Book of Days

It’s the end of April, the start of May, and by traditional reckoning of time, the start of summer. I know, it snowed in New England not all that long ago. That may be one reason why Americans are generally not all that excited about the series of holidays that we enter into tonight in our yearly round. Be that as it may, tonight brings Walpurgis Night, or May Eve, which brings in May Day tomorrow. The Puritans may have had something to do with our ambivalence, too: they really despised holidays of this nature (well… holidays in general), which were a little too close to our Pagan roots.

In Pagan tradition, it is Beltane, and here, too, the wheel of the year makes its shift from spring to summer. With Beltane, we are at the opposite side of the wheel from Samhain as October shifts to November. Samhain welcomes winter; Beltane welcomes summer.

A good menu for your dinner tonight might include gravlax, thinly sliced cured salmon served with dill and mustard. It’s often served on dark rye bread, so it is much like that open face sandwich I often buy at the Finnish bakery nearby in Lantana, which is comprised of dark rye bread spread with a mustardy sauce, sliced hard boiled eggs, and then smoked salmon, garnished with fresh dill. (I’ve found that this delicacy does not appeal to a lot of people; my partner Seth is a hard sell, for instance. But gravlax and that Finnish sandwich both taste better than you and Seth may think.)

It’s also traditional to include quantities of sparkling wine in your Walpurgis Night celebration. And, as is the case with many of these nights that bring a shift in season, it is customary to light a bonfire. We heartily believe that even small manifestations of these things (a candle and smoked fish dip and saltines… why not?) places you in the proper spirit should you not be quite up to a bonfire and gravlax.

We are, officially or not, at the gentler time of year. It is a time of light and of warmth. Summer is indeed a comin’ in; we welcome it with open arms. Go on: Welcome summer. Bring in the May!

Image: Svenska: Valborgsbrasa i Gamla Bo vid Ringsjön. Photograph by David Castor, 2008, [Public domain] via Wikimedia Commons.

Good morning! It’s May Day, Beltane, start of summer by the Celtic calendar and in the traditional reckoning of time. This is a Convivio Dispatch from April 30, 2013. It’s one of my favorites, and chances are good you’ve not seen it. So please do. Welcome Summer! ––jlc

Hello My Friends:

John Cutrone here, from Convivio Bookworks in Lake Worth, Florida. It’s a rainy afternoon as I write this on this last day of April. It’s my one day off from work this week, and while I have a list of errands to run, the rain has been nice and the truth is I don’t really care to leave the house. It’s just me and the cat is curled up nearby and we’ve agreed that the sound of rain on the roof is pretty much all we need right now to be content. It’s a very good time, it seems, to write to you.

It doesn’t rain very much here this time of year typically. The height of summer is the big rainy time, with thunderstorms most afternoons, and today has been somewhat of a harbinger of summer, which is fitting as we move forward from spring to summer in these overnight hours. It’s a transitional night tonight: Walpurgis Night, a night for gravlax (a cured salmon with dill) and sparkling wine and bonfires… and in the morning, we bring in the May and welcome summer. It’s a tradition that’s not as often celebrated as it was back when Robert Herrick wrote about it in his poem “Corinna’s Going a-Maying,” which is a bit of a shame, I think. Most of us will be going to work on the first morning of May. These folks in Herrick’s day, though, they were going a-maying. They were throwing off the covers, they were being brief in praying, they were heading out to the fields and meadows and who knows what they were doing, but they were coming back rather grass-stained, apparently. This is much better than heading in to the office on the First of May. I guess we’re not as modern as we think.

Our neighbor Margaret is a big Robert Herrick fan. When she recites his work aloud, she conjures up her best British accent, which is but a variation of her actual accent, which she swears she does not have but she is from Maine and if she’s had a glass or two of something then she begins losing certain consonants, like R, which is always the first letter to drift away into the humid Lake Worth air. If you get Margaret angry her accent will creep in, too, as it does when she is deprived of sleep. But this is all neither here nor there; the point is she can tune in easily to a British accent without being “too” British. It is, perhaps, the natural restraint and humility that comes along with being from Maine. Online, where you can do practically anything, you can listen to a recording of Dame Peggy Ashcroft reading Herrick’s “Corinna” poem, but there’s no point in that once you’ve heard Margaret offer up the same poem. She’ll do this sometimes at a cookout in the yard, or if she’s sitting on your couch in the living room, visiting. Margaret will begin, out of the blue sometimes, and she carries you off with her voice to the very core of Robert Herrick’s writing; she brings you to Corinna’s room and to that grassy field and to the porch trimmed with hawthorne and when you open your eyes at the end of the poem, it takes a moment to grasp your actual geographic location. She is that good.

Father Seamus, too, is another one who recites poetry, and to have two great reciters of poetry in one not very large town is pretty unusual. There is a good possibility, in fact, that this town isn’t big enough for two great reciters of poetry. Seamus and Margaret have, once or twice, bumped into each other at a place like Minnie’s Diner or the Golden Glow Grocery. I’ve never witnessed it myself, but it’s said that the tension becomes something thick and heavy in the air, something you can slice and serve on a plate. There was, as well, the legendary Breakfast Counter Encounter one early morning at Minnie’s, in which there was only one seat open at the counter when Seamus walked in, and it was there beside Margaret, and he took it, and Margaret, it is said, did not even say good morning but instead launched straight away into “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may / Old time is still a-flying / And this same flower that smiles to-day / To-morrow will be dying,” all whilst looking straight down at her scrambled eggs and buttered toast, and Seamus knodded at Minnie, which was his signal for a coffee, and cleared his throat and proceeded with “Let’s go then, you and I / When the evening is spread out against the sky / Like a patient etherized upon a table….” and by the time they were done, the breakfast counter was clear and the room was loud and folks were divided into two camps: the Margaret Camp and the Seamus Camp. But it was Herrick’s “Corinna” that finally did Father Seamus in, because it always makes him blush. Seamus, they say, got a little jittery at that point, announced he had had enough coffee, set a five dollar bill on the counter to pay for his breakfast, and left.

Me, I missed the whole thing. It is the stuff of legend in this town, but I am not an early riser, never have been, and I was still asleep in my bed while this epic poetic event went down. No one told me, “Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn upon her wings presents the god unshorn!” Or that the blooming morn upon her wings would be presenting Margaret v. Seamus at Minnie’s Diner. I slept through the whole thing, which would have been quite a thing to see, and I have regretted this ever since.

And so this morning, I hope you did not sleep late. Few beads are best. Get up, get up for shame. Bring in the may. And here: Margaret asked me to share this with you. She says you should read it aloud.

Corinna’s Going a-Maying
by Robert Herrick

Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.
See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colours through the air :
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
The dew bespangling herb and tree.
Each flower has wept and bow’d toward the east
Above an hour since : yet you not dress’d ;
Nay ! not so much as out of bed?
When all the birds have matins said
And sung their thankful hymns, ’tis sin,
Nay, profanation to keep in,
Whereas a thousand virgins on this day
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.

Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,
And sweet as Flora. Take no care
For jewels for your gown or hair :
Fear not ; the leaves will strew
Gems in abundance upon you :
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept ;
Come and receive them while the light
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night :
And Titan on the eastern hill
Retires himself, or else stands still
Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying :
Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.

Come, my Corinna, come ; and, coming, mark
How each field turns a street, each street a park
Made green and trimm’d with trees : see how
Devotion gives each house a bough
Or branch : each porch, each door ere this
An ark, a tabernacle is,
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove ;
As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Can such delights be in the street
And open fields and we not see’t ?
Come, we’ll abroad ; and let’s obey
The proclamation made for May :
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying ;
But, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying.

There’s not a budding boy or girl this day
But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
A deal of youth, ere this, is come
Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
Some have despatch’d their cakes and cream
Before that we have left to dream :
And some have wept, and woo’d, and plighted troth,
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth :
Many a green-gown has been given ;
Many a kiss, both odd and even :
Many a glance too has been sent
From out the eye, love’s firmament ;
Many a jest told of the keys betraying
This night, and locks pick’d, yet we’re not a-Maying.

Come, let us go while we are in our prime ;
And take the harmless folly of the time.
We shall grow old apace, and die
Before we know our liberty.
Our life is short, and our days run
As fast away as does the sun ;
And, as a vapour or a drop of rain
Once lost, can ne’er be found again,
So when or you or I are made
A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
All love, all liking, all delight
Lies drowned with us in endless night.
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying.

Image: Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May by John William Waterhouse, oil on canvas, 1909, [Public domain] via WikiPaintings.

I’ll let you in on a little secret: I consider it is a small cause for celebration every time someone subscribes to the Convivio Book of Days blog. And so I tend to take it a little personally when someone unsubscribes. It doesn’t happen very often, but nonetheless, after a steady increase in readership over the course of the six months that the blog’s been running, we began losing subscribers this past month. We lost a bunch of people, all at Eastertime. Some left without saying why, but two explained: The writing had become “too religious” for them.

Of course if they had stuck around a few days longer, they would have found three spells straight out of witchcraft practices in the chapter on St. Mark’s Eve, and now we come to Walpurgis Night and May Day, two holidays that the Church really despised back in the old days for what they called “heathenness.”  Let’s set the record straight right here: the Book of Days covers all kinds of holidays, and many of them come out of religious observances of one kind or another. The very word holiday is derived from holy day. So if you’re going to go along for this ride with me through the seasons of the natural year, you’re going to have to be careful not to get your knickers in a bunch just because something reminds you of the nuns at your parochial school. The Book of Days does not profess a particular system of belief. That doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is the immersion in ceremony, and I believe we can dabble in ceremonies that are cross cultural and rich in tradition no matter what our personal beliefs.

And so let’s look at these two holidays so unwelcome by the Church. For most of the Northern Hemisphere, May brings that welcome shift from winter to summer, and these next two days are set aside to welcome summer in. Oddly enough, they don’t get much notice here in the United States. Perhaps the Puritans, who were so good at putting the brakes on mirth and joy, did a number on us. During their time in power in England, the Puritans put an end to both Christmas and May Day celebrations. Maypoles in villages throughout England were removed. But it’s hard to keep joy smothered. Once the Puritans were out of the picture, the people began returning maypoles and May Day customs to the village greens, and with good reason: May Day celebrates the return of summer with all its warmth and openness. It is the luminous time of year. Think about the long winter we’ve just experienced in this country: you’d think folks would be ready to jump up and celebrate the arrival of summer with some real festivity and some real gusto, but these two days will be ordinary days for most Americans. We’re just not that into Walpurgis Night and May Day.

And of course the Church was opposed to May Day celebrations: the celebrations could be pretty scandalous. Folks would head out into the woods and fields from May Eve (Walpurgis Night) and not come back home again until the next day. Who knows what they were doing out there. The customs of May Day come out of ancient fertility rituals, and so folks were most likely doing just what the Church feared they were. And why shouldn’t they? The rivers are a’runnin’ and the earth is being warmed by the growing sun. People would go out into the woods on Walpurgis Night and return on the morning of May Day with flowers in their hair and grass stains on their clothes and most likely a small uptick in births nine months later.

Walpurgis Night is big in Scandinavia, especially Sweden and Finland, as well as in Germany. It is a holiday mostly of northern and central Europe, although even in Italy there is celebration on the Eve of May. There, it’s known as Calendimaggio, and the maypoles, they say, are festooned with prosciutto, mortadella, cheeses, and money. Talk about festive!

In England, 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. There are traditional dances around the maypole in the village green, and traditional carols of the season: For summer is a comin’ in and winter’s gone away-o! are words you’ll hear often in various traditional songs for May Day.

And summer is a comin’ in. Even here in Lake Worth, this land of perpetual green, the landscape erupts into bloom in May. The most notable blooms are that of the Royal Poinciana trees that will start blooming toward the end of the month, bright red, a sure harbinger of summer. And while we may not follow many of these customs here in the States, there’s nothing that says you can’t have your own little celebration even if no one else is doing much to mark the occasion. For Walpurgis Night, which comes with the setting sun on April 30, it is customary to light a bonfire and to eat gravlax, which is a type of smoked fish, washed down with quantities of sparkling wine. Easy enough to do. 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 candle? And while you’re sitting around the fire, you may as well break open a bottle of sparkling wine. I’ll be stopping to visit my friends at Neptune Fish Market on Dixie Highway on my way home from work to pick up some of their own wonderful local smoked fish, and that’ll serve well for the gravlax. So there you have it: a very easy (and very reverent) celebration for Walpurgis Night.

The bonfires of Walpurgis Night are the same fires that the Celts built to welcome Beltane, the summer season, which begins on this night, too, as the Celtic calendar switches from winter to summer. This is the counterpart to Samhain, which welcomed winter on the last night of October. We enter now the sweeter time of year, warmer, easier. Our viewpoint shifts outward: we have emerged out of the darkness and into the light. The earth is exploding with new growth. The loving cup is overflowing.

Today’s images are from the May Day celebrations of our friend Pixie Mayhem. The photographs come courtesy of book artist Mare Blocker, who knows Pixie better than anyone in this world.