When we talk about the sabbats, it’s easy to focus on the dates: Samhain on October 31, Yule on the Winter Solstice, Ostara around the Spring Equinox, and so on.
I have these dates circled as well, and I can see the traffic flowing to my website in the days leading up to them, but then it drops and just trickles in afterward. I’ve also heard people lament, “I missed it this year,” with a tone of regret, like the opportunity passed them by.
But here’s the thing: you didn’t miss it.
I don’t believe the sabbats are just days. They’re not confined to the calendar square they land on. They are living seasons of energy that unfold slowly and organically in the space between. Each sabbat is a threshold, yes—but also a path that leads us deeper into the rhythms of nature, into presence, into magic.
Take Litha, for example. The Summer Solstice may fall on June 20th or 21st, but the energy of Litha doesn’t vanish when the sun sets on that day. The actual date has passed, but the season certainly has not. The air is heavy with sun magic. The flowers are in full bloom. The land is radiant. I didn’t miss it. I’m in it.
Understanding the Sabbats as Seasons
The sabbats are the eight sacred festivals that form the Wheel of the Year—four solar festivals (the solstices and equinoxes) and four cross-quarter festivals that fall between them. Together, they divide the year into eight equal slices. But these aren’t static divisions. They are seasonal tides, each one flowing into the next, gradually shifting the light, the land, and our inner lives.
I don’t just celebrate the sabbats on the exact day they fall. I live with their energy—before, during, and after. Here’s how that looks in my own practice:
Yule (Winter Solstice – December 20-23)
Yule marks the rebirth of the sun—the longest night before the light begins to return. But in my home, Yule is a season, not a solstice. I celebrate with the 13 Days of Yule, beginning around the solstice and carrying through into the new year. Each day focuses on a different theme—cleansing, storytelling, honoring ancestors, invoking joy, and setting intentions for the months ahead. There are candles, quiet mornings, and magical evenings. Yule is sacred stillness and inner flame. It carries me through the deep winter.
Imbolc (February 1-2)
Imbolc is the sabbat of sacred beginnings and the first whispers of spring. It honors Brigid, the goddess of hearth, healing, and inspiration. While many light a candle on February 1, I often spend a full week—or more—tending my home, planting metaphorical seeds, and listening for subtle shifts in nature. I may clear my altar, bless the threshold of my house, or write poetry inspired by Brigid. Some years, I begin my Imbolc season with dreamwork or divination, especially when the land outside is still frozen but the light is returning.
In 2025, I was especially fortunate—our local Firebird Festival happened to fall on Imbolc weekend. This celebration, with its symbolic burning of the phoenix and communal energy, truly ignited the season for me. It felt like Hekate herself was present in the flames, helping me release the old and step into a powerful new cycle of transformation. That fire didn’t just mark the day—it carried me through the entire season.
Ostara (Spring Equinox – March 20-23)
Ostara is the sabbat of balance and rebirth, but I celebrate it through the entire unfolding of early spring. I begin noticing Ostara energy weeks before the equinox—when birds return, buds form, and garden planning begins. My rituals might span several weekends: a seed blessing one day, an outdoor walk the next, decorating eggs later in the week. Ostara is an open door, and I walk through it slowly, with intention.
Beltane (May 1)
Beltane is fiery and full of life. But for me, Beltane season begins in mid-April and carries into mid-May, especially as the weather warms and everything blooms. The energy rises gradually, like sap in the trees, and I meet it with intention.
My wedding anniversary is April 30, which makes this sabbat especially meaningful to me. The union of fire and fertility, passion and commitment—it all resonates deeply during this time. I may start my celebrations with a cleansing fire spell or an intimate dinner with my partner. Later in the season, I might build fairy houses in the garden, make flower crowns with my grandchildren, or plant something new in the earth. Beltane doesn’t strike like lightning—it smolders, warms, and grows. Sometimes my main ritual comes a week after May 1. But if the land is buzzing with magic, it’s still Beltane.
Litha (Summer Solstice – June 20-23)
Litha is the sabbat of sunlight and power, but I rarely celebrate it on the solstice. This year, my Litha gathering happened a few days after the official date, as many gatherings tend to do; however, the entire stretch from mid-June into early July feels like Litha to me—long days, bright mornings, golden evenings. I honor it by charging my tools in the sun, harvesting herbs, swimming as often as I can, and simply being outdoors. Litha is an invitation to embody warmth and radiance—not just one day, but for as long as the energy lasts.
Lammas / Lughnasadh (August 1)
Lammas is the sabbat of the first harvest, a time traditionally associated with gathering grain and baking bread. But I’ll be honest—I don’t bake, and this is one sabbat I’ve rarely celebrated on its own. In many ways, I tend to lump it in with the lingering warmth and fullness of Litha. The energy overlaps for me: long days, garden abundance, and a focus on gratitude and growth.
That said, I’ve been feeling called to give Lammas more space in my practice. Maybe this year, I’ll try something simple—a gratitude offering, a nature walk, or a bit of journaling to honor what’s ripening in my life. It doesn’t have to be elaborate. The season itself is enough. Lammas may have been quiet for me in years past, but I’m open to hearing what it has to teach me now.
Mabon (Autumn Equinox – September 20-23)
The sabbat of Mabon is often called the “Witches’ Thanksgiving”—a time of balance, harvest, and preparation for the darker half of the year. While the equinox is the focal point, the Mabon season begins to stir well before the calendar tells me it’s time.
In recent years, my celebration has begun with a four-day women’s retreat, hosted by Spirit Kindred. It’s a sacred pause—a time to reconnect with community, land, and spirit. This retreat now marks the start of Mabon for me. It helps me ground, reflect, and gather the emotional and spiritual harvest of the year. After the retreat, I continue to honor the season with quiet rituals at home—rearranging my altar, preparing my space for Samhain, and noticing the changes in the air, the leaves, and myself. Mabon is a soft turning, and I follow where it leads.
Samhain (October 31 – November 1)
Samhain is when the veil is thin, and the air is thick with magic, memory, and mystery. But for me, Samhain is never just Halloween night—it’s a season of remembrance, shadow work, and sacred pause that begins early in October and lingers well into November.
Last year, I created a deeply meaningful practice I called the Spirit Feast, where I invited a different spirit or ancestor to my altar each evening for the entire month. It was beautiful… but I’ll be honest—I went a little too hard. After about a week, I started to feel spiritually and emotionally exhausted. Holding space every night, even in love and devotion, can be draining.
What I learned is that even in sacred work, we need balance. Samhain is powerful, and the pull toward the other side can be intense. This year, I’ll still honor my ancestors and invite the spirits in—but I’ll give myself permission to move slowly, to skip a night, to rest. The dead don’t need a performance. They need presence. And so do we.
Living the Wheel, Not Chasing the Calendar
When we treat the sabbats as seasons, we step into a more natural rhythm—one that moves with the land and with our lives. We stop chasing the “right” day and start living inside the energy of the sabbat itself.
Some years, my celebrations are simple: a walk in the woods, a candle lit on my altar, a moment of reflection with a cup of tea. Other years, I may host a gathering or create ritual art. The beauty is that there’s room for both. You didn’t miss it. You’re still in it.
So if you find yourself lighting your Lammas candle days late, or planting Ostara seeds early, know that you’re not off-track. You’re aligned with the flow of the sabbat—not the rigidity of a date.
The sabbats are not just holidays. They are seasons of magic, intention, and transformation. And they are always waiting to be lived.
Sabbats FAQ
Do I have to celebrate the sabbats on the exact day?
Not at all. While each sabbat has a traditional date, the energy of the season lasts much longer. You can celebrate on the weekend, under the moon, or whenever you feel most connected. The sabbats are seasons—not deadlines.
What if I miss a sabbat? Should I just wait for the next one?
You haven’t missed anything. If you’re still feeling the energy of Litha in early July or want to honor Samhain a week into November, you absolutely can. These are living cycles. Step in when you’re ready.
Do I need to hold a ritual for every sabbat?
Nope. Some years, you might create an elaborate ceremony; other times, you may just light a candle or go for a mindful walk. The sabbats can be marked in ways that fit your life, energy, and capacity.
What if a sabbat doesn’t resonate with me?
That’s okay. We all connect differently with the Wheel of the Year. For example, I’ve historically struggled to connect with Lammas—but I remain open to it, and this might be the year it finally clicks. You don’t have to force a connection. Let it unfold naturally.
Is it okay to blend traditions or celebrate differently each year?
Absolutely. Your practice can evolve. Your Beltane might look different now than it did five years ago. Mine includes my wedding anniversary now, which adds a layer of meaning I couldn’t have anticipated when I began. The sabbats grow with you.
How can I start honoring the sabbats if I’m new to the Wheel of the Year?
Start simple. Choose one sabbat that speaks to you and spend time learning its energy. Read, reflect, observe nature, light a candle with intention. You don’t need fancy tools or perfect timing. Just a willingness to notice and connect.
For as long as I can remember, I always wanted to be a Grandma. I was fortunate to have two wonderful grandmothers while I was growing up and I have many happy memories of each of them. Today, I live in a “Grandmother’s House” where my husband and I enjoy lots of time with our family. In addition to my role as Grandma to nine grandchildren, I am a daughter, a wife, a mother of three grown children, a sister, an aunt, a friend, a writer, an artist … and a witch.
✨Grandma’s Grimoire✨ is a collection of family wisdom interwoven with a touch of magick. Our goal is to create a living and lasting legacy that we hope will inspire our future generations as well as anyone who is drawn to it.