Water at the Threshold: Autumn Rituals of Bathing and Remembrance

The path climbs steeply. On either side, belladonna plants rise like green sentinels, their glossy leaves and purple-throated flowers marking the way. At the height of summer, on the day of the solstice, I walk this path each year to greet them. Their presence has become part of my calendar, a quiet ritual of return.

At the top, the sound of water thickens in the air before the falls themselves come into view. Angel Falls, I call it, for the angelica that surrounds it in towering abundance each summer. Their hollow stems and pale umbels stand like watchful witnesses as I step into the water. Here, in this secluded place, I lower myself beneath the cascade, letting it christen and cleanse me. It is a moment of rededication, surrounded not by congregation or ceremony but by the land itself. The angelica stands as silent officiant, the belladonna lines the way, and the water holds the rest.

Water has a way of drawing us back to certain places.

Over the years I have developed the habit of naming places by the plants that grow in abundance there. It is how I orient myself in the landscape. Angel Falls takes its name from the angelica that surrounds it each summer. Belladonna Street is the path lined with their dark, elegant flowers. There is Arnica Street, Yarrow Meadow, Horsetail Meadow, Rowan Street, Gentian Street, Mugwort Street, Daisy Path, so many of these places dotted around the land that holds me close. These names have arisen naturally, following my own discoveries of animal tracks and quiet corners. They have stuck, becoming part of the map of my life here, a living topography shaped by fellow inhabitants.

This personal ritual rests within a wider current of tradition. Across Ireland, water has always been more than a physical element. It is alive, shapeshifting, and revered.

Water in Irish Folkways

Water has long been understood in Irish tradition as animate and relational. Wells were honoured as places of healing and clarity. Rivers were sung of as goddesses, their currents carrying story and blessing. Sea immersion at dawn was undertaken for strength and protection, while the sweat houses of stone that remain scattered across the north and west tell of another way that water and heat were used as medicine.

Postpartum herb baths, footbaths for weary limbs, visits to wells on pattern days, and ritual sea bathing are threads of a lineage that understood water not merely as resource but as relation. At many wells, ribbons were tied to whitethorn as prayers, and pilgrims walked sunwise around the waters to court their blessing.

One elderly woman from Connemara once told a folklore collector that she rose before dawn each midsummer to walk barefoot to the shore, “for the sea would take the fever from your bones if you asked her kindly.” It is in these quiet, ordinary gestures that the intimacy between people and water lived on.

On Language, Wild Swimming (and 'Wild Women')

Language shapes how we perceive the world. In recent years, the term wild swimming has taken hold to describe the simple act of swimming in the sea. The sea does not need the adjective. To do so is as odd as calling organic food organic, when in truth it is the chemically laden kind that should carry the label.

The same is true of the term wild woman. Once a word that spoke of something untamed and raw, it has been polished to a curated image, marketed as a spiritual archetype, and hollowed out of its original texture. There is nothing feral about the way it is now used, for the archetypal wild woman of old has been diluted into nothing more than a boho barbie. My resistance to these 'wild' phrases is not pedantic, refusing them protects the roots of the true essence.

When we name the living world as wild, implying it is exceptional, other, something to be visited, we deepen the divide. We speak as though nature is elsewhere, outside of ourselves. But it isn’t. We are nature. To remember this is to close the gap modern wellness language has opened.

Seasonal Attunement

Autumn is the season of water. As rivers sharpen and mists gather, this is a time to tend to the watery aspects of our being. Ritual bathing is not limited to any one season, but the way we approach it can shift in rhythm with the turning year. During autumn, working with seaweed, shells, or ocean offerings can align the bath with the wider tides of the season. Seaweed, rich in minerals and imbued with the wild Atlantic, brings its own potent medicine and frequency to the water. Placing shells or pearls in the bath can be an offering and a way of attuning to the ocean’s memory. Mugwort, a lunar herb that flowers in autumn, together with rose, can be added to the bath water to create a living flower essence that the body is fully immersed in. These simple gestures bring the season into the ritual and root it in place and time.

Although this piece focuses on the autumn season and the element of water, ritual bathing naturally shifts its qualities throughout the year in rhythm with the elements and archetypes. For instance, in spring, bathing might take the form of showers, echoing spring rains and the outward, active quality of the season. Spring footbaths support light cleansing and detoxification without the stillness of a full bath.

In summer, vaginal steaming or couples bathing aligns with the season of reproduction and vitality, connecting to womb health and sensuality. The Irish sweat houses, which are the predecessors of the modern sauna in Ireland, are also traditionally linked with summer as a fire element practice. In these heated stone chambers, fire and steam worked together as medicine.

Autumn calls us to calmer waters and the depths - lake swimming, sheltered sea coves, or quiet immersions that mirror the emotional depths of the season.

Winter, by contrast, invites stillness and rest. In earlier times, immersing the feet in the bog was a common folk practice, drawing on the earth’s stored warmth and the incredible healing qualities that these sacred places share with us. Today, this is often mirrored in the simple ritual of a warm footbath, often times done to warm the feet when they are cold (or you're carrying illness within your body). Facial saunas too, the practice of herbal steaming/steam inhalation is a folk remedy still used today during the cold and flu season of winter. Winter bathing finds its fullest expression in the home bath, where the body can be held in stillness and quiet renewal. Saunas also bring the fire element into winter, often followed by cold immersions in snow or icy water, echoing older traditions of elemental contrast.

And of course there is the humble cup of tea or glass of water, a year round daily conversation with water that we bring into the body, rehydrating it, as well as the daily act of urination, which by contrast releases fluid from the body. When ritualized, these 'mundane' acts becoming living rituals through which we can actively program the fluid body within, and release emotional stress.

These are not rigid categories, but natural tendencies. All of these forms can be drawn on at any time, depending on one’s practice and needs. Living with the Wheel simply makes us more attentive to the elemental currents moving through each season.

Herbs and Offerings

Mugwort is warming, protective, and liminal. Yarrow centres and strengthens boundaries. Calendula soothes the tissues and brightens the mood. Rose softens grief and cools the heart. Rosemary and meadowsweet clarify and uplift. Witch hazel tones. Sea salt and seaweed draw (cleanse and detox), mineralise, and settle tired joints. Birch leaves, heather, or pine needles bring their purifying seasonal qualities. Always choose plants that are seasonal, local, and ethically gathered. A small handful, infused with attention, is often enough.

Ritual Bathing

For me, ritual bathing at home is most often a Friday evening practice. It is the close of the working week, a moment to soothe a tired body and allow it to be held by something larger than itself. Friday belongs to Venus (the east/spring/virgin archetype), and so the bath becomes both a reset and an act of love and appreciation. I work with ritual bathing salts that I have created for this purpose, ritually made cold processed bathing bars too (soaps), and the act itself is threefold: preparing the bath, being in the bath, and cleaning the space afterwards. Each stage is honoured equally.

To begin, I clean the bath thoroughly and prepare the space. I like to include the herbs in the water while I bathe, but I know that there are many who prefer to make a 'bath tea' to add to the water instead of cleaning up the bath afterwards. In this case, herbs are steeped in hot water for fifteen to twenty minutes, then strained and added to the bath. I always include a particular crystal colleague with this ritual, I bring in others as and when I feel drawn, but for those of you who might like to try this, please ensure the crystal you work with will not be damaged by water (many crystals and minerals are either water soluable or will leech harmful metals into the bath water). The bath water should be warm but not depleting. I speak an intention quietly before stepping in, acknowledging what I am releasing, receiving, or simply honouring. Entering slowly, I allow the water to touch each part of me in turn. I soak and listen. When the bath is complete, I pour a final jug of clean water over myself as a gesture of closure. I wash the crystal(s) I am working with in clean water as I did myself, and then the bath is cleaned and the herbs are returned to the earth.

Footbaths

For those without a bath, a footbath is a powerful alternative. A bowl, herbs, warm water, and intention are all that is needed. I use footbaths when I am processing, cleansing, or simply need grounding. Oftentimes I do footbaths to soothe my feet, a way to both relieve the ache and thank them for carrying me each day over the working week. The practice is deeply accessible yet potent, and can be a regular ritual during times of transition or emotional work.

Vaginal Steaming

Where bathing envelops the whole body, steaming gathers the waters at the womb, the inner well, tending warmth and circulation to the most intimate of spaces. Vaginal steaming is another water-based ritual with deep roots across many cultures. It involves sitting over a bowl of steaming herbal infusion so that gentle heat rises to the perineum and vulva. I have developed my own steaming seat, which I call the Womb Throne, and this has become an important practice for me. Beyond physical benefits, it serves as a way to keep the womb as a cleansed and tended space. I have always found it so interesting that when intimate/sexual relationships end, many think to 'smudge', get new bedclothes, or change the bed, but few women consider the energetic residue carried within the womb. Just think about this for a moment, how many partners are each of us carrying around right now? I mention this for perspective, and to plant a seed regarding vibrational awareness and energetic hygiene where water, the fluid body, and the womb are concerned. Steaming can clear all this, and more. It is also powerful for working through inherited or relational feminine pain.

To practice at home, herbs such as mugwort, calendula, or rose can be infused in hot water. The bowl is placed beneath a slatted chair or purpose-made seat. The steam must be tested with the wrist to ensure it is warm, never hot. Sitting comfortably with a blanket around the waist, I allow the steam to rise for ten to twenty minutes. This practice has become woven into my rhythm, a way of returning warmth and circulation to the womb space.

Returning to Angel Falls, and Carrying it Forward

In September, when the water element is at its height, I return to Angel Falls. The belladonna now bears glossy black berries, and under a particular moon phase, each year I gather them to make ink. This is a ritual craft I have practised for many years. Through trial, patience, and familiarity with this magical plant, I discovered the small window in which the ink holds its deepest, most beautiful colour. This is my water element ritual for the darker months, carried out in quiet devotion in preparation for the winter bringing Angel Falls and Belladonna Street indoors. I also gather the angelica seeds when they are ready, saving and scattering them so that the plants may take root elsewhere. These acts are not separate from the bathing and steaming rituals but part of the same current. They bind place, season, plant, and body together in the same way that angelica connects the above with the below.

Pilgrimage to the Wellspring

Alongside our home, a small stream runs down the mountainside into the heart of the valley. Its source is a spring that emerges from a sheer 1,000-metre rock face. The path up to it is steep and narrow, travelled only by the deer and wild goats, and demanding full attention. From our house, the distance looks slight, but the climb takes close to an hour. Each year, in October, before snow closes the way, I make a solitary pilgrimage to the source.

The climb is slow and steady, a silent act of remembrance for my loved ones and ancestors, for those who have crossed before me. Over the years, I have shaped quiet land art along the way: found treasures shaped into circles of stone, nature mandalas that have become resting places on the path. Reaching the spring is always a moment of renewal - a vow to remember them, to continue the work I do in service to thresholds, birth and death alike. The spring issues from the stone like a seam between worlds. The stone carries the elder archetype, the spring the virgin. Together they form a liminal point between underworld and overworld, a place of emergence. Each year, when I arrive, I drink from its water.

Water as Teacher

Water cleanses by moving. It holds, carries, and releases. It yields with grace and fortitude. Ritual bathing, steaming, and seasonal water crafts remind us of our porousness, our belonging, and the cyclical nature of care. They are ways of entering intimacy with the world that does not grasp or extract, only surrounds.

As autumn draws us inward, these rites offer a way to align with the living waters within and around us, closing the gap between ourselves and the land that holds us.

© 2025 Niamh Criostail and Heartlands Publishing. All rights reserved.

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