Linda Raedisch
Hold on to your pointy hats, my dears! To explain the inspiration behind the next craft, I’m going to take you on a brief detour into ancient Christian ritual. And why not? As the glacier of Christianity made its inexorable way across Europe, it picked up many of the Old Ways and incorporated them into the church’s still uncertain new rituals. Then, as that glacier began to subside, those little bits of the native religions were exposed, picked out, and thrown aside like so much gravel. It’s up to the Witches to sweep them up again and take them into their sacred keeping.
Conceived in Rome in the seventh century, the feast of Candlemas changed little over the course of the Middle Ages, except for the candles themselves. At those earliest Candelaria processions in Rome, each supplicant would have carried a candelarium, or mullein torch. With its tapering head of yellow flowers, a fresh stalk of mullein already looks like a candle. Once the stalk was dried and dipped repeatedly in hot fat, it actually became one.
Later, the wealthier townsfolk would carry sleek tapers of beeswax while the peasants trooping in from the outskirts brought tallow candles that smoked and spluttered, the drops of fat freezing instantly on the cobbles. The candles they carried were blessed by the priest at the altar and then used throughout the year for all sorts of magic, some of it sanctioned by the church, some not. The candles burned at the bedsides of the sick, the dying, and women in labor. They were used for love charms and to deflect lightning from the house. Red candles were supposed to keep Witches away—the malevolent kind, of course.
As they neared the churchyard, expectant mothers peered anxiously through the lichgate, for Candlemas Eve was also a night of augury. As long as enough snow fell to cover the graves, all would be well and spring would arrive by Easter. If only a little snow had fallen, then as many women would die in childbirth as there were bare patches of earth in the churchyard.
Paper Candle Collar
This craft will ensure both candlelight and a flurry of snowflakes for good luck in the coming spring. As the candle burns down, the cut paper snowflakes will become better illuminated. Note: Don’t try this with a candle less than 2¾" in diameter. Even if the paper collar doesn’t catch fire, you’ll have hot wax gushing out through the holes.
Do I really need to remind you not to leave a candle burning unattended? Consider yourself reminded. Especially if you have cats.
Time frittered: Less time than it takes to read the instructions!
Cost: Less than $5.00, unless you buy a really, really fat candle
Supplies
White pillar candle (minimum 2¾" diameter)
Colored tissue paper* (I like pink for the glorious post-snowstorm sunsets we see at this time of year.)
White all-purpose glue*
For a 3" pillar candle with a 2¾" diameter, you will cut a strip of tissue paper 3" wide and 9¼" long. This will give you room for three repetitions of your snowflake pattern as well as about a ¼" overlap for gluing. If your candle is larger, you will need a wider, longer strip. No, you don’t have to measure; simply lay the candle on the tissue paper and it will be your guide.
Here comes a little origami lingo: A “valley fold” is a fold in which the crease becomes a valley. A “peak fold” is a fold in which the crease becomes a ridge. Valley folds and peak folds are really the same thing, but they convey which way the paper is moving in relation to the folder (that’s you). So: valley fold the edge of the strip into a triangle. Now peak fold that triangle back behind the strip, and valley fold and peak fold until you have only that ¼" strip left. To make sure you’ve got it right, unfold it and check your crease pattern against the one in the illustration.
Now fold it back up again and snip out your snowflake pattern with a pair of sharp scissors. Unfold, wrap around your pillar candle, and glue in place.
Medieval Snowflake
By now, those frost-ferns you put in the window at Yule are probably looking a little tired. Take them down now and throw them away, or burn them if you prefer. You can have the fun of making them all over again next year. We will replace them with paper snowflakes—no, not the kind you made in first grade! The design of this one is adapted from a medieval Oxonian inlaid paving tile. Medieval English tiles are an example of those last little bits of Paganism I was telling you about. Though they were made principally to cover the floors of monasteries and cathedrals, if you look at them with a Witch’s eye, you’ll see plenty of Pagan symbolism: holly leaves, oak leaves (lots of oak leaves!), hares, stags, sun wheels, and happy little dragons. When Henry VIII broke away from the Catholic Church, he put an end to all that sacred embellishment and the art of inlaid tilemaking sadly fell by the wayside along with the carving of gargoyles and the casting of really, really fat beeswax candles.
Did the craftsman who carved the wooden stamp for this particular tile intend it to look like a snowflake? Probably not, for the technology for looking at snowflakes close up had not yet been invented. More likely he saw a stylized city with cathedrals and watchtowers and tall fir trees—or are they oak leaves?
This snowflake can go in the window or in the center of the table. See how I left the center of the design empty? That’s so you can place a pillar candle there.
Feel free to make your own adaptations to my design. Maybe you want to make those “oak leaves” look more like ghosts or the “cathedrals” more like Pagan temples. No two alike and all that!
Time frittered: Give yourself a good 20 minutes so you can cut and fold very carefully.
Cost: Mere pennies
Supplies
Lightweight white printer paper* (You’re going to be cutting through several thicknesses of paper, so you don’t want anything too heavy.)
Cut an 8½" square from an 8 ½" × 11" sheet of white paper. Fold this square into quarters then valley fold into a triangle. Cut out the design as shown, unfold, and let it snow!