tall. She struck an imposing figure, one that commanded attention. She was a born leader. A born leader with a magnificent head of hair.  

Today, her hair was down, and she was wearing old jeans and a hoodie. Even when dressed casually, she still retained an air of elegance.

“I remember this year. Neither of you was born yet. I was still an only child — ah, the good old days!” she chuckled, looking at the faded colour photo.

“Look how young mom looked. Her hair was already white.” Rose sighed, and continued to look at the photo. 

The picture showed Rose and Esmy attending solstice celebrations in the field behind their house. Frozen in the frame, the sisters saw the flames from the bonfire reaching into the sky, sparks floating upward. Rose was standing beside her obviously pregnant mother. Esmy was crouching beside four-year old Rose, pointing into the fire.

Sitting on the couch to Rose’s right was Dawn. Dawn was twenty-

eight years old, the middle daughter. Where her older sister cut an imposing and commanding figure, Dawn reflected her name. She was fair, and bright and bubbling over with good humour. Dawn’s blond hair was long and straight, not quite as long as her sister’s hair, but hanging almost to her waist. What her hair lacked in length, it more than made up for in shine. Dawn’s hair shone like the first light of morning, shimmering golden and bright. Dawn was as tall as her sister, but instead of imposing, she seemed to move with the grace of a dancer, smooth and graceful. She gave off an aura of calm contentment.

Today day she was wearing black leggings and an oversized white tee-shirt. Her feet were bare. She looked like she would spring to her feet and preform spectacular dance for her sisters at any moment.

One thing that the two sisters had in common was their eyes, a captivating green both light and bright at the same time. A green that they had inherited from their mother. When people thought of the hills of Ireland in spring, the green that they conjured up was the colour of the sisters’ eyes.  

Dawn hooted. “I can’t believe how young she was.” She stopped, calculating. “She was your age Raven when she had Rose,” she paused, “so she was my age in this photo.”

Dawn reached over, and turned the page of the photo album.

“Ahh! Here I am, and Raven, sort of.”

The picture that Dawn was pointing at was very similar to the first — another faded colour snapshot showing an again-pregnant Esmy, holding Dawn’s hand as they both watched an eight year old Rose jump over a small fire. Rose was captured mid-jump. The larger bonfire blazed in background of the photo.

“I don’t understand the whole ‘jump over a bonfire’ thing,” said the third sister, Raven. “It seems really dangerous. I’m pretty sure Child Services would have taken us away if they’d known.”

On Rose’s left was Raven, the youngest of the three sisters. She was twenty-four years old, four years younger than Dawn, eight years younger than Rose. Of the three sisters, she was the most different. Where Rose and Dawn where tall and statuesque, Raven was petite, barely five-foot-two. Her two older sisters joked that she was their pocket-sister — so small they could keep her in their pocket. Esmy had called Raven her pixie. Where Rose and Dawn were light, Raven was dark. Her hair was black as coal, with curls cascading to her shoulders. Raven’s eyes were grey and stormy. When angered, they smouldered and darkened.  

Raven was quieter than her two sisters. She would rather listen than talk. Some believed her silence was due to the fact that her older sisters commanded all the attention of those around them by sheer presence. Not so. Raven didn’t need to talk all the time — both of her older sisters more than made up for Raven’s silence. Raven was more like her father than either of her sisters. Although they didn’t know their father, their mother had always said that Raven was the epitome of him in personality and visage. She could be moody and dark, as apparently so could their father. Raven had never been sure if she should be happy or sad about this comparison. Instead, she decided to take it at face value with no emotional weight attached to the statement.

“I’d like to know how this whole solstice celebration started,” said Raven. “It’s the only birthday celebration that we ever have.” She sighed. “No party, no friends, no cake, no balloons, no ponies, just dancing naked around the fire every year.”

Strangely, they all shared the same birthday, June 21. The same day as their mother. For each of the years that the girls and their mother had been born, the summer solstice had been celebrated on June 21. All three girls had been born at three minutes to midnight, as had their mother. It was the same for all the women in their family, going back generations. Some people would have said it was spooky, others would have crossed themselves to ward off the evil spirits. The solstice, or Litha, was the highest of the eight high-feast days in the pagan calendar.  

“We’ve always celebrated Litha. It’s always been our day, and we’ve always celebrated it together,” said Rose. She pulled out another, older photo album from the pile on the coffee table. This one was older, before their time. It showed their mother as a young child. Many of the photos were in black and white.

As they flipped through the pages, the scenes repeated themselves, showing photos of their mother celebrating her birthday and the solstice, communing with nature. These were the Litha Chronicles, as their mother called them — a photographic journey of how the generations of women in their family celebrated the solstice. It was a long, long held family tradition. None of them had ever missed a solstice celebration. 

“I never liked the celebration,” said Raven. “I thought the whole wood nymph vibe was a bit much.” She was wearing her usual uniform of black jeans and a black concert tee — today’s shirt was from a relatively new band, Vampire Weekend — Chucks on her feet.

“Yet, you still participate each year,” said Rose.

“I do. But only because it is expected. I’d be shunned if I didn’t participate.” She paused. “But that doesn’t mean that I enjoy it.”

“I love the whole vitality of the solstice. I love that sense of renewal. The feeling of hope and expectation, It soothes yet invigorates me,” said Dawn. “And, I love dancing naked around the fire.” She smiled looking down at the photos.

Rose looked at her sisters. “You two may have different opinions about Litha, but you have to remember that our presence is demanded. Without our guidance, the solstice celebration would be nothing more than fire, flesh, and frivolity.”

Raven snorted. “Really? I’m not sure that the participants would find it that mundane. I’m sure there are others who could replace us. We’re not indispensable. We’re all going to die, and someone else will have to replace us, the way we replaced Mom and her sisters.”

“We’ll have daughters of our own to carry on the tradition,” said Dawn.

Raven snorted again. “I wouldn’t count on me. I’m quite happy to be a family of one.”

Rose’s head snapped to the left. “We are a family of three. We will always be a family of three until we have daughters of our own.”

“Like I said, I’m happy not being a mother.”

Dawn sighed. This was not the first time her two sisters had disagreed on matters of the family.

“It’s only one night of the year. One night. That is our obligation. We lead some chants, we dance, we sing. Then it’s over,” said Dawn looking around Rose to see Raven. “It’s not that bad.”

“I find the celebration contrived, and dated.” Raven sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “Who said that men aren’t allowed? And why? I’m all for Girl Power, but seriously, it's 2021. And what are we doing that’s so secret?”

Dawn was a little taken aback at Raven’s complaints. She turned towards Rose. She knew that their mother had entrusted all the family secrets to Rose, but she had yet to share them with her sisters. Maybe it was time.

Raven continued. “This celebration started a very long time ago, right. I’m thinking, probably around 1692 — you know, the Salem witch trials. I’m thinking it was started as a secret protest to the trials themselves. You didn’t see any men being thrown into the river to see if they floated. No, it was only women. So, I figure this solstice celebration was created as a way for women to feel the camaraderie of their beliefs. Hell,” she said, pointing to the pile of photo albums piled on the table, “some of those photos date back to the 1890s. I bet there are drawings somewhere of these same scenes that predate photography.

“So, I get it,” she continued. “Sisters strong. But maybe it’s time to change. You know, include men, and maybe wear some clothes.”

Rose chuckled.

“Seriously! Every year I get eaten alive. Why can’t I at least use bug spray?” She looked directly at Rose.

“Because the purpose of this celebration is purifying, that’s why we have a fire — not only does the fire represent the sun, but fire also purifies. And, bug spray is not so pure. In fact, it’s probably flammable.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “We dance to celebrate the changing of the season. And we dance naked to celebrate the fertility of the land, and of ourselves. It is a ritual to tell the gods that we are thankful, and that we find beauty in the land and in ourselves.”

“I think it’s a lovely celebration” said Dawn. “But I don’t think it’s as old as Raven thinks, though. I’ve always thought that it was a familial celebration, literally and figuratively. We are a family of women. Of only women. We have never had a male child born in our family for as long as the records exist. I think we started participating in Litha because we are just women, and this is the natural way that we celebrate this fact.” She smiled. “And, I don’t mind a few bug bites if it means that we can celebrate our role as women in the modern world.”  

Dawn pointed at an extremely old photo. “See this woman. She is doing exactly what we do every solstice. But why? What drives her? I think it's a sense of belonging — belonging to a special group of women, and celebrating that fact. In a world where, for most of history, women have been considered second-class citizens at best, and chattel at worst, Litha is a reminder that we are much more than that. Much, much more.”

Rose considered her sisters. Maybe it was time to tell them the history of Litha in their family, she thought.

She put the photo album on the table, got up and walked down the hall, and into the office that had been her mother’s. She removed a painting from the wall and spun the dial on the wall safe. She removed the ancient leather-bound journal covered with runes and symbols. She looked at the book, hugged it to her chest, and returned to the couch.

“I think it’s time,” she said, sitting back down between her two younger sisters, showing them the book. “Mom always called this the Litha Record. It is a complete history of our family and Litha.”

Raven and Dawn looked at Rose, then each other. 

“What do you mean complete history?” asked Raven. “How complete?”

“Since the first solstice celebration. There is no actual year, because it was before calendars were used. Best guess is thousands of years before modern times, maybe five thousand years ago.” There was a pause, and the younger sisters looked Rose.  

“It was celebrated by ancient Celts, and our family was part of the early celebrations. But they were different from what we celebrate today. It included all the people from the surrounding towns and villages who would gather at the Hill of Tara in County Meath. A giant bonfire was built, and there was dancing and celebrating. Everyone wore flowers and herbs in their hair, praying to Gráinne, the sun goddess. It was a very inclusive celebration.  But, when crops failed, the women were blamed. Some were sacrificed on the solstice. 

"Our family, by then was considered different, and by definition dangerous. First, we were only women. Any man that married into our family died after the third daughter was born. All the baby girls were born on the solstice, and all the women died on the solstice. There were rumours of witchcraft and evil. Our family was forced to flee to the Loc Gur area near Limerick. The celebration that we know now as our own developed during that time, in secret. There were larger celebrations that included all who lived in the area, very similar to those that were being celebrated in Meath. But our family started their own celebrations.” Rose tapped the ledger on her lap. “These are the times and places of those celebrations. In the beginning, they were oral histories passed on from one generation to the next, but mid-sixth century literacy was introduced in Ireland. Women were forbidden from learning to read and write, but our ancestors worked for literate men, and learned to read and write, and passed those skills down through the generations.

“The sixth century?” questioned Dawn. “That is far earlier than I thought.”

“Long before the sixth century, but yes, that is when written tradition replaced oral tradition.

“But why our family?” asked Raven.

“I’m getting to that,” replied Rose. She took a deep breath. “We are special. You must have realized that. We are not like other families.”

“True that,” said Raven. “None of my friends dance naked on the solstice.”

“None of mine even celebrate the solstice,” said Dawn.

“True,” said Rose. “That’s because we are … we are witches.” She looked at her sisters.

“Witches? Like ‘caldron boil and caldron bubble’ witches?” asked Dawn.

“No, not really. We’re—“

“Wiccan,” finished Raven.

“How did you know?” Rose asked Raven, surprised.

“You’re kidding, right? We are sooooooo different from every other family I know.” She held up her hand, and ticked off her fingers. “We have the same father, but you are eight years older than I am, and you should have known him, but you don’t. Why?”

“He was selected by the family to be our father. He does not live with us. He is only our genetic link.”

Raven held up her second finger. “We are only women. Women are the leaders and the strength in Wicca.”

Raven flipped her third finger and held it. “And we dance naked, around a fire, every summer solstice, so there’s that. It's a pagan ritual. Wiccans are all about the solstice.” She paused. “But when the celebration is being held, we are expected to lead, not just participate. We are important. And the important people always have the power, and I figured, in our case, the actual power.”

“Are you saying we’re magical?” asked Dawn.

Rose paused. “Yes we are. Except it is the oldest who wields the most power. Which is me. You do have power, but you need me to control and direct it. I have never practiced magic. But I know how.”

Dawn stared at her sister, her mouth slightly open, a look of confusion and hurt on her face. “You never told us.”

“No. I didn’t. It wasn’t my story to tell until Mom died. Now it is my turn to share this with you. I didn’t know how to tell you until today. I’m sorry if you feel that I betrayed you.”

“I’m okay with that,” said Raven. “Just as long as you remember that we are stronger together than we are apart. So, no more secrets.”

Dawn nodded her agreement, and Rose smiled.

“And,” continued Raven, standing, “Let’s get this show on the road. I’ve got some naked dancing to do tonight!”

That evening the three sisters shed their clothes, held hands and danced around the bonfire, flower wreaths on their heads, just as their ancestors had done for millennia.