Mute

One of my good friends back home in New Jersey is a witch. I’m not insulting her, I’m simply stating the spiritual path that she is on. Some folks are Catholic, others Hindu and still others are witches. Her path is fascinating to me, since it involves so much of the unknown and has secretive overtones-at least that is what Hollywood would have you to believe. The reality is her life is as mundane as mine. There are no flying broomsticks, no cauldrons bubbling, no eye of newt in her pantry.

Many years ago, I had the privilege of attending a Dumb Supper she was hosting. It was shortly after my grandmother had passed, and I was still deep in mourning. She thought that this might be therapeutic for me. A Dumb Supper is held around Samhain (Halloween) to celebrate your ancestors. The term dumb refers to the fact that the meal is eaten in silence. I had envisioned something radically different from actually transpired.

She lived in old Victorian row home in Lambertville, NJ on the banks of the Delaware River, not far from where Washington crossed and turned the Revolution around.

We gathered in her living room, and it was an interesting cross section of fellow diners. One was a college professor and his wife, another was the owner of an art gallery across the river in New Hope, and yet another was a musician with the Philadelphia Symphony. I wasn’t sure if I stumbled into the suburban equivalent of Rosemary’s Baby or not, so I was rather reserved at first. It turned out most of them were as nervous as I was, since there were only a few other witches in the house (and most of them were related to our host). While the rest of the house was lit well, the dining room was dark, with just some dim candle light on the table. Leading the way into the dining room, my friend had a smudge stick that she walked around the room with. The attendees were instructed to bring a picture or a representation of their loved ones. On the server along one of the walls were candles. We placed our pictures behind a candle and lit it. Once we went into the dining room, we were to remain silent (or dumb). By the time the last guest entered, there was a warm glow of candlelight in the room and the scent of burned sage.

At one end of her table, there was a place setting for the goddess. My friend follows a Celtic path, so her particular goddess is Brigid (who coincidentally is one of my favorite saints). We had assigned places, and enjoyed an amazing feast. We had an amazing Irish stew in bread bowls (all from scratch) and a delicious apple Charlotte for dessert. It was awkward eating without talking to your dining companions. It is also a reminder of how uncomfortable silence can be if you are not used to it.

After we were done eating, we walked past the goddess chair, to silently thank her for dining with us. Next we picked up our pictures and extinguished our candles. Gathering in the living room again, some looked relieved to be able to speak again. The musician seemed extremely emotional as I was. It was a very therapeutic experience, another ritual to mourn.

 

Beef stew

2-3 lbs of stew meat

3 large carrots, chopped

3 large potatoes, chopped

1 lb green beans, trimmed

1 bottle Guinness

4 c water

1 bay leaf

Place ingredients in a crock pot. Cook for 10 hours on low. Discard bay leaf before serving.