Slovenia constantly delights me with a stream of holidays and festivals that intrigued the American mind. But I have to say that I may take St. Gregory’s Day Eve home with me.
In a world way, way before LEDs, winter was an especially tough time for craft workers. You couldn’t just flip a switch to keep yourself from hammering your thumb while cobbling shoes or catching your beard in the loom. The best you could hope for when winter darkened the skies well before dinner time was to work by the flickering light of a dim candle. You prayed (literally) for the world to turn a notch so the sun once again beamed through your workshop window.
However, back in the 3-digit era (540 – 604 AD, to be precise), calendars and clocks didn’t hang on every wall and it was tough to know when you could really expect spring. St. Gregory knew how to get his people out of the winter doldrums, however.
Sometime about March 20, he threw his light into the water and declared that folks could open their shades once again. His feast day was the first day of spring until another Gregory, the 14th century pope, totally screwed up the calendar and shoved his predecessor’s feast day back to March 12.
Slovenians are doggedly determined to keep little things like a papal decree from ruining their traditions. Remember, this is a country of just 2 million souls that has retained its own language and culture for a thousand years despite being ruled by every bully state to sweep through Europe.
So on the evening of March 11, children all over Slovenia drag their parents down to an appropriate body of water, carrying with them little houses or boats they made of paper, sticks, foam or whatever. Each little house is adorned with small candles and set sail into the waters to bring the light of spring back to their country. Cecile and I went to the Grand Canal in Ljubljana just as the sun was dimming the elegant spire of Trnovo Church. Hundreds of families were making their way to the shore of the canal to launch their little houses.
Of course, it didn’t go quite like a fairy tale. Some of the “houses” were stunning, others were fast food containers and and even and egg carton. Some were bundles of twigs with neither up nor down. Then (remember Pinewood Derby for Boy Scouts?) there were the architectural masterpieces “made” by the kids of very talented parents. But all had candles alight.
We watched a parent lean way over the water to help gently place the glowing vessel in the water, only to find there is a reason boats are supposed to be heavy on the bottom, not the top. My favorite was the little guy who was handed a Dad-crafted masterpiece – then just tossed it out into the middle of the canal like a Labrador’s tennis ball.
Not to worry. It was an evening to remember. Even the least of these lights had meaning in both Slovenian tradition and American observation. The days will be longer again! Flowers will bloom! I can leave that darned jacket at home!
Thanks, St. Gregory.
So on the evening of March 11, children all over Slovenia drag their parents down to an appropriate body of water, carrying with them little houses or boats they made of paper, sticks, foam or whatever. Each little house is adorned with small candles and set sail into the waters to bring the light of spring back to their country. Cecile and I went to the Grand Canal in Ljubljana just as the sun was dimming the elegant spire of Trnovo Church. Hundreds of families were making their way to the shore of the canal to launch their little houses.
Of course, it didn’t go quite like a fairy tale. Some of the “houses” were stunning, others were fast food containers and and even and egg carton. Some were bundles of twigs with neither up nor down. Then (remember Pinewood Derby for Boy Scouts?) there were the architectural masterpieces “made” by the kids of very talented parents. But all had candles alight.
We watched a parent lean way over the water to help gently place the glowing vessel in the water, only to find there is a reason boats are supposed to be heavy on the bottom, not the top. My favorite was the little guy who was handed a Dad-crafted masterpiece – then just tossed it out into the middle of the canal like a Labrador’s tennis ball.
Not to worry. It was an evening to remember. Even the least of these lights had meaning in both Slovenian tradition and American observation. The days will be longer again! Flowers will bloom! I can leave that darned jacket at home!
Thanks, St. Gregory.
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