#hromnice

The Doe and fawn appeared first. The snow was thick and the air cold. Later I hung out my Brigid’s cross, my ribín Brigid and my mother-in-law’s beautiful mid century rose-patterned crochet shawl that I’ve been using as a veil. I put Brigid’s bed upon the hearth.

Around 4 am my husband woke me, “I think something is wrong with Mom.” Another ambulance, our fourth visit to St. Mary’s ER since right after Dusicky (All Souls)—this time a transfer to Little Rock and the most serious prognosis yet.

Wren appeared second, Sunday afternoon while I blessed my hromnička at the creek on Brigid’s Day/Hromnice Eve. The snow was still thick and I had to do the ritual on the bank above my altar stone. My heart was heavy and my attention scattered. My brother-in-law had said wait, don’t come yet, get some rest, they’ve sedated her and she won’t know you’re here.

Monday was our turn to sit with Mom down in Little Rock. The neurologist broke the news to us that the brain injury from the stroke was significant and devastating and I found a hall to begin making calls.

Still, they had stopped the sedation and she squeezed my hand to questions and knew I was there. There was still the possibility that she would be bedridden but live.

Vulture appeared third, on the drive home, near the house I pointed to him spreading his wings in a tree, just as he appeared in the wax on St. Andrew’s Eve.

I pushed myself to make Fête de la Chandeleur/Candlemas/Hromnice crepes for dinner when we got home (Candlemas crepes bring a year of happiness). I slathered mine with jelly from my most sunny foraged fruit, the trifoliate orange. Sunny days, please Mother Mary, Sunny Days.

Tuesday, St. Blaise’s feast day, I forced myself to stick to my devotional schedule and baked buchty and drunk cooked a beef dish in his and Veles honor while having a minor public break down on tumblr. There were no visitations—unless you count Streak (she is stitched into the Witches’ Nights bag) sneering at me as I drunk danced in the woods to Fontaines DC.

I pulled my first Mother Mary card since New Years This card seemed pretty much to be about finding the seeds of growth in suffering.

Mom hadn’t responded to anyone else since we had left Monday afternoon.

Wednesday was a nothing day. No rituals to do. Not our turn to be in Little Rock. I itched to go but she was no longer responding and I was told only two were allowed in her room. My sister and brother-in-law from Texas had arrived. It was their time.

Thursday, Saint Agatha’s Day, right after dawn I headed to the creek to gather living water for this year’s hátová voda and consecrated it and bread and salt for some of the most powerful weather charms of the Czech devotional year. Then we hit the road.

The damage to the brain was even more extensive. My husband and his sister answered the doctor who compassionately broke the news that she would never leave a hospital setting, that no we didn’t want to pursue aggressive treatment and it was time for palliative care as my brother-in-law and I held hands.

Armadillo showed up fourth, sounding like a herd of deer, to finally, as I bawled in the woods that night, reveal his lonely self.

On the last day of the Hromnice period I celebrated St. Dorothy by working with my fruit trees and shrubs. I dug beautyberry concentrate that I had made in the autumn out of the freezer and made flavored vinegar, jelly, and syrup. I blessed the trees. I made Thai style chicken in plum sauce.

Last the Good God bird swooped in front of me—the last of the animals stitched into my Witches’ Nights amulet bag hammered the walnut tree as I walked by to check the mail, before flying across my path. A pileated woodpecker crossing your path in the Ozarks is seen as rare and powerful sign and a signal of big changes.

Hromnice week has come to an end and once again we prepare to hit the road. They will be removing the ventilator this afternoon after the family says goodbye. My grandfather lasted 20 hours after that point, but we have been told it may only be a couple.

As I write this from my usual place on the sofa where I have sat next to her door for so many months keeping watch, I swear I can hear her breathing, though I know in reality it is only her little dog, her breath traveling down the hall from our room where we have moved her bed.

The alarm for Mom’s pain meds goes off on my phone and I delete it.

The Christian feast of the Presentation of the Lord, popularly known as Pentecost, is celebrated by the faithful on 2 February. It is a day of remembrance of the sacrifice of Jesus in the temple and is celebrated on the 40th day after his birth.

Pentecost was considered a transitional period between winter and spring. It is also a symbol of the coming of light, as evidenced by folk sayings such as: "One step, hen's step on New Year's Day", "one step further on Three Kings' Day" and "one hour more on Hromnice."

According to folk proverbs, warm weather on this holiday was undesirable because it signalled a long winter, poor harvests and poverty. On the contrary, cold on Pentecost meant the early arrival of spring. This is evidenced by several folk sayings, for example, "a shepherd would rather see a wolf in a bush on Hromnice than a peasant in a shirt", or "a farmer rejoices when he has to put on his winter coats on Hromnice - early spring will come".

All these Christian rites have come to us from Rome, for it was there in 494 A.D. that Pope Gelasius introduced the forerunner of this feast of thunder, the so-called Lupercalia period. It was a candlelight procession and was meant to purify the soul (Februatio) and it took place at the turn of January and February. During the Lupercalia, sacrifices and rituals were performed in honour of the god Pluto and the goddess Juno, to whom animals - goats and dogs - were ritually sacrificed. The skins of the animals were used to make belts with which they whipped passers-by, especially women, in the streets. The purpose of these rituals was to cleanse people of their sins and consequently ensure fertility in the following year.

This year I decided to make my thunder candle from a mullein stalk, inspired by the very inspiring Polish Folk Witch on her Instagram page. In both Poland and Czechia it was the tradition on Candlemas to have beeswax candles consecrated and then used in the household for a variety of folk magics—the most important of wich was protection against thunderstorms.

I melted a thunder candle from a couple years ago that no longer burned, using a makeshift double boiler from an old measuring cup that I use only for melting wax.

Then I slowly poured the beeswax over the mullein stalk in layers. On the last layer I sprinkled wisteria incense from Alchemy Works gifted to me by my dear friend @msgraveyarddirt who knows that my favorite spot in the spring is sitting in my lawn chair under the wisteria vine. The first picture in this post is taken at the foot of the vine.

Our wisteria:

An obligatory photo of the thunder candle in the window where it is supposed to burn in a thunderstorm to protect the house and a close up of the incense in front of the wisteria vine.

Here is a little history on the use of the mullein stalk as a torch (source):

There are two cultures from which Mullein earned its name as the ‘Candlewick Plant’. Once upon a time ago, ancient Romans dipped the dried flowering spikes of the Mullein plant in tallow or suet in order to make torches. Later, the Greeks found that the dried leaves of the mullein plant were ideal for use as a lamp wick. Prior to the introduction of cotton as a preferred wick material, mullein reigned supreme.

Hag’s Taper:

“Manger des crêpes à la chandeleur apporte un an de bonheur" (Eating crêpes on Candlemas brings a year of happiness).

The three days of Brigid’s Night, Brigid’s Day/Hromnice/Candlemas Eve, and Hromnice/Candlemas Day are probably the days in my yearly rituals with the most syncretism—peaking on Candlemas Day when I throw Fête de la Chandeleur crepes into the mix to represent my Québécois ancestry.

But—I make Czech palačinky (crepes) and instead of rolling them around the jam filling I leave them round to represent the growing sun, and this year I slathered them with trifoliate orange jelly I made in the autumn from my foraged oranges to further represent the sun. And I still use my Brigid Day decorations.

To me the round oranges obviously represent the sun (I used them in my Midwinter polaz as well), but also the bittersweet flavor represents this cusp of the year—bitter winter giving way soon to sweet spring.

And here is a perfect example of my somewhat syncretic approach to my practice. I am descended from both Gaels and western Slavs and value both ancestries. My rituals incorporate both folk Christian and pagan beliefs.

Today kicks off what for me is basically a Holy Week, beginning with the Eve of St. Brigid’s Feast Day (important to the Gaelic ancestors) and ending on February 6th with the Feast Day of St. Dorothea (important to my Czech ancestors). In between the two dates are Hromnice/Candlemas, St. Blaise’s Day, and St. Agatha’s day.

Although I made the mullein torch as a thunder candle to honor my Czech ancestors which was an important part of their Hromnice/Candlemas celebration, I blessed it at the creek today on St. Brigid’s Eve to kick off the week.