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For as long as there have been Owenses in the house on the shore, the surrounding cove and hills have had snow on the ground every midwinter. Though few people know the Aunts have a hand in this, the little town is renowned for reliably providing white Christmases, and this has proved a boon for local inns and B&B’s (and quaint businesses like Sally’s shop). In recent years, buses have even started to arrive, spilling loads of visitors wearing wooly hats and mittens, eager to experience a traditional New England Christmas, onto the quaintly decorated and lit main street. The town is learning to capitalize on its reputation, and ideas of how to encourage this budding new industry are hotly debated in town council and amongst business owners. Mentioned in front of the Aunts however, and they just snicker and look at each other in shared understanding, but they always refuse to explain the joke. Though you can count on them explaining, at length, the importance of snow - how it is not about a postcard worthy landscape. “A green Christmas means a full graveyard”, as the local saying goes. It is true; a mild midwinter is a sign of a belated spring, which in the past was a harbinger of disease and starvation. And even now, a late spring will affect the blooming of fruit trees. And true enough, there are years when crops in surrounding farming communities do poorly, but the orchards and gardens in the little town in the cove are curiously productive. Nowhere is there a greater abundance of berries and fruits than in the overgrown garden of the white Victorian house on the hill. Making snow is an act of maintaining balance- and increasingly the Aunts are aware of the consequences, should they fail in their duty. Weathermaking is one of the more perilous arts; the level of precision needed requires a skilled and confident practitioner, and the stakes are high. Any magic working involving a Divine Hag is serious business, and the Aunts are always relieved when their offerings are accepted and the ritual is completed without incident. And then they wake up to a blanket of snow, and they send prayers of thanks to Cailleach.
For the Yule holidays, the Owen’s house is especially fragrant. Glowing beeswax candles give off their honeyed scent; spices simmer on the stove top; and resinous boughs of holly, ivy, yew, and mistletoe deck every polished wooden surface: trim, mantle, and tabletop alike. The pantry is off limits to Sally and Gilly and the girls (all home and staying for the holidays). It is where the Aunts do their gift wrapping, besides: there is a positively indecent amount of alcohol in production in there; the counters are lined with row upon row of jars brimming with hedgerow riches: crab apple brandy and blackthorn gin have been stewing for months; rowanberry liqueur and hawthorn schnapps are slowly infusing; and there is a fruitcake on the potions table that Frances has been spoonfeeding rum since August (with such care and apparent affection that Ramses, the old tom cat, is starting to act jealous- and Gilly has taken to calling the cake Bertha).
Preparation for Solstice eve begins in early fall when the hedgerows are drooping, heavy with berries. Any innocent bystander is at risk of being roped into helping with the manufacture of the heady sloe gin that the Aunts love to sip throughout Yule. The blackthorn relinquishes its drupes but reluctantly, and only to the deft and the deserving (and no-one emerges unscathed from the thicket). Once secured, the berry bounty is put into jars, and sugar and gin is mixed in. The jars are then shoved in the back of a cupboard in the pantry and forgotten about until December- when we finally get to the good bit. The aunts don’t mind doing this part themselves; straining the plump drupes from the gin, pouring themselves a generous first sample, then pitting the drupes and spreading the plump, boozy fruits on baking sheets before slathering them in softly peaked dunes of melted chocolate, making for a very grown-up chocolate bark. And when Kylie and Antonia have finished their homework, they join in the fray to make droves of homemade sweets; almond toffee cups, peppermint marshmallow snowmen, marzipan yule logs, and molasses cookies. They taste and sample until their teeth get furry and their heads spin.
Wreath making is a serious discipline and the Aunts expect the girls to master it, just as Sally and Gilly had to. For yule, a wreath must be made for a door on each side of the house, and one for above the parlour fireplace. Deciding what goes into them each particular year is a bewildering process which includes listening closely to the four winds, consulting long lists of plant and planetary correspondences, and rather lengthy sessions with one of Jet’s ancient decks of divination cards. And they had better look lovely, too, if they are to pass the Aunts inspection. One full afternoon is reserved for this endeavor; the dining room table is cleared of sewing projects, books, and crayons, making room instead for bundles of evergreen branches brought in from outside, herbs collected from the garden and conservatory, apples, onions, berried twigs... cinnamon sticks, bells, old coins, feathers… supplies are piled high. Trunks and boxes brought down from the attic reveal vast esoteric collections to be carefully and reverentially perused: tufts of hair collected from beloved pets, relatives and friends (in most colors of the rainbow); ribbons, buttons, fabric scraps and silk flowers passed down through generations, collected from wedding dresses, ball gowns, infant booties and favorite cardigans. Fossils, stones and dried plant matter from all ends of the earth, and much much more. Selections are made according to the purpose chosen for each wreath, incorporated into the design, and invocations and banishings for the coming year are created.
On the morning of the solstice, the grown-ups enjoy a breakfast of toast with clotted cream and hedgerow jam and tea- followed by spiced baked apple toddy in front of the fire. The children drink blackberry cordial glögg, tiny arcipelagos of raisins and slivered almonds swimming in their mugs. Then, in a somber procession, stately Bertha is brought out on the finest cake platter (by now she is thoroughly liquored up and accepting of her fate), and ceremoniously dissected. Everyone partakes of a thick slice, in venerable silence (except Kylie and Antonia, who are allowed only a small sliver, and who can’t resist making the occasional dramatic squeal as someone takes a bite).
This year, with all the girls home for the holidays, celebrations are scheduled to run a full week, from solstice to new year. When Sally mentions that some of the girls' friends from town would like to come over and drop off Christmas gifts for Kylie and Antonia, she expects the Aunts to blanch at the very blasphemous idea. But instead, Jet giggles and Frances suddenly has to clear her throat. “Of course, dear”, Jet manages, finally. “You tell them they are most welcome”. The Aunts immediately start to plan a Christmas themed tea party for the children. “And we’ll have Hot Chocolate and mince pies for the moms in the conservatory”, Jet proclaims. “I’m sure you will want to show them the winter-blooming clematis, and the rosemary tree!” Pleased, if puzzled, Sally thanks the Aunts. Later, she confides in Gilly her secret fear; that the Hot Chocolate will be spiked with Absinthe and the mince pies laced with flying ointment.
However, the tea party is a resounding success. So delicious are the mince pies and so comforting the hot chocolate, that the moms scarcely notice that the presents are handed out by Frances through the hollow in the ancient yew at the edge of the garden, rather than out of a Santa’s burlap sack. No-one bats an eyelash at the table decorations, which are holly and pine-needle nests, each enfolding a large, erect pine cone as a center piece.The Aunts beam at the stream of compliments on their Christmas tree, which is decorated with tiny straw goats, and icicles made from blackthorn spines, painted and dipped in glitter.
By late afternoon the guests have set off for home, making their way through old and new snow. The table is cleared and the dishes done, Kylie and Antonia are happily exhausted and settled on the upstairs landing, where they have put down an old quilt, piled it with pillows and plates of cookies and new books to read. Sally is in the kitchen putting away leftovers while Jet and Frances make a smudge-sweep of each room and the conservatory with bundles of sage and juniper. When they have worked their way through the house (“We’re not saying that your friends are bringing in negative energy, dear... just- that they wouldn’t know not to”, Jet explains), the Aunts return to the kitchen and with a collective sigh, they collapse onto the bench in the breakfast nook, spent. A full afternoon smiling and feeding guests, and answering questions like “where on earth did you buy that delightful pine air freshener?” has taken its toll. Sally, standing in their kitchen, looking at them, wiping her hands on a linen towel with a hand-embroidered O on it, suddenly realizes with a pang: these are old women. They cannot, must not be taken for granted, will not always be there ready to offer just the right word and action. “I’ll make some tea”, she offers. And then she blurts out, “I just want to thank you for today. It was so special for the girls, and for me.. So thank you, for being gracious and hosting this celebration... Especially since I know it must have been vexing, dealing with all these traditions that you don’t believe in. And after how the townspeople have treated you in the past... I know how you feel about this whole traditional New England Christmas-thing, I would have understood if you’d rather not-” She does not get to finish her heartfelt speech, however, because the Aunts have slid off the bench laughing, and are rolling on the floor, legs akimbo and underskirts tangled like they are Victorian school-girls or something. “Are- are you all right?” she manages. And then the laughter is too contagious and she succumbs to a fit of giggling herself.
Frances is first to recover and sits up, wiping at her eyes and cheeks with the back of her hand. And when things have calmed down a little bit, the Aunts explain. “We’ve enjoyed today immensely, dear.” Jet says. “We were just saying, how lovely it would be to make this a tradition, for as long as Kylie and Antonia would like. Their friends are such sweet girls. And the mothers were nice too.” Sally, astonished, looks from Jet to Frances, who just nods and tries to smooth her hair back (unsuccessfully; she looks like she’s wearing some kind of mad halo). Smiling slyly, Frances meets Sally's confused stare with a raised eyebrow. “Really, I can’t think of a better way to get one over on those old ghosts!” At this- clearly nonsensical- statement, Sally just blinks. “…You are getting revenge on some ghosts..? By putting on a Christmas party?” Jet claps her hands together excitedly. “Sally dear, what could be a better way? I thought you read all those dusty old diaries in the attic back in your spinster phase? Surely you remember that several of our ancestors were punished by the Puritan townsfolk for Christmasing! For bringing in evergreen boughs, and singing songs on Christmas day. Back then, the traditional Christmas celebrations were considered to be pagan-” “And they were, of course-“ Frances interjects. Jet nods and continues; “...celebrating Christmas at all, the entire holiday, was completely outlawed by those stuck-up so-and-sos. Don't you see, Sally”, she chuckles, “having them here, all these descendants of the old puritans, celebrating their most despised holiday with us, the Owenses, right here in this pagan house… it is just perfect! I bet those old ghosts were livid, I bet they are still spinning in their graves!