As the days shorten and the light softens across the Mourne Mountains, there’s a quiet invitation in the air to slow down, to look up, and to welcome change.
Around this time of year, as Samhain approaches, mindfulness teachers often remind us that the shift into winter can be grounding if we lean into it rather than resist it. The darker evenings become a space for reflection, to read a good book by the fire, play some music, or step outside and watch the stars appear one by one. And while it’s tempting to hibernate, it’s just as important to wrap up warm and get outside, to catch those short bursts of daylight and stay connected to the rhythm of nature.
That rhythm is something our ancestors understood deeply. Samhain, the ancient festival at the end of October, marked the beginning of winter. In the old Irish calendar, it was the start of the darker half of the year, a time to pause, gather wisdom from what had been, and prepare for renewal.
It’s often called the old Irish New Year’s Eve, a reminder that in this tradition, night comes before day and darkness before light.
Here at Rostrevor Holidays, it’s easy to feel that seasonal shift. The river runs faster after the rain, the birds strip the last of the berries, and the first frosts sparkle across the fields like nature’s own decorations. The cottages glow warmly against the hillside, and the mountains feel quieter, holding their breath for winter. I always find something calming about it, lighting the stove, stepping out to feel the cold air on my face, and letting the year turn as it’s meant to.
The Thin Veil Between Worlds
Samhain was the night when the veil between worlds was believed to grow thin, when the living and the dead, the human and the spirit, could brush against each other. Families left food and kept a warm fire for wandering ancestors, hoping to welcome friendly visitors and keep mischief away. Those who ventured out after dark would disguise themselves with masks or cloaks so that any restless spirits might mistake them for their own kind.
It’s from these old customs that our modern Halloween traditions grew, the dressing up, the knock on the door, and the offer of a sweet or a treat to keep the peace.
In the Mourne area, the landscape still carries that sense of mystery. There are fairy rings on the hillsides and stories of the Cailleach Beara, the old woman of winter who roams the mountains shaping the land with her staff. Some tales say she begins the season as a radiant young woman, only revealing her ancient face as winter deepens. It’s a reminder that every cycle, even the coldest one, holds its own beauty.
Bonfires, Apples, and Turnips
In years gone by, Samhain was full of light and laughter. Bonfires blazed on hilltops to thank the land and protect the living. Children carved faces into turnips (much tougher work than a pumpkin!) to frighten off unwelcome spirits. People peeled apples in one long curl to divine the name of a future love, or dropped them into water to see whose would float together first.
I still remember the smoky smell of autumn bonfires as a child, that mix of warmth and wild air that made you feel alive. My go to costume was always that of a witch (throw on a black bin bag, and shape a hat out of some old newspaper painted black.)
Returning to the Natural Rhythm
Samhain was one of the four great seasonal festivals in the Celtic year, along with Imbolc, Bealtaine, and Lughnasadh, each marking a doorway in the cycle of light. For farmers, it signalled the time to bring animals home and prepare for rest. For the rest of us, it’s a good reminder that slowing down isn’t failure; it’s wisdom. Nature takes a breath, and so can we.
So, as we move into this quieter half of the year, maybe we can all borrow a little from that old rhythm. Let the evenings be for stillness and warmth. Step outside to watch Orion rise over the mountains. Notice how the frost glitters on the grass. Because when we tune ourselves back to the seasons, when we let the dark arrive without fear, we often find that creativity, clarity, and energy start to return all on their own.
And perhaps, while staying here in the Mournes, you might feel that same rhythm too: the deep calm of the mountains, the glow of a cottage fire, and the quiet knowing that every ending is simply another beginning.
