Martje's Brigid's Day Medallions

Baronous on Brigid’s Day: Brigid’s Day is a curious thing. For all the holler and high revel that accompanies the New Year in Frewyn, the nearly six weeks in between Ailineighdaeth and Brigid’s Day, the kingdom is under a languid haze, the end of the winter holidays beginning in the groans and gripes of farmers having to return to their fields, and all the rest of the country is rapt in moderate revelry, sanguine at the prospect of Spring coming on, and lamenting that the exquisite snows should soon be over. I had been used to think the kingdom a dull old place, wondering what ever would a whole country do trapped under a wallop of winter, but Frewyns are nothing if not busy, and they are forever cleaning and clearing away, making the roads passable, their towns and villages rendered only more charming under the garland of frost. Ailineighdaeth is clear in its history and commemoration: a holiday which celebrates the death and rebirth of the year with Diras at the helm as the patron of the feast, and though many Frewyn tell me that Brigid’s Day is a holiday, I cannot exactly work out what Brigid’s Day is about. There is a legend about two clan leaders during the warring clans period having had a row and making up with cattle and marriage, but then there is all this business about honouring Libhan as the goddess of friendship, which does not accord with the spirit of the day—that falls more in line with the Galleisian holiday of Uscentis, and perhaps this commemoration was once similar and at a similar time, only moved to escape the comparison. There is also Balane to be talked about and charms to be made in honour of her ascent. I cannot decide whether this holiday is supposed to commemorate relationships or the returning of the sun. Farmers in the west use this day as a marker to begin their planting, and the holdings in Tyfferim and across Sethshire manage and tally their stores until their ground thaws about three weeks later, but the friendship angle seems to be put on, as though this holiday at one time was two separate holidays. I have asked about this, claiming that this day ought to be in service to Balane, as all the imagery of the holiday is associated with her, with her six-sided sun being everywhere, and while the archives during King Allun’s time to mention something, the only evidence I can go on is what the Westren halls offer. La Balane is mentioned in a few songs and poems, but there is little else I can find out. The annals mention certain customs that have now died off: making wishes on the first robins of the year, eating bread and spiced milk, blacksmiths making medallions with the first iron of the season, beaking and bathing in the first light of the morning—it appears to be the only lay day in the Frewyn calendar that is not celebrated beginning at nightfall, possibly bespeaking an older custom of having holidays attributed to day deities, gods like Persays, who in olden times used to be called Prinsias, and Eithne, whom the Nnodainyaa commemorate on this day in exchange of Balane and Brigid. Rather an odd situation, all this confusion about the commemorative aspects of the day, perhaps betraying how divided the country once was. My theory is that the story of Diras and Balane was attributed to Brigid, and thus mirroring the legend of the war and her yielding to another power. Regardless of why this holiday is celebrated or how old it is, the food laid out in honour of the day is exemplary, as it always is, and the costumes in the processions and the scents wafting out from every kitchen window bring the butyraceous warmth of the hearth and bread oven into the streets and squares. Games are played, romances are begged for, trinkets and sachets exchanged, but whatever this holiday is supposed to be about, I am heartily glad it endured through the ages. It gives me the opportunity to eat all the spiced bread and brandy butter I should like and claim my indulgence as participating in the sacrament. 

Martje’s Method: Brigid’s Day’s hard business on the farms. If the lads are lucky, they’ll only have to take stock o’ what they got left in the larder and what they’ve got to plant, waitin’ on the ground to thaw so they can get the first o’ the wheat and the beans in. Westren always starts earlier, on account o’ the warm winds come down from Livanon ‘cross the Dremwell, but if there’s a late frost or a snow what comes in, that’s ‘em replantin’ all the spoil. In town, Brigid’s Day is only the one day, but on the farms, the holiday is about three weeks long, startin’ on Brigid’s Day and endin’ on Old Balane’s Day, which no one hardly keeps no more ‘cept what got their mind on the sun and the soil. Folk still make charms for Balane and hang ‘em on houses to protect their homes from fire, and they still hang up the marigolds on the east side o’ the house, but it’s Brigid what took over the season since Allun’s time-- all the lads eager about the contests and feats o’ strength and such, and all the girls looking forward to pickin’ the early spring flowers come end o’ the month. In the west, they play caulseileigh and got those clan rows on, though we don’t much mind it here in the capital. Never bothered with clayntroda or any of ‘em rabbitries and all. On the farms, we got too much to think about come end o’ winter: gotta wait for the thaw, gotta look over the seeds and make sure no weevils got in ‘em, gotta clear out the house and get ready for the first harvest o’ the year. Aye, they’re still snow on the ground, but once Spring comes, she hits harder than swing plough to a stone, takin’ all the snow with her at once. Most folk in the towns celebrate Brigid’s Day and honour Libhan, goddess o’ friendship and whatever, but on the farms we honour Balane, makin’ spiced milk and shortbread, the idea bein’ we got all the butter in the world to give away before the new season o’ it comes in. Shortbread also keeps a long time, on account o’ the fat, sugar, and lack o’ yeast. A good shortbread’ll keep for a month if covered, and the shortbread I make for Brigid’s Day would go that long if everyone didn’t keep puttin’ their hands on it.

When making a good shortinin’ crust, there’s only one rule: no matter how much dough you make, just remember to use twice as much flour to butter. Shise shin. Making shortbread rounds are as easy as tillin’ a sward: once yer base dough is made, sure’n add whatever you like to it. For Brigid’s Day, I like to add in some good spices in the mix. First warm the butter till it’s a sauce, then add in dried apple, cinnamon, nutmeg, mace, dried ginger, dried marigold, and vanilla. Once that’s stewed for a bit and it’s got a good froth on it, add in some lemon curd and candied ginger. Let that soak in the butter th’ while. The house is gonna smell right ripe, but the scent it’s supposed to bring in good luck for the year. Once that’s good and weltered, put in yer flour and save a bit for the dustin’. Mix until there’s a good texture on it, it’s gotta come aff the bowl but it’s still gotta feel buttery. Roll your dough out till it’s about half inch thick, then use the rim of a cup or glass to cut out the rounds. If you got a press, what for making designs in the dough, press it into the rounds. If not, brush the top with a dustin’ o flour and whatever marigold and spices you got left. Put yer medallions in the oven for twenty minutes with a good fire on it. Take ‘em out ‘fore they just turn brown and put ‘em in an eastern window, so’s they catch the first light on Brigid’s Day. Don’t think they’ll last your house the three weeks.