Samhain Rituals part 1
Recalling the habits of youth and subtle lessons from rituals
At the beginning of October my mother would tell the spiders that their webs could stay. That they spiders were welcome to decorate the corners and the window panes until November. This would start our yearly Samhain rituals.
As brilliant summer greens gave way to rich dusty reds and cozy oranges the spiders would work. Dust would catch on their near invisible filaments, becoming cobwebs that occupied corners bearing a quiet reminder: The day to celebrate death approaches.
Traditionally my family celebrates Samhain (Sa-w-in) eve on October 31st, which is also Hallowe'en. In my mind the events are categorized under the two names based on their origin and nature.
An enunciation guide with examples from each Irish dialect can be found here.
Samhain contains the spiritual rituals, including candles, ancestors, offerings, bonfires, witches, fay, gods, and souls. It happens around October 31st. Samhain encompasses all of the rites I observed, that most other families did not practice. My parents would tell stories, recalling their fond memories of the dead. It was the respect and remembrance of our dead, wishing our dear departed well on their journey through the afterlife. In wishing them well, we also remember them joyously. Respect does not demand that we be sombre.
Halloween only happens on October 31st, and encompasses the current idea of “spooky season.” It is the contemporary idea of trick-or-treat-ing, haunted houses, being frightened, hay bale rides, corn mazes, carving pumpkins, crafting spooky decorations, parties, and costumes. It is the fun and joy of dressing up as something other for a day, of visiting friends, celebrating autumn and the harvest.
My sisters and I were taught to accept that while sad, death is a part of life. That holding grief and joyful memories in your heart at the same time is normal. They taught us that everyone we love will one day be gone, and to value the days we have with them. Once they are gone, it is important to remember the memories we made and lessons that they brought to us.
My parents had a habit of teaching these lessons by example. They would explain the history and their reasoning the first time we witnessed their practice, or if we asked for their perspective. My mom would instruct us to help set the table with an extra seat, and gather candles. When it was quiet, my father would slip out of the house with an apple in hand. Our footsteps would follow him, a silent pitter-patter that haunted his trail. Our six eyes watched quietly as he buried the round red fruit in the dark cold earth.
What did Samhain look like for my family?
A week before the 31st, my mother would buy pumpkins and keep them in a cold dark place. When it was time to carve them, my sisters and I eagerly cut into our gourds and ripped out their guts, then thoroughly cleaned the internal walls. As we sketched designs on the surface of the pumpkins, mother would diligently sort the seeds out of the stringy entrails, and dust the seeds with spices before baking them. My mother preferred creative carvings, while my father preferred a traditional scary face carving to ward away malicious spirits. Our creations would be displayed on the front porch until the 31st, then lit from within by a trio of tea lights.
On October 31st we would eat dinner early. Often we ate a “roast beast” and roasted acorn squash, along with carrots and other autumn dishes. When setting the table, an extra table setting would be placed alongside the family's. It was an invitation for an ancestor to sit down at the table and visit. For them to listen while we spoke about what happened during the year, and told stories about the dead. Candles made an appearance at the table, too, to guide visiting souls as they travel.
After dinner we would dress in our costumes, and prepare for a night of adventure. My father prepared to sit on the porch for hours and hand out candy. He would be surrounded by pumpkins (now jack-o-lanterns), candles, and the dutiful guardianship of sleek cats perched in the window. My mother endeavoured to sew costumes that met our whimsical wants, although she found amusement in making a theme. I was a butterfly, younger sister was a caterpillar. I was a unicorn, sister was a naga. Younger sister was a sith, youngest sibling was a jedi. Last minutes touch ups would be made before we scurried out of the house. It was these costumes and my mother's calm confidence in her craft that inspires me to entertain and explore multiple avenues to use to design an idea. My parents taught me to create a plan with vision and allow it flexibility in creation.
Once the sun began to set, my siblings and I would run about, with a parent or within a gaggle of friends. Older children would teach proper trick-or-treating etiquette. We would laugh and learn to navigate the neighbourhood while meeting our neighbours. If we were very polite we might ask if we could say hello to the neighbour's dog. Porch and candle lights guided us from house to house. When the moon was high in the sky and the lights began to wink out we would return home, applauding ourselves for hours of hard work.
While we were gone, our parents would spend time on the front porch handing out candy, chatting with other parents, and enjoying the company of friends. It was common to find that a family friend arrived at the house while we were trick-or-treating. When we returned, our parents would inspect the candy haul, and on particularly frigid nights my mother prepared warm apple cider. The cats, having watched out the windows and awaited our return, would hold their own inspections. Their dark and striped coats would weave around our costumes. They sniffed and sorted scents, often making off with a crinkly candy in the process.
Later at night, we would place an offering outside. Once the darkness had a firm grip on the sky, my father took an apple into the back yard, and buried it under a tree. The ripe, glossy red fruit was a gift for passing souls. If someone we knew had died in the past year they would have an apple buried for them, too. Their personal apple descended into the earth under the mindful sway of our butternut tree. A golden delicious or tart pale green granny smith apple was all their own, so that they could have energy to travel towards the afterlife. Mother would send out a saucer of cream and a plate to keep any malicious spirits at bay. The plate held nuts or dried fruits, which the backyard critters would consume on the spirits' behalf.
My sisters and I would go to sleep exhausted. My parents might retire, or enjoy a small fire in the back yard with friends who arrived while we were out on adventures. As we got older we were allowed to stay up with the adults, and spent the last evening hours around a fire. We would wrap ourselves in blankets to ward away the chilled air, and listen to chatter until our eyes struggled to stay open. Eventually an adult would notice one or all of us asleep in a folding chair, then we would be sent to bed.
On November 1st my parents would allow us to stay home from school. It was our choice to attend school if we wanted to, and we were expected to catch up on any missed lectures without complaint. It was understood that if we did choose to stay home that it would be a quiet day. A day where the souls of our ancestors had moved on, where the frightening and malicious spirits were banished. We preformed meditative tasks. We spent our day reading, baking, or cleaning. Depending on my mother's mood, we might watch Corpse Bride or The Nightmare Before Christmas, beginning our roster of “Decemberween” movies. Dinner that night is another family affair, without the extra table setting. One year my mother took one of our pumpkins, filled it with vegetables, and roasted it.
Then the world returned to a pre-winter normal. The cobwebs are banished, spooky decorations removed, costumes lovingly folded up in the dress-up bucket, and awaiting their encore performance next summer. The rich reds coating the sidewalks and lawns shrivelled into crisp cold browns on a backdrop of wilted green. Then the snow started. Each morning a white dust covered everything as it heralded the arrival of Yule.
If you want an example of the mood in my house around Samhain I recommend watching Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. The first verse and chorus of “Remains of the Day” are a key moment. Pay attention to the world of the dead, and observe their joubalicious liveliness as they await the adventure following their afterlife.
What did your Samhain and Halloween like as a kid? What do you recall vividly?