10.31.2025 | All Hallows Eve

​Firelight, Folklore, and the Thin Places
 
On this All Hallows’ Eve, we honor what the Celts called the “thinnest of thin times”—a night when the veil between worlds nearly vanishes. The ancient Celts believed the dead could walk among the living, and to ward off wandering souls, they lit fires that blazed through the night.
 
Tonight, we’ll kindle our own fire—not out of fear, but in celebration. Wrapped in blankets, warmed by homemade chili, and surrounded by tradition.
 
Samhain also marks the end of harvest and the Celtic new year. As the wheel turns, this season of rest is welcome for this old gardener. Though I miss the growing season, I cherish this sacred pause before the dreaming of spring begins again.
 
Pumpkin carving has long been part of our ritual, and behind it lies a tale worth retelling. It begins, as many Irish stories do, in a pub.
 
Stingy Jack, a notorious trickster, once outwitted the devil—convincing him to turn into a silver coin to pay for drinks. Jack slipped it into his pocket beside a crucifix, trapping the devil. He freed him only after making a promise: Jack’s soul would never be claimed.
 
When Jack died, heaven and hell both refused him. Condemned to wander, his soul drifted through the dark countryside. People carved frightening faces into turnips and pumpkins to keep him at bay. Some say the devil, in pity, gave Jack a single ember from hell’s fire. Jack placed it in a hollowed-out gourd to light his way—and so the jack-o’-lantern was born.
 
As the fire crackles and the veil thins, I listen—not just to wind and story, but to the stirrings within. Samhain invites us to honor endings and beginnings, to rest, and to remember. In the garden, the soil sleeps. In the spirit, something ancient awakens.
 
Tonight, may flame and chili nourish more than our bodies. May they feed memory, musing, and hope. And if you feel a whisper on the wind, perhaps it’s Stingy Jack—or something deeper calling us to reflect, remember, and renew.