Toads, Mice, a Cuckoo and Saint Gertrude

… or how my transition into a wooden tiny house perched on stone legs in sandy soil intertwines with my Rewilding Saint project, creating a mid-spring ritual.

My personal lived experience (the inspiration):

At the end of April 2026, I received the keys to my new wooden circular tiny house in Minitopia, located in ’s-Hertogenbosch in the Netherlands. This area, once a wasteland, has been transformed by talented individuals (makers, builders) who have chosen to collaborate with nature rather than attempting to sterilize the land. Instead of using a bulldozer to clear away waste and suffering through a tabula rasa approach, they have embraced the existing environment and its challenges.

The cuckoo

On the very first night, I heard the cuckoo. This bird carries various associations in myths and folklore.

In some poems, the cuckoo heralds the arrival of spring.

I shared my experience of hearing the cuckoo and its link to spring’s onset on my Instagram stories, and friends promptly reminded me that it also has connections to death.

I’m not surprised.

In the Baltic myth of Egle, it is the cuckoo that warns the snakes about the deception of Egle’s family, attempting to steer her away from her destined path… the path leading to the underworld, the undersea palace, where she is to marry and become the queen of the underworld.

The cuckoo symbolizes transformation and perhaps a descent into deeper realms, but it also signifies an unavoidable ascent, a return or rebirth of the eco-heroine, as Sharon Blackie describes in her book, If Women Rose Rooted.

The (fears for) mice

In the meantime, I’ve begun maintaining a logbook to document the tensions and opportunities of cohabiting with the more-than-human world. This is not only for my personal reflection but also for a new project. The professor and newsletter coordinator invited me to contribute a section on multispecies tiny houses in each project newsletter, and without a moment’s hesitation, the writer within me agreed. Thus, I’m even receiving a small payment for noting the nonhuman animals I encounter, along with their stories, both positive and negative, alongside the tales I hear. I’ve already recorded some experiences about the mice from the previous tiny house on the place where my tiny house got installed…

Ah, the mice… I’ve heard this story before…

…and I reserved already a day to sit with the mice and their relationships with humans. To be continued.

May, Maria month

May has arrived,  the month dedicated to rewilding saints. In ’s-Hertogenbosch, I’ve been taking the same morning walk for two weeks now, journeying from my cozy tiny house to the train station as I commute to Eindhoven for work.

In the historic center, adjacent to the basilica, there hangs a banner honoring Mary, celebrating her as the Mother of us all. May is recognized as Mary’s month, a time for mothers in Catholic traditions, but it also highlights intriguing female saints. This month embodies a significant feminine energy, encompassing not just maternal energy but also the essence of the maiden.

Why Rewilding Saints…

By the way, after I submitted my writing on plants to the copy editor, I’ve started re-reading Sara Maitland’s Gossip from the Forest: The Tangled Roots of Forest and Fairytales, a book I explored about five or six years ago and referenced in part A.

I was aware that Sara Maitland has significantly influenced my thoughts. Now, in my tiny house with no internet, I find that I suddenly have more time to engage in conversations with people, mice, and revisit the books I brought with me from Japan, Norway, and other locations to my current home in the Netherlands.

A sentence in the first chapter of Maitland’s book resonates with me, explaining why it is natural to retell stories, such as fairytales and even saint stories, which may also be retellings of pre-Christian memories of rituals…

The toads

The company that sold me my tiny house took care of the essentials, but there are still some tasks for me to tackle. For instance, I need to protect the timber from persistent rain by digging a trench and adding some gravel. While working on this, I encountered toads. These toads, in a state of hibernation, seemed to stir at the sound of the cuckoo, as one of the locals joked.

When I encountered the first toad, I had to think about  Baba Yaga, the witch with a house on chicken legs. My tiny house, perched on stacks of stones, in this reenchanted place, does resemble it a bit.

A true Baba Yaga home wouldn’t be complete without the toads as companions, occasionally offering a greeting. They’re certainly not ingredients for my cauldron to brew potions; rather, they are friends to connect with. My new land mates (instead of housemates) seem to prefer the sand and stones over the timber floors.

Gertrude of Nivelles

I came across her story in a book about the landscapes of memories in the Netherlands, authored by Dutch archaeologist Judith Struyf. The writer suggests that her name day coincides with the spring equinox, a time when the mice begin to stir…

People often fear mice, as they can damage parts of your home or ruin crafts. Hmm, I wonder where I’ve encountered this tale before?

This is why some chose to celebrate Gertrude on March 21, a date also linked with the arrival of mice in homes.

Who was she? In the 7th century, she was an abbess who, alongside her mother Itta, founded the Abbey of Nivelles, located in present-day Belgium. She welcomed many Irish monks. Gertrude had visions, one of the most renowned being her ocean voyage, which led her to become the patron saint of travelers.

In celebration of this occasion, medieval travelers would consume a mixture called “Sinte Geerts Minne” or “Gertrudenminne” before setting out on their travels. Her commitment to cultivating her garden also inspired people to seek her help not only for gardening but also for protection against rodents and mental health issues.

Gertrude is so Persephone-coded

Gertrude embodies qualities reminiscent of Persephone. In Greek mythology, Persephone is the goddess of the underworld, spending half the year below and the other half above with her mother. This cyclical journey marks the transition between spring and summer. The underworld can also be accessed via water. I have a fondness for Persephone; I often envision her not as pristine but rather as emerging from the dirt and decay around the spring equinox. This imagery came to me while I was digging in the soil near my tiny home.

Hazel nut tree ancestor

In the meantime, the small ancestor of the hazel nut tree is aware of my presence. While the workers were digging to place the stacked stones that would become the legs of my tiny house, she remained solitary for several weeks at the edge of an open hole, as they needed to inspect the sewage and water pipes.

Together with my neighbor and her cousin, we observed this hole and felt the presence of the lonely little hazel nut tree. “Oh, is that a hazel?” we wondered.

As the hole was filled, I can’t help but feel her presence every time I arrive at or leave the house.

In my journey of editing Part A of “Writing(with)Plants,” which explores hazel nut trees and their significance in Grimm’s version of the Cinderella story as ancestral figures, I’ve encountered some delightful coincidences. Joana Gillar, whom I have admired for years and who organized the Rewilding Cinderella symposium in 2022, a big influence on my work, is currently offering an Advaya course on rewilding fairy tales. It feels as though everything is coming full circle, especially as I reconnect with my childhood region.

There’s a touch of irony in being back in the Low Countries, sifting through the characteristic Campine sand while feeling the presence of an ancestor watching over me…

Mid-spring ritual

As spring equinox approaches, reminiscent of Persephone’s departure, it’s a time for preparation, gathering tools, and crafting plans. The true emergence, where one digs deep into the earth, occurs in April and May, marking mid-spring in the Low Countries.

The cuckoo heralds her arrival, awakening alongside the toads and mice. Who is she? Could she be a reflection of me?

Regardless, the labor was challenging, but entertaining thoughts like these brought a smile to my face, easing the burden of the demanding manual work ahead.

There’s joy to be found in weaving hard labor into a fairytale rather than succumbing to complaints and curses. This is the mindset I hope to maintain for the years to come, and it’s an attitude I wish to inspire in others.

Creating an eco myth is not (always) rewriting the whole saint’s life as if it is Persephone’s myth…

… but as a spring ritual to infuse charm into the everyday monotony of caretaking, preparing the garden and earth for the season ahead.

As you listen to the cuckoo, welcome the mice and toads, take a moment to contemplate how you will engage with them in the coming months, including any potential challenges.

Join in an online workshop on May 25th (Whit Monday) exploring these ideas, and also work out the ritual or another story on co-habitation with what awakens in spring and might lead to tensions in the coming months, around co-habitation. Visit this page to learn more: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/ecomythology-20-rewilding-female-saints-tickets-1988225633391?aff=oddtdtcreator

Rewilding Saints

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