Hallowe'en Bleeze

by
Henrietta Anabelle Weathers

In one isolated little hamlet, they still build a “Hallowe’en bleeze.” The custom came with furs settling Perthspon, a wee village on Main Island. Och, they originally came from Perthshire ere time past counting. Like so many others they left Scotland during the Clearances, seeking their own way.

No other Spontoon village celebrates quite like Perthspon. In the morning of this day, the teen-agers go from house to house collecting the pumpkins and all the ingredients for unique pumpkin pies. Everything is carried to the central market square.

Then the teens head out to collect bundles of sticks and grasses collected during past weeks. They build up tall stacks on the tops of three hills that surround their village. After all is ready, they dig a small ditch ’round the fire in a circle, like the sun or like a pumpkin pie. Or one might wonder if it is more likely in answer to the moon. After all, the work is in the day, the excitement comes after dark.

All the mommy furs are gathered in market square to make the pies.
The younger furs are busy helping their mommies.
They chop up pumpkins and boil all those little pieces in big kettles.
Stirring and stirring, chanting to an orange stompin’ beat.
After the pumpkin gets mushy, they pour in some milk and quite a few eggs.
Stirring and stirring.
Their arms become tired of stirring.
Their footpads tired of standing.
But the best part then arrives…
When they pour in the spices,
cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and cloves, and the sweet dried pineapple.
Oh, it smells so good they forget they’re tired and do a little hopping dance all together.

Meanwhile, the mommies have made circle after circle of piecrust.
Filling pan after pan with the dough, they throw in a pinch of sugar.
And ladle in the soupy fragrant pumpkin.

The daddies have been busy too, building clay ovens around the edge of market square. Building fires and letting them burn down to coals. All will be just right for baking the pies. Mmmmmmmmm, every fur is anticipating this fall evening.

The pies go over the coals and a wondrous scent drifts on the evening air across the village. The teens come down from the hills carrying long poles, mosses tied tightly on top. They stand in a circle while mommies and daddies sit in the middle enjoying the pumpkin perfume, swaying and chanting softly while small children dance around them.

This is the In-Between Time. All the home fires have been extinguished. Every year, the Hallowe’en Bleeze allows everyfur to be thankful for what has come and what is yet to come. They let go of trials and tribulations of the past seasons, taking a break from everyday work and life. The air is mellow, the sounds are soft, children soon lie down on the ground and fall asleep.

In a little while, the teens stamp their poles on the ground and chant in praise of the old year that brought this bountiful harvest and suddenly run up the hills to light their torches from each hilltop bleeze. When the grown-ups see wobbly fires moving back toward them, they leave the square singing. By their doorways they wait until the torches arrive to re-light their hearth fires. Then reaching inside, everyfur grabs special new scarves and jewelry to wear in celebration.

All together now, they shift to joyous melodies and laughter. Dancing, waving their paws, all return to the square. The pies are ready. There is no more delay. The world has turned to show a new side. The grandmothers sing a special blessing on the harvest, the food, the furs and the whole village. Then all eat pie. The smallest children are fed first and quietly taken home to bed. The teens take their pumpkin pies back up the hills, sitting in circles they enjoy the feast and private moments. Next year some of them will be mommies and daddies.

All the grown-ups in the square together, smile at each other, dig into the pies, rejoicing in good fortune, sweet pumpkin flesh and each other. The mysterious moon watches over all. Secretly smiling.