“The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.”---William Bryant
It’s obvious to anyone who’s paying attention that February has an inadequate public relations department. Think of February and what comes to mind? Bone-chilling cold, howling winds, cars sliding off the interstate, airport-closing blizzards and granny-ladies freezing to death in unheated Duluth apartments. February is too far from the holiday season to bask in its nog-drinking, confetti-tossing revelries and too far from Spring to provide a light at the end of Winter’s frozen tunnel. It’s an unfortunate state of affairs for a perfectly grand month, an unfairly maligned creature with its own particular treasures to offer.
What about the azaleas which first send out scouts in early-February Florida, then a few settlers, and finally the whole wagon-train? What about the dogwoods which spring forth in all their February glory, dotting the landscape, brightening up the neighborhood, providing good cheer for their long-waiting supplicants? February is Mardi Gras month, for crying out loud, rife with parades and beads-flinging krewes and stupor-inducing Hurricanes at Pat O’Brien’s. When do pitchers and catchers report for the grossly misnamed Spring Training? That’s right—mid-February. When do valentines gather for romantic evenings in esoteric hideaways, reinforcing their bonds and swearing eternal allegiance? Oh, that would be February 14th. When, for heavens sake, is National Pancake Day, a five-star notation on the calendar? A mere three days later. Without February, Abraham Lincoln could not have been born, let alone George Washington. Take Abe and George out of the picture and we’d all still be speaking English. So let’s show a little appreciation here for our old friend, February, always the bridesmaid, never a bride. And once, believe it or not, restricted to monthhood only three years out of every four. In the fourth year, celebrating leap year, we had the month Intercalaris, instead. Julius Caesar, one of February’s few fans, pronounced this ridiculous and eventually restored the month to its former glory, properly eradicating Intercalaris. Right, and you see what happened to him.
Earlier Februaries
When we were kids, February was always Big Fun. The unreliable snows of Winter might somehow avoid November, even skip over December but they could never deny the voracious appetites of February, which often was blanketed from beginning to end. This, of course, meant there would be an occasional rare and highly-prized “snow day,” a day of such fierce and uncompromising snowstorms that school classes had to be abandoned in the interests of the health and welfare of the fragile children. I can remember having breakfast with my sister, Alice, and listening to the radio announcer reel off one town after another where there would be no school that day, but our own city, Lawrence, was always late to decide. On days such as this, there was never any school in a mysterious place called “Rowley,” always among the first to announce. We wondered about this Rowley, Alice and I, and asked our parents if there was any possibility of our ever moving there. My mother assured us that “Those kids in Rowley get so many days off they’ll be going to school til the end of June. You two will be at Salisbury Beach and they’ll be marching off to class.” Okay, so when you put it that way….
While the radio announcer droned on, Alice and I bemoaned the difficulties of negotiating the harsh winds, stomping through the impossible depths of the arriving snow, outraged at the calloused lack of concern the Lawrence school board was showing for the suffering children who would be forced to confront these monstrous conditions. When the governor finally sent his reprieve, of course, it was only seconds before we donned our mittens, overshoes and several layers of clothing to rush out into the elements to celebrate the day. No toy was ever invented which could rival snow for entertainment value. You could jump around in it. You could pilot your sled down steep hills. You could build forts from which you could attack unsuspecting passersby with deadly snowballs. And after the plows went through creating high embankments, you could battle one another to achieve the title, King of the Mountain, which was always extremely temporary. If it was very cold, it never seemed to occur to us. There is apparently some unknown law of physics which prevents children under twelve from getting frostbite. Maybe it’s because they are always in motion, running, sliding, wrestling, rolling, shoveling. Adults, of course, found these conditions intolerable. We didn’t get it.
There were a few cautions, of course. Like icy sidewalks which could only be traversed taking the tiniest of steps. Like icicles which loomed from the eaves of houses just waiting to penetrate your little skull when you least expected it. Like cars which would race through large slush puddles, depositing their harvest all over you. But these were small inconveniences in the great scheme of things, minor nuisances to be brushed off, even laughed over. February was to be prized, it provided the last throes of Winter, the dying of the season. The snows would be melting soon, the fragrant lilac bushes rising from the dead, baseball in the air, but we were in no hurry to move on, to abandon our snowy pal. Everything in its own good time, why get ahead of ourselves? For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven. Even for February.
The Origin
The name Februarius came about because of the Roman ceremonies for religious purification and expiation which took place during that month in anticipation of the new year, which originally started on March 1. The most important festival in the Roman February was Lupercalia, an ancient feast of fruitfulness or fertility, which took place February 15. The rites of the day began with priests gathering in the cave of Lupercal on the southwestern part of the Palatine Hill, where they sacrificed goats and a young dog to the god Faunus, after which the foreheads of two youthful Luperci priests of high rank were smeared with the blood of the victims. Later, the blood was wiped off with wool dipped in milk, after which the ritual required the young men to laugh. After a sacrificial feast, they stripped themselves naked and put on a loin skin from the skins of the slain goats. Holding strips of the hides, they ran around the walls of the old Palatine community, hitting or snapping at all those they came close to, especially women, an action which was believed to bring fertility even to barren women, and a safe delivery in childbirth. William Shakespeare made use of the “Feast of the Lupercal” when he had Julius Caesar tell his barren wife, Calpurnia, to “Stand you directly in Antonio’s way when he doth run his course.” Then he instructed Marc Antony, “Forget not in your speed, Antonio, to touch Calpurnia; for our elders say the barren, touched in this holy chase, shake off their sterile curse.”
I think it’s high time we revived this ancient tradition. I mean, it fits right in with Valentine’s Day on the 14th. After a night of feasting and grousing in the goodie, couples could separate with men going to the southwestern section of the nearest hill and sacrificing a few coyotes. (It’s not politically acceptable to maim man’s best friend these days and Siobhan would be testy about the goats.) Then, they could put on their coyote skins and run around fertilizing women. This is bound to be a big hit at all the colleges and most Masonic Temples. After all, it was good enough for Julius Caesar and even Shakespeare liked it. I call it an idea whose time has come. Again.
When The Weather Outside Is Frightful….
If reading some of the earlier tales of youthful February exuberance make you pine for the past, take heart, Winter is for adults, too. You just have to expand your horizons a tad. For instance, one million people descend on tiny Hwacheon, South Korea each Winter primarily to eat trout. The stodgier visitors cut a hole in the ice and grab a pole to catch their dinners but the true fun-lovers will have none of it. These people actually jump in the frigid waters and catch the fish with their bare hands. Sign me up, ma, I’ll be over on the first icebreaker.
In Nederland, Colorado, since 2002, there has been a festival called Frozen Dead Guy Days. Bear with us now. Seems in 1989, a Norwegian citizen named Trygve Bauge brought the corpse of his recently deceased grandfather, Bredo Morstol, to the United States. The body was preserved on dry ice for the trip and stored in liquid nitrogen at the Trans Time cryonics facility in San Leandro, California from 1990 to 1993. The latter year, Bredo was returned to dry ice and transported to the town of Nederland, where Trygve and his mother Aud planned to create a cryonics facility of their own. Trygve, alas, was deported from the United States for overstaying his visa, leaving Aud stuck with Bredo’s still-frozen body, which she kept in a shack behind her unfinished house. Aud was eventually evicted from her home for violating several city ordinances and told a newspaper reporter about the little problem of Bredo, who would be thawing out any time now. Long story short, the frozen dead guy is still there, passed down from one caretaker to another---and yes, he is still frozen. The locals decided in 2002 that Bredo’s tale should be celebrated with a full slate of activities. Numbered among these are the popular Slow-Motion Parade, a Frozen Dead Guy lookalike contest, the competitive Coffin Races and a tour of the Tuff Shed where the body is currently located. Glacier Ice Cream, just down the road in Boulder, has created a special flavor, Frozen Dead Guy, especially for the occasion. The ice cream is blue, of course, and features crushed Oreo cookies and sour gummy worms. All things considered, we’ll take vanilla.
Not to be outdone by those silly Coloradans, the folks in Laza, Spain send Winter packing with their merry Entroido Festival. For five freewheeling days at the end of the season, revelers take to the streets throwing flour, setting fire to a giant sardine and hurling mudballs filled with live ants at one another. They wrap things up with a torchlight parade through the center of the village, at which time people who live on the upper stories of buildings throw dirt on the folks below. In Gainesville, we call this stuff “fraternity parties.”
Yo-Ho, Yo-Ho, It’s Off To The Viking Ship We Go!
Well, it’s better than tar-barreling. In earlier times, rabid squads of young men in Lerwick, Scotland would drag barrels of burning tar through town on sledges, making mischief along the way. After they got to the center of town, however, nobody knew what to do….and then there was all that tar to haul off. Next, they decided to go with torch processions, the first of which took place in 1881 on Up Elly Aa Day. As the years passed, the festival evolved. Soon, a thousand men dressed in full Viking gear began following a doomed Viking ship through town, eventually setting it ablaze at the culmination of the parade. As always with Viking affairs, debauchery is encouraged. Where do you think pirates got all their ideas?
Or you could just shinny up to Alaska for the annual Fur Rendezvous, which started in 1935 as a three-day sporting event for returning miners and trappers laden with the fruits of winter work. For ten days every February, Alaskans gather in lovely Anchorage to join in all the reindeer games. You’ve heard of the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain? Here we have the Running of the Reindeer, a mad dash through the streets of town with caribou at your heels. There is also a contest to see who can steer the fastest outhouse to victory, a dangerous event. For the Fur Rendezvous Blanket Toss, a walrus skin is used and each contestant gets one turn to either jump or grip the blanket’s edge while tossing others as high as twenty feet in the air, where the view is said to be spectacular.
On the way home, you’ll want to drop in to Whitehorse, Canada for the International Hair Freezing Championships. The world-renowned Takhini Hot Springs lets participants soak in 40 degree Celsius water, but above the liquid surface the temperature is minus 30. Hair-freezing takes only minutes. The festival is one of the premier spots on Earth where it inarguably pays to be bald.
February---there’s nothing like it. And we haven’t even begun to tell you about Groundhog Day.
That’s all, folks….
