I am more naturally conscious of ancestry around Beltain than I am at Samhain. Partly because there are so many traditional songs that start with someone roving out on a bright May morning. Usually to get laid, or to indulge in the kind of voyeurism intrinsic to folk music. And partly because of my grandmother, who loved the bluebells.

My grandmother was a keen walker for much of her life, having grown up with a mother who went walking on Sundays in preference to going to church. In old age, she could no longer climb the hills each spring to go looking for bluebells, and so this time of year became a source of grief to her. I have never driven a car, I was never able to take her out, but others did, and I’m not the only one to think of her when the bluebells are flowering.

Ancestry can be a tricky topic (this is why I wrote Druidry and the Ancestors). When thinking about the thousands of years humans have occupied the planet, it’s hard to envisage just how many ancestors we have. And of course our ancestry goes back beyond the human, through the evolution of mammals, to the very beginnings of life. How do we connect with the enormity of our ancestors in a meaningful way?

For me, the primary symbol of ancestry, has become the bluebells. Partly for my grandmother’s sake, but also for what happens in the wood when the bluebells are in flower. They can form dense, and wide spread carpets of intense colour. Each individual flower becomes part of this captivating whole. Thousands of blooms, becoming an experience that is more than seeing each flower separately could be. This image speaks to my heart, and it makes sense of ancestry for me.