Sweep Them Away

Yesterday, my husband and I went for a drive all around the peninsula of the Morrazo, from Marín, to Bueu, Beluso, Cangas, and Moaña. It's a peninsula on the south coast of Galicia that stretches into the sea between the inlets Ría de Pontevedra and Ría de Vigo. Parts of the areas we stopped at were, not deserted, but manageable, without great crowds of people. Yesterday was a holiday, and the lucky ones didn't go to work on Monday, so they went on a mini four day vacation. Some, too many, came to Galicia. At Cabo do Home, a finger jutting down at the edge of the peninsula against the open Atlantic, it was a foretaste of summer crowds. I drove into the parking area and immediately searched for a spot to turn around. Whatever beauty could be seen was banalized by so many people. As I headed back to the road, someone from another part of Spain by his accent, warned us that we had a piece of plant stuck in our license plate.

Outside these villages, atavistic memory is being lost, not to mention in the rest of Spain. The piece of plant the man warned us about was put deliberately there by me yesterday before sunset. It was a piece of broom, with its delicate yellow flowers already limp and turning brown. Before factory-made brooms became common, people would cut branches of xestas, broom, and tie them together to sweep their houses. My mother made a couple when we first arrived, to sweep the yard. Because it doesn't have a stick, sweeping involves leaning over and moving your arm in long swathes across the ground. They are also picked every last day of April, before sunset, to hang on gates, doors, and cars, to sweep away the witches that gather that night, and avoid them leaving their malefic presence on the property. 

The first of May, aside from being Workers' Day in most of the world (except the exceptional U.S., which makes the first Monday of September Labor Day), was anciently Beltane in most of Europe. It was one of the four holiest days in pagan Europe, the others being Lammas at the beginning of August, Samhain at the end of October, and Imbolc at the beginning of February. Some of these were Christianized, associating All Saints with Samhain and Candlemas with Imbolc. Lammas is an old name which means "loaf mass" and refers to the Christian blessing of the first loaves made with the first harvested grain, which was based on the pagan festival to begin with. Beltane has become a secular celebration, still very much a part of Scandinavian and Central European tradition. 

Beltane was the ancient first day of summer, which is why the actual first day of summer, June 21st, is still called midsummer. Once upon a time, aside from the fact that the old Julian calendar was eleven days faster than the modern Gregorian, the seasons followed the crops, instead of the sun. Spring began when the first crops could be safely planted, not when the sun was equal with the night. In Catholic Europe and United States, May is associated with the Virgin Mary, being one of the months dedicated to her. I still remember gathering in the school auditorium at the Catholic school I attended during some of my childhood years, and someone crowning the statue of the Virgin with a crown of flowers while we all sang, "bring flowers of the fairest, bring flowers of the rarest..." That association is atavistic, and stems from the veneration of the Earth Mother, who at Beltane has made the flowering of the crops possible. The other month dedicated to Mary is October, when the harvest has been brought in. 

So, in an effort to avoid having witches visit and ruin our crops, some of us in these old villages still affix a branch of broom to the entrances of our property. Once upon a time, it was also affixed to the cow-driven cart. Since these days those only adorn a garden here and there, now it's affixed to the cars we drive. Old memories that remain steadfast for some, and that for others have long disappeared. Even in the cities here it's becoming unknown. A few years ago, our daughter took a branch with her to put on her apartment door in Santiago. A neighbor asked why she did that. My daughter had to explain, to a neighbor old enough to be her grandmother, an ancient custom.  

Do I believe in witches? I don't believe they can rustle up a spell to hex you, though I do believe their tongues might try to hurt you. But, as the saying goes, habelas, hailas

Cytisus Scoparius, Escoba Común

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