The Pagan Heart Seasonal Festivals

July-August 2005 Issue

Holy Day - Personal Reflections of the Festivals We Celebrate Rugiu Svente By Katya     In many of the East European countries rye has always been our most important grain - indeed it is a sacred food and the fields are honored for their gift. Rye is present in most meals as our rich dark rye bread. It is the most basic food Zemyna (our Mother Earth) gives to us and we are grateful for the winters are not easy. Like every place that grows and harvests grain, we have a harvest season - it lasts from the end of July to the start of September. During this time we pay tribute to the rye and to Zemyna. It has been many years since I participated - not since I left Lithuania in my childhood. But my memories of the rye harvest are some of the fondest of my homeland. The traditions of the rye harvest date back before Christianity, and even though many have altered to include Christian ideology, there are many shadows of the old ways that you can recognize if you only look or listen. When the first fields are ready to be harvested, people hold the Rye Festival. Farming families (and anyone else from the villages who might wish to participate) dress in their finest clothes and set off to the rye fields in a procession. Often there are pipers who play traditional music such as the rye and harvesting songs and everyone sings. When they reach the fields an offering is made to the grain - this is the ancient hospitality ritual we enact when visitors come to our homes - salted bread is broken and given to the guest. In this case the guests are Themyna, Laima (the Divine Mother of us all), and the rye spirit. My grandmother was the one who always made the offering. Then she would take a sickle kept sharp just for this event and cut the first sheaf. Using a few stalks, she would bind up the sheaf and craft a woman - this is Boba, or the Old Woman/Grandmother. While the harvest was underway, Boba would sit at the edge of the field watching. As a child I recall playing games around her as if she were an older family member. In our family we always believed that Boba was a home for our veles (ancesters). They had spent the summer and fall in the rye fields protecting and helping the grain to grow tall and rich. Now, with winter coming, the Boba was made and they slipped inside her. We would take Boba home and set her up in the main room where she stayed throughout winter. Their presence helped keep us healthy and safe. In spring we took Boba back to the fields and broke her up so the sheaf could be plowed back into the earth, releasing the veles to protect and bless the new grain. Now I am in the States, I am far from my cultural roots. But, each fall I go out to the country and make an offering to Zemyna, Laima, and the veles. I may no longer be on my ancestral ground, but I believe the spirits of those before me can find me if I simply let them know where I am. I sing harvesting songs and harvest the wild grasses to craft into my own Boba. My Oma and mother and partner have all taken to joining me. We celebrate our past and our future. This year my Oma told me that, as head of our household, she will craft Boba. It has been almost twenty years since Oma did that. My heart is singing with joy. Darna has returned to our family. I am looking forward to taking Boba home and setting her up in the seat of honor. Note: Darna is harmony - with self, family, community, the ancestors, the gods, and with life.     In the Fields Grows the Rye In the fields grows the rye, rye that is green, is green - "Tell me, my lover, how livest thou, when never my face is seen?" "Out in the fields, down-beaten, rye lies upon its face - So do I live without thee, the good Lord giving His grace." On the crest of the hill is the rye, cut high on its blooming stem: Down below is a well where the horses drink water drawn for them. "With thy breath the water is blown; pray why dost thou not drink?" "Of what, O young black-browed girl, of what now dost thou think?" "I think and I think all day: I wonder if I shall wed - Nay, surely this may not be!" the black-browed maiden said. "For who would marry me? No oxen nor kine have I, Black brows, blue eyes - such wealth what lover would satisfy?" "Fret not thyself, Sweetheart, some one will come to woo, Caring naught for gold or kine - caring all for eyes of blue!" Rye Harvest Song

Primary Article - The Opening of the Mundus Cereris   

Secondary Article - Odin's Ordeal   

Secondary Article - Holy Day: Lughnasadh   

Secondary Article - Holy Day: Norse Midsummer   

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