The Green Man Cometh

The days are getting darker, time’s marching on, and the creep towards winter is upon us. I love living in Mexico City, and this year has been especially rainy and chilly, reminding me of the distinct four seasons I remember from growing up in the Midwest.

I’m preparing for a Halloween trip home to Chicago, and then in December, I’m traveling to Glastonbury, England, to spend the Winter Solstice on Glastonbury Tor.

As I approached my 60th birthday a year ago, I decided it was time to go minimal, especially as I was moving into a 250-square-foot apartment (broom closet) in Mexico City. I let go of everything that didn't serve a purpose, and if I’m honest, that was quite an adjustment. Parting with some sentimental things was bittersweet, but I'm over it now. Having only the basics feels light and efficient.

With less stuff occupying my life, I've found myself spending more time exploring Pagan traditions and customs, something I've dabbled in for years. The more I learn, the more I realize how long these interests have been part of my life.

Twenty-ish years ago, at the height of my dysfunction while living in Chicago, I bought a book called The Winter Solstice, The Sacred Traditions of Christmas at a garage sale one summer day. I positioned it upright across my bedroom, which meant that every morning when I awoke, the Green Man on its cover was staring right at me.

I would skeptically flip through the book, which I thought was about witchcraft, and at that time, it scared me. However, there was something about the acknowledgment of nature's cycles and the agricultural seasons that I found fascinating. My mother loved those things, too, and I remember thinking she would have loved that book.

My mother was dying, and my life was completely unmanageable. I had been fired three times in less than two years, I was broke, and I was barely hanging on by a thread while my mother was slipping away. But thankfully, I was able to spend this time with her.

My mother died that winter, and shortly afterward I moved out of Chicago and into her empty condo near the Wisconsin border. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do next, but something began to shift.

I started getting up to watch the sunrise, and in the evenings I'd watch the sunsets. I became fascinated with cows, and I mean REALLY fascinated. I started looking closely at them, listening to them breathe, talking to farmers at farmers markets, and reading about how we as a society treat these sacred creatures. What I learned about modern cattle farming horrified me, and it changed the way I thought about our relationship with cows.

I also began studying Reiki, and I started drawing again for the first time since I was a teenager.

My first drawing was Saint Michael the Archangel, and I didn't leave enough room on the page for his feet. So my first drawing was an ungrounded Saint Michael, which made sense for that time.

Much of what I discovered during that period of unraveling is still with me today. Drawing is huge in my life. I still care deeply about cows and support the regenerative cattle ranching efforts at Cañada de la Virgen. I still pay attention to the sun, moon, seasons, and agricultural cycles, and my travels in Ireland have added to my curiosity about Pagan history and traditions.

But somewhere along the way, I forgot about the Green Man.

That changed recently, after I booked my December trip to Glastonbury and began researching the area. One day, Facebook suggested a page called The Green Man.

There he was.

I had never known the name of that face on that old book, but I recognized him immediately. The memories came rushing back: my bedroom in Chicago, my mother, that terrible period of my life, and everything that followed. I began reading about the Green Man, looking at the many interpretations of his face, and learning how he appears in carvings and artwork across different cultures and centuries.

I searched Amazon for the book that once watched over me in Chicago, and bought myself another copy. Now it's part of my small library here in Mexico City.

And now… I prepare for Winter Solstice in Glastonbury.