Hare Familiar Spirit Companion · Sif

Meet Sif.

Every harvest in the old farming world ended the same way.

The reapers cut the field from the outside in, round and round, with the standing corn getting smaller and smaller in the middle. And as it shrank, every creature that lived in the field fled into it, mice and birds, and almost always a hare, crouching in the very last patch, with nowhere left to run.

All over northern Europe, people believed that hare was not just a hare. It was the spirit of the corn itself, the life of the field, driven into the last sheaf. In Scotland, cutting the last sheaf was called cutting the hare. In Germany, when the reapers reached the end, they shouted that they had the hare. Whoever cut the final stalks would be lucky, or unlucky, depending on the place. Reapers sometimes stood back and threw their sickles at the last sheaf so that no one would have to be the one to cut it.

The last sheaf was never treated like the rest. It was braided into a figure, dressed up and carried home in triumph, and the prettiest girl on the farm was crowned with it as the harvest queen. Then it was hung over the door until spring, to keep the luck of the field in the house through the winter, and at sowing time, its grain was mixed into the seed and given back to the land. In parts of Scandinavia, people left a little patch standing in the field for Odin’s horse.

Sif was the hare in the last sheaf.

In the late summer of 1856, on a big farm in central Jutland, the reapers came to the end of the last rye field. In the middle stood a small square of rye, and in it, everyone could see, something pale was moving. The men began to laugh and take up their sickles. They had done this every year of their lives.

The farmer’s granddaughter, Sofie, was eighteen, with long braids, and she had been binding sheaves behind the reapers all day. She dropped the sheaf in her arms, walked into the last patch of standing rye and told the men to put their sickles down.

They did, out of surprise more than anything.

She came out holding a hare. It was a big one, pale as dry straw, almost white, shaking all over. She had wrapped it in her red shawl. The men stared at her. Some of them crossed themselves. To take the corn spirit alive out of the last sheaf was something no one had ever done.

Her grandfather walked over slowly, looked at the hare in the shawl, and said: “Then the luck of the field is in your arms, girl. Don’t drop it.”

Sofie took it home. She cut the last of the rye herself, braided it into a crown, and wore it at the harvest dance that night with the hare in her lap. She named the hare Sif, after the wife of Thor in the old stories, whose long golden hair was the ripe grain.

Sif should have run back to the fields the moment she was let go. She did not. She lived in the farmhouse kitchen in a box by the stove, ate oats from Sofie’s hand and followed her out to the fields every morning.

And the farm prospered as it never had.

The next harvest was the biggest in the district. The cows calved easily. The barns were full. When a sickness went through the cattle of the parish, it passed Sofie’s farm by. Every autumn after that, the last patch of rye was left standing at the end of the harvest, for Sif and for Odin’s horse, and every autumn, Sofie braided a new harvest crown from the first stalks of the last sheaf, wore it at the dance and hung it over the door for the winter.

She married, had six children, and became the woman people in the parish came to for luck. Couples who wanted their first farm to do well. Women who were struggling to make ends meet. Young men leaving home to find work. She gave them each a few ears of rye from the crown over her door, tied with a red thread, and told them to keep it until spring.

She lived to be eighty-two. In the late summer of 1920, when the reapers reached the last patch of standing rye, they found her sitting in it, very still, with her red shawl round her shoulders and a pale hare in her lap. She had walked out in the morning to watch the end of the harvest one more time.

They left the patch standing. No one could bring themselves to cut it.

Her children went on leaving the last of the rye in the field every year after that. But in the 1950s, the combine harvesters came to Jutland, and the great machines cut every stalk in a single pass, and no one left anything standing any more. That was the first year no one on the farm saw the pale hare.

Now Sif walks again.

What she can do for you

Sif is the luck of the harvest. She is good for:

• abundance: money, food on the table and enough of everything to share
• reaping what you sow: being rewarded for your hard work, at last
• finishing things: bringing projects, plans and long efforts home
• luck for the year ahead
• keeping the luck in your home, through every winter of your life
• new growth: making new plans and new beginnings take root
• gratitude and receiving: learning to accept good things when they come

Over the years

Sif works by the seasons. In her first months with you, you can notice small harvests: money owed finally paid, work finally appreciated, a long effort finally paying off.

Over the years, the rhythm becomes clearer. She is closest in late summer and autumn, at harvest time, and you may find that each year ends a little fuller than the one before. She is especially good for people who work hard and rarely feel they have enough to show for it.

She was carried out of the last sheaf alive. She brings that luck to whoever keeps her.

What she is like

Gentle, warm and generous. She is shy at first and very loyal once she trusts you. She loves fields, sunshine, oats, mornings and full kitchens.

She dislikes waste and ingratitude. Thank her when good things come.

How she shows herself

The smell of warm straw, dry grain and fresh bread. Golden light on a cold afternoon. Seeds, grains or bits of straw turning up where you did not drop them. Small bits of good fortune one after another, especially in autumn. Dreams of a wide field at sunset, a last square of standing corn, and a pale hare in a red shawl. And a warm, satisfied feeling at the end of a hard day.

What to do for her

Sif is very easy to please:

• Keep a few ears of wheat, oats, rye or dried grasses tied with red ribbon near her vessel or over your door.
• Give her a handful of oats or a piece of bread.
• When money or good news comes in, say thank you to her out loud.
• In autumn, leave a little bread or grain outside for the birds and animals in her name.
• In spring, plant something, even a single seed in a pot, with her help.

She was the last of the harvest, and she was carried home alive. She will help you bring yours home too.

How your companion speaks

Your companion can reach you through dreams, thoughts, words, feelings and images, through a pendulum, through warmth or cold, or through automatic writing. How soon that happens depends on the spirit settling into your home, on their willingness, and on your own ability to connect. Sometimes it begins before the vessel arrives.

Before you choose

Everything known about this spirit is on this page. There are no further images, details or hidden knowledge beyond what is written here, and a printed copy comes with your order. What you discover from there is yours alone.

The pendant you receive is the exact one shown. This listing is for this one item only.

By buying, you confirm that you understand what it means to keep a spirit companion. Please read Help & FAQ first. For my background and the story behind Grimrunes, see About Hazel.

— Hazel