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Of Holidays Past: Hloaf Festival

Posted Aug. 3, 2021, 9:48 a.m. by Civilian Revna Freya McKenzie (Diplomatic Attache) (Jennifer Ward)

The forge was quiet, the chemical fumes of the tannery had dissipated, the horses, except those working, were turned out, the ship wrights stopped their building, the meadery stopped its brewing. The main village was quiet, almost a ghost town. No one to be found. The North end of Bømlo was empty, but the southern half of the island was packed. It looked almost like a hive of bees from high above. The entire clan had descended on the southern half of the island and the farms. They had been working all week.

First Harvest.

It was time to start bringing in the first of the crops: Brussels sprouts, Cabbage, Cauliflower, Radishes, Rutabaga, Turnips, Carrots, Garlic, Lettuce, Onions, Potatoes, Peas, Beans, Corn, Cucumbers, Eggplant, Melons, Peppers, Okra, Summer squash, Tomatoes, Winter squash. Fruits would begin to be harvested as they ripened through out the next two months: Figs, Plums, Strawberries, Blueberries, Lingonberries, Gooseberries, Cloudberries, Apples, Pears, and Sweet Cherries. Revna worked quietly beside her father. They worked wherever to the work was the hardest, where people needed more frequent breaks, or there was a shortage of clan. Revna was quiet, subdued. In years past she had sung and laughed, practically dancing as she worked. With replicators many had lost touch with the rhythms of the earth and nature. On Bømlo it was different. It was a time to rejoice, celebrate, and marvel at the natural order of the universe. But this year, weighed heavily on them all. Two years ago they had lost a handful clan, of family, to the Breen attack and the Dominion War. Revna had lost Shauwn and now, this year she’d turned 18, ready to take her place, but no one could bring themselves to confront her to move on. Revna loved her clan and did anything for them, but there was a loss of light in her that no one knew how to help. Revna worked harder than 3 people, as if trying to make up for his absence.

Runa was working in the smaller more sheltered gardens helping to harvest herbs, both for cooking and medicines. Kirsten, and new girl to the clan, worked beside her. Kirsten had a great knack for it and learned quickly. She would be helping Aunt Trine to dry, mix, extract the oils, and create the medicines they used. Kirsten wanted to be a doctor and Trine had taken her as an apprentice. They worked all week to gather Basil, Calendula, Chamomile, Chives, Cilantro, Echinacea, Fennel, Lavender, Lemon balm, Marjoram, Nasturtium, Oregano, Parsley, Peppermint, Rosemary, Sage, Sunflower, Sweet alyssum, Thyme. When that was done Runa joined her mother, Helka, in the school with the littles. Today they were busy making decorations for the celebration. Wild flower garlands, finger knitting streamers, and the older children were making pinecone gnomes as toys for the littles. Then it was off with Gothia to the ring of stones on the North Western coast of the island where they would honor and celebrate. This year Runa turned 18 and for the first time she would lead the festivities rather than assist. She was both excited and nervous and peppered old Gothia with endless questions and concerns that she already knew the answers to.

Ragna was attached permanently to Oddvar’s side. The poor girl had no talent to work and shape metal, but she could make it sing and dance for her. Uncle Oddvar was the keeper of secrets of creating and all the blades. He was Klanvart and Ragna wanted to learn everything she could from him. But sharpening and fixing tools was not her idea of fun. “This is BORING! I want to use them!” Ragna threw the sharpening stone onto the ground, almost growling in her frustration. She was tired of being treated like a little instead of one of the older kids. Oddvar chuckled, “Ragna, my sweet, your blade is only as good as the care you put into it. You want to keep learning to hack and slash then you’re going to learn to care for it. You want to be like me?” Ragna nodded vigorously. “Then anything you put in your hand becomes a weapon if you’ve the patience to learn. You have a fire in you.” He held up a hand to stop her, “Just like I have. But I learned to use it instead of letting it use me. You want me to keep teaching you, you’re going to learn the same. When the blades and tools of the clan are well cared for,” and he pointed out towards the fields where those same where working in harmony with their wielder to bring in the harvest and food for the clan, “you will know you have done your part to protect the clan. Hmm? Now pick that stone up and get back to work.”

The last day was the most exhausting. But the fields were cleared and being prepped for the growth of winter crops, the horses brushed, watered, and pampered after a week of hard work. Tools and machines cleaned and stored. Crops were bundled, cured, stacked and stored. And the slow walk towards the stone ring along the coast where Runa stood wearing for the first time the turtle brooches and caplet marking her has Shaman. There she blessed the work and the harvest and they rejoiced in another year together as Clan. Revna, as her father’s heir, for the moment allowing herself to be lost to the joy that was Clan led them in toasts, singing, and lighting the bonfires that would burn for another week. Ragna was thrilled to be finished with sharpening and oiling tools. She sat beside her father as he told stories of centuries past and how their traditions had always been this way, but over time had changed, but stayed the same too. And watched as he took notes to add to the clan stories, and she added her own to his.

Revna, Runa, Ragna


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