Kingdom of Fife

Every landscape has a story. Every pilgrimage leaves a footprint. Every lesson begins by listening. Welcome to Lessons from the Land, a continuing series exploring the wisdom discovered through sacred travel, personal transformation, and our relationship with the living world.

In my previous blog posts, I shared that my teacher and dear friend, Andrew Steed, will be traveling to Spokane, Washington, for the first time this coming September. Over the past ten years, I have had the privilege of joining Andrew on sacred pilgrimages throughout the British Isles, the United States, Canada, and Jamaica. As we count down to his visit, I've been taking a trip down memory lane through some of these adventures. This week, we travel back to Scotland, to the Kingdom of Fife, for a pilgrimage that unfolded in May of 2022.

Not long after returning from Arran, I traveled to Calgary, Canada, in October of 2019, for a Wild Hunt with Andrew. Then, in May of 2020, I began an extended shamanic practitioner program with a small group—one that was meant to last a single year, but stretched to over two as the world shut down around us with COVID. We continued our studies online throughout, until we were finally able to gather in person for our graduation pilgrimage: the Kingdom of Fife, Scotland, in May of 2022.

Lower Largo, Fife, 2022

Our final gathering took place on Andrew’s own land. We traveled to the historic Kingdom of Fife and then to Lower Largo, Andrew’s village by the sea. Our group had been small to begin with: six of us, including Andrew and his partner Joyce, my dear friend Tracy, and another couple. The other couple wasn’t able to make this trip, so in the end it was a pilgrimage of four: myself, Tracy, Andrew, and Joyce.

Getting to travel to Scotland with Tracy was such a fantastic experience. I have known Tracy every decade of my life—we’re in our fifties now—and we travel well together. We stayed in an adorable home by the sea, not right on it but with sea views close by, and spent our mornings drinking coffee together in the sun room. It was peaceful and lovely. We very much enjoyed our time with Andrew and Joyce in their beautiful village!

Tracy, Andrew and Jenna | Ladies Tower | Fife

This was a graduation trip, a celebration trip—but of course, the land had its own lessons for us, as it tends to do. We enjoyed many hikes through the area’s seascapes, forests, and rocky beaches, including one that started at 3:30 in the morning—Andrew loves those “betwixt and between” times. There are two major lessons I’d like to share from this trip. The first happened on the trip itself. The second, surprisingly, didn’t happen until the journey home. Sometimes Spirit has more in store for you on the journey home. Wink wink.

First, I must share that I did something rather silly on this trip to Scotland: I left my rain gear at home. I still don’t know how I forgot something so essential—you do not show up to a pilgrimage in the UK without rain gear! I borrowed boots from one friend, rain pants from another, and a raincoat from a third. That will become a part of the story that unfolds.

STORY ONE: The Faery Bridge

For this particular adventure, Andrew took us to a very special and sacred faery bridge. The bridge is notoriously difficult to find, and Andrew warned us in advance that we might end up exactly where we started—the land can trick you like that. We hiked through the forest, forging our own path through bluebells and streams when needed. There was a lunar eclipse that day, and we hoped to reach the bridge in time to experience it there.

The hike was strenuous, and for some reason I felt even heavier than usual. Maybe I was carrying my friends energetically with me as I was wearing so many borrowed garments. Maybe I’m just out of shape. Either, or both, are entirely possible. We hiked and hiked, and in the end, we found ourselves exactly where we’d started. I was crestfallen.

By this point I was genuinely fatigued and starting to feel sick. Andrew and Tracy are both incredibly fit; I am not so much—apparently I never got that memo, all the way back from Iona in 2016. Still, we turned around and set out again to find the bridge.

Every step was a struggle. I was at the tail end of our little hiking party of three, and at some point I ended up vomiting along the way. Andrew could see in my face that I wasn’t well, and we found a log to rest on. The eclipse was approaching, and as we sat there trying to decide which direction to go next, Tracy spotted something in the distance. We looked to our right, and the foliage gently parted, almost like something out of a movie—revealing the faery bridge we’d been looking for. I was elated. We all were. It was a magical moment I’ll always carry with me.

We made our way down to the water below the bridge—one of the sacred places we didn’t photograph. As the eclipse peaked, each of us took a turn entering the water while the others turned away to give privacy. Andrew and Tracy both fully submerged, I later learned. I didn’t. I already felt awful, the water was painfully cold, and I only went in partway. At the time, I wondered whether I had missed some part of the experience by holding back. What happened next certainly gave me another kind of jolt.

We stayed at the bridge a while longer before making our way back up and over it, which was hard going—I still felt unwell. The route back seemed easier, until something rather shocking happened, quite literally. Along the way, we came to a horse fence we needed to pass beneath. None of us realized it was electric. I found out first, grabbing part of the fence and receiving quite a jolt.

For the rest of the walk—which felt very long, though I doubt it actually was—I felt even worse. Now I was electrified, with the earworm “Kickstart My Heart” by Mötley Crüe playing on repeat in my head with every step.

Two lessons from that fence: first, never touch a horse fence. Second—and this is the one that stayed with me—I experienced the shock as the jolt I had avoided in the water. When Andrew and Tracy submerged themselves in that frigid water, their bodies received a real physical shock. Whether the electric fence was coincidence, medicine, or simply a memorable reminder never to grab a horse fence, something about that moment stayed with me: lessons do not always arrive in the form we expect.

STORY TWO: The Rest Area

The faery bridge taught me that a lesson may arrive in an unexpected form. The journey home asked something more of me: to recognize what I needed, ask for it, and remain open enough to notice the answer.

Our original flight was canceled, setting off a series of rebookings and delays that eventually left me stranded at the Minneapolis airport for more than eleven hours. By then, I was already deeply jet-lagged and running on fumes. Needless to say, I was feeling very sorry for myself.

I wandered around the airport in tears, completely exhausted, wanting nothing more than to be home. But Spirit had more for me to experience. I've come to understand that you are released from pilgrimage when Spirit releases you—and I was not yet released. As I wandered, I finally called out, from my heart: “I just need a place to rest.”

I looked up, and there was a sign right in front of me, pointing up a staircase: Rest Area. I trudged up the stairs and found an extraordinary hidden space above the shops, the kind most travelers never know exists. It was beautiful, expansive, and quiet—chairs and tables, even soft mats you could pull out to rest on. The airport itself was jammed that day, every lounge and seating area packed, but up there I found a quiet oasis, almost entirely empty. What a blessing.

I made myself a little fort out of the soft cushions in the corner and finally took the long rest I needed. I could hear a pianist playing somewhere below, the sound drifting up like a private concert just for me. Once I had some energy back, I made my way down to the shops and found a small bookshop. A deck of spirit cards caught my eye—The Illustrated Herbiary Oracle Cards, by Maia Toll—and I felt so drawn to it that I bought it on the spot. I also picked up a meal from a pizza shop and carried it back up to my fort.

I ate my dinner up there, filled with gratitude on that quiet place above the noise, the piano still playing below. After I finished, I pulled a card from my new deck: Integration.

Integration Card | The Illustrated Herbiary Oracle Cards, by Maia Toll

Integration is an essential part of pilgrimage and spiritual work. It asks a simple but not always easy question: what will you do with what you have received? That night in the airport, integration began with acknowledging what I needed. I asked Spirit, with my whole heart, for a place to rest—and then looked up and saw the sign pointing the way.

After resting, eating, and drawing the Integration card, I finally felt released from the pilgrimage.

Lessons from the Land

Looking back, I can see that the faery bridge and the Minneapolis airport offered two parts of the same lesson.

At the bridge, I learned that an experience does not always unfold in the way I expect. What I understood as the medicine of that day still reached me, although certainly not in the form I would have chosen. At the airport, exhausted and overwhelmed, I finally gave voice to what I needed: “I just need a place to rest.” Only then did I look up and see the sign.

The answer was there, but first I had to ask—and then remain open enough to recognize what arrived. Drawing the Integration card added one more piece: receiving an answer is not the end of the lesson. We must decide how we will carry it into our lives.

Iona taught me permission to feel and trust my inner knowing. Arran taught me permission to see clearly and trust my perception. Fife taught me permission to ask, receive, and integrate.

Three pilgrimages, three permissions. I have a feeling this pattern isn't finished with me yet.

What are you still waiting for permission to ask for?

See you next week, where we will step into another pilgrimage and listen for what the land has to teach.

With gratitude,

Jenna