Earth (ON Jǫrð, Hlóðynn, Fold, Grund, Fjǫrgyn; OE Erce, Eorþ)
Hail Æsir,
Hail Asynjur,
Hail Earth who gives to all,
Good speech and spells
we ask of you
And healing hands in this life.
(Sigdrífumál 3)
Many mythologies see the Earth as a female figure, a being who brings forth and nourishes new life. She is often paired with a male sky god, whose rains and storms impregnate the Earth so that she will bear plants and beasts. We know of several Germanic goddesses who can, in at least some of their aspects, be identified as earth goddesses.
Nerthus, worshipped in south Denmark in the Roman era, is explicitly called Terra Mater, “Mother Earth,” by Tacitus.
Some have seen Thor’s wife Sif as a personification of the fields that bear the golden grain, shorn every harvest season and regrowing every spring, made fertile by the lightning and rain of her husband Thor.
Gerd and Skadi are also often seen as goddesses of the Earth, forbidding and hostile until they are persuaded to marry a god, but becoming fertile and giving once they are wedded.
Finally, on the basis of linguistic similarities, Tyr is often identified with the Sky-Father; Lokasenna tells us that he has a wife, and while she is not named in the Norse lore, there is linguistic evidence for a goddess known as Zisa in Germany, whose name is the feminine form of his. Zisa might also be a goddess of the fruitful earth.
But Old Norse texts also mention Jǫrð, a goddess whose name simply means “Earth.”
Snorri (Gylfaginning 10) states that she is the daughter of Nǫtt, “Night,” and her second husband Annarr or Ónarr, whose name simply means “The Second” or “The Other.” Snorri states that she can be called Hlóðynn, Fold, and Grund, which are all synonyms for “earth.” He also calls her Fjǫrgyn, a name which seems to be related to Fjǫrgynn, the name of Frigg’s probable father.
Fjǫrgyn and Fjǫrgynn are also cognate with Gothic fairguni and Old English firgen, “mountain,” and with Old High German names of mountain ranges, Fergunna and Virgunnia (Polomé, “Divine Names in Indo-European,” p. 59).
The Old English Æcerbot (discussed more fully below) addresses Earth as Erce, Erce, Erce, eorþan modor, and “Frau Herke” appears as the personified Earth in north German folklore. “Erce” and “Herke” are difficult to translate, but they may be derived from an Indo-European root meaning “furrow,” possibly borrowed into Germanic from Celtic (Battaglia, “Goddess Religion in the Early British Isles,” pp. 62-67). These may be good names to use to call upon Earth specifically for fruitful fields.
Whatever we may call her, Earth is a living being, and human life depends on her bounty.
She is in fjǫlnýta fold, “the fully-beneficial Earth” (Sigrdrífumál 4). Although Snorri says that she is the daughter of Night, we may also see her as formed from the dismembered body of Ymir, the vast jotun who contained the potentialities of the universe within himself. Odin is said to be married to Earth; their son is Thor.
In Hallfreðr vandræðaskald’s Hákonardrápa, the Earth is called barrhaddaða biðkvón Þriðja, “the pine-haired betrothed of Þriði” and breiðleita brúði Báleygs “the broad-faced bride of Báleygr;” both names of her husband are names of Odin.
The relationship between Odin and the Earth is reflected in the relationship between kings and the lands that they rule: Hákonardrápa tells how King Hákon “was wedded to the tree-grown daughter of Ónarr” 324 Our Troth (ed. Heslop, pp. 212-224). Kings are responsible for the fertility of their lands; poor harvests may mean that the king must be sacrificed, as Dómaldi was in Ynglinga saga 15.
Eyvindr skáldaspillr criticizes the sons of Eirik Bloodaxe, who have adopted Christianity and are ruling Norway, by noting that the weather has gone all wrong: “It snows on Odin’s wife at Midsummer, and we’ve had to pen the twig-gnawers [livestock] in their stalls, like Finns [Sámi]” (Haralds saga gráfeldar 16; IF 26, p. 221).
When the Heathen king Hákon the Good drives out Eirik’s sons, Einarr skálaglamm tells in his poem Vellekla how “the sons of the Æsir, beneficial to the people, turn to the sacrifices. . . . Now the earth flourishes as before” (verse 15; ed. Marold, p. 303). Snorri adds that “In the first winter when Hákon ruled the land, herring swam right up to the shore, and the grain was fully grown before harvest-time, wherever it was sown” (Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar 16, ÍF 26, pp. 242-243).
Thus, humans are in partnership with the land. As long as it is maintained, the Earth will continue giving her gifts to all.
Honoring the Earth Despite the immense might of the Earth, evidence for directly worshipping her is rare in Old Norse sources. She is only addressed directly once: the famous prayer in Sigrdrífumál 5.
While there are several myths in which a goddess reflects or embodies an aspect of the Earth, there are none in which Earth as a totality acts or speaks. When humans need fertile fields, they usually address a deity such as Freyr for “harvests and frith.” They might give offerings to a landwight, like Kodran the farmer, who honored a spámaðr (“spae-man,” seer) or ármaðr (“harvest-man,” overseer) living in a stone on his property (Waggoner, “Tales from the Flateyjarbók IV,” pp. 19-23). Or they might honor a deceased ruler who had been blessed with good crops. King Hálfdan svarti had been ársælstr, “the most blessed with harvests,” and when he died, several chieftains wanted to have his body buried in their lands, because þótti þat vera árvænt þeim, er næði, “that seemed to promise good harvests to the one who could get it.” In the end, the king’s body was divided, and each piece was buried in a mound in a different region, spreading the king’s blessing around (Hálfdanar saga svarta 9, ÍF 26, p. 93).
On the other hand, there is evidence of direct worship of the Earth in early England.
The main text here is a long rite called the Æcerbot. Whoever wrote this rite down presumably understood the “eternal lord” to be the Christian God, but phrases like “god’s embrace” would fit the image of Odin as husband of Earth, as seen in Hákonardrápa—not the god of orthodox Christianity, who simply commands the Earth to “be fruitful and multiply” but does not embrace it as a husband.
Erce, Erce, Erce, eorþan modor, geunne þe se alwalda, ece drihten, æcere wexendra and wridendra, eacniendra and elniendra, sceafte hehra, scirra wæstma, and þæra bradan berewæstma, and þæra hwitan hwætewæstma and ealra eorþan wæstma. . . Þonne man þa sulh forþ drife and þa forman furh onsceote, cweþ þonne: Hal wes þu, folde, fira modor! Beo þu growende on godes fæþme, fodre gefylled firum to nytte.
Erce, Erce, Erce, Mother of Earth, May the all-ruler, eternal lord, grant you fields waxing and thriving, growing and strengthening, high shafts, tall crops, and the broad barley crops, and the white wheat-crops, and all crops of the earth. . . When the man drives the plough forth and cuts the first furrow, then say: Hail to you, Earth, mother of men! Be thou growing in god’s embrace, filled with food for men’s benefit. “Field-Improvement.”
The entire ritual draws heavily on Christian customs, albeit repurposed in unusual ways that were quite possibly inspired by pre-Christian practices.
The one who wishes to carry it out must dig up four pieces of turf from the four cardinal points, pour liquid offerings on them, recite a Christian prayer in Latin, bring them to church and have four Masses said over them, and then return them to their original places in the field with a wooden cross left under each one. But the “centerpiece” of the rite is a prayer directly addressed to the Earth and the “eternal Lord” who rules the Earth (Dobbie, Anglo-Saxon Minor Poems, pp. 116-118; lines 51-58, 67-71):
The phrase folde. . . firum to nytte, “Earth. . . for the benefit of men,” uses the same roots as Sigrdrífumál’s fjǫlnýta fold, “fully beneficial Earth,” and might reflect pre-Christian forms of address to the Earth.
An even longer and most elaborate English prayer to the Earth, written in Latin, dates at least to the sixth century. In its eleventh-century version (MS Harley 1585), the prayer begins “Holy Goddess Earth who brings forth nature, you who generates and regenerates all things united into one, star which alone shines forth to humankind, guardian of the sky and sea. . . .”
Then the speaker addresses Earth directly:
With devotion you are called Mother of the Gods. You have mastery over all things called divine, being yourself the source of the energies of peoples and gods. Without you nothing can grow nor can it be born. You are great. You are Queen of the Gods. Oh Goddess, you I adore as divine. I call upon your name and easily you provide me what I ask of you. To you, Goddess, I shall bring thanks because my trust has been rewarded. Hear, I beg you, and favor my prayers.
The speaker goes on to ask the Earth for her favor in gathering medicinal herbs, and then addresses the herbs themselves:
Whatever herbs your majesty willingly brings forth for health’s sake, may you grant to all peoples. . . Now I call upon all you potent herbs, and I beseech your strength. You herbs, which Nurturing Earth has brought forth and endowed with health-giving medicine, you, I give to all people. She has conferred upon you strength for each human need. (Battaglia, “Goddess Religion in the Early British Isles,” pp. 70-73)
Although the poem shows much Classical influence, the overall tone is at least compatible with the Æcerbot. Expressions such as “Nurturing Earth” or “Parent Earth” (parens tellus) are certainly comparable with phrases like folde fira modor and fjǫnýta fold.
Although the Æcerbot is post-Heathen by approximately five hundred years, laws of the time still forbade pagan worship. The performers of these poems may have addressed the Earth so directly because the old gods had been suppressed or forgotten, but not the Earth herself—who is, frankly, hard to forget or deny when you know very well that every bite of your food, scrap of your clothing, timber and thatching of your home, and stick of your firewood must come from her. Even the most fanatical Christian could not deny that: as Wulfstan preached in his anti-pagan sermon De falsis deis:
sume hȳ gelȳfdon on ðā eorðan, forðan þe hēo ealle þing fēdeð, “Some people worshipped the Earth, because she nourishes all things.” (Marsden, Cambridge Old English Reader, p. 206).
Perhaps we have an example of Heathen rites that were allowed to continue with a Christian veneer, as Gregory the Great recommended to his missionaries in England (Bede, Ecclesiastical History I.30; transl. Sherley-Price, pp. 91-93).
In his article “Mother Earth and her Children” (Idunna 36, pp. 13- 14), Kveldúlfr Gundarsson points out that in the Æcerbot, Earth is not so much being prayed to in the way that the gods and goddesses are prayed to, with the sharing of a gift and a request for blessings in exchange. Rather, she is being blessed, but also compelled, in a way that is more typical of magic.
Old English spells often address the subject directly, as a way of compelling it, whether the subject is the Earth; the disease-causing spear in the charm Wið Færstice (“Out, little spear, if it be in!. . . Out, spear, not in, spear!”); the bees in the charm Wið Ymbe (“Settle, victory-wives, sink to earth”); or the wen (sebaceous cyst) addressed in the charm “Against a Wen” (“Wen, wen, little wen, you shall not build here. . . .”)
In other instances where Earth is directly invoked, it is in magical contexts.
The Old English charm for keeping a swarm of bees includes the words “Hwæt, earth is able over all wights / and against evil and against jealousy / and against the tongue of the mighty one.” A spell against “water-elf disease” (possibly measles) calls for repeatedly singing “Earth reduce thee with all her might and main” (Griffiths, Aspects of Anglo-Saxon Magic, pp. 194- 195).
In the MS Harley 1585 prayer cited earlier, the Earth is addressed in very worshipful terms, but the ultimate goal of the prayer is for the speaker to make use of the power of herbs, power which ultimately comes from the Earth.
We can add the practice of passing sick children through a hole in the Earth; an Old English penitential condemns a woman if
heo tilað hire cilde mid ænigum wiccecræfte. oððe æt wega gelætan þurh eorðan týhð. forþam hit is mýcel hæðenscipe, “she cures her child with any witchcraft, or has [her child] drawn through the Earth at a crossroads, for that is great Heathenry” (Old English Penitential Y44.16.01, ed. Frantzen, Anglo-Saxon 328 Our Troth Penitentials).
On the Old Norse side, Hávamál 137 gives the advice “when you drink ale, choose the power of the earth, for earth counters ale-drinking. . . . the earth shall counteract a flood.” Thus while on one level the Earth can be personified as a goddess, in other ways she seems to be more impersonal, more distant from human experience: a source of might that humans can tap into, similar to the Moon (see above).
Honoring Earth Today
As we’ve stated, there isn’t much evidence for the direct worship of the Earth. Unlike Gaia in Greece or Tellus in Rome, Jǫrð is not known to have had any temples or organized cults. That said, the importance of honoring the Earth should be obvious when you reflect on a fact that has not changed from the beginning of human society: every bite that you eat depends on the Earth.
Few Heathens today have the land, the skills, or the time to grow a significant portion of their own food. Most of us live in places where a vast variety of foods of all kinds appears regularly in supermarkets and on restaurant menus as if by magic. Yet even today, droughts, fires, and contamination can cause products to disappear from the supermarket shelves—a tiny reflection, but a real one, of the famine that our forebears faced when Earth did not give the bounty they needed.
Many of the folk festivals celebrated in medieval and early modern Britain and Europe directly reflect the agricultural year. In early modern Britain, this extended from Plough Monday (the first Monday after Yule, when the cold and muddy physical labor of ploughing and fertilizing the fields began) to Harvest Home (the end of the harvest season, originally falling in August; see Hutton, The Stations of the Sun, pp. 124, 332). It is fitting to honor the Earth at such times, along with whatever other deities need to be called on. Heathens might find that growing a garden may help them feel the might of the Earth.
Even if you only have the space and skill to grow a few tomatoes in pots, or a windowbox of herbs, you can still watch the plants unfold by the might of the Earth and Sun, harvest and eat what you grow, and return a portion to the Earth with thanks and remembrance. You might be able to feel Earth’s might by looking for wild edible plants where you live; even in cities, urban parks and vacant lots can harbor edible greens and herbs. You might also try at least occasionally to have a meal of locally grown food in its proper season, reminding yourself of the fully-beneficial Earth and thanking her for her bounty.
Supporting or participating in efforts to mend damage to the Earth—trash pickup, environmental cleanup, reforestation, soil conservation, and so on—are also fitting ways to honor Jǫrð. We have no clear depictions of Earth personified, unless the Bronze Age and Iron Age idols and statues that are sometimes identified as “Nerthus” might be seen as representing her.
There are a few saga references to a rite by which unrelated men could swear blood-brotherhood by cutting a strip of turf (leaving it attached at the ends), propping up the strip to form a low arch, and crawling under it, a symbolic rebirth as brothers from the womb of the Earth (e.g. Gísla saga Súrssonar 6, Fostbræðra saga 2). The strip of turf was called jarðarmen, “Earth’s necklace,” and might suggest that Earth could be seen as wearing a great necklace, as we have suggested for several other goddesses.
Ægir (Éagor), Rán, and the Kin of Fornjótr
Ægir is listed as a jotun, not an Ás or Van, in the þulur (lists of poetic synonyms; Skáldskaparmál 75). However, he is depicted as having a friendly relationship with the Gods; he hosts them in his hall, and also journeys to Asgard to feast with them. Hymiskviða 2 names Ægir’s father as Mistarblindi or Miskorblindi, possibly meaning either “the ugly one” or “the one who stirs the brewing kettle” (Simek, Dictionary, p. 217).
But a text called Hversu Nóregr byggðist (“How Norway Was Settled”), which is preserved in Flateyjarbók, gives a different lineage, beginning with an ancient king named Fornjótr (meaning unclear but possibly “old jotun”).
Fornjótr is identified in the þulur as a jotun, and some scholars have hypothesized that he is the same as Ymir, although there is no real supporting evidence (Ross, “Snorri Sturluson’s Use of the Norse Origin-Legend,” p. 49). Fornjótr has three sons: Ægir who is also known as Hlér (“Roarer”), Lógi (“Fire”) and Kári (“Cold” or “Wind”). In Hversu Nóregr byggðist, Kári is the father of Jǫkull (“Glacier”), who is the father of Frosti (“Frost”), who is the father of King Snær (“Snow”). Snær is the father of Þorri (from a root meaning “dry snow”; cf. ON þurr), Fǫnn (“Snowdrift”), Drífa (“Snowfall”), and Mjǫll (“Powder Snow”). The beginning of Orkneyinga saga, which is also contained in Flateyjarbók, gives much the same lineage but leaves out Jǫkull.
Þorri is said to be the king of Finland, Gotland, and Kvenland (present- day northern Sweden). The Kven people supposedly sacrifice to him at midwinter so that there will be good snow for skiing, because Þat er ár þeira, “that is their fruitful season,” since they hunt on skis. He gives his name to the first month of the Icelandic calendar, and the modern festival of Þorrablót is held in Iceland in his honor in mid-January, marked by the eating of rather intimidating traditional Icelandic foods.
Mjǫll is said to have been abducted by the jotun king Dumbr and become the mother of the legendary Bard Snæfellsass (Bárðar saga snæfellsáss 1). Drífa marries Vanlandi of the human Yngling dynasty, and their son was Visbur (Ynglinga saga 13). And according to Þorsteins saga Víkingssonar 1, Lógi becomes known as Há-Logi (Logi the Tall) and rules over Halogaland in northern Norway. He marries Glǫð, possibly “glowing coal,” and their daughters are Eisa and Eimyrja, both meaning “embers” (Waggoner, Sagas of Fridthjof, p. 2).
Ægir is the only one of this family of “elemental powers” whom we know much about. He is also known as Gymir (“Engulfer”) as well as Hlér, according to Skáldskaparmál 25 and the prose introduction to Lokasenna. He may or may not be the same Gymir whom Skírnismál calls the father of Gerðr, the beloved of Freyr; if he is, this in-law relationship might explain why he is often depicted as feasting with the gods (Lindow, Norse Mythology, p. 156).
His nine daughters are ocean waves, with names like Bylgja (“Billow”), Hrǫnn (“Wave”), Hefring (“Lifting”), and Blóðughadda (“Bloody Hair”) (Skáldskaparmál 25, 61). Although the names of Ægir’s nine daughters are different from those of Heimdallr’s nine mothers, some scholars have suggested that they are the same.
According to the opening prose of Lokasenna, Ægir also had two servants, Eldir (“Fire Stoker”) and Fimafeng (possibly “Hurrying Service”; Lindow, Norse Mythology, p. 115). Loki allegedly killed Fimafeng, although the prose is inconsistent with the poem and was probably added later (Gunnell, The Origins of Drama, pp. 225-226).
Where Njord rules harbors, ships, and the riches that humans can win from the sea by fishing and trade, Ægir rules the vast expanses and great depths of the sea itself. All of his names are used in poetry as synonyms for “sea,” and in kennings such as “Ægir’s horse” for a ship and “jaws of Ægir” for the depths of the sea. At the beginning of Skáldskaparmál, Ægir is said to live on the island of Hlésey, “Hlér’s Island” (modern Læsø in the 331 Sun, Day, Moon, Sea, and Hel Kattegat), and to be skilled in magic.
Hlésey is the site of strange doings in some of the legendary poems and sagas. In Hárbarðsljóð Thor tells of battling a host of savage women there, who could be Ægir’s daughters, although this is not explicitly stated. Both Hymiskviða and Lokasenna depict the Gods feasting in Ægir’s hall. The Gods reciprocate his hospitality; Snorri begins Skáldskaparmál as a dialogue between Ægir and Bragi at a feast in Asgard.
He is associated with brewing; the Gods’ request that he brew ale for them sets the events of Hymiskviða in motion. He is rich; both the Lokasenna introduction and Skáldskaparmál 33 report that the gold in his hall shines so brightly that it illuminates the whole hall, and thus “Ægir’s fire” is a kenning for gold.
This tradition may also be preserved in a tale told by the 11th century chronicler Adam of Bremen: A group of Frisians who sailed to northern Norway were caught in a giant whirlpool and carried to a rocky, cavernous land, inhabited by giants and rich in golden treasures. When the sailors tried to take the gold, the giants took the form of huge dogs and chased them away (History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen IV.xl-xli, transl. Tschan, pp. 220-221).
Thus the whirlpool may be a gateway to Ægir’s hall; some commentators identify it with both the great whirlpool described in Grottasǫngr and with Hvergelmir, the great seething well below one root of Yggdrasil, towards which all rivers run (De Santillana and Von Dechend, Hamlet’s Mill, pp. 205-209).
While Ægir has a good relationship with the Gods, he and his wife can be tricky for humans to approach.
Sailing the sea has claimed countless human lives, as it sometimes does today. Lamenting his drowned son, Egil Skallagrimsson says in his poem “Sonatorrek” (Egils Saga 78, ÍF 2, pp. 248-249):
Mjǫk hefr Rán ryskt um mik, emk ofsnauðr at ástvinum; sleit marr bǫnd minnar ættar, snaran þátt af sjǫlfum mér. Rán has handled me roughly, I am stripped of beloved friends; the sea broke the bonds of my kin, the twisted strands from me.
Jordsvin agrees, from his experiences in journey-work:
“Rán and Ægir are at least as much Jotnar as gods. Their realm is for only the more experienced journeyers. I cannot stress this enough. If you deal with giants and/ or Jotunheim at all, do so with extreme caution” (“Germanic Sea Deities,” Idunna 48, p. 16).
Ægir may have been appeased with offerings, but he was probably not the subject of an organized cult.
There are few references to throwing sacrifices into the ocean, such as the Saxon pirates’ custom of drowning or crucifying every tenth prisoner, mentioned by Sidonius (Letters VIII.vi.15, transl. Anderson, vol. 2, pp. 430-433). These could conceivably have been sacrifices to Ægir or his Saxon equivalent. Nonetheless, Ægir is not commonly offered to today.
Jordsvin suggests that Ægir and his wife can be good to call on for help in brewing and cooking. Ægir’s name is cognate with the Old English word eāgor or ēgor, meaning “water” or “sea” (ultimately cognate with Latin aqua). The Old English word specifically meant moving, potentially dangerous water: it could mean “flood” and “high tide,” and it appears in compounds such as ēgor-streām, “current” or “watercourse,” and ēgor-here, “flood” (literally “water-host”—or “Ægir’s host”). As late as the nineteenth century, the word eagre (also spelled eager, hyger, agar, etc.) was used to refer to a dangerous tidal bore—a surge caused by the tides flowing upstream into a narrowing estuary—on the Humber and Severn Rivers (Oxford English Dictionary, vol. 5, p. 18).
Whether or not this means that the English actually believed in a godlike personification of the sea, some Anglo-Saxon Heathens today include Eāgor as one of their gods. The Old English word garsecg literally means “spear-man,” but is used for the sea in poetic language, and this could conceivably refer to Ægir or Eāgor.
Ægir’s wife is Rán.
It’s usually assumed that she’s a jotynja; she’s listed among the goddesses by Snorri (Skáldskaparmál 61), but he includes several other beings who were originally jotynjur, although they may have been adopted among the Æsir (Rind, Jǫrð, Skadi). Her name may be derived from the common noun rán, “theft; robbery” (Lindow, Norse Mythology, pp. 258-259).
She does not appear in eddic poetry, but her name is frequently used in skaldic poetry as a synonym for the sea, and in kennings such as Ránheimr “Rán’s world” for the sea, and Ránar hvítrar munni “Rán’s white mouth” for the sea’s grip. The skald Gísli Illugason called her glymbrúðr hafs, “the ocean’s roaring bride.” The poet Hofgarða-Refr calls her úrsvǫl Gymis vǫlva, “Gymir’s spray-cold seeress” (Skáldskaparmál 25, 61), so it’s possible that Rán has the power of foresight, as do several other goddesses (Quinn, “Mythologizing the Sea,” pp. 79-82).
Snorri reports in Skáldskaparmál 33 that Rán owns a net with which she catches seafarers. Reginsmál and Vǫlsunga saga 14 tell how Loki borrowed Rán’s net to catch Andvari, the dwarf in pike shape who guarded the Rhinegold. Diana Paxson sees Rán’s net in the interlaced strands of foam created where waves are breaking. More abstractly, she sees it as the network of physical forces and living beings that fill the sea (“Ran—Norse Mistress of the Sea,” pp. 43, 47).
Judy Quinn has pointed out that Rán resembles the valkyries and Hel; like them, she personally takes the dead to her halls. Sometimes she is poetically described as seducing them, as when the hero Fridthjof anticipates his drowning and says nú skal Ránar raunbeð troða, en annarr mun Ingibjargar—“now I must get into Rán’s dangerous bed, but someone else will get into [Fridthjof ’s lover] Ingibjorg’s” (“Mythologizing the Sea,” pp. 82-87). Since Fornetes folm is used in a recipe to boost male potency, it is conceivable that the English associated Fornjótr / Fornet with virility and procreation (Ross, “Snorri Sturluson’s Use of the Norse Origin-Legend,” pp. 49-50)
Rán does not seem to have been given regular worship, but at least in the legendary sagas, she could be appeased.
In Fridthjofs saga 6, sailors caught in a storm take pieces of gold, so that Rán will welcome them if they drown (transl. Waggoner, Sagas of Fridthjof the Bold, pp. 67-68).
Patricia Lafayllve writes:
One can speculate that she must have been particularly important to a seafaring people, and regardless of the information (or lack thereof ) on Rán, she was probably very much a part of the life of our ancestors.
This author has further speculated upon the connection between the mention of her accepting gold as an offering and the later habit of sailors in the days of the great sailing ships who wore gold earrings. They did this because, should their bodies wash ashore, the gold would be used as money to pay for their burials.
We certainly do know that even in modern times the sea is one of the world’s great killers. People are lost at sea in great numbers, and in fishing communities such as those in New England, all fishermen know they may never return every time they step onto a deck. Their partners wait at home anxiously, praying to their god/s for the safe return of their men and women.
In this, the author speculates, not much has changed fundamentally from the early days of our ancestors, when a visit to Rán was a very real possibility (“Rán Blót,” A Book of Blóts, p. 87).
Today, environmental degradation and species extinction are impacting the oceans, and global climate change is increasing the frequency and intensity of storms. This ultimately affects human welfare as well; even those of us who don’t go near the ocean are affected by global fisheries and global weather patterns. It’s not a stretch to think that Rán might not be too happy with what is happening to her realm.
Diana Paxson advocates for honoring the jotnar as keepers of wilderness.
She has specifically suggested honoring Rán by trying to mitigate damage to her realm. This can be as simple as picking up trash at the beach, but many other forms of involvement in environmental protection are also fitting (“Ran—Norse Mistress of the Sea,” p. 46). Rudyard Kipling’s poem “Harp Song of the Dane Women” (Puck of Pook’s Hill, p. 59) is a poignant acknowledgement of the sea’s dangers:
What is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?
She has no house to lay a guest in—
But one chill bed for all to rest in,
That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.
She has no strong white arms to fold you,
But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you
Bound on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.
Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,
And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,
Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken—
Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters,
You steal away to the lapping waters,
And look at your ship in her winter quarters.
Storms are part of the natural cycles of our planet, but they have no pity. Seafarers did and still do fare down to Rán, “the old grey Widow- maker.” Nonetheless, for all its dangers, the sea is life for those who live on its shores. We might see Ægir and Rán as the raw power of the ocean, sometimes deadly to those who brave it—but able to catch forever the hearts of those who sail it.