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Holy Days of the Farming Year

A Tribute to John Barleycorn

 by Barbara Bamberger Scott (continued)

In the British Isles, an ancient carol shows the mixing of pagan and Christian symbols. “The Holly and the Ivy” acknowledges the masculine attributes of holly  and feminine properties of ivy, plus the potency of the sun, enmeshed with the purity of holly’s white flowers and the red of the berries reminding us of Christ’s blood sacrifice. It is a song voiced as often in pubs and folk clubs as in chapels and churches throughout the old English-speaking world: 

The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown
Chorus: O the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ
Sweet singing of the choir

The holly bears a blossom
As white as lily flower
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To be our sweet Saviour

The holly bears a berry
As red as any blood
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To do poor sinners good
 
The holly bears a prickle
As sharp as any thorn;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
On Christmas Day in the morn.
 
The holly bears a bark
As bitter as any gall;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
For to redeem us all.

The holly and the ivy
Now both are full well grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown.
 

The mysterious word Imbolg is a linguistic relative of the word “ombligo” (Spanish) meaning “navel.” Imbolg variously means “ewe’s milk” or “belly”- a time when we see the triumph of motherhood over the ravages of winter. Babies are born in the animal world. Imbolg, also called Candlemas, is celebrated around February 2, between the solstice and equinox, and is arguably the real beginning of spring. The earliest flowers will bloom tentatively in the temperate zones if the weather shows the merest promise of warmth. The Church linked Imbolg with the holy day when beeswax candles to be used in the church were blessed for the year. It was also associated with Mary’s presentation of her new baby to the synagogue. That would have coincided with her purification following childbirth. Irish householders look for a visitation of Saint Brighid, the “bride.”

The crescent moon at Imbolg makes the new seedlings vulnerable. At Imbolg, farmers fret. They move their beasts from the hay fields to make way for spring planting. They take down all Christmas greenery for fear of bad luck. It’s said that if you hear funeral bells on Candlemas, someone close to you will die in the coming year. There’s another superstition that good weather on Imbolg presages bad weather later, and this is almost certainly the origin of our more light-hearted Groundhog Day – it’s the same date, after all.

It’s worth another trip to the pub to hear about the late lamented John Barleycorn. It turns out that he’s not dead, only a-sleeping:

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,

  And show'rs began to fall;

John Barleycorn got up again,

  And sore surpris'd them all.

 …So it was that on a Sunday morning in late March we trudged up the hill to Emerson College and beyond it to an open field. It was in the middle of this field that our teacher had taught us our first lesson. We had been given hoes and were hacking at the dry earth of late September, me thinking about the high price of my tuition versus the calluses I was creating on my tender hands, versus what it would be like to drop my hoe, pack and fly home. Our teacher leaned on his hoe, not even short of breath, and asked us “What are we cultivating?” and after a few incorrect guesses (potatoes, root crops, beans) informed us that we were cultivating “ourselves.” That was my first lesson in the true meaning of agriculture.

 On that Vernal Equinox, our teacher had gathered brush and a few wizened little logs. England is about treed out since the great plague reduced the population and required that forests be converted to animal husbandry, which required fewer people than raising crops.

Someone had a light.

With no special moment of ceremony, the fire was lit and slowly caught. We were invited to pray or meditate in our own separate ways. We were from Argentina, Venezuela, Ivory Coast, Ghana, England, Germany, Austria, and the United States. We were Catholic, Quaker, Jew, Buddhist, animist and atheist.  

Perhaps some of us were contemplating the connection between this spring day and its link with Passover, Easter and the pagan feast of Venus/Ishtar/Oestra (the goddess of gestation, creator of the ultimate Easter egg ). The death of Christ symbolizes the rebirth of the world in the joyful fertility of spring, from the darkness of the wintry tomb to the warmth of a tender, fragrant day when a being of light is perceived by a woman in mourning. We know that the early Christian church was warring with pagan deities for the hearts and minds of its membership. But could there be a subtler principal at work, a line of destiny that brings all these spiritual forces into alignment no matter what the ostensible rationale?  By this model, all sacred rites would coincide so that all people might feel kinship no matter what name they use for their religious rituals.

After a moment of silence, our teacher reminded us of the importance of the change of seasons and the remembrance of holy days for agricultural people everywhere.

Then we adjourned for tea and biscuits (cookies) in the refectory. It was almost warm inside.

 
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