Book of Days

Traditional reckoning of time would have us turn our thoughts toward summer tonight with Walpurgis Night and May Eve, but spring has been slow to come this year. Perhaps on this particular revolution around the sun we are better off enjoying spring now that it’s here and the daffodils, too, now that they are blooming. But this time of year is like this, isn’t it? A bit unpredictable––we never know just what it will bring.

Still, here are the things that some folks will be doing on this Walpurgis Night, this Eve of May… and perhaps you’d like to join in: They’ll be building bonfires. They’ll be drinking sparkling wine. They’ll be dining on bread and gravlax––a cured smoked salmon. Here’s what I’ll be doing: I’m stopping by the local Finnish bakery today and picking up a couple of those wonderful open-face sandwiches they make: a dark hearty Scandinavian rye, baked right there, spread with a homemade mustardy sauce then topped with sliced hard boiled eggs, smoked salmon and fresh dill, with a lemon wedge ready for squeezing. I’m getting one for me and one for Seth, and I’m getting sparkling wine to put in the fridge, just one bottle. And late Monday night, we will light a little fire in the backyard, pop open the wine, and enjoy those sandwiches in the firelight. With that, we will welcome May, and begin to turn our thoughts to summer… which is never very far away here in Lake Worth.

Though this night (named for St. Walpurga, whose feast day comes tomorrow) is a big deal in many places––particularly in Scandinavia and Northern and Eastern Europe––it’s not such a big deal here in the States. But this is our loss, and I think marking it in some small way would do us all good. Especially after a long winter. Surely there’s some sparkling wine to be found near you tonight, and as for the gravlax, well, if you served smoked fish dip and saltines, the spirit is still there. No bonfire to attend or backyard fire in the fire pit? An illuminated candle certainly will do the trick. There’s nothing wrong with simplifying celebrations if it helps us keep the day (or night, in this case).

It is a night rich in meaning, an important juncture of the year. It is a time of emerging, the opposite spoke of the wheel from Halloween, when we began our descent down, down into the earth. That juncture in late October in the Celtic tradition is known as Samhain, a Celtic cross quarter day. It marked the descent into winter, with growth happening slowly below ground, in roots. This one we come to now is known as Beltane. It marks the ascent into summer. Growth is more apparent, for it is visible and happening all around us in every budding tree and blooming flower and growing grass.

It was a few years ago on Walpurgis Night that Convivio Book of Days reader (and fellow letterpress printer) Leonard Seastone gave us a pointer in the blog comments about a good song for this night. It’s a traditional Swedish song called “Maj vare välkommen” (May Be Welcome), and that song will be part of our quiet celebration tonight, too, even if it’s just playing in my head. Leonard signed off on that Walpurgis Night using his proper Swedish name––Lennart Einar Sjösten––so he seems to me a good authority on these matters. I hope he’ll be celebrating tonight as Seth and I will be, and I hope you will, too, in some way, grand or small. Welcome May!

Image: “Nature’s own Valborgsmässoafton in Vaxholm” by Bengt Nyman. “Valborgsmässoafton“ is the Swedish name for Walpurgis Night. The photograph was shot in Vaxholm in Sweden on April 30, 2009. [Creative Commons] via Wikimedia Commons.

Here in Lake Worth, in this land of subtle weather transitions, it’s easy to forget what season of the year it is. There is a Yellow Tabebuia tree in our front yard that is both shedding its leaves and bursting into yellow blossoms, as it is wont to do in the spring… and that alone gets confusing. Each day after work I walk up the front path to the door, leaves crunching underfoot. Look up, and it looks like spring, look down, it looks more like fall. But that’s the way trees operate here in Florida. And I bought some really good crisp Macintosh apples from the market last week, which also makes it feel like fall. They’re from Michigan, according to the sticker that’s on each and every apple, so that means they were harvested last September or October probably, and yet they’re firm and crispy and juicy… and this deliciousness, too, has contributed to my confusion of late.

But here are the facts, probably more obvious to those of you in more northern climes: Spring is here, and summer is on its way. And come Sunday, with the end of April, we come to another shift in the seasonal round of the year. By traditional reckoning of time, the wheel turns a notch toward summer. We are now halfway between the spring equinox and the summer solstice, and we approach, in the Celtic tradition, the cross-quarter day directly opposite Samhain, which brought us our Halloween traditions. The Celts considered that night the start of winter. And now, at its opposite side of the year, comes Beltane, which brings the start of summer. (Both, by the way, are pronounced not as they appear: Samhain is pronounced sow-an with an emphasis on sow; Beltane is pronounced bowl-tan-a with an emphasis on bowl.)

These old Celtic things are distinctly European and truth be told, so are the celebrations that welcome summer at the start of May, for they did not translate well at all to the New World, which is unfortunate for us who live here. This time of year is a big deal in most of Europe, especially in the North Countries, where summer is so welcome after so many months of cold. And so on this Eve of May throughout the Norse countries there will be bonfires and there will be dinners of hearty bread and gravlax, a cured smoked salmon, and sparkling wine will be flowing. In the Dutch and German countries, it is Walpurgisnacht, Walpurgis Night, also designed to ring in summer. There is a long tradition connecting witches with Walpurgisnacht, which probably comes from the power of literature: Goethe titled one of the scenes of Faust “Walpurgisnacht” and in it, the witches hold a frenzied meeting upon the Brocken, the highest peak of the Harz Mountains in Northern Germany; the scene takes place on the Eve of May amongst the bonfires of Walpurgisnacht. This could be yet another reason why this holiday is not very big here in the States: we have been handed a long, misinformed history when it comes to witches and the old earthbound religions.

Walpurgis Night takes us into May Day, and celebrations by light of day. Picnics are common on the First of May throughout Scandinavia, and in England, the May Day celebration begins early in the morning. It is, traditionally, the day that folks go out into the woods for amorous adventures. Robert Herrick, the great 17th century English poet whose words we invoke often in this Book of Days, offers us a glimpse of the day in his poem “Corinna’s Going a Maying,” as he prods Corinna to awake, be brief in praying, and worry not about her hair and dress, for time is wasting, and we must head out and go a Maying. Out to the woods, to gather hawthorn flowers and Lord knows what else all these lads and lasses will be doing, but one thing is for sure: They’ll be coming back with gowns once white, now stained with green. May Day was an invitation to romantic love. The earth, fully awake from its winter slumber, and we awake with it. The maypole, so potently symbolic: it took the hands of many strong men to plant it in the ground, erect and pointing toward the sky. You might imagine (and you’d be right) that the Puritans hated May Day as much as they hated Christmas. During their time in power in England, they banned Christmas and they banned maypoles, too.

I’m sure the Puritans would’ve hated this blog, too. My advice to you this Walpurgisnacht? Follow not their lead. Instead, get you to your local fish market and ask for gravlax or any smoked salmon (preferably fish they’ve smoked right there at the shop). If you’re in the neighborhood of a Scandinavian bakery, get you a fresh baked loaf of hearty dark rye bread (it’s nothing like the stuff in the supermarket). Hard boiled eggs and dill and lemon wedges will make a nice accompaniment. Don’t forget the sparkling wine. And mark the night by lighting a fire outdoors, or maybe just a candle or a lantern. Some poetry by Robert Herrick wouldn’t hurt at all. His is the kind of poetry you’ll want to read aloud. Read it to yourself or read it to someone you love, and if you can convince them to go a Maying with you, all the better. If in the morning you find grass stains on your clothes, you’ll be in the company of folks who have loved this night and this morning since time immemorial. Folks who love love and the things of this world and who wish to make of it a heaven on earth. That’s some fine company.

Image of a Yellow Tabebuia tree, just like the ones found here in Lake Worth, taken in Brazil by José Reynaldo da Fonseca. Tabebuia is a neotropical genus of about 100 species in the tribe Tecomeae of the family Bignoniaceae. The species range from northern Mexico and southern Florida south to northern Argentina, including the Caribbean islands of Puerto Rico, Hispaniola (Dominican Republic, Haiti), Jamaica, Trinidad & Tobago, and Cuba. [Public domain] via Wikimedia Commons.

Just a few days ago I saw the most beautiful photographs from a friend in Maine of the Sabbathday Lake Shaker Community covered in snow, a snow that had just fallen. The Community is in New Gloucester, not far from Portland. Another friend is in Northern Ontario, up near the Arctic Circle, and that’s where the photograph above comes from. She calls it “Slow Quaffeth the Moss.” There, winter is becoming spring, and in many other places it is clear that winter is holding on with all its might.

Be that as it may, we come tonight to a transition time that actually beckons summer. It is May Eve, Walpurgis Night, which sounds so lovely in its Dutch and German version, condensed to one word, Walpurgisnacht, named not for May but for St. Walpurga, whose feast day happens to come tomorrow, as well. This is a holiday respected mostly in Northern Europe, especially in Scandinavia and in Germany, though it is celebrated as well in England and in Italy and to be sure many other places, though in the States, not so much. But for Walpurgis Night, which comes with the setting sun each April 30, it is customary to light a bonfire and to eat gravlax, a thinly sliced cured salmon, served with dill and mustard and a good hearty Nordic dark rye bread, washed down with quantities of sparkling wine. With this simple act, hopefully in communion with those we love, we bid a warm welcome to the gentler time of year, for tomorrow brings May, and summer. Despite the icy moss in Northern Ontario, despite the snow on the barn at Sabbathday Lake, our ancestors viewed the wheel of the year as one based on the solstices and equinoxes and their quarterly divisions, and as this 30th of April becomes the First of May, the spokes of that wheel shift to the next quarter: We are now halfway between Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice, which, to them, it being the longest day of the year, was the height of summer: Midsummer. And so we sing old songs like the Padstow May Morning song with refrains like For summer is a’comin’ in today, for it is. Even if there is still some snow on the ground. That snow is not long for this world.

Beltane is another name for May Day. It comes from the Celtic calendar, the opposite spoke of the wheel from Samhain, which celebrates the coming of Winter on the eve of November. Again, bonfires. In England, meanwhile, it’s not so much the eve as the morning that’s important for May Day, and the custom is to rise before dawn and head out to the fields to “bring in the may,” returning home with bundles of flowers that are then used to decorate the doorways, the hearth, the windows, everything. Though heartier revelers would head out from Walpurgis Night, out to the woods, for a celebration, often quite amorous, that lasted through to morning.

It is a lovely night, Walpurgis Night, and we encourage you to go be in it. You may not have a place to light a big bonfire, but if you have a fire pit outside in your yard, why not go ahead and light a little fire, or at least a lantern or candle? And while you’re sitting around the fire, you may as well break open a bottle of sparkling wine. I’ve already stopped by to visit my friends at Neptune Fish Market on Dixie Highway in Lake Worth. The smoked salmon was just out of the smoker when I asked for it. It smells incredible: smokey and mysterious, mysterious like the wheel of the year that forever is turning.

The photograph above, “Slow Quaffeth the Moss,” is by Jane Siberry. Jane’s new record is titled “Ulysses’ Purse.” On it is a song you should all hear at least twice; once to hear it, once more to listen to it, at which point you may wish to listen again and again. The song is called Morag and it begins, “Arise from your mossy bed, leave your lichen dreams aside, the deer have left clear trails for you to find.” I can’t get enough of it. Click on the link; let me know what you think.