The Daily: 23 December 2024

The weather is finally settling into winter. The highs are in the single digits and the lows don’t bear repeating. I’ve got all the heavy curtains closed tight, and draft blockers are wedged tight against the thresholds. And yet the furnace is still running far too much for my comfort. I fear the next oil bill is going to be stroke-inducing… My town is flocked in snow, and there are icicles hanging off all the buildings. We don’t need icicle lights here, though some do hang them up. Down the block, one very creative household with perhaps more time on their hands than I have — and maybe a buddy with a cherry picker lift — spiraled what must be a dozen strands of icicle lights up a 30-40 foot arborvitae in their front yard. It’s excessive, but, yes, very pretty. I am torn between outrage and jealousy.

But I suppose we could do with some sparkle that doesn’t come with a disaster repair budget. (OK, so you could argue that the excess is feeding into the disaster, but let’s just not for today…) We have had no less than three ice storms since the week of Thanksgiving. Very sparkly. Very disastrous. And perhaps this is going to be a regular feature of the weeks leading to the solstice. It is no longer cold enough for straight snow, but it is too cold for rain; and the air is loaded down with tropical moisture. We even had a bomb cyclone that flooded Maine, parts of Massachusetts, and much of southern New Hampshire and southern Vermont. Bomb cyclone has hitherto not been part of our weather vocabulary. I only know about them because my sister in the Pacific Northwest has to deal with those words all the time these days. She lives on an island. It’s terrifying. Here in central Vermont the bomb dropped mostly snow, so there was no flooding; but it was a slick and slushy mess. Which is a pretty good general summary of the weather we got before the solstice.

Now that the actual solstice is past, maybe we can get down to real winter. The ski slopes aren’t even fully open yet. I know that’s a doomed industry and we really need to be rethinking winter revenue streams, but it does cause havoc for all of us when the resorts aren’t paying their bills or hiring seasonal staff until January. Though the die-hards are slogging themselves up the hills without the ski-lifts and reporting that “slush is fun”. I don’t remember slush being fun as a kid in the Sierra Nevadas. I remember it sticking to my skis and clumping onto my boots. And there were bare patches… which are painful… But whatever keeps your spirits up.

And speaking of which… Today is Larentalia. Some believe that this was one of several festivals to honor the household spirits of place, the genii loci, the Lares. These spirits were protectors of both the physical house and the paterfamilias that resided with them. These little demons shared characteristics with northern brownies, kobolds and leprechauns — and maybe terriers. Normally docile and quiet, they turned vicious when their territory or their people were threatened, and threat was nebulously defined and known only to them. There are several stories of the Lares of wealthy families taking a dislike, for no apparent reason, to a suitor of the daughter of the house and ruining the whole match. (I suspect the daughters were generally glad of this, since most were pledged to fat old men.)

This is also the last day of Saturnalia, if you go with the seven-day version — the most common in Late Rome since it allowed a day to reestablish order before the big State observance of the renewal of the Unconquered Sun on the 25th. Saturnalia was a time of chaos, but at its root it was a harvest festival, celebrating the grain harvest that took place in the early weeks of December. This was the Harvest Home for Late Romans, complete with cornucopias filled with nuts and dates; bushels of apples, figs and pomegranates; and mountains of fresh baked bread. There were gifts exchanged. And of course there was the disorder, with slaves and masters trading places and women taking whole hours off work. The last days of Saturnalia were known as the Sigillaria, named for the custom of giving candles, wax fruits and waxen figurines, one of the more popular of which was Acca Larentia, the mythical foster mother of Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome.

Which was the more likely deity being honored in the Larentalia, given linguistic relationship… In some stories, Acca Larentia was the wife of the shepherd, Faustulus, who pulled the infant twins from the River Tiber. Larentia raised the twins with her other twelve sons, who became the Fratres Arvales, the Arval Brethren, whose priestly brotherhood had the main task of offering sacrifices to the Lares of the State — because this is a loopy tale… Or should I say, Lupe…

Because in many other stories Larentia is a prostitute, sometimes associated with Hercules, sometimes a beautiful and generous, albeit lowly, courtesan, who was named “Lupa” among the shepherds. Lupa means “she-wolf”, and this is where the story of the wolf that suckled Romulus and Remus originated. But it also was common slang for “prostitute”, which lends a whole new color to the origin myth of the Roman State.

In a week, the Midwinter Moon goes dark, the second dark moon in December, a Black Moon; and the Wolf Moon is new on New Year’s Eve. Which adds another twist to this loopy tale of the day. We are beginning the new year under Lupa, the moon of deep winter, or, if you prefer, the first courtesan in the court of the Ice King.

In the north, mythical wolves play darker roles. In Nordic myth, Hati and Sköll, sons of Loki and an unnamed frost giant, pursue the moon and sun (respectively) through the skies. These sky wolves will eventually swallow the lights in the sky, bringing on the Twilight of the Gods. However, they will die in their gorging, and the new sun and moon will be birthed from their bodies. This myth has given rise to the name for the rainbow lights that sometimes bracket the sun and moon, the parhelia and paraselenae. In Scandinavian languages, these sun-dogs are called sun-wolves. The Swedish word, solvarg, is quite possibly the most beautiful name in any language for the bands of ice crystals that curve around the sun, itself an entrancingly beautiful phenomenon. This atmospheric effect is most common in calm and cold weather, so it happens quite frequently in the Wolf Moon. Perhaps it is Lupa dancing…

As you can see, there are many reasons to celebrate today, and they all share a similar coloring. This is a day to honor your spirits of place. Or give gifts of candlelight and bread. Or remember the she-wolf that nursed infant tyrants. Or listen for the wolves of winter as the Midwinter Moon wanes.

Tomorrow, we honor the Mothers. And in two days the Unconquered Sun will rise, among other happenings… But today is Larentalia, a strange, entangled feast day.

One of the common elements in all these disparate versions of Larentalia is bread. Because the Romans lived by bread, you know… So here is a superfluous picture of bread from my own hearth. I think my Lares blessed this loaf of multigrain sourdough… Because it is huge! And delicious!

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©Elizabeth Anker 2024