Our homestead is covered with a thick blanket of snow, tunnels carved out for chicken chores, and the mailbox has been reinstalled after the latest plow knockover. The brook is starting to freeze over. With a quiet, persistent yearning to reconnect with my ancestors’ guiding traditions, Imbolc is in my awareness—this midway point between the winter solstice and spring equinox.

Imbolc honours Brigid, the Celtic goddess/saint/feeling of fire, healing, and inspiration that kindles in the heart of winter. In recent years, I’ve been intrigued by Brigid’s mythological connection to blacksmithing. The craft that keeps a fire going to transform hard metals seems to symbolize the spark of ideas, passion, and growth that can flow out of a well-tended space. Creativity. Renewal. Emerging from the warmth of the woodstove or blacksmith’s forge on a sub-zero winter’s day.

I’m into it. I'm into Brigid. This Imbolc I’ll try to commune with her more—call her in, praise all she is—so our path through the rest of winter may be well guided. In a world that feels harsh and unsettled, where crises and uncertainty press in, these quiet, grounded moments become even more precious. My grateful heart loves the place we call home here in Mi’kma’ki. Our midwinter moments of magic on Back Road exist in humble contradiction alongside my settler lineage, tending to place while listening to Indigenous ways from near and far.