My dad the Druid

My father was very in tune with nature. This stems no doubt from being raised on a farm by farmers who lived close to the land. The passing of the seasons was paramount to their lifestyle. The raising of the sun each day marked a new beginning for them. The planting and nurturing and harvesting of crops proved to be a gateway to spirituality.

As I was raised in a small rural town but not actually on a farm my relationship with the land was more cut off than my father’s. Although I spent endless hours with my father doing his farm work I didn’t take the knowledge of the passing of the seasons and the mystery of the rising sun so much to heart. I observed rather than did.

As an adult my father became a drainage contractor as well as a farmer. He spent his life improving the land through hard work and use of all the knowledge he’d gained in his childhood and early adulthood. He would wake up at dawn to start each day. His day ended when the sun set. His ability to work was impacted by the change of seasons. Winters were spent fixing the machinery needed to do his work. Springs were spent planting crops. Summers were spent laying miles of tile to improve drainage on local farmer’s land. Autumns were spent harvesting what they had tended to during the earlier seasons. And this endless cycle continued for him. Each passing year brought new challenges and new triumphs. It was a simple uncomplicated life. And he lived it with his every breath.

He did instill in me a respect of nature. He did teach me the value of hard work. He did share with me one of his favorite memories from his youth that says to me more than anything that my father was a Druid. Although he would never admit it he was a Druid.

The tale he told me involved his farm and spring. At night when things had settled down for the day he would go out to a field and lay down on the ground between the rows of crops. And he would tell me that it was then that he could hear the crops grow. Magic to his ears. And a perfect anecdote to sum up my father’s life. It was by doing this ritual that he loved so much that I knew my father was secretly a Druid.

Years later after he had passed I was sleeping in my urban home cut off from the land and I had a dream. I dreamt my father came to me and simply said “Druid”. I immediately woke up with the word ringing in my ears. And the next morning I started my path in Druidry with the passion my father had for the land. Thanks dad.

Author: vitkimusings

A fifty-something Vitki living in the suburbs of Chicago. Follower of the Nordic Path for the last fifteen years. Student of runes for the last 23 years and seidr for the last seven years. Always learning and growing!

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