My First Latvian Ligo
Tents are set up, beers are cracked, and the frisbee is flying through the air toward me as I stand in the middle of a Latvian campground in New Hampshire. It's my very first Ligo, a summer solstice holiday celebrated in Latvia, and I'm surrounded by my friends EH, TH, ZS, and EO (who is the only one of our group with actual Latvian blood). EO has been coming and bringing friends to this East coast Latvian gathering every year for over 7 years, and the others have all been here before. For me, this whole experience, this whole culture is new and completely intriguing. I am enchanted.
I am wearing a flower wreath made of wildflowers that EH, EO, and I picked in the fields behind EO's home in Boxford, MA. Sitting on EO's deck in the morning of Ligo, we spread out our collection of daisies and peonies and other unnamed flowers, and began to thread them together to form our flower wreaths. We twisted thread, carefully placed blossoms, and gently curved the bundle of flowers to form our wreaths, then gently packed them in the car along with tents, sleeping bags, snacks, and booze.
It's about 6:00 now, and I hear a series of bells sound so we put the frisbee away and make our way to the enormous pile of logs and branches that will make up the biggest bon fire I've ever seen. Other Latvians are coming from their cars and tents to meet at the pre-fire fire to begin the festivities. There are families, young and old, and a few dogs. Blond-haired girls and grey-haired women don flower wreaths and walk toward the group at varying speeds. Traditional folk sheet music is distributed, and although I can't read the Latvian lyrics, I see that "Ligo" is sung at the end of each verse. That, I decide, I can sing.
It will be dark in a couple of hours, and we need enough day light to make it to the five Latvian cottages before the sun sets completely. The singing starts, then the walking, and the group of about a hundred slowly begins to walk into the woods toward the first cottage. When we arrive, I watch the first ritual that will be replicated at each of the five homes.
The family is waiting for us outside their home. The women are all wearing flower crowns, and some of the men are wearing oak leaf wreaths on their heads. The walking group sings a song, and the hosting family sings back. Then we offer the family a fern, and the family then comes out into the crowd carrying trays of homemade beer, homemade cheese, and other tradition Latvian appetizers. I say, "Paldies" (pronounced Paul Diaz) meaning "thank you" in Latvian. People talk and laugh and eat and drink for about 20 minutes; then we move on along the trail to the next home and so on and so forth.
I'm completely mesmerized by the whole environment: the mossy lawns, the cottages hidden behind and under tall New Hampshire trees, the green every where. There are dogs running without leashes, fairy-like children running between strangers, and the sun is slowly setting between overhead branches. Being surrounded by such a familial, pastoral environment quenches a thirst that I was unaware of until after I left the city. I feel clean and refreshed and happy.
We finish singing and visiting at the final home which is situated on a quaint and reflective pond and walk back toward the campground. It's almost dark now, so we put on more layers and go to the bon fire and watch as it is lit. Giant, unmovable rocks surround the fire, and people perch themselves on and in front of the rocks. We watch as the flames start slowly in one corner of the rubble and grow unevenly through the structure. Wind carries sparks into the dark sky, and women start to walk close to the flames carrying their dried flower wreaths from last year. They throw the aged wreaths into the flames to discard all of the negativity in the previous year. I hope that I am able to throw my wreath into the fire next year.
For the rest of the night, we star gaze and barn dance, run in the dewy grass and warm by the steady fire. We find a swing in the woods, a beer pong table in the barn basement, and a glow-in-the-dark frisbee. We try our hardest to stay awake all night, but one by one, we retire to our tents for a few hours of sleep. I lay on the hard ground and appreciate that there is nothing below me but earth. No concrete. No subway. Just ground. It's hard, but I find comfort in its stability.
I hazily wake up around 6 and walk to the barn to use the bathroom. Fog covers the hills and my dry contacts intensify the effect. The fire is smoking in the distance, and a few die hards remain around the ashes. I crawl back into my tent for a few more hours of sleeping bag slumber. I close my eyes and whisper to any pagan spirits that may be listening, "Paldies." (Thank you).
I am wearing a flower wreath made of wildflowers that EH, EO, and I picked in the fields behind EO's home in Boxford, MA. Sitting on EO's deck in the morning of Ligo, we spread out our collection of daisies and peonies and other unnamed flowers, and began to thread them together to form our flower wreaths. We twisted thread, carefully placed blossoms, and gently curved the bundle of flowers to form our wreaths, then gently packed them in the car along with tents, sleeping bags, snacks, and booze.
It's about 6:00 now, and I hear a series of bells sound so we put the frisbee away and make our way to the enormous pile of logs and branches that will make up the biggest bon fire I've ever seen. Other Latvians are coming from their cars and tents to meet at the pre-fire fire to begin the festivities. There are families, young and old, and a few dogs. Blond-haired girls and grey-haired women don flower wreaths and walk toward the group at varying speeds. Traditional folk sheet music is distributed, and although I can't read the Latvian lyrics, I see that "Ligo" is sung at the end of each verse. That, I decide, I can sing.
It will be dark in a couple of hours, and we need enough day light to make it to the five Latvian cottages before the sun sets completely. The singing starts, then the walking, and the group of about a hundred slowly begins to walk into the woods toward the first cottage. When we arrive, I watch the first ritual that will be replicated at each of the five homes.
The family is waiting for us outside their home. The women are all wearing flower crowns, and some of the men are wearing oak leaf wreaths on their heads. The walking group sings a song, and the hosting family sings back. Then we offer the family a fern, and the family then comes out into the crowd carrying trays of homemade beer, homemade cheese, and other tradition Latvian appetizers. I say, "Paldies" (pronounced Paul Diaz) meaning "thank you" in Latvian. People talk and laugh and eat and drink for about 20 minutes; then we move on along the trail to the next home and so on and so forth.
I'm completely mesmerized by the whole environment: the mossy lawns, the cottages hidden behind and under tall New Hampshire trees, the green every where. There are dogs running without leashes, fairy-like children running between strangers, and the sun is slowly setting between overhead branches. Being surrounded by such a familial, pastoral environment quenches a thirst that I was unaware of until after I left the city. I feel clean and refreshed and happy.
We finish singing and visiting at the final home which is situated on a quaint and reflective pond and walk back toward the campground. It's almost dark now, so we put on more layers and go to the bon fire and watch as it is lit. Giant, unmovable rocks surround the fire, and people perch themselves on and in front of the rocks. We watch as the flames start slowly in one corner of the rubble and grow unevenly through the structure. Wind carries sparks into the dark sky, and women start to walk close to the flames carrying their dried flower wreaths from last year. They throw the aged wreaths into the flames to discard all of the negativity in the previous year. I hope that I am able to throw my wreath into the fire next year.
For the rest of the night, we star gaze and barn dance, run in the dewy grass and warm by the steady fire. We find a swing in the woods, a beer pong table in the barn basement, and a glow-in-the-dark frisbee. We try our hardest to stay awake all night, but one by one, we retire to our tents for a few hours of sleep. I lay on the hard ground and appreciate that there is nothing below me but earth. No concrete. No subway. Just ground. It's hard, but I find comfort in its stability.
I hazily wake up around 6 and walk to the barn to use the bathroom. Fog covers the hills and my dry contacts intensify the effect. The fire is smoking in the distance, and a few die hards remain around the ashes. I crawl back into my tent for a few more hours of sleeping bag slumber. I close my eyes and whisper to any pagan spirits that may be listening, "Paldies." (Thank you).
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