Here's to thee, old apple tree
and whence thou mayest bud
and whence thou mayest blow
And whence thou mayest bear apples enow!
Hats full! Caps full!
Three bushel bags full! Wassail!
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On the raw winter evening of Old Twelfth Night
(Jan 17), in the cider orchards of Merry Olde England, large parties gather and sing to the trees. Dipping their malin (maple wood) bowls in a big bucket brimming with spicy (and spiked) cider, the revelers pour a libation over the roots of the trees. The youngest one there soaks pieces of toast in the cider, then places them in the forked branches of the oldest tree. All then imbibe the cider in a toast to the trees, rousing them from their winter sleep with a Wassail carol, to charm them into bearing lots of fruit come next harvest.
An old pagan rite? Perhaps. Yet often as not the vicar of the parish would lead in the song.
(Jan 17), in the cider orchards of Merry Olde England, large parties gather and sing to the trees. Dipping their malin (maple wood) bowls in a big bucket brimming with spicy (and spiked) cider, the revelers pour a libation over the roots of the trees. The youngest one there soaks pieces of toast in the cider, then places them in the forked branches of the oldest tree. All then imbibe the cider in a toast to the trees, rousing them from their winter sleep with a Wassail carol, to charm them into bearing lots of fruit come next harvest.
An old pagan rite? Perhaps. Yet often as not the vicar of the parish would lead in the song.
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This custom carries on in Somerset county still, at Butchers Arms in the town of "Cram'ton" (Carhampton) and elsewhere. After the singing and toasting, three cheers are given and gunshots fired into the air. Then everyone retires to the bar for prolonged celebration.
In centuries past, the farmhands would go from one farm to another to wassail the trees and we can only guess how much cider these chaps sopped up while they carried out their important duty.
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When I last visited Somerset, it was May, so I never had the honour to witness a tree wassailing, but there were flowering apple trees everywhere. Visiting a cider mill, I picked up a little book Blame it on the Cider by local writer Roger Evans. I learned that "scrumping" was another word for "pinching" which in England means "stealing," and that scrumpy is the only true cider, 100% natural, not just any old apple beer.
The book also has a fun little song:
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One evening last September, as I do well remember
I was walking down the street in drunken pride
When I fell down in the gutter 'cos my legs went all a-stutter
Then a pig came down and lay there by my side.
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As I lay there in the gutter thinking thoughts I should not utter
A stranger passing by did softly say
"You can tell a man who drinks by the company he keeps"
And with that the pig got up and walked away!
Speaking also of pigs, my tarot card of the week is IV The Emperor. Just kidding! (about the pig reference, I did indeed draw the card) Although this card ~is~ often interpreted to represent the established rules, both stated and implied, that every citizen is required to follow, whether we want to or not. The song I hear the Emperor sing is "conform, or be cast out" (I guess last week's card shows I have a hard time conforming!) But also the 6 wands popped out as I was putting the cards away. And while driving home and thinking of the reading, I heard Muse's "Uprising" song on the radio ("they will not control us, we will be victorious...), which I hadn't heard in months; seems to be some sychronicity there.
Not every deck's Emperor card shows a forbidding profile that, taken to its extreme, is an authoritarian "pig". The Shapeshifter deck shows a father / caretaker of animals and the Sacred Circle presents a stag-horned Herne the Hunter. So the Emperor can be huggable after all!
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And so we enter the Carnivale season. Perhaps I'll make a King Cake and serve it to the men at super bowl to see who gets to be King of the Bean...
