Caron's Wellbeing & Kitchen Witchery

26/06/2026

I hope you have a healthy, peaceful weekend. Stay cool!

25/06/2026

"In botany, the birth of soil is called pedogenesis. It means the creation of earth. And we, too, are capable of such creation. Not in the manner of machines or empires, but in the way of moss and fungi - quiet, interwoven, sustaining,
For to tend good soil isn't glamorous work. The pace belongs to seasons rather than days, leaning into patience, repetition and the willingness to stay close. It requires the turning over of what has rotted, a quiet trust in worms and their tireless labour, and the faith that decompsition isn't an ending but a beginning.
This work grounds us in what is hard and true, calling us to kneel close enough to feel grit working its way beneath our nails. And though it may never be flashy, the labour is never wasted. From such tending comes a steadiness in our bodies, and a nourishment that extends beyond our own lives to those who will follow us. Good soil is what holds the seeds of tomorrow and from it rise the harvests that will nourish not only our own bodies, but the bodies of our children, and their children, long after our hands are gone. To tend soil - of earth or spirit - is to choose a future. To choose life, even when it asks us to sweat, to bend, to wait.
In the same way that we tend soil, we can turn over the griefs and traumas we have inherited so they don't harden into stone. We can allow our memories, even the painful ones, to be softened into wisdom. We can learn to compost our mistakes into nourishment, to create stories that carry seeds, and memories that will feed those who come after us in ways we cannot yet see. For what we pass down is more than blood; it is the compost of stories, gestures and ways of being that our children will root themselves in. The wild reminds us that the ground we make today shapes the harvests of tomorrow. Just as fruit holds the seed of another season, our tending now ripples forwards into generations. And the question is always the same: what kind of ground are we making and what kind of harvest will we bear?"
Words by Brigit Anna McNeill
Art by Cathy Morrison

24/06/2026

Today we practised Yoga, and then we shared a delicious lunch and cakes!. Thank you to everyone who came along and shared in community together.

20/06/2026

Men are welcome to my classes. You don't need to be fit or flexible.

20/06/2026

"The longest day arrives like an old friend, generous with light and reluctant to say goodbye. Summer solstice in Britain—when the sun reaches its zenith and the earth seems to pause in reverence before beginning its slow tilt away once more.

The oak, now in full leaf, reigns as king of the midsummer forest. Their ancient body a cathedral of green light, filtering sunbeams into dappled blessings upon the forest floor. Beneath their spreading canopy, the wild strawberry offers their tiny rubies—each one a perfect universe of sweetness, freely given. The birds know this bounty, descending in colourful flurries to feast, their songs reaching crescendo in the solstice dawn chorus that begins at three in the morning—a symphony that would have been familiar to Neolithic ears.

How might we, in our modern lives, honor this ancient turning point of the year?
We have forgotten too much, yet the solstice remembers us. Even in our concrete cities, something ancient stirs as the sun reaches its zenith. We need not journey to stone circles or sacred groves to honor this celestial moment—though blessed are those who can. The solstice invites us to participate wherever we stand, to become students of light and shadow once more.

The solstice invites us into relationship with time itself—not the mechanical ticking of clocks but the spiraling dance of celestial bodies that our ancestors knew intimately. Perhaps we begin by simply paying attention, by stepping outside at dawn to witness the sun’s northernmost rising, acknowledging with our presence what our bodies already know: that this day is different, special, worthy of marking.

Perhaps, in the end, the most profound solstice practice is the simplest—to stand barefoot on the earth, face turned skyward in the gloaming of the longest day. Feel how your body responds to this ancient alignment, cells remembering what the mind has forgotten. There is wisdom in your bones that predates language, a knowing that recognizes this celestial pause as sacred."
———-
• WORDS Brigit Anna McNeill •
Picture taken by my sister, Wendy, in South Africa

20/06/2026

Happy Summer Solstice! 💛🌞💛🌻

19/06/2026

Sprout is bored with all this rain, so she is helping me with my crochet. I hope your weekend is a little drier! 😳☔️ Have a peaceful one, whatever the weather. 💙

19/06/2026

Please sign this if you haven't already. 🙏🙏

Stop hyper-scale data centres in Scotland -

17/06/2026

Thank you to the lovely people who joined me online to meditate tonight. We practised the 'Mountain Meditation', Compassionate colour Meditation and a long Yoga Nidra. I shared this poem:

The Importance of Shared Silence - Gunilla Norris.

"Within each of us there is a silence
—a silence as vast as a universe.
We are afraid of it…and we long for it.
When we experience that silence, we remember
who we are: creatures of the stars, created
from the cooling of this planet, created
from dust and gas, created
from the elements, created
from time and space…created
from silence.
In our present culture,
silence is something like an endangered species…
an endangered fundamental.
The experience of silence is now so rare
that we must cultivate it and treasure it.
This is especially true for shared silence.
Sharing silence is, in fact, a political act.
When we can stand aside from the usual and
perceive the fundamental, change begins to happen.
Our lives align with deeper values
and the lives of others are touched and influenced.
Silence brings us back to basics, to our senses,
to ourselves. It locates us. Without that return
we can go so far away from our true natures
that we end up, quite literally, beside ourselves.
We live blindly and act thoughtlessly.
We endanger the delicate balance which sustains
our lives, our communities, and our planet.
Each of us can make a difference.
Politicians and visionaries will not return us
to the sacredness of life.
That will be done by ordinary men and women
who together or alone can say,
“Remember to breathe, remember to feel,
remember to care,
let us do this for our children and ourselves
and our children’s children.
Let us practice for life’s sake.”

17/06/2026

Thank you to everyone who joined me for Yoga this morning. We used some wall space to practice and finished off with candle gazing (Trataka) meditation. A wee reminder that next week will be our Yoga social after the class. 🥗🍰🧁🍪☕️🥪