Hwæt!

This Saturday past, on my family's farm called Eþelæceres in Old English or Othala Acres in Modern English, we members of the Asatru Folk Assembly in New England gathered to hold and celebrate the Holy Day of Winternights. Known to the ancient English, better known as Anglo Saxons, as Winterfylleth, it is a Teutonic holiday that has many related meanings. It is the last of the 'harvest' holidays when the fields are now left empty. It is the start of Winter. It is a time when honouring the ancestors becomes more prominent in worship. In Sweden especially the Alfs(elves) would be worshipped behind closed doors of barns and homesteads. It is a time for mankind to rebind themselves together after the summers field work and raids. We cement those bonds by feasting together in honour of our Holy Gods and Goddesses. Conducting Symble on the benches of halls and boasting, oathing and sharing cheer. While Yule is often the height of these behaviours in popular imagination, we know they go on all year to some extent for all the holidays. But now those customs begin to be kicked up a notch, getting ready for the great festivities of the Yuletide.

The day began the night before with my wonderful wife Lily and I cooking. Preparing meals that would warm the body and soul of people while being easy to reheat on the day of the event. No one wanted to spend much time inside cooking while friends, new and old, were about.

Come the day of celebration my parents were the first to arrive. Come midmorning Thor and Matt Neilsen arrived followed soon after by the famed Obergs. We got last minute preperations done just in time as people began to stream in. Heathenfolk from every new England state, except Maine, had arrived. 40 some-odd people were there with happy faces and open hands. The wonderful thing about the people was that a good one third of them were new faces. Many holding the Aesir in their hearts for years but until now had not yet joined in worship with others. The other 2/3's were longtime friends so there was a very healthy mix. The introductions got so head spinning that not a few joked that we should have worn name tags. The majority there were members of the AFA and those not members have learned of the joys and fellowship being a member can bring. What never ceases to amaze me is how new comers to the heathen community almost always seem to slip right in and feel like you have known them for some time. It speaks of the character of most Heathen folk, old bucks and greenhorns alike.

The day was much cooler than expected but as people talked and laughed together it just didn't seem as chilly as it really was. I think the wonderful homebrewed brown ale Aaron Bennet brought may have been some influence there as well. Some influence both in spreading cheer and keeping the chill away. Interesting to note was the assortment of beverage containers present filled with Aaron's ale. There was a beer stein in sight, a german drinking glass and a few of my pewter glass bottomed tankards. Not to mention the typical plastic keg cups. Cheese crackers, chips, dip and a hearty chicken soup made with our own home raised chickens were laid out for people as the afternoon began.

My forge was cranked up as our old friend Dana Wheeler put on a demonstration of blacksmithing. I am unsure who got to bang hot metal but I know at least one other person got in there to strike steel. There was a circle of people around the forge at all times throughout the day though. I hope people got some value out of this.

Children were everywhere but never underfoot. Bikeriding, running through the woods, chicken pestering, sword fighting, wrestling and making a joyful racket was constant through the day. I believe we had about 15 youngsters there. I don't believe a single fight had to be broken up.

Speaking of swordplay, the German Longsword aka western martial arts class Mike Smith and I were to put on never wound up happening. It was almost impossible to break away from the fellowship being shared. If any are dissapointed, I apologize and Mike and I will make it up to you. However, in recognition of our folks martial spirit, there was talk of firearms and of hunting. Many of us there are veterans and clusters of us spoke of our experiences.

As the afternoon lengthened, the folk were gathered for Mike Smith to give everyone a rundown of the ritual. Those who never attended a ritual were comforted in knowing what to expect and all were reminded why we were there. Here at Othala Acres, we always Sith into the grove where Ingsleigh Hall and the God Posts reside. A Sith is a procession, a line of folks parading into an area. This was loved by our Anglo Saxon ancestors and persisted into Victorian times with parading the boardshead into the halls during Yule. A fellow who goes by the name of Badger played Cat Burke's bodhran as the Sith into the grove began. Steady cadence beat as feet followed the path. I broke out my tin whistle to accompany, but the cold whistle squeaked and was too high pitched to add much music to the Sith.

Once in the grove, the prelit fire held some chill at bay and smoke only once or twice made people face away for air. Mike Smith led the Alf rite which started with the children shaking the iron wrangle to chase away any ill wights.Grain was burned to the ancestors as the blotbowl, full of oats, was brought around the gathered folk. Empty hands scooped into the deep bowl, full hands topped with grain came out of the deep bowl to toss oats in the fire for a votive offering. Next came the other bowl, full of mead which Cat Burke sprinkled the folk with the holy honey drink. The mood was sober and respectful, a marked difference from the smiles and laughter of a few short minutes beforehand as children shook the wrangle and raced around the fire at breakneck speed. However it was not a dire or sour mood, it was the mood of men and women who were here for a purpose and the purpose was now. The honouring of our heavenly Gods and Goddesses, ancestors and holy wights. As Mike Smith offered the last of the oats into the fire, he ended the rite. It took a few moments for people to move, the rite had to finish sinking in first. As it sunk in though, the laughter began.

It was at this time that some horseback riding occured, but only a few had the pleasure to ride. The horses were moody and it is better to be safe and bow out of the riding than have someone get hurt.

The forge was riniging out again and the food for Husel, the sacral feast was getting heated and laid out. Sausage and penne by Lily, home made mac and cheese by the Bennets, antipasto by Badger, swedish meatballs, squash, rutebager, apple crisp, rabbit and dumplings, without the dumpling, fried rabbit(from our farm), homemade mozzerella cheese by Amanda all graced the table. My youngest daughter Ingrid blew a blowing horn a few times and once the attention was gotten of the folk, I announced those words people love to hear from me so much. "The Husel is now served! Let us eat and be merry!' I bellowed and the folk came in to eat. It all went so fast that I was lucky that Lily remembered to make a God-plate to lay outside.

Once Husel was winding down, Stephanie had finished cleaning and setting up Ingsleigh Hall for Symble. She does a remarkable job and I am fortunate my cousin does this for me.

A fire was lit in the woodstove of the Hall and people began to trickle in. They came in so fast there was no time to do a ceremonial hand washing before Symble as they came in, but that is ok. It was cold outside by now and the fire in the grove outside the doors of the Hall gave little comfort. Especially when the warm glow of candles and light promised the heat of the Hall to the folk without. In the Hall was safety and community while outside is unknown. It is no wonder the monster Grendel hated the bright hall Herot so much.

It was now, with my parents beside me on the meadbench that I kept the electric lights on for a moment. The famous Rick Oberg said a few words to again remind us of the joys of the Asatru Folk Assemly and introduced the local folk builders to those who knew not the names or faces.

Then before we turned off the electric lights and let the Hall be lit by candles only as in eldern days, I asked for three cheers for our AFA Leader Stephen McNallen. I sounded 'hip hip' and a resounding "hooray!" filled the hall, a second 'hip hip' was followed by a second, louder "hooray!' A third 'hip hip' boomed out of my mouth and the hall thundered 'Hooray!' That set the mood. There would be joy and gothi McNallen was honoured.

Writing of Symble never catches the mood of the rite but the horn went round, carried by Stephanie's capable hands filled with mead from the Bennets. Gods hailed, ancestors hailed, heros and kin remembered and honoured. Aaron gifted his wife Sarah an anniversary present and a 9 week old babe was informally presented to the gathered folk. Einar sang a song of sheep in Icelandic while I had to sing an old English pub tune. I was so proud to have my parents beside me on the bench as we wound up Symble and ended the right. Some folks went to the fire outside and some went back to the house. Others stayed in the hall to participate in gebeorscip, or beer-shit as some of us like to joke. It is informal drinking. More than just a party, but nothing like the holyness of Symble. It is fellowship over beers. Tim Nicole, Stephanie and I sang numerous songs and bits of songs. All things end and so did this Winterfylleth celebration. There was a steady loss of people from the farm as people had to wend the way home in the dark of night. All too soon bed called and the last of the farewells were spoken and embraces given out.

The year turns and light turn dark, as it always does, but the warmth in the hearts of those who came will sustain us for some time. Our Aesir, ancestors and allied holy wights were honoured as they were in ancient days and all is right and good. The New England AFA Winternights was a joyful success.

The haleful folk made it so.