The Old Ways: Michaelmas Harvest
Natalie Zaman
Imagine for a moment that you’re living in the eleventh century, working with the seasons, going to church, and praying that you survive another year. September rolls around and it’s time for Michaelmas—the feast day of that doughty warrior saint, Michael. It’s such an important and solemn day that you’d spend three days prior to it fasting, going to confession, and then walking to church barefoot. That was the original plan when Michael’s feast day—September 29—was established in the fifth century, but it fell too near the autumnal equinox, a time when folks were used to celebrating the last harvest of the year—not a time for austerity. There was only one thing for it: St. Michael would add another duty to his ecclesiastical résumé: he would oversee and bless the festivities of the autumnal equinox. He and his mythos would be inserted—opportunely in many cases—into already existing traditions.
Best known as the head of the army of God and ejector of Lucifer from heaven, Michael was, naturally, the patron saint of soldiers. He’s also the patron of those who work with weights and measures. His feast day was determined by the dedication of his first church (built over a cave in Rome), but it is solidly (and perhaps, conveniently) positioned just after the autumnal equinox when the sun enters the astrological sign of Libra, represented by scales. His saintly skill set makes him the ideal candidate to invoke for strength, balance, and protection—the heart of the celebrations of both the autumnal equinox and Michaelmas.
The name Michaelmas is a bit of a misnomer as it suggests that the day belongs to Michael alone, when in fact the day also honored fellow archangels Gabriel, Uriel, and Raphael, all of whom undoubtedly helped Michael in the battle for Paradise. As the last of the harvest was brought in and folks started to look ahead to the dark days of winter, it was probably a comforting thought to know that Michael (whose name aptly means “Who is like God?” in Hebrew) and company, with their collective strength, would be present during the coming challenges.
The autumnal equinox was a traditional time for electing officials, paying debts, hiring servants, and, of course, bringing in the last harvest. Thanks to Michael and his deeds, September 29 became a kind of harvest “deadline.” By the end of September, whatever crops were left had to be brought in lest the Devil—trapped on hell and earth and with an axe to grind—would ruin whatever was left on the vine by spitting or stamping on it. This was especially true of blackberries, which were at their peak in the month of September (and still are). Blackberrying—the foraging of this free and plentiful late summer fruit—is an ancient British tradition still enjoyed today.
Harvesting wild carrots also became a Michaelmas tradition. In Scotland, women would go out into the hills the Sunday before Michaelmas to dig up wild carrots. These were given in bunches of three tied with red ribbon or thread as tokens of prosperity and plenty in the coming year. Split roots were especially lucky, and given from a woman to a man, they held connotations of fertility. Michael’s saintly touch can be seen in the tools that were used to free the carrots from the earth: a trident and triangular spade shaped like St. Michael’s shield.
A traditional harvest festival meal in England, Scotland, and Ireland when it could be had was the Michaelmas goose, fed on the stubble that remained in the field after the harvest was brought in (but was already ideally plump having fed on fresh grass all summer). Eating goose at Michaelmas—sometimes called “Goose Day”—ensured good luck and plenty in the coming year. A case in point: Elizabeth I was enjoying a Michaelmas goose (served as if to look alive) when she was believed to have heard of the defeat of the Spanish Armada.
In the British Isles, the autumnal equinox, and then Michaelmas was considered a “quarter day,” a time of reckoning. Rents were paid on quarter days, and remittance for this debt at Michalmas often took the form of a goose as can be seen in this bit of verse written by George Gascoyne in 1575:
And when the tenants come to pay their quarter’s rent,
They bring some fowl at Midsummer, a dish of fish in Lent,
At Christmas a capon, at Michaelmas a goose,
And somewhat else at New Year’s tide, for fear their lease fly loose.
The goose became associated with paying debts and balancing books; Michael’s symbolic value as a figure of balance made it a natural transition to dedicate the meal and its connotations to his service.
A floral tribute to Michael’s strength and the joy and merriment of the harvest lingers past both the equinox and his feast day, a bright aster that blooms from August into late October. A reminder that despite the darkening days, life continues and Michaelmas daisies, like their namesake saint, continue to thrive in the looming face of winter:
The Michaelmas daisies, among dede weeds
Bloom for St. Michael’s valorous deeds.
And seems the last of the flowers that stood
Till the feast of St. Simon and St. Jude1
Michael is the champion of the autumnal equinox. Invoke him for strength and balance as the year tips into shadow. May your harvest be plentiful and your geese be fat!
Additional Reading
Bauld, Mary. “An Ancient Michaelmas Tradition.” True Highlands, 2014. http://www.truehighlands.com/an-ancient-michaelmas-tradition-by-mary-bauld/
Johnson, Ben. “Michaelmas.” Historic UK: The Historic and Heritage Accommodation Guide, 2013. http://www.historic-uk.com/CultureUK/michaelmas/
Walsh, William S. Curiosities of Popular Customs and of Rites, Ceremonies, Observances and Miscellaneous Antiquities. London: J. B. Lippincott and Company, 1898.
Warwicker, Michelle. “Are We Ready to Embrace the Michaelmas Goose Once Again?” BBC Food. September 29, 2012. http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/0/19731413
1. Medieval Michaelmas prayer as quoted in Historic UK