Petitioning Abellion For His Favour at the Apple Orchard

I am currently writing the tests to move from the rank of Student to Initiate in Toutâ Galation. The following is adapted from an answer I prepared for this test. I first briefly wrote about this ritual on this very blog in September 2021: "Orchardcraft."

One of my favourite autumn rituals is the following, which I've done nearly every year since 2021 in the fall, right before apple picking at an orchard on a small mountain outside my city. This ritual asks for Abellion's^[1] favour. I bring several offerings, but my usual offering is labrador tea sweetened with a very generous amount of honey. These offerings are being poured into the earth at the base of apple trees, so their biodegradability and ecological unobtrusiveness are of paramount importance — labrador tea is a native plant to where I live; and honey water can stimulate microbial activity in the earth as well as root growth. Because the mountain where the orchard is on unceded Indigenous land, I avoid offering alcohol in unfamiliar places, especially as I currently do not have ethically-sourced tobacco at the ready to offer to the spirits and to the rightful ancestors of these lands.

Once I find an apple tree that looks like a good spot for a ritual, I start by lighting a small candle in a portable, safe container that I bring with me when I am doing ritual on the go. Kneeling at the base of the apple tree, I offer water and the labrador tea to the spirits of the earth and the orchard:

I recognize these lands, these spirits, these ancestors. I recognize that my own ancestors worked to steal and violate these lands from their ancestral caretakers, and that the scars of colonization have not yet healed. So I tread gently on this earth, and ask respectfully for permission to come pick the apples grown from this land. I give water, honey, flowers. I promise that all those that came with me will be good guests, and that we will leave behind only footprints and offerings, and that we will take only what we will be able to use. I thank these lands, these spirits, these ancestors, for their compassion, resilience, and generosity, I thank them with all my heart.

If possible while still facing the tree, I then make sure to face the sun (if cloudy, figure out where the sun would be), and call out:

Abellion! Venerable spirit of apples and orchards, ancient and magnificent Abellion, Sun God, Beautiful God, Bountiful God, here is a some honey-sweetened labrador tea brought from afar that I share with you. Mysterious and glorious Abellion, watch over our steps, lead us to the best and brightest fruit, grant us fair weather and good luck, lovely Abellion, I adore you, we adore you, I adore you!

The rest of the offerings are poured into the earth (the labrador tea, which is destined for the apple tree roots, must be completely cool as to not cook the earth). If the summer and fall has been uncommonly dry, I sometimes consider bringing an extra litre of water as an extra gift for the earth and apple tree.

While the candle is still lit, signs are to be watched for. If cloudy, it is particularly propitious for the sun to show itself in the minute or two after calling to Abellion. The calls of songbirds would also be a good sign. Crows present are usually a sign that the orchard is watching, and will hold you to your word that you will be a respectful guest, and not take more apples than you can actually properly use.

Blow out the candle. If all seems well, I go ahead and pick some apples.

Several years in a row, I've invited friends to join in on this ritual with me before we start picking apples together. After I call to Abellion, I offer my friends a chance to call to whichever gods or spirits speak to them. Some friends have no one to call and offer to but are happy to help out by either carrying the flame or offerings. My friends can either borrow a little water or tea from me or give their own offerings, and after the offerings are given, we watch for signs together. We've never had a refusal from the spirits (either by gut feeling, or from watching weather patterns, or from sudden ominous bird appearances), we've always been rather lucky to find the orchard very willing to accept our offerings.

If I had my own orchard or apple trees, I would probably have a much more elaborate ritual, complete with ritual garb and poetry and song^[2], but because this has to be done in hiking boots, on the go, and sometimes even hiding from other apple-pickers and the orchard caretakers (Cistercian monks), this small and very adaptable ritual works for my purposes.