Fall in the Morning, Winter in the Afternoon

Indian Summer, known as babye leto (“Old Wives’ Summer” or “Indian Summer”), is upon us in the village at the end of September. The long leaves of the sorrel plants bordering our lake turn crimson. The grasses in the fields beyond form a backdrop of mild earth tones – yellow, orange, brown. The warm days of babye leto beguile us into thinking summer will remain.

One balmy afternoon I watch spiders fly. Loosening strands from branches and grasses, the spiders wait for a strong wind to seize their web and lift it skyward like a kite. Dozens of spider webs, glistening in the sun, float leisurely over our house, sailing on uncharted courses to destinations unknown. The autumn flight disperses the young spiders. They float on currents of air and are blown tens and even hundreds of miles away. Alighting in a distant tree or bush, a young spider disembarks from its arachnid dirigible and spins a web, then later finds a mate and starts life anew.

Pokrov – the Feast of the Intercession of the Holy Virgin – arrives on October 14. Pokrov is our village’s Patron Saint Day. The celebration, one of the twelve significant Orthodox holidays in the year, was traditionally hosted here, when our Chukhrai was a bustling village before the war, and for some time after. People would flock to Chukhrai from neighboring villages to mark the holiday. Other villages have different Patron Saint Days – the Feast of the Assumption of the Holy Virgin was celebrated in the next village of Smelizh, Ivan Kupala (John the Baptist Day) was held in the village of Yamnoye across the river, and so on.

On Pokrov, according to Orthodox tradition, the Virgin Mary was honored as the Protector of the Earth and the People. But in rural Russia, Pokrov is largely personified as a male protector, dissociated from its original meaning.

The word “pokrov” comes from the word “shelter or roof.” On this day, which straddles fall and winter (Fall in the morning, winter in the afternoon, the villagers say), snow covers the earth to shelter it and keep it warm in the winter. If there is no snow, then the earth will freeze and many perennial plants and seeds planted in the fall will die and fail to bear fruit the next year. In the days leading up to Pokrov, the villagers make repairs to keep themselves warm as well, fixing the roofs and caulking holes in the timber frames with moss and clay, to keep out winter’s chill.

Pokrov marks the end of the harvest, when all has been reaped from the fields and the work is done. The celebration traditionally started two days before Pokrov, when people from surrounding villages came to Chukhrai to stay with their friends and families. They went from house to house, where relatives greeted them with food, drink, and merriment. The men played their accordions in the street while the women danced. Today, some villagers still celebrate Pokrov when their families come to visit, but otherwise the holiday passes largely unnoticed.

In the old days, young couples often held weddings after Pokrov, deciding whether to make them lavish or modest, depending on the bounty of that year. Traditionally, the father, oldest brother, godfather, and uncles of the groom-to-be went to the bride-to-be’s parents shortly after Pokrov to ask for her hand in marriage. If her parents agreed, the next day the bride went to the groom’s house with presents for his family and godparents. A scarf, a length of fabric, honey, salo (salted pig fat), and samogon (moonshine). Something for everyone. The mother of the groom then called the relatives over one by one to receive their gifts. She held the gift on a tray with a carafe of samogon and a tumbler. The visitors would take the gift, drink the spirits, then leave money on the tray for the wedding.

It took over a month to plan a wedding. Samogon had to be made, funds had to be collected, a dress fashioned. When everything was ready, the wedding day was set. On the morning of the wedding, each family began the celebration separately. Then the groom went to the bride’s house with the aim of stealing his betrothed and taking her eight miles to the nearest church. The bride’s brothers would close the gates and demand payment for her – samogon, money, or a ballad. When they opened the gate, the groom’s family went inside the house and sat around the table with the bride’s family. Then the couple went to the church in a horse-drawn sleigh (if there was snow), where a priest married them.

Following the wedding ceremony, the groom took the bride to his house, where his parents greeted her with bread and salt, holding an icon. The entire wedding party filed into the house to continue the celebration. Inside, the hosts hung embroidered cloths on the walls and windows and laid a feast on the table. The bride’s girlfriends cut down a small spruce tree to grace the table. They had to chop it down with one blow of an axe – two blows meant the bride would be married twice. The sapling was inserted into a large loaf of bread and placed in the center of the table. The women decorated it with ornaments made of cloth and red berries, to signify the bride’s chastity, and the men fashioned candles to illuminate the tree.

While the couple’s families celebrated through the night, the friends of the bride put the newlyweds to bed and waited in the next room. The groom had to prove that his new bride was a virgin by showing them her nightgown with blood on it. In the morning, the nightgown was presented to the mother-in-law. If the bride were truly a virgin, her in-laws put pryaniki (spice cake) on the breakfast table for her. If there was no blood on the bride’s nightgown to prove the girl’s innocence, the in-laws put manure on her plate and removed the red ornaments from the tree. I suspect an extra supply of blood was often kept available.

After breakfast, the groom’s mother went to her new daughter-in-law’s house and took a chicken as the bride’s dowry. She carried it home, holding it over her head and shaking it as she went, all the while singing songs.

Later, at the invitation of the newlyweds, the entire wedding party moved to another relative’s house, and the next day to another’s, and so it continued – from three days to a week, going from house to house, giving the new hosts time to prepare another feast.

What a glorious occasion a village wedding must have been! How I regret that there are no longer any young people in Chukhrai to carry on the autumnal tradition. RL