Maurice the Octopus

29 May 19 | Posted in Animals, Events, Food, Spirituality

I have had a number of thought and soul changing experiences with animals.  I loved like a family member most of our dogs–especially Winston and Cutie. Constant in their affections, they taught me love and emotions are not limited to human beings. DOG really is GOD spelled backwards. Seeing a great horned owl against the moon in Pennsylvania is an image that will always stay with me.  Hand feeding two baby robins from a ruined nest was a bonding experience. I wanted them to remain wild, so I never named them or kept them in the house.  Each night I would put them in a short white pine to roost. I could recognize their peeps above the forest cacophony.  I was sad when they departed, but happy I helped them to live. From time to time I would see a robin come close and look at me intently.  I wondered if that was one of them, or one of  their babies coming to check out the legend of the Mother Giant who brought their ancestors from Bay Ridge, Brooklyn and fed them worms, oatmeal and mashed cherries.

In March 2019 I met Maurice at the Kanaloa Octopus Farm in Kailua-Kona, Hawaii.  This aquaculture project began in an effort to help preserve and increase the declining reef octopus populations.  A demand for octopus for food and bait has had a severe impact on their numbers. Scientists are trying to learn how to successfully breed octopuses for food and fishing and leave the wild ones alone.  They are making progress, but haven’t been successful yet.

Maurice was rescued from a fishing boat where he was about to become bait or dinner.  He is now part of the Kanaloa experiment.  Visitors to Kanaloa get to interact with the octopuses.  We discovered each one has their own individual traits and personalities.  Some are curious, shy, grumpy, reclusive, aggressive, clever or playful.  I’m sure there are more parts of their character, but those are the ones I observed in my hour at the aquaculture farm.

After wiggling my fingers in the water to mimic a fish, Maurice came up from the bottom of his tank to investigate.  He gently touched my fingers.  I gently touched his tentacle.  It was very smooth.  The encounter reminded me of the fresco painting of Adam and God in the Sistine Chapel.  One touch changed everything.

Ever since I met Maurice I cannot eat octopus and would never use them for bait.

 

 

Saint Natalis and the Werewolves

2 April 19 | Posted in Animals, Supernatural

Saint Natalis of Ulster (also spelled Naile, Naul, Naal) died in 563 or 564 A.D. He was a monk, abbot and contemporary of Saint Columcille.   Natalis was a student of Columcille (Columba). and founded monasteries throughout Ulster, serving as abbot at St. Naul’s Abbey, Inver,  Kinawley (Cill Naile), Inver Naile at Raphoe, County Donegal; and Devenish Island, County Fermanagh.  The handle of a bell given to him by Saint Columcille was preserved at the church in Kinawley up to the 19th century. 

Saint Natalis appears in the Martyrology of  Donegal (Calendar of Saints) written and compiled by Mícheál Ó Cléirigh around 1630. In the chronicle the stories about St. Natalis allude to his temper.  Frustrated and thirsty, he flung his crozier at a rock pile.  Miraculously, a stream of pure spring water began to flow.  The spot became known as Cill Naile.  The saint was was a dangerous man to cross. He cursed his enemies and people who opposed him.  “I curse that Murchad with his descendants; defect of carving on his carving, and on himself, and on his families after him.”

According to legend, St. Natalis placed a curse on a clan which transformed their members into werewolves.  Here is the tale:

An unnamed priest was traveling from Ulster to Meath on an important mission with his assistant, a young boy. The two stopped for the night near woods at the edge of the See of Ossory. As they lay down to sleep, the priest hears a human voice calling from the nearby forest. He gets up and looking out into the darkness and sees a giant wolf draw near.  The priest and boy draw back in horror, but the wolf speaks in a human voice and tells them not to be afraid.“We are natives of Ossory,” the wolf said, “From there every seven years, because of the imprecation of a certain saint, namely the Abbot Natalis, two persons, a man and a woman, are compelled to go into exile not only from their territory but also from their bodily shape.” “But how came you by this fearsome form?” the priest asked in wonder. “And why must you wear it for seven years?” “I am a member of Clan Allta, a tribe of this region,” the wolf answered, “and like yourself, Father, we are believers in Jesus Christ and in the power of His salvation.  However, in times long past, we were cursed for some ancient sin by the blessed Abbot Natalis.”  The priest had heard of Natalis, who had come to Ireland shortly after the Blessed Patrick to bring the Word of God to a dark and pagan land. He had even read some of the holy man’s works.  From what he had read, he had always imagined Natalis to be exceedingly severe and inflexible in his teachings and one who would brook no deviation from his own interpretations of God’s law.

“The sin which my clan committed has long been forgotten,” said the wolf, “but the curse is still in force.  Every seven years two of us must lose our mortal form to wear the skin of a wild wolf and must live in the deep woods away from our clan. When the seven years are up we shed our animal form and regain our human shape and two others must take our place. It is a terrible burden, Father, and one that will never be lifted, for Natalis is long dead.” 

The wolf asks the priest accompany him into the woods to give the last rites to his mate, the female wolf.  The priest is filled with terror that the wolf will kill him, but follows the wolf into the woods.  He gives the dying wolf communion and blesses her.  The male wolf returns the priest to his campfire and bids him farewell, loping back into the forest.  The priest calls out after him saying he would return. On his way back to Ulster, the priest stopped in the woods of Ossory and searched for the werewolves but did not find any trace of them.

Saint Patrick and Saint Natalis are sometimes confused in the werewolf story.  In one account, “it is told when the holy Patricius (St. Patrick) preached Christianity in that country, there was one clan which opposed him more stubbornly than any other people in the land; and these people strove to do insult in many ways both to God and to the holy man. And when he was preaching the faith to them as to others and came to confer with them when they held their assemblies, they adopted the plan of howling at him like wolves.”

St. Patrick responded by praying to God to punish the clan, resulting in them suffering “a fitting and severe through marvelous punishment, for it is told that all the members of the clan are changed into wolves for a period and roam through the woods feeding upon the same food as wolves; but they are worse than wolves, for in all their wiles they have the wit of men, though they are as eager to devour men as to destroy other creatures.”

Saint Natalis (Naal) and the Werewolves first appeared in Gerald of Wales’ Topographia Hibernica, written in 1185 A.D. The incident with the werewolves and the priest was supposed to have occurred two years before Gerald’s visit to Ireland with King John in 1175 A.D. While he was in Ossory, Gerald was approached by two priests sent by the bishop to ask him his view on this “serious matter.” Gerald met with the Bishop of Ossory and set down the story in writing, which was sent to Pope Urban III. It became one of the first werewolf stories ever recorded. A Norse work written about 1250 A.D., Konungs Skuggsja (King’s Mirror), describes Irish werewolves as being humans who were cursed as a divine punishment for wickedness.  The tale is clearly based on the Ossory werewolves. 

The story of Saint Natalis and the Ossory Werewolves can also be found on Omnium Sanctorum Hiberniae, Library Ireland – The Wonders of Ireland, and Dark Emerald Tales.

 

 

St. Colman and His Ducks

22 January 19 | Posted in Animals, Arts and Letters, Saints

There are seven St. Colmans from Ireland.  St. Colman of the ducks legend came from Connacht.  He served at the old church of Templeshanbo in County Wexford, three miles east of Mt. Leinster.  A few hundred feet from the church is a holy well that was venerated in ancient times.  At the time of St. Colman, a pond was close to the well.  St. Colman was a contemporary of St. Aidan, who appointed him Abbot of Templeshanbo.  St. Colman died on October 27, 595.  His ducks stayed close to the church and pond for many, many years after.  

Gerald of Wales in his Topography of Ireland recorded the stories of St. Colman and his sacred teals almost 600 years after the death of the saint. According to folklore, the ducks could not be harmed.  Illustrations on the lower part of Gerald’s manuscript depict the ducks taking food from the saint, a kite paralyzed by attempting to take a duck as prey and a fox choking on one of the birds.

Gerald of Wales, also called Giraldus Cambrensis was born in 1146.  He was an archdeacon, royal clerk and historian. Gerald entered into the service of King Henry II of England in July 1184.  He visited Ireland on a military expedition (1185-86) with Henry’s son, the future King John.  As a result of the trip he wrote Topographia Hibernica (Topography of Ireland) in 1188 and Expugnatio Hibernica (Conquest of Ireland) in 1189.  

The Historical Works of Giraldus Cambrensis, published in 1905, combined both volumes in one book.  It was translated by Thomas Forester, Sir  Richard Colt Hoare and edited by Thomas Wright. The story below is taken from the book.

                     CHAPTER XXIX – Of St. Colman’s Teal, Which Were Tamed by Him, And Cannot Be Injured

There is in Leinster a small pool frequented by the birds of St. Colman, a species of small ducks, vulgarly called teal. Since the time of the saint these birds have become so tame that they take food from the hand, and until the present day exhibit no signs of alarm when approached by men. They are always about thirteen in number, as if the formed the society of a convent. As often as any evil changes to befall the church or clergy, or the little birds themselves, or any molestation is offered to them, they directly fly away, and, betaking themselves to some lake far removed from thence, do not return to their former haunts until condign punishment has overtaken the offenders. Meanwhile, during their absence, the waters of the pond, which were very limpid and clear, became stinking and putrid, unfit for the use of either men or cattle. It has happened occasionally that some person fetching water from this pond in the night-time, has drawn up with it one of the birds, not purposely but by chance, and having cooked his meat in the water for a long time without being able to boil it, at last he found the bird swimming in the pot, quite unhurt; and having carried it back to the pond, his meat was boiled without further delay.  

It happened, also, in our time, that Robert Fitz-Stephen, with Dermot, king of Leinster, was passing through that country, an archer shot one of these birds with an arrow.  Carrying it with him to his quarters, he put it in a pot to be cooked with his meat, but after thrice supplying the fire with wood, and waiting til midnight, he did not succeed in making the pot boil, so that after taking out the meat for the third time, he found it as raw as when he first placed it in the pot. At last, his host observing the little bird among the pieces of meat, and hearing that it was taken out of this pond, exclaimed with tears: “Alas me, that ever such a misfortune should have befallen my house, and have happened in it!” Thereupon the meat being put alone into the pot, was cooked without further difficulty. The archer soon afterwards miserably expired.

Moreover, it chanced that a kite, having carried off one of these little birds, and perched with it in a neighbouring tree, behold, all of his limbs immediately stiffened in the sight of many persons, nor did the robber regard the prey which he held in his claws. It also happened that one frosty season a fox carried off one of these birds, and when the morning came, the beast was found in a little hut on the shore of the lake which was held in veneration from its having been formerly the resort of St. Colman, the bird being in the fox’s jaws, and having choked him.  In both cases the spoiler suffered the penalty of death, while his prey was unhurt, the birds returning to the lake without the slightest injury, under the protection of their holy patron.  

Read more –

Wonders of Ireland – St. Colman’s Ducks

My Albion – The Teal of St. Colman

St. Gobnait – Patron Saint of Bees and Beekeepers

11 November 18 | Posted in Animals, Garden, Saints

St. Gobnait is a patron saint of bees and beekeepers.  Her fondness for bees suggests a calm and gentle nature. Tradition associates her with St. Abban and suggests she lived during the 6th century.

Gobnait was born in County Clare, but fled to Inis Oirr (Inisheer) the smallest of the Aran Islands to escape a family feud. There an angel appeared to her and told her to continue her journey until she should come to a place where nine deer were grazing. The angel told her this would be the “place of her resurrection.”

She traveled south in search of this place and her many stops are marked by churches and holy wells dedicated to her.  At various stages of her journey Gobnait met with deer of varying numbers but it was only when she reached Ballyvourney in County Cork that she found the nine deer.  They were grazing together on a rise overlooking the River Sullane and looking towards the Derrynasaggart Hills.  This is where she settled, died and was buried “to await her resurrection.”  The “resurrection place” is where the soul leaves the body.  Celtic lore believed the soul left the body as a bee or butterfly.

St. Abban is said to have worked with her on the foundation of the convent and placed St. Gobnait over it as abbess.  The nuns must have kept bees, since there are many stories about bees associated with the saint.  In one story she cured one of her sick nuns using honey. Many accounts exist of how St. Gobnait prevented raiders or robbers from stealing cattle.  Gobnait commanded the bees from the convent hives to drive them away. When a plague threatened the people, Gobnait walked to the village border and drew a line in the earth with her walking stick.  The pestilence halted before reaching Ballyvourney.

The local chieftains, the O’Herlihys sought her help in a border war.  One of her hives into a bronze helmet and the bees turned into soldiers.  The O’Herlihys handed down the bronze helmet from one generation to another until it was lost in the 1700s.  Another version has the beehive turning into a bell which then became Gobnait’s Bell.

For more on St. Gobnait:  Pilgrimage in Medieval Ireland and Pixie’s Pocket.

Porpoise Burial Mystery

27 February 18 | Posted in Animals, Events, Global Catholic, Spirituality

In September 2017 archaeologists were wrapping up an excavation on the English Channel island of Chapelle Dom Hue when they made an unexpected and mystifying discovery. The excavation revealed a carefully cut grave plot, which the archaeologists reasonably assumed would hold the remains of a deceased human. Instead, they found that the grave contained the bones of a juvenile porpoise.  

The grave, carefully cut into the rocky soil on a high point of the island overlooking the sea, was constructed with the same techniques used for human graves.

The discovery was made at the site of a medieval monastic site, which was once occupied by monks searching for solitude. The team believes the bones date to the 13th or 14th century.

Philip de Jersey, a States of Guernsey archaeologist, said: “If they had eaten it or killed it for the blubber, why take the trouble to bury it? It was entirely consistent with a human burial, which is one of the most puzzling aspects,” de Jersey added. “The grave cut has been dug very carefully, with vertical sides and a flat base cut into the underlying bedrock. This has taken some considerable care and effort.”

He said it was the most unusual find in his 35-year career. “It’s very peculiar, I don’t know what to make of it. Why go to the trouble of burying a porpoise in what looks like a grave. It’s a wonderful surprise.”

Perhaps the answer is obvious: a wild porpoise developed a bond with one or more of the monks. Someone may have started to feed it, or found it stranded and helped it back into the sea. Or, the porpoise and the man saw each other at a certain time of day in the same spot and a companionship developed.  When it died, or if it was killed, the porpoise was lovingly buried.  

See the excavation video.