I wrote this post about Solstice in 2015 and here we are this weekend.
This Stonehenge was built by Bill Reid, an artist in Racine. He biked on Lighthouse Drive often, I walked that road nearly every day, and that is how we first met.
(These dates and times are updated for Solstice 2026 in Wisconsin)
Are you aware we are at summer solstice? This Sunday, June 21, the sun will rise at 5:10am and set in the evening at 8:36pm. Fifteen and one half hours of light! Yes, I know, it’s going to rain and probably be cloudy, nevertheless, it is a lot of daylight!
So as we are celebrating the dads in our lives the world will be tipping over the edge of itself from growing light to waning light. Do the dads know this is how we are honoring them?
Most of us are only the second or third generation of all human beings on earth who need to be reminded that it’s solstice. Electric lights and jobs not on farms have removed us from hundreds of thousands of years of people marking their lives by solstices, equinoxes, and phases of the moon. Astronomers and our Wiccan friends still have these markers in mind.
Every major holiday that is not political comes to us from the passage of light through time. Christmas, Easter, and Halloween. School’s out for summer. When I worked in the jail, many deputies and correctional officers claimed they could tell a full moon by the behavior of inmates.
Anyways, many of our fairy tales and superstitions, our nursery rhymes and old hymns built over the structure of older songs, all come to us from poems and tales told to mark time. Babies are born. Old ones sinking into dark places. Seasons pull young men and women into the shenanigans of lust and love. Stories of old people who try to steal youth.
If you ask me if I believe as an article of faith there is magic or power in particular times of the year, I will say mostly no. Humans are not directly affected by stones, solstices, sun, moon, and seasons. We have agency and responsibility and we can’t really blame our lives on moon shadows.
But, also, if you ask me if we are, well, susceptible to the dew before dawn, Scottish rocks at Beltane, owls at equinox, and magic that slip-slides from other worlds into ours and then back – well, maybe. I wouldn’t lay down money on claims that we know what’s going on in the universe. Sometimes myths and seasons makes more sense than the limited amount of facts we are going on here..
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Len and I married in June and then we went to Europe on our honeymoon. And not just one more admirable tour of this or that. Nope, we went to the genuine pig farm in Denmark where I’d been an exchange student as a teenager. I introduced Len to the Bjerres and it was the beginning of adult friendships among the people with whom I’d been a kid. Some of them might be reading this now.
On that 1981 Midsummer we were staying with Annette and her husband in a village not far from Odense which is, no kidding, the home town of Hans Christian Andersen. Towards evening Annette made a giant pitcher of sangria. Some of her friends gathered other strong and lovely alcohols. At around 10PM we gathered at a tucked-in hollow in the side of a big hill not far from Annette’s house. We walked there when it was still light. I could hear murmurings of people.
When we walked over the edge of the hill, I saw that we were in a long valley. Up and down the sides of the hills were puffs of smoke coming from small bonfires at other hidden hollows. I could see at least a dozen fires with people gathered around each one. All those sons and daughters of Vikings were carousing on Midsummers night to banish the few hours of darkness until morning. Singing and laughter sounded through that valley as we sat on logs around our fire. Someone played a guitar. I remember “Michael, row the boat ashore” and then a lot more songs I didn’t know. Len and I hummed a lot. And drank the sangria. And beer. And schnapps.
I don’t remember how we got home. Scandinavians, in general, don’t celebrate Midsummer by driving someplace they will have to drive back home from.
It was the most amazing midsummer of my life as we did what humans have done for eons. Chase darkness with company, libation, song, and fire.
(Added note: a lot of babies are born in March in Scandinavia.)
So find your firepit. Or candles. Get booze or skip it and make something with rhubarb and strawberries. Maybe real whipped cream. You’ll need an hour or more as dusk comes on and daylight fades. Find music and then find a place to lean back and rest your feet. Maybe invite some friends to hour fire or maybe just inveigle your mysterious cat to sit on your lap. Relax. But watch.
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My friend and fellow writer Sam put together this for those of you who have more interest.
…If you'd like to learn more about Midsummer celebrations, check out High Priestess Sam Silver's Nordic Wiccan Instagram and Facebook page. She shares tips, historical snippets, traditions, and information for anyone who is curious about Nordic-inspired Wiccan practices.
You can also watch the annual Stonehenge summer solstice livestream on June 20–21. The event is traditionally streamed by English Heritage, allowing people around the world to watch the sunset and sunrise alignments at the monument.
If you need to freshen up the links: Stonehenge is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8a4eoxUIMw&list=PLx2QMoA1Th9e8GcNqClcZULYhJk_rxzhR&index=1.
Facebook is https://www.facebook.com/nordicwiccan/
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