The grain festival, usually celebrated August 1 to 15 or when the first grain ripens. Also known as Lunasda, Lunasdal, Lunasduinn (Scottish Gaelic), Laa Luanys (Manx), Calan Awst (Welsh) Gouel an Eost (Breton). One of the four cross-quarter fire festivals on the ancient Celtic calendar. It marks the First Harvest, sitting directly between the Summer Solstice (the peak of light) and the Autumn Equinox (the balance of day and night). Historically celebrated on or around August 1, Lughnasadh is the transition point where the green growth of Spring and early Summer turns to gold. According to Irish mythology, the festival was actually created by the multi talented god Lugh as a funeral feast as well as a sporting event (the Tailteann Games) to honor his foster-mother, Tailtiu. She died of exhaustion after clearing the dense, wild forests of Ireland so the people could farm and survive. Lughnasadh is deeply rooted in honoring the hard work, sacrifice and physical effort it takes to create a

Those who know me well know that I have a lifelong soft spot for frogs and toads. Since childhood, they have fascinated me just as much as orcas and deer. I love the contrast between them—frogs with their sleek, semi-aquatic grace, and toads with their dry, textured, terrestrial armor. With the intense heat we’ve experienced over the last couple of weeks, my gardening routine has shifted to the quietest hours. I tend to slip outside either in the cool, early morning or late in the evening to water the plants. It was during one of these late-night rounds that I finally witnessed a sight I’ve been waiting a long time to see. Living close to Mjøsa, Norway’s largest lake, means our local ecosystem is incredibly vibrant. The soil is alive, rich with diverse organisms, micro-fauna, and complex biochemical compositions. As I approached the front door to refill my watering can, I caught sight of two large toads sitting right by the threshold. As I stepped closer, they slowly began to move—one

There's very much a difference between the fire that warms a room and a fire that consumes it. How often do we feel that when we allow ourselves to follow our visions and our goals, our energy is like a well-tended hearth. It is contained, purposeful, and generates a sustainable warmth that fuels our lives and our work. But then, stress, over-commitment, and the pressure of constantly pivoting takes over, and our contained flame begins to scatter. Suddenly, that beautiful vision isn't building anymore; sparks are going in all different directions and we lose control. Then comes that little inner voice: you should push a little harder, there is just one more hurdle to overcome, one more demand to answer, and we tell ourselves we will find peace again on the other side. In reality, chasing this scattered fire only leaves our own hearth cold—the flames have long left their base. When our creative and day-to-day energy is spread too thin, our health, our boundaries, and our sense of securi

There is an immense gratitude that echoes through time when you choose to follow the Wheel of the Year. For me, these eight points on the wheel hold deep significance. Having celebrated them in both conscious and subconscious ways since I was eleven years old, aligning with the natural flow and the passing of the seasons feels like breathing. We have passed the longest day of the year, and the wheel is steadily turning toward Lughnasadh—the feast of the first harvest. With the food garden expanded this year, spring and summer have already been a time of gentle reaping. But this is the first year I’ve truly paused to witness the tiny helpers—from the insects to the balancing plants—going about their vital work. Getting my hands dirty and letting parts of the garden grow wild has been a profound reminder: we cannot change the macro-chaos of the entire world, but we have absolute agency to transform our immediate surroundings. When the world feels too loud, I return to the earth, to the s

It IS Summer and this usually means wedding season! I played this year's first wedding yesterday in Moss at beautiful Røed Gård. I think it is so special to be part of something so intimate, yet not entirely part of it. I got to witness speeches, congratulate the beautiful wedding couple (I knew the bride from the Medieval Festival in Oslo and am beyond honoured that she asked me to play at her wedding. Takk Mari!), but I was also partly responsible for the soft-music aspect. What a joy to see so many happy faces! As I still had over a 150km to drive back home I didn't stay until the end, to make sure I wouldn't be too tired to drive. My energy is quite fritzed during summer and I spent all my energy playing songs and singing, so I easily get past-tired and then I do not want to drive. Going back home to air got more pressured, more charged and there was quite a feisty thundershow up in the skies all through the night. I've been reflecting these last two weeks as the Summer Solstice tr

A deeply layered plant in European folklore and with a rich potent fragrance of sweet almond, honey and even wintergreen, the Filipendula Ulmaria has earned it's status of high reverence. Called Mjødurt (mead herb) in Norwegian this fantastic plant is now blooming from late June through August/September. Definitely a Solstice/Lughnasadh herb. It thrives in wet meadows, ditches and riverbanks and represents the marriage of water and sun. The blossoms, frothy and creamy-white, capture the peak intensity of the summer sun, while it's roots drink deep from underground water systems. The peak of summer sweetness, it is a joy to find it hiding between Frigg's Grass, lupins and then suddenly pop up, blossoming full of happy bees. And that fragrance! The english name is also assumed that it didn't actually come from Meadow, but from Middle English Medewurte (mead-wort). It was named so because it was the primary bittering and aromatic agent used to flavor and preserve alcoholic mead and metheg