Once Upon A Solstice
In the woods at the feet of the Carpathian Mountains, young Doina and Pimel have a Winter Solstice unlike any other.
Doina stood with the other children in the village square. They watched the figure slowly approach, riding a white horse with bells affixed to its harness, jingling with every step. The winter wind made Doina’s cheeks a rosy red and blew through her long brown hair as she pulled her homespun jacket closer around her.
“Mos Nicolae,” the other children jumped and shouted to the man on horseback.
The man’s curly white beard flowed down to his red robe of thick, heavy wool with soft-looking white fur trimming the edges. The pointed red hat on his head dipped and bobbed as the horse walked towards the awaiting children. A large sack was slung across his back and swished from side to side. He waved at the children, and they laughed and cheered with delight.
Father Grigori, the village priest, stepped forward to hold the horse’s reigns as the rider stopped next to the small crowd of children. A smile crossed the priest’s bearded face as the rider nodded in greeting.
“Hello, children,” the rider slid off the back of the horse and patted the bottom of the sack that hung low on his back. “I hope you have all been very good this year.”
“Yes, Mos Nicolae,” they jumped and shouted.
“I think his beard is made of sheep hair,” Pimen wrinkled his nose and looked skeptically at the red-clad figure.
“Shhhh,” Doina shot the younger boy an annoyed look.
“Mos Nicolae,” Father Grigori handed the man a sheaf of parchment. “Here is the list of all the good children of Săcăreni.”
The man took the parchment and made a big production of looking at the list, nodding and occasionally pointing and saying, “Oh yes, I’m not surprised to see his name” or “she has been a very good girl this year.”
“Now, children,” Father Grigori clapped his hands in front of his long black frock. “If Mos Nicolae reads your name off the list, I want you to go into the church and sit quietly in a big circle and say your prayers as you wait for us. I believe Mos Nicolae has brought you lots of treats.”
“I hope it’s a new doll Mos Nicolae,” little raven-haired Luminita clapped her hand excitedly.
“I want a wooden sword,” Crina, the blacksmith’s red-haired son, pretended to stab his friend Dorin who eagerly engaged in the invisible swordplay, and echoed, “I want one too!”
“Did you bring me candy, Mos Nicolae?” the plump Stefan rubbed his sizable belly and licked his lips hungrily.
All the children began to jump and cheer as they shouted things they wanted from Mos Nicolae’s sack. Doina and Pimen looked around nervously, uncertain of what to do. Their family’s farms were outside the village, and these new traditions seemed strange and unfamiliar to them; however, they soon got caught up in the excitement and joined the other children jumping and laughing.
Mos Nicolae began to read the names on the list; one by one, the village children laughed with joy as they heard their names. As fast as their little legs would carry them, they ran toward the small wooden church and disappeared inside. Doina and Pimen shifted uncomfortably and looked at their feet as the number of children in the church grew and the anxious few awaiting to hear their names called dwindled. At last, Doina watched as the blacksmith’s son joyously ran toward his friends in the church, leaving only her and Pimen standing before the priest and Mos Nicolae.
“There are no more names on the list,” Mos Nicolae’s voice was cold as he stared down at the two children.
“I’m sorry, only good children receive gifts from Mos Nicolae. Bad children receive the rod,” Father Grigori leaned close to Doina and Pimen, who was trying hard to hold back the tears, and slapped his hand against his leg so loud the children jumped. “When Krampus punishes those who do not believe in the true faith.”
The priest and Mos Nicolae turned their backs on the children and walked toward the church full of village children.
“I am telling you that beard was sheep hair; I could smell it,” Pimen kicked a small round stone and sent it tumbling down the road as they walked.
“We don’t need their presents,” Doina put her arm around her friend and tousled his unruly blonde hair. “Your father is the best woodcarver in Romania; he can carve us beautiful forest creatures! I much rather have a wooden deer than a doll! “
“I know,” Pimen blinked tears from his wide blue eyes. “I was hoping I would get something I could trade in the village to buy my father a new vest for the Winter Solstice. The one he wears has so many holes that wind can blow in one side and out the other.”
“I was hoping for an apple,” Doina stared sheepishly at her feet as they walked.
“An apple?” Pimen looked at his friend with concern on his young face. “Doina, my mother, can bring some bread to your house if you are hungry; I know she won’t mind.”
“Thank you, Pimen,” Doina smiled warmly at him. “I know it just grows leaves now, but that old apple tree behind my house used to bear big red apples when my father was a little boy. He told me his father used to save the last ripe apple of the season for the Solstice, and they would all share it. My father always said it tasted the best of any apple all year because it was the last. I thought an apple would bring him happy memories.”
Pimen looked down at his feet, unsure what to say, as Doina wiped a tear from her eye. They walked without talking as they took the trail off the main road that led through the woods toward their homes. The sun was setting quickly on this, the shortest day of the year, and they quickened their steps to get home before dark.
“The sun will be in the sky longer tomorrow,” Doina hugged her friend goodbye. “We can stay out and play longer by the river.”
“The day after the Winter Solstice is longer,” Pimen laughed as he hugged her back. “By the blink of an eye!”
“It’s still longer,” she put her hands on her hips in mock indignation.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Pimen waved as he turned to run down the dirt path to his house.
Doina smiled as she walked toward the small cottage where her family lived. It was a small house with a modest field of vegetables and a grazing area for the family cow, but it was the most special place on earth to Doina. She was happy to be away from the village and back where she could watch the sunrise over the mountains every morning and the fallow deer come out of the forest to graze each evening. Doina woke to birds chirping every morning and lay in her bed at night listening to the distant cry of wolves as she fell asleep.
Smoke rose from the cottage’s chimney. Doina knew that meant her mother had already started cooking ghiveci, a vegetable stew of carrots, celery, cauliflower, and cabbage that they grew on their small farm.
Her father finished his work and walked in from the field, a wooden bucket swinging in his hand. When he spotted her, a smile crossed his bearded face.
“How’s my little butterfly?” her father wrapped his strong arms around her in greeting.
“I went into the village with Pimen today,” Doina giggled as his beard tickled her nose when she kissed his cheek.
“Did you have fun?” His hand was rough and calloused from working in the field as he held her hand and walked toward their home.
“Mos Nicolae came to the village today,” Doina did not look at her father. “But he did not bring gifts for Pimen and me.”
“Oh?” the concern in his voice broke Doina’s heart. “Why is that?”
“Father Grigori said we were not on the list of good children,” Doina’s voice cracked with emotion.
“Doina,” her father knelt before her and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You are the best little girl in the world. The whole world.”
“Is Pimen the best little boy?”
“Well,” Doina laughed as her father made a funny face while pretending to think very hard. “He’s certainly good enough to be on the list of good boys and girls.”
“Pimen said Mos Nicolae’s beard smelled like sheep,” Doina smiled broadly as her father let out a loud laugh.
“I’m sure it did! Come, your mother’s stew should be ready,” he continued laughing, as did Doina, as they walked toward their home.
“It smells delicious in here,” Doina’s father breathed in deeply as they walked through the door.
“Thank you, dear,” Doina’s mother beamed at the compliment. “I am so happy you are both home! Did the cow have much milk today?”
“No, she was as dry as the grass,” a look of worry momentarily crossed her father’s face. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Doina’s mother echoed as she kissed him. “Come, sit. Dinner is ready.”
The hearth fire warmed the sparsely decorated room as Doina’s father set four bowls on the table. Doina’s stomach rumbled in expectation as her mother ladled the fragrant vegetable stew into the four bowls. Scents of roasted herbs and vegetables wafted up from the steaming bowls.
Her father picked up the first worn wooden bowl and cracked open the cottage door, leaving the bowl on the step. Doina knew her father was leaving the first bowl out for mosi stramosi, the old ancestors, as he did every Winter Solstice.
“We are our ancestors’ link to the world,” He smiled at Doina as he sat down at the table. “We place the bowl outside to let them know they are not forgotten and always have a place at our table. We fill the bowl with the first pour of stew to nourish the Old Ones who roam the land on this cold night and watch over us.”
The delicious stew warmed Doina’s insides as she sipped it down and listened to her parents laugh and tell stories of their childhood. Doina knew her family did not have much, but she smiled at the thought that they had all they needed.
That night a strange tapping sound awoke Doina from a deep sleep. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and gasped as she saw the shadow of a great beast upon her wall. Her eyes widened with fear at the sight of the shadow’s pointy ears, clawed hands, and…bushy tail?
Doina giggled as she realized the shadow was only a squirrel sitting on her window ledge in the bright moonlight.
“Silly, squirrel! You scared me half to death,” Doina smiled as she sat up in her bed and peered at the squirrel on the ledge of the little window above her bed.
Doina peered at the squirrel, and the squirrel looked right back at her. She moved so close to the window that her nose touched the cold glass pane. Then the squirrel touched its nose to the windowpane, and a tiny circle of fog coated the window from its breath. Doina jumped back in shock as the squirrel tapped one little paw on the window and gestured with its paw to come close.
“What a curious squirrel you are,” Doina’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as the squirrel seemed to point a tiny clawed finger toward the cottage door. “Do you want to come in?”
The squirrel shook its head no.
“Do you want me to come outside?” she giggled as the squirrel jumped and clapped its paws together.
Doina slipped her homespun trousers and tunic over her nightclothes as the squirrel hopped off the ledge and scurried toward the cottage door. She crept into the main room, still warm from the glowing embers of the hearth fire, and put on her boots and jacket. From her parents’ room, Doina could hear the gentle snoring of her parents as they slept.
Easing open the old wooden door, careful not to let in too much cold night air, Doina stepped outside. Light snow had fallen in the night, and a blanket of soft white covered the ground and coated the tree limbs. The small gray squirrel sat waiting for her in the snow and jumped excitedly when she came outside. She giggled as the squirrel ran three circles around her and then ran toward the back of the house.
“Do you want me to follow you?” She started walking after the squirrel, who stopped and looked back every few strides.
Doina followed the squirrel’s small prints in the snow as it ran past the old apple tree behind the house. It was a majestic tree with a vast canopy of branches. It would fill with dark green leaves in the spring, and Doina sat in its shade on warm summer days and played in its fallen leaves when autumn came. However, it had been many years since the old tree had produced even a single apple. Her great-grandfather had planted the tree long before her father was born, and Doina touched the tree trunk lovingly as she walked past and followed the squirrel into the field.
As she walked through the field, the moon shone brightly as the old white and chestnut-colored cow raised its head and watched Doina curiously. A light coating of snow sat on the gentle creature’s head and nearly blended in with the cow’s white face. Doina waved as she passed and felt a pang of sadness as she remembered her father’s sorrow at the cow’s continued lack of milk.
The squirrel continued beyond the field and into the forest. Doina hesitated for a moment, knowing her parents would not be happy that she went out in the woods alone at night. However, the squirrel turned to her and insistently waved for her to follow, so she continued. Even with the full solstice moon, the forest seemed unusually bright as Doina passed among the snow-covered trees.
“This is a dream,” Doina stopped walking as the firelight danced in her eyes. “I must be dreaming.”
The squirrel had entered an open clearing illuminated by a large bonfire. At first, Doina thought villagers had gathered in the clearing wearing animal masks, and then she realized that around the bonfire danced all manner of forest creatures. Tall fallow deer, grey wolves, black bears, red foxes, wooly mountain goats, squirrels, and raccoons. All danced and whirled around the bonfire on their hind legs. A raccoon and fox, paws interlaced, spun past Doina in a chaotic, swirling dance.
Doina looked up and saw crows, owls, and eagles dipping and gliding in a spectacular aerial dance above the clearing. Wolves danced with deer, and a pair of mountain goats baaed gleefully as a tremendous black bear twirled them like ballerinas. Above the crackle and pop of the fire, Doina could hear a booming laugh. The wilder the animals danced, the louder the laughter echoed through the clearing. It was a joyous sound, filled with mirth and pleasure.
The squirrel chittered to get Doina’s attention and gestured for her to follow as it sidestepped the dancing hooves of a buck with an enormous five-pointed rack of antlers. As she walked around the bonfire, the heat chased away the cold that chilled her toes and nipped at her nose.
Seated on a large rock beside the fire was a tall, bearded man-like creature, easily eight feet tall, with a six-pointed rack of gleaming white antlers protruding from a head of long brown hair. He had a dark beard filled with leaves and berries that ran down his broad, muscular chest. Doina saw that thick brown hair covered his lower body, ending in two long, powerful moose-like legs that he stomped raucously as the animals danced around the fire. His eyes twinkled with happiness as his boisterousness filled the night air. The small gray squirrel scampered up the man’s body to sit on his broad shoulders and cupped its paws over its mouth as it leaned close to his ear. The man cocked his head toward the squirrel, and then a wide smile crossed his face.
“Doina,” the man clapped his hands and waved toward her. “Come sit here by me!”
Doina took a step toward the man; however, a large gray wolf grabbed her hands in his paws and started to spin her in a wild dance around the bonfire. The wolf howled at the moon as he twirled Doina faster and faster. Doina’s feet struggled to keep up at first, but then she caught the rhythm of the mad dance, spun with the wolf, and howled at the moon. Images of dancing animals flashed by as she spun around the bonfire and laughed so hard her cheeks hurt.
The wolf let go of her hands, and she spun free, landing on her rump alongside the antlered man who laughed uproariously.
“Happy Solstice, Doina,” the man’s voice was deep and booming.
“Happy solstice to you too!” Doina could not stop smiling as she took in the wild scene.
“Look there,” he tapped Doina on the shoulder with one of his large hands and pointed.
“Pimen!” Doina watched as a squirrel led Pimen into the clearing.
The young boy’s eyes were aglow with wonderment at the sight of the dancing animals, and his laughter carried across the clearing as a black mountain goat with large curled horns grabbed his hands and pulled him into the circle of animals that danced around the fire. Pimen laughed as the goat spun him around. The mountain goat jumped up, spun, and clicked his hooves together before he landed back on the ground. When Pimen tried to imitate the goat, he tangled in his own feet and sent them tumbling into a short red fox dancing with a tall fallow deer. The whole mess toppled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Doina joined the antlered man in laughing uproariously as Pimen, the goat, the fox, and the deer uprighted themselves and all joined together, dancing in a spinning circle that twirled by Doina and continued around the fire.
A loud mooing noise filled the clearing, and Doina watched as her old cow stared suspiciously at the dancing gathering of animals. A burly brown bear kept reaching his paws to the cow every time the dancing circle brought him around. However, the cow only mooed in protest for three full turns of the circle. To Doina’s delight and amazement, the old cow stood on its hind legs and finally let the bear pull her into the dancing circle. Doina never realized how huge the cow was until it stood on its hind legs as tall as the bear. The two large creatures danced by Doina in a whirlwind of paws and hooves.
“Go on,” the antlered man nodded to Doina as Pimen went dancing by and urged her to join in.
Doina ran into the circle and grabbed Pimen’s hands. The two friends laughed as they danced and spun around the fire. The small gray squirrel from Doina’s window ledge jumped atop Pimen’s head and danced a crazy jig, its furry elbows jutting out to the side as its little feet tousled Pimen’s unruly blonde hair.
At one point in the dance, Doina locked elbows with the old cow and spun so wildly that her feet swung through the air as she laughed.
As the moon sank low in the sky and the fire died down to burning embers, the animals began to slip back into the woods. One by one, the circle diminished in size as the animals left the dance until, at last, the old cow and the bear returned their hooves and paws to the ground and left the clearing. Only Doina and Pimen remained with the antlered man, whose cheeks were rosy red from laughter.
“Who are you?” Doina was still breathless from dancing.
“Are you Krampus?” Pimen’s cheeks were bright red from laughing all night.
“My name is the sound of the wind blowing through the branches and the river running down the mountains. It is the sound of a seed sprouting through the earth and a leaf falling to the ground,” a wide smile crossed the man’s broad, friendly face.
“I am as old as those mountains,” he gestured toward the Carpathian peaks in the distance and then to the trees beside him. “And I am as young as these saplings.”
“I am a friend to all who seek friends,” then he raised his enormous hands in an imitation of a bear. “And an opponent to all who seek to do harm.”
“Whatever your name is, we had a wonderful time tonight,” Doina wrapped her arms around his thick waist and hugged him.
“It was a grand time,” Pimen grinned as he joined the hug.
“Before you go,” the antlered man reached behind the rock and produced a pile of sheep’s wool that he handed to Pimen. “I think you will find enough to make new vests for your parents, your sister, and even you, Pimen.”
“Thank you,” Pimen’s eyes opened wide as he wrapped his arm around the massive pile of fluffy, white wool. Tears of joy and gratitude slipped down Pimen’s cheeks as he hugged the wool close to his face.
“Doina, when you go home,” the antlered man walked over to the dying fire and scooped up a pile of ashes, his hooves leaving deep marks in the soft earth. “I want you to sprinkle this all around that old apple tree.”
He reached out his enormous hand and handed her the worn wooden bowl her father had set on the step, filled with a heaping pile of ashes.
“And tell your mother,” the man’s broad grin returned. “That her vegetable stew is the best I ever had.”
Doina sat up in her bed as the morning light streamed through her window.
“What a wonderful dream,” she smiled at the thought of the dancing animals and laughed to herself as she looked out her window at the old cow grazing in the pasture.
She yawned and stretched as she stepped into the cottage’s main room. Her mother was blowing on the embers of the hearth fire as the wood began to blaze. The fire leaped to life and quickly warmed the room as her mother prepared to make breakfast.
“Doina,” a look of surprise crossed her mother’s face. “Whatever have you gotten into? You’re covered in dirt?”
“What?” Doina looked down in surprise at her hands streaked black with soot.
“It’s all over your cheeks and nose, too,” her mom’s look of surprise was quickly changing to concern.
Doina stared in wonderment at her hands and then ran over to her coat.
“Doina, what is it?” there was a note of alarm in her mother’s voice as Doina frantically checked her jacket pockets. “What’s wrong?”
“It can’t be,” Doina laughed out loud as she withdrew the soot-covered bowl from her pocket.
Doina’s mother, already shaken by her daughter’s strange appearance and behavior, jumped as her husband burst through the door. He was carrying two wooden buckets that sloshed noisily, and his coat bulged around his belly as if he had gained tremendous weight overnight.
“The cow gave us two buckets of milk! And look at this,” He pulled open the buttons on his coat, and two dozen bright red apples tumbled out and rolled along the table. “The old tree is full of them!”
Overcome with joy, Doina’s mother wrapped her arms around him and kissed him three times. Three loud kisses as he laughed and spun her around.
“Father,” Doina picked up one of the bright red apples and, with tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, handed it to her father. “Happy Solstice!”
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