Well, I came upon a child of God
He was walking along the road
And I asked him, "Tell me, where are you going?"
And this he told me.
Said, "I'm going down to Yasgur's Farm
Gonna join in a rock 'n' roll band
Got to get back to the land
Set my soul free.
Joni Mitchell “Woodstock”

Music at the stones, lunistice 2025

A long day

It is now a week since I ventured up to the old stones of Calanais, extremely fortunate to have been invited as part of the celebrations of the once-every-18.6-year lunistice event where the moon is at it’s major standstill and the “strawberry moon” looms lowest and largest in the night sky.

I’d not been up to the Outer Hebrides in over twenty years and it was 24 year since I had visited the islands for my PhD studies. I was quite nervous about visiting - mostly because I was worried about remembering (or at the very least having to read) the thousands of words I poured out on the Neolithic of these islands two decades ago. I’d been tasked with delivering a workshop, a guided tour of two of the smaller monuments and an evening talk on the Neolithic archaeology of the region. The week leading up to my visit I wrote three different talks, agonising over text and slides. I wanted it to be perfect.

I landed into Stornoway early on the Wednesday - a 7am flight from Edinburgh - and immediately set about visiting various lumps and bumps in the landscape with my host and companion, Alison. I’d got on really well with Alison when I did my studies. I’d like to think we had a similar sense of humour, an innate skill for employing puns in our article/paper titles and a similar energy and enthusiasm for the past but one that was led by data first and theory second. Plus a shared fondness for my supervisor Niall Sharples who Alison had edited a volume with back in 1992.

Alison at the central stones of Calanais

That first evening was the evening of the lunistice. We visited the stones to find fifty-odd folk here for the occasion. At the last lunistice in 2006 hundreds had been at the stones. It was much quieter than expected - except for the thousands of midges that had gathered for the occassion - and whilst the weather was fair the moon barely put in appearance, skirting the horizon behind a veil of clouds; the faint orange hue of it’s glow fleetingly visible at around 1:58 am.

The faint hue of the "strawberry moon" on the lunistice from Cnoc An Tursa

Some folk were disappointed. We were at the edge of the world - or so it felt - for a once-in-a-generation audience with the moon and she had decided not to show. Most folk had travelled hundred of miles to be there. Some others thousands. But that is life and it’s kind of heartening to think that our distant ancestors would have experienced similar frustrations having erected such a substantial monument to monitor, mark and revere this celestial occasion only to be left empty-handed.

But lets be clear: the lunar event did happen. We were just not invited to witness it. Perhaps this was the Neolithic equivalent of Punxsutawney Phil; the distant megalithic cousin of a groundhog seeing it’s shadow and heralding 18.6 years more winter. Regardless I found the experience to be hugely grounding; gracious and blessed to have been there even if we had not seen the event that we had all come up to be a part of.

Sketch of the stones at lunstice

Tangent

On the rare occasion I drive into cities when I hit the inevitable bottleneck of traffic and angry drivers I use this opportunity to centre myself. I work hard at not being cross or frustrated and instead seek out the meditative potential of the moment. I take this moment of fury and speed and tension to seek calm and slow down. That obviously sounds like total wankery but I couldn’t help but think of this shift in focus visiting the stones and the absent spectacle of 2026.

Sometimes its the being there is the important thing. The spectacle isn't necessarily the moon but the coming together of total strangers and the union of shared experience. And how can that be a disappointment?

I began with a quote from Joni Mitchell’s song “Woodstock”. I prefer the Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young version but the lyrics remain seemingly relevant (and if you want my absolute favourite rendition of these lyrics check out Unkle’s “Iter 4”):

We are stardust, we are golden
We are billion-year-old carbon
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden
Joni Mitchell “Woodstock”

What is that old saying about Woodstock? "If you remember it you weren’t there”?