Fiacre, the Unsung
a devotional for summer
the saint passes quietly through the garden spade in one hand, palm of the other empty and invites the exhausted vines to give of themselves one more time; the light of August is gold and gossamer yet thick with whispering, and the saint digs for the acolyte worms who are deep within their cloisters. he makes a promise that rain is coming, and she is already on her way.
Imagine that you’re wandering in an ornamental garden, and you come across a statue or frescoe of a monkish figure with a bird on his shoulder, perhaps a deer or rabbit lingering at his feet, and a peaceful expression. Who are you looking at?
If you guessed Saint Francis of Assisi, then you’re probably right, at least 90% of the time.
But look closely! If the figure is holding a gardening spade, then you’re not making the acquaintance of Francis. You’re probably looking at his lesser-known Irish counterpart, Saint Fiacre.
Despite the colorful and storied Italian saint, Francis, being invoked in gardens worldwide, Fiacre is actually considered the patron saint of gardening and gardens. He is, you could say, an unsung hero of saintly history, overshadowed by more vibrant figures.
Fiacre’s feast day is celebrated on August 30th, and I think there’s an interesting parallel to be found in that timing. Just as Fiacre is largely unsung, I feel that this season—summer into fall—is its own unsung stretch of time.
Late summer/early fall, at least for those of us in the northern hemisphere, has such a strange verve to it. Even if you haven’t attended school in years, that “back to school” energy is potent. That feeling that even though we are nearing nine months past the new year, we are heading into a different sort of new beginning.
This season is a world apart, a sacred liminal space, a “now” and a “not yet” of summer heat during the late afternoon and a shiver of autumn in the early morning. Harvests are starting to come in, in earnest. Our apples are ripening. The spiders are appearing, draping their handiwork across the blackberry canes. Changes are in the air, but not quite.
Soft summer rains, the first falling leaves, the light is golden. And Fiacre the Unsung wanders through the garden, inviting the tired plants to one last harvest, one last leafing, one last push before the cold.
Discussion Question
What does this unsung season look like where you live? Are you feeling the change, or is it still firmly summer (or winter, for our friends south of the equator)? What signs do you look for to know that the season is truly changing over, and how do you feel about the change? Hopeful? Mournful? Nostalgic?
Moved by this piece (or simply feel like supporting my coffee habit) and want to contribute a one-time donation? Click the Tip Jar button below!
For more writings like this, subscribe for free!
Such a beautiful piece! This season is to me most of all about the changed, slanted course of the sun in the sky. Its beams reach now the floor inside my living. In the old days, it was the time of strong fragrances of vinegar, laurel and pepper, as my mum was making pickles.
Thanks for introducing me to a new saint!
I love that I'm not alone in my thought that this is a "sacred liminal space." A unique, though unofficial, season. I've said it before I know but August and Summer are not the same things and August here in Georgia, at least this year, seems a bit vengeful and unrelenting. She's not always been this way. We've had way more days this year of triple-digit heat indexes. More than I remember, having grown up in the same area I live now. I've been praying for rain and thank God some is in for forecast for the next few days.
But I do have hope in Autumn's return. The spiders are out here as well and the sun is setting a bit earlier and changing its position in the sky. The end of this sweltering heat is near and there seems to be a collective sense in the air that Autumn will be welcomed with open arms.