Just your regular old run-of-the-mill pagan ritual...

Not having full command of a language has its ups and downs.

Some of them are funny. Just this week, in the fromagerie in Beaune, the salesperson asked, I thought, if I'd like a receipt. "Oh, no thank you," I said with a bright smile, standing still. A few moments later, spurred on by the confused look on her face, I realized she asked if I'd like to follow her to the cash register to pay.

Some of them are frustrating. When you know that your language makes you sound (at best) a bit simple, it is not always easy to express complicated or nuanced or meaningful thoughts. There are many moments where I can't find the words, and often end up saying nothing, or something that is not quite right.

But some of the gaps in language end up being delightful. This morning's events were an example of that. About two weeks ago, we had received a notice that indicated that the schools would have some kind of festival today. I knew enough to know that the kids should come in costume, and that we should bring doughnuts, drinks, or cake.

Katie and Livie reported that they were to buy fancy new dresses and shoes and ribbons to wear. We compromised with new tutus in Bristol, as they had left all of their dress-up clothes at home. And last night (thanks to a WONDERFUL care package from my friend Sara's mom, who sews ballet costumes for the Pacific Northwest Ballet and sent the girls an envelope full of the fanciest fabric scraps, ribbons, netting, tulle, and more), I madly made masks for three small faces.

After a quick market run this morning (cheese of the week -- the most sublime gruyere), I returned to put the finishing touches on the masks, and off we went, a bit late and not too sure what to expect.

We pulled into a field and clearly were late, and there was not much around that looked very festive.

Jack got out of the car and said "I have a bad feeling about this" as we started off in the trail of some parents in bright yellow vests. Eventually, we started seeing confetti on the trail and continued on. In a few minutes, we caught up with the end of the parade, and were handed hats (for the uncostumed John and me) and bags full of confetti. A little further along, we saw a man pushing this:

On the back of the straw-stuffed bon homme was a sign that said Au revior hiver! On the front, the sign said Bienvenue printemps! 

Well, it turns out that scores of school children, parents, teachers and pets would spend the morning marching around the village, tossing confetti and banging pots and blowing whistles, up hills and down, crossing roads (holding cars up for a LONG time as even the toddlers were part of the parade) and talking and laughing and preparing to say goodbye to winter and welcoming spring. We saw friends from the different classrooms, talked with teachers, and enjoyed seeing a new village up close.

If we had known that there would be SO much parading leading us exactly back to where we parked our car, we might have left the three litres of juice and cups and snacks in the car (again, we see one of the downsides of having no clue what is going on. The upside is that we never would have dreamed of anything so wonderful).

Eventually, we ended up back in the field where we started, and the bon homme was pulled to a dirt patch. I asked the woman next to me what happened next.

"Il brûle" (he burns), she reported.

And indeed, he did. Several men, garbed in bright yellow vests with fire extinguishers nearby, lit the hay-stuffed man. A teacher told me that the festival was held each year as a way to say goodbye to winter, and to welcome spring. If the bon homme burned completely, she added, it meant spring would come soon.

Well, it seems that spring will be just around the corner!

On the way home, John mentioned that you could almost picture being in medieval France doing the same thing. I agreed, and then added that I could picture them doing that thousands of years ago... it definitely had the feel of a pagan ritual!

I'll add the rest of the photos later -- we are on our way out the door to a true Burgundian lunch with Geraldine, Thomas and the kids -- but I had to write right away about this unexpectedly delightful morning.

Au revior, hiver! Bienvenue printemps!