08/11/2026
Lughnasadh (LOO-nuh-suh) is traditionally celebrated on August 1st as the first of the harvest festivals, marking the turning of the Wheel from the height of summer toward autumn. It falls between the Summer Solstice and Autumn Equinox. And astronomically, that halfway point occurred just a few days ago. So technically speaking, it’s still Lughnasadh season. 🌾
If I needed any proof of that, I only have to walk out into my garden.
I’m currently up to my eyeballs in cucumbers, tomatoes, zucchini, beets, beans, herbs, peppers, celery…you name it. The garden is overflowing with abundance. And lately, that abundance has been feeling a little more overwhelming than magical.
Life has been busy. I’m tired. And it’s easy to look at everything coming out of the garden and see nothing but the hours of work ahead. Harvesting, washing, chopping, preserving, and somehow finding the energy to keep doing it all.
Especially the pickles.
I make gallons every year. And when the cucumbers start coming, they come fast. Right now, making another batch is about the last thing I feel like doing.
Then yesterday, my son texted me. His best friend, Kelly, had tried one of last year’s pickles and immediately wanted the recipe. Along with the message was a picture of Kelly eating one with a huge grin on his face.
And there it was, my Lughnasadh reminder.
Because for me, the best part of harvest season isn’t actually during harvest season. It’s in the middle of winter when someone opens one of those jars and gets to enjoy something that grew months before. It’s feeding the people I love, sharing something I made, and hearing, “I need this recipe.”
This year, there’s another part that feels especially meaningful because my daughter and her boyfriend have really started taking the reins.
I learned to garden, harvest, and put up what we grew from my grandmother and my mother. And now I get to pass that knowledge on to my children. And that feels pretty good.
So for my Lughnasadh celebration this year, my ritual is a simple moment of gratitude. A conscious effort to look at the work in front of me and remember what all of that work is really for.
Gratitude for a garden that gave me more than enough. For the people helping me carry the work. For the generations before me who taught me how. For the ability to pass that knowledge along. And for the people who enjoy the taste of the first harvest as much as I do. 🌾