Book of Days

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.

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.