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The only thing better than singing is more singing.

Ella Fitzgerald

Dear Reader,

At 6 pm, it was 21 degrees Fahrenheit, and the stars were already out as I fumbled with adding a pair of corduroy trousers over multiple base layers. Tossing my head lamp into the basket, I added a second pair of merino socks, quickly laced up my snow boots, and slipped into my coat. Out into the night I went with a single mission in mind.

As my dear farmer friend Nicole and I snaked our way down country roads, my heart was filled with joy rather than the bit of trepidation it held last January. A year ago, this New Englander transplant was a complete newbie to wassailing, not to mention that heading out on dark, snowy nights has never been high on my comfort list. But memories of marching through calf-deep snow on a bright, starry night and singing to the senior members of a historic orchard with the occasional owl accompaniment were still bright.

This year, we had a fresh layer of powder, slightly warmer temps, and no anticipatory anxiety on my part. Instead, I was filled with child-like wonder, ready for whatever gift the night might offer. Midway through our wandering, it came as the screech of a vixen, sending chills down our spines.

There are several ingredients that make this invitation from Cheri so special. Of course, it is a heartwarming experience to be included in their family ritual, but it’s also the sense of ease that washes over me when I can be completely myself without question in the company of women, and finally, there is doing the thing I wouldn’t ordinarily do. Cold and night are not two elements I regularly request, but in truth, they do add to the magic formula.

When I woke the morning after, still humming the wassailing tune, I knew this year it was the release that came from simply singing that may have held the most value. Singing for the trees elevates the experience, and this year, more than ever, the sense of liberation that comes through song is much needed. If you need a further nudge, it turns out singing does indeed shift the state of your nervous system. That lightness in my step the next day lingered, and wanting to hold it dear, I made quick plans for our own family tree wassailing.

Our young orchard doesn’t yet have the history or majesty of Cheri's senior trees; instead, we stand taller than most of the saplings. Nevertheless, it's high time they were honored, as some may begin providing a bit of fruit in the coming season. And so with mugs of simmered wassail, we sang the tune I learned from my friends as darkness fell upon plums, the pears, the apples, quince, and cherry trees.

Oh (apple) tree we wassail thee

And hope that thou shalt bear

Hatfuls, capfuls, and three bushel bagfuls

A little heap under the stairs.

For to grow well

And to bear well so merry let us be

Let every man/lass lift up his/her glass

To the health of the (apple) tree

Waes Hael means be well and the practice of wishing the trees well often occurred on the 12th night of Christmas. Originating well before the Gregorian calender the actual date today would then be about the 17th of January. I can imagine the trees would accept your gift anytime, but before the sap begins to flow would be keeping with tradition. The singing to the trees is meant to frighten off bad spirits and welcome in the good. Since welcoming in the good should be high on every human’s priority, I invite you to create your own wassailing ritual on your own or, better yet, with some friendly neighbors. Simmer some spiced wassail and head out to the trees.

​
Until next week,

It's Aquarius Season!

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Sun Transits 21- 31 January

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