Folklore for the Modern Soul: Great Nana May’s Unsolicited (But Surprisingly Useful) Advice
As I’ve been pouring our Blackberry Candles this week, I kept thinking of her. In the warmer months you can find blackberries everywhere — climbing hedgerows, spilling into gardens, scattered down the little lanes that vein the countryside. I adore them. They capture the English summer in a single breath: brambles heavy with fruit, the air warm and wild with possibility. There is something ancient about them too, as if blackberries have always belonged to folklore. My Nana May loved them as well — she loved simple pleasures and the magic hidden in everyday life. Perhaps that’s why I find myself threading her wisdom into our rituals today, as the seasons turn and we welcome summer here in New Zealand.
But let me properly introduce my great-grandmother. Nana May was a slip of a woman with fiery red hair, eyes that glittered with secrets, and the sort of presence that made you wonder if she was part-witch, part-aristocrat. She grew up in a time when street lamps were still lit by hand, and she spent most of her life on the edge of the Cambridgeshire fens, where mists roll like theatre curtains and superstition is less a pastime than a survival strategy. She knew what it meant to endure, and few women were loved and respected quite like her. Strong, fierce, and spirited — that was my Nana May.
From her I inherited not only a love of myth and legend but also a delight in the deliciously odd wisdom that travels down generations like heirloom jewellery. She believed the world was alive with signs and symbols, that the ordinary shimmered with enchantment, and that mischief was a virtue — so long as it came with a wink.
Now, with children of my own, I find myself weaving her incantations and rituals into our everyday lives. Call them folklore, call them mindfulness, or simply call them good fun. These are the rituals no one asked for, yet everyone secretly needs. Take them as you wish, and make them your own.
The Wisdom of Nana May
Signs are everywhere. When a stranger is kind, imagine it was the universe replying to your secret request. Believe it, even if you never asked.
Make meals sacred. Once a day, eat something slowly, reverently, as if it were blessed. Because perhaps it is.
Know your rhythm. Some days are for doing, others for observing. The magic lies in knowing which is which.
Keep a book of marvels. Jot down the moments that sparkle. A shaft of sunlight, a sudden silence, a stolen kiss. They are the true currency of magic.
Heed the atmosphere. If a place feels wrong, thank it for the warning, slip a penny to the ground, and leave.
Give thanks out loud. Whisper thank you when beauty surprises you. Especially if no one else is listening.
Blame or bless the moon. The full moon won’t fix your troubles, but it will illuminate them. That is half the battle.
What wisdom do you find yourself turning to? What sparks those unexpected moments of nostalgia? I’ve always felt that the advice passed down — quiet, unpolished, and carried with love — is the most powerful of all.