Recently, a fascinating debate has raged within the halls of the Great Library of the Ages. It began, as near as I can tell, when two of my brother Aesthetics were embroiled in a discussion of the various methods historians use to mark the passage of time. Calendar dates are, of course, the most dispassionate measures existent, but many scholars eschew their use within individual works in favor of measuring time around a central event (for example, a particular treatise on the revival of the Solamnic Knighthood goes to great lengths to pinpoint events by their proximity to the death of Sturm Brightblade—the event the author equates with the Order's redemption in the public eye). This drives home the author's thesis and, at the same time, forces upon it more credence than it might hold on its own merits—in order to finish the work, the reader must participate in the thought process that the author espouses, thus hopefully making it more palatable by the paper's end. (For the record, I suggest this practice be discouraged among the Aesthetic Order. Our papers and essays ought to be beyond such pettiness as maneuvering for acceptability. We dispassionately report on events and, most importantly, have no vested interest in the reader's conclusions, whatever they may be.) [True. The researcher's suggestion has been taken under advisement by the leaders of the Order.]

The topic transformed slightly at some juncture, and became a debate about how the common folk measure time. After all, most people on Ansalon do not have access to calendars, sun dials, or other accurate time-measuring devices—they simply give their best guess at a correct date and go on with their lives. In truth, to the farmer, shepherd, or blacksmith, it makes precious little difference whether it is the final day of Deepkolt or the first day of Brookgreen. Furthermore, even the days of the week have little real significance to most folk unless they follow particular religious observances.

So how do commoners measure time?

One fellow argued quite vociferously that the seasons formed the posts by which time is measured in homespun societies. "There is nothing," he pointed out, "more regular, reliable, or impactful on the community as a whole than the seasons. Ask them when they plant their seeds, and they'll answer, ‘In the spring.’ Ask them when an important historical event occurred—like the death of Sturm Brightblade—and they'll answer, ‘In the winter.’ Their days, years, and entire lives proceed according to a schedule defined by the passing of spring to summer to autumn to winter and back to spring. Nothing else could possibly have so strong a hold on such folk!"

He made a very convincing case. Still, his opponent remained unmoved.

"The seasons may dictate the people's actions," he began, "but they are not the measuring stick of the year. You see, seasons are fickle. The coming of the spring thaw can happen anywhere within a span of three months, and the heat of summer can last for months or only a fortnight. Farmers do not plan their lives around the seasons—they can't. How could anyone plan around so inconstant a standard? No, the marks by which the common folk mark the passage of time are holidays and festivals."

This brought a chuckle from those gathered to watch the debate, a not-insubstantial crowd by my recollection. In a chorus of rowdy cries—or as rowdy as we Aesthetics are allowed to get—they pointed out the error in the man's logic. "Holidays happen on specific days," they said. "Your position was defenseless the minute you agreed that simple folk have no accurate calendars!" They laughed the way an older child laughs at siblings who still believe that babies come from heads of cabbage. The author of the theory, though, stood with a look of triumph in his eye and patiently waited for the crowd to calm.

"When is Spring Dawning?" he asked.

"The twenty-first day of Deepkolt!" someone shouted back.

"Wrong!" the brave orator replied, though in fact the date was accurate. "For the Qué-Shu, Spring Dawning occurs on the day when the sun rises over Thorbardin and sets directly atop a specific bend in the River Toranth. For the wild elves of Southern Ergoth it is the day when the sun and moon each rule the sky for exactly the same length. And for goblins in the service of the Knights of Neraka it is exactly three days before Mirielle Abrena's birthday. [In light of Abrena's assassination, it will be interesting to see if the Knights continue to mark this date.] The ‘simple folk,’ as you call them, were observing the same celebrations on the same days for years before we ‘smart folk’ decided to set them down on the calendars.

"Farmers, peasants, and barbarians may not have calendars, but they do watch the stars and track the phases of the moon to keep an amazingly accurate record of the days of the year. (This was even more accurately done when they had the advantage of three lunar bodies.) They cannot accurately predict when the first frost will come, but as sure as Astinus's writings, they know which day will be the shortest of the year. Seasons are what folks use to pattern their work, but holidays are the way they measure their lives, no matter what inclement weather or act of the gods hamper their progress. It is holidays that these people anxiously await, not the change in season, because they can be sure of the holidays—they are something that the people created and control, and they are what tell the people if the summer heat is running particularly long or winter snows are long past due."

A most impressive proposition—indeed one that brought the assembled throng to its feet, and the opposing debater to his knees. In a long, roundabout way for which I'm told I have a penchant, [He does. I have had to speak to him about it.] it brings me to the subject of this report.

The racks of the library are replete with discourses on the various holidays of Ansalon. However, to a one they deal with ancient traditions—in other words, ones whose genesis can be found in one of Krynn's earlier ages. They may still sit neatly on our calendars, but they no longer fit as neatly into the annual marker posts described by the eloquent Aesthetic in my tale. In nearly every case this is because of the world's current unilunar state. The old holidays were created to occur in tandem with the waxing and waning of three moons. With only one moon remaining, observances for many of the old holidays had to be modified both in timing and substance for them to remain pertinent in the current age. At the same time they created new holidays whose celebrations lay in perfect synchronization with the new celestial progression.

This report, as requested by my superior, examines holidays and festivals as they are currently enjoyed by the common folk of Ansalon, paying particular attention to the newly created celebrations that have thus far come to my attention. Some of these are observed by only a few isolated cultures, others have become popular among most (perhaps all) cultures on the continent, but all of them are clearly creations of the Age of Mortals.

Spring holidays

My first inclination when beginning this document was to list the various holidays beginning with Year Day and continuing in the order they appear on the calendar. However, I soon realized the amazing incongruence this created. After all, how can one hope to put forth a credible argument when one's own format works counter to that point of view? No, if my thesis remains that holidays and seasons are the peoples' measuring sticks, then that is how this treatise needs to be arranged.

So let us start with spring, the time of year when all life begins anew. As a rule, spring holidays revolve around one of two things: production or reproduction. Holidays of production—chiefly "Harrowing"—celebrate the season's devotion to growth. Farmers plant seeds, craftsmen repair damages suffered during the winter months, and merchants plan the routes for their caravans. Business and nature both enter their annual period of expansion. Meanwhile, holidays of reproduction—as exemplified by "Children's Day"—honor the cycle of life. They encourage people to plan not just for this year but for all the years to come. It is when people or creatures are at the height of power that they must plan for their decline—beavers build winter dams when the spring saplings are most robust, squirrels fill their hollows with seeds and nuts when there is food to spare, and people have children when they are young and strong so that they will be grown and can aid them in their old age.

These are the themes of spring, and clearly reflected in all of her holidays.

Spring Dawning is generally accepted as the first day of spring. Of course, as any farmer might tell you, "spring starts when the snows melt, but it's no fun until Spring Dawning." In other words, for those who live in practical rather than academic circles, the season's start is tied to physical reality rather than arbitrary dating but, no matter what the weather, on this day we celebrate spring's arrival. It is the day of the vernal equinox—when day and night are in perfect balance.

Spring Dawning celebrations vary widely from community to community, but most include some sort of public festival and feast. On Palanthas's Central Plaza two knights (one dressed in snow white, the other clad in the green of spring leaves) perform a mock battle to symbolize the change of weather. The origins of this tradition lie in an annual tournament held by the Knights of Solamnia (the city's former—and many still say rightful—rulers) wherein the Knights split into two camps (the white and the green). Legend said that if a Knight of the Green won the tourney, summer would be quick in coming, but if a White Knight was champion, it would be a long and chilly spring. In the wake of the Knights of Neraka's annexation of the city, though, the event became much more ritualized and steeped in political dogma. The Spring Knight is always a representative of the Nerakan regime, while the Winter Knight bears a none-too-subtle resemblance to a Solamnic Knight.

Abanasinian towns, such a Solace, host large festivals featuring stalls selling crafts and wares of all description. Some scholars theorize that this tradition has its origins in a form of community assistance to craftsfolk who spent the winter stockpiling wares and find themselves strapped for coin by the time good weather arrives. The Qualinesti call this holiday Fontanalia, and consider it a day to honor the spirits that dwell in flora and fauna. Young elf girls often wear garlands of newly picked flowers, and bards compose and perform odes to nature's perfection. [Among the elves several important celebrations occur about this same time (or shortly after) such as Kith-Kanandras (see below). We must assume that despite the shield these holidays are still celebrated by the Silvanesti as they are by the Qualinesti.]

If Spring Dawning celebrates the change in weather, then Children's Day is simply a celebration of the miracle of life. On most other holidays children find themselves saddled with extra chores, tasked with being on their best behavior, and forced to wear their best—which to their minds means most uncomfortable—clothing. (According to my research, many adults in the rustic communities feel the same way about formal wear, but the pull of tradition keeps them donning overly starched material holiday after holiday.) Children's Day, though, is a time for wild abandon and reckless joy. No one dresses in fine clothing unless he or she desperately wants it to be ruined in all the rough-housing the day brings.

Both children and adults set aside normal chores this day and engage themselves with whatever activities they find most enjoyable. Organized games run the gamut from sporting contests (such as wrestling matches, archery tournaments, or overland races) to "treasure hunts" (where the adults hide sweets, toys, and other prizes around the town, and the children spend the day trying to find them all).

In farming communities, where it is more difficult to find the time to take an entire day off, regular chores are set aside in favor of more pleasant (though still essential) endeavors that are in tune with the day's theme of celebrating life. Farmers will typically spend the day planting trees, or building and repairing items that belong to their offspring. As the children grow, this is the day on which they are allowed to choose an animal to care for as their own—a tremendous responsibility but one that is seen more as a prize than a chore by most young farmers.

Children's Day is also considered a fortuitous day to breed livestock. Any calf, foal, or lamb born on this day is considered an omen of good luck. Such animals generally get better treatment than the rest of the herd, and a disproportionate number of them go on to be blue ribbon winners at fall fairs and tournaments.

According to most scholarly sources, Harrowing is the oldest holiday on the Ansalonian calendar. Fewer and fewer people actually celebrate this day to mark the start of planting season, but most folk are aware of it, and the day still holds some real significance within farming communities. In ancient times, the date of Harrowing would change from year to year based on the particulars of that season's weather. What's more, the day would be celebrated on different days in different regions of the continent, each region having its own proper time to begin planting due to its respective latitude. However, the Kingpriest of Istar standardized the date (as he did for so many holidays) in the years just prior to the First Cataclysm.

There exist no single accepted mode of celebrating Harrowing. Each area has its own unique traditions. For example, Solamnian farmers set aside a small patch of their fields to devote to a simple and somber ritual centering around the planting of the "first seeds"—the truth is that in some years, the rest of the fields are fully sown weeks before this patch, while in others these first seeds are doomed never to sprout due to inclemently frosty weather. If the seeds do grow to be harvested, the crop is also set aside and used only for ceremonial foods. All this was originally intended to honor Paladine and the gods of good. Even now it is celebrated to signify the return of the land to life.

Other regional celebrations include a series of fertility rites observed by the Plainsmen of Abanasinia and Duntollik, which include dancing around a pole decorated with colorful vines. Most communities of dwarves see Harrowing as a time to clean out their larders of last winter's stores. They feast until all the remain supplies have been consumed, freeing the storage space in anticipation of fresh bounty to come.

The oddest traditions belong to the Khurrish humans and the kender. In Khur they believe that this is the day that wrongly imprisoned spirits return from the Abyss in the form of spring rain and windstorms. In years when the weather is fine on this day, the Khur celebrate. If clouds loom on the horizon, though, they fast and pray until the skies clear again. Kender, on the other hand, consider Harrowing a day for practical jokes. Thankfully, they generally keep the chicanery within their own ranks, but those of other races who take kender into their homes and treat them like family should beware—they may not find out that they are considered "honorary kender" until they take a mouthful of intentionally over-spiced stew. [Any human who takes in kender as house guests should be used to this sort of thing. ]

Unlike most other holidays, research does not reveal any occurrence or historical event to explain the origin of this holiday. In fact, the closest scholarly papers come to pinpointing an origin to Visiting Day is a kender tradition of "Hi, How Are You?" (a localized version of Wanderlust). Most folk are loath to admit that they learned anything from kender, so the true history of this holiday may never be known.

Whatever its beginnings, Visiting Day is celebrated in most parts of Ansalon. Traditionally, the morning is devoted to cleaning one's home thoroughly—there is likely no tidier day in a given year than Visiting Day. When the work is done, the rest of the day is spent either visiting neighbors and relations or entertaining those who have come visiting you. It is traditional for the visitors to bring gifts (usually of food and drink) to those they visit so as not to overburden the poor hosts. A common problem of Visiting Day, though, is that everyone is out visiting somebody else, and the only people one sees at all are those one passes on the road. The people of Kalaman have formed a tradition around this fact, and celebrate the holiday by having a miles-long picnic along the city streets.

This is also the designated day to return items one may have borrowed from neighbors during the past year. "If your neighbor still has your tools after Visiting Day," a Nordmaarian proverb goes, "it's time to buy a new set." Donations to charity, particularly of food and housewares, are also traditional on this holiday. Among the more affluent, Visiting Day often marks the date of a young debutante's coming-out ball.

Other Spring holidays

Regional holidays that happen every spring include:

Forgeday, a dwarf holiday, is sacred to blacksmiths, who are treated like thanes on this day. It is considered to be Reorx's holy day. Each dwarf smith must forge a particularly exquisite item in honor of the day and present it at a community feast. The fare is typically heavy (dark bread, mutton, and thick, black beer) but just as typically delicious. Few folks take their merriment as seriously as do the dwarves, so visitors to a Forgeday celebration ought to be prepared to revel mightily or they had best stay home.

According to some sources, this holiday is also observed on Mt. Nevermind, but to date no scholar has been brave enough to verify this report.

This, admittedly, is a holiday celebrated only by the Order of Aesthetics. Since this is an Aesthetic's account of Ansalonian celebrations, though, there seems no reason to leave it out.

When Astinus still lived in the Great Library, this was the only day of the year that he would lay aside his pen and close his tome. I was always afraid to ask why he chose this date, though I know the tradition began the year after the Blue Lady's assault on Palanthas. Oddly enough, to this day very little of historic significance ever seems to happen on this date.

In remembrance of my master, this day is now a holiday for all Aesthetics. We cease our studies and transcription, close the library to the public, and spend the entire day rereading one of our favorite books or historical records. I know that Astinus always read a particular book brought to him by Caramon Majere following the Battle of Palanthas. I, however, prefer a collection of Ergothian poetry given to me by my mother the day I entered into the Order of Aesthetics. [Unfortunate at best! Imagine spending one's time mooning over Eigothian poetry (the Ergothians have a positive genius for turning out bad verse) when he could be reading one of the magnificent chronicles or historical works in which the library's collection abounds. Even though Astinus has departed, we still honor this day in his memory.]

This holiday, originated by the ancient Empire of Ergoth, has become beloved by all sailors as well as those who make their living working with seamen. It is celebrated in every major port on the continent and on the islands of the Blood Sea, as well.

The feast is sacred to Habbakuk, and it is considered an auspicious day to begin building, launch, or christen a new vessel. Most sailors and fishermen toss small sacrifices to the waves this day, often of a very private nature—one captain of my acquaintance offers a lock of his, his wife's, and each of his children's hair.

The highlight of the day, undoubtedly, is the Great Regatta. Every ship in port, from the smallest dinghy to the greatest galleon, participates in a race (whose nature varies from port to port), and the winner is dubbed the Sea Lord for the Feast. The meal features fish of all description and other sea delicacies. Rum and other spirits are consumed in unhealthy quantities, and tall tales are shared, each more rowdy and bawdy than the last.

In most ports, the feast lasts for two days—the first for celebration, the second for recovery.

Summer holidays

If the spring holidays focus on life and revitalization, then surely the summer festivals are devoted to growth and abundance. All good things are plentiful in summer—the days are longer, everywhere stalks of grain stretch skyward, and folk travel the country visiting relatives or forging new business connections. This is the time of year when the common folk have the most of everything. In spring supplies were dwindling, once fall comes growth will end and stores must begin to be tapped—but in the summer there is more than enough of all things.

Holidays like Midyear's Day and the Family Feast revel in excess. They are symbols of all that is good in life. People indulge themselves during these summer festivals in ways they wouldn't dream of doing in the spring. The meals are grander, the wine flows more freely, and the parties last longer into the night. This is the time for overdoing things, like the sun seems to overindulge itself in the midst of a summer heat wave, or a river washes over its banks to flood the lowlands. What begins as an abundance of something good quickly turns into a seemingly never-ending series of extreme events. One only has to survive one summer drought forevermore to fear the heat as much as one revels in it.

Summer in the rural communities is also the middle season between bouts of backbreaking work. Certainly, there are still chores to be done on a daily basis, but they are not nearly as difficult (nor as labor intensive) as planting in the spring or harvesting in the fall. They are jobs that serve to maintain the status quo (a healthy, growing crop). There is time for personal reflection, and summer honors this time with holidays to help people make peace with the past. Most notable among these are the Day of Fire and the Festival of Bones, both holidays that focus on lives lost and friends remembered.

The summer solstice, the longest day of the year, is celebrated in every community in every corner of Ansalon. If there is one day in the year that symbolizes life and hope, the power of light over darkness, this is it. Ironically enough, this holiday is most commonly celebrated after the sun goes down—the daylight hours being devoted to the work of the season.

Some philosophers enjoy commenting on the ironic eloquence of celebrating life by engaging in it. They claim that though it seems as though folks work harder and longer than usual on Midyear's Day, they are actually participating in a ritual that lampoons the mundane nature of existence. Other scholars, myself included, believe that such nonsense could only be dreamed up by cloistered academicians who take no pleasure whatever in interacting with the real people of Ansalon.

Say what you will about the detached nature of the Order of Aesthetics, but we do live in the real world, and most of our members spend years walking the land and living and working with the people about whom they eventually write. We understand that the reason farmers and other commoners work hard on Midyear's Day is that it is the only day in the year when they can get this much accomplished. To squander it in idle revelry would dishonor the very spirit of this longest day.

Midyear's Eve, though, is a time for celebrating with wild abandon. Villages everywhere are hung with lanterns, torches, and decorative ribbons. Popular foods include pickled eggs and fresh bread dipped in sweet wine. Dwarves traditionally untap the first of kegs of their spring ale and beat on ceremonial drums to call all within earshot to their drunken festival. Even the normally sedate elves give their passions free rein tonight, and this is reportedly the most common night for elven young—particularly a family's firstborn—to be conceived. Kender spend the week previous to Midyear's Day collecting and caring for lightning bugs, which they release this night to create an amazing spectacle of dancing lights.

In every community the people celebrate the fact that they have fought and lived through the hardest part of the year. What remains is to stay the course and see their efforts through to completion.

One of the two most somber days of the year, the Day of Fire honors the anniversary of the defeat of the Chaos god and the instigation of the Second Cataclysm. Unlike its sister holiday (Dark Day, observed in Firstmonth, commemorating the First Cataclysm), the events of the Day of Fire are still very much within living memory. This is somewhat of an overstatement. After all, there certainly are some within the elf and dwarf communities who lived through both the fall of the Kingpriest and the defeat of Chaos. However, for most citizens of Ansalon—and in particular, those in the common communities upon which this essay focuses—the First Cataclysm is considered ancient history.

Interestingly enough, this day marking the day upon which the gods withdrew from our world is most commonly observed by activities steeped in religious significance. In their daily lives, people may invoke the gods, exalt their names, blame them for minor annoyances, or even curse them for abandoning the faithful after only reappearing for less than fifty years. On this day, however, people thank the gods for having the mercy to give up contact with their world and their creations. Priests often tell parables in which parents must make personally devastating decisions in order to insure their child's safety. This, they tell their followers, is what the gods did for the people of Krynn. "In order to save us, they had to leave us," the sermons often say. "The gods taught us all they could. They prepared us for life on our own. And on that fateful day came the moment when they had to leave us to stand on our own two feet. Let us prove worthy of the belief the gods showed in us. Let us keep our belief in them, and allow it to guide us on our difficult journey through life. May our spirits, forged in the Day of Fire, prove worthy of the legacy we inherit the world itself, and this Age of Mortals."

This holiday originated following the Summer of Chaos. The world had changed. Another great war had raged across the face of Ansalon. The primordial Chaos God itself walked the land. The gods themselves retired from the world, presumably forever. Thousands were dead—but many more survived. This day, exactly one month after the Second Cataclysm, was the day the survivors gave thanks not just for their own lives, but more importantly for the lives of those they loved.

At first this holiday may seem redundant, especially with the Day of Fire having been honored only a month earlier. However, the two days represent completely different emotions. The Day of Fire is about reverence and solemn reflection. The feast of the family is a testament to survival—it truly is a celebration.

Families travel for days to gather in one place for this festival. Even in human clans it is not uncommon to see four or five generations celebrating together. (Among the longer-lived races one might see as many as eight generations gathered.) It is a time of dancing, eating, and making merry together, a time when old grudges are forgiven and old loves rekindled. The centaurs of Duntollik gather in what amount to great herds and run across the desert plains under the pale moonlight, laughing and telling tales of great deeds they accomplished in the previous year. In Throt the goblin clans each hold tournaments to see who can bring in the largest game animal (a term used most loosely considering what meats goblins consider edible).

The Ergothian imperial family hosts a masquerade ball to which all persons of noble lineage are invited. Also invited are any commoners claiming unacknowledged relations to noble families. During the ball, anyone displaying crude, crass, or otherwise ignoble behavior is removed. Any commoner who remains at the ball at the midnight unmasking is awarded official recognition of his or her claim to nobility.

Each race and religion (not to mention several regions) has its own particular observance for honoring the dead. The dwarves of Thorbardin have a Festival of Candles on Seventhmonth 15th Day, and the elves of Qualinesti keep Qualintsalaroth on every Ninthmonth 25th Day, but the Festival of Bones is the only celebration of this kind that is honored by all people across Ansalon. Rather than remembering all the departed loved ones, though, each year this day is used to celebrate one life in particular, and over the course of a lifetime, most folk are able to devote a single day to each important person in their past.

Rather than commemorating the departed with a religious service, on this day families and friends remember their loved ones by performing or reenacting some event associated with his or her life. If the person in question was famous for scaling a mountain, his honorers may climb the highest hill in the region. If the person was a devoted follower of a particular god, then they may go on a pilgrimage to a famous temple.

Whatever the act, the celebrants carry with them a shank bone to symbolize the person being remembered. When they complete the act of remembrance, they leave the bone at that site so that others may recall their friend as well.

Other Summer holidays

Smaller regional and cultural summer holidays include:

Purportedly the day the Graystone of Gargath was released upon the world, this day is treated with great dread by many dwarf clans. There are literally hundreds of local rituals and superstitions said to ward off the stone's magical effects (which are thought to still be present in the world even after its apparent destruction in the Battle of the Abyss).

Oddly enough, this holiday is also observed by many kender, though their traditions differ greatly from the dwarves. Kender consider the Graystone to be the most interesting of all things that could possibly exist. They celebrate this day by holding "stone hunts" wherein entire communities of kender wander around trying to find the missing stone. While this mission inevitably fails, at day's end invariably the kender bring back an impressive collection of other interesting items they picked up along the way. [Usually from each others' houses.]

During the last days of the Fourth Age, this was the day that evil dragons celebrated their return from their "Age of Exile." They devoted this day to wanton destruction, attacking towns and villages for no reason other than to raze them for the sheer thrill of it. As it so happens, most of those particular dragons came out on the short end of the Dragon Purge. Those who remain find themselves in positions of subservience to the overlords from across the sea—all save Khellendros.

The Storm Over Krynn, as the Blue is often called, is the only remaining dragon who celebrates this holiday. However, given his position of power over most of northern Solamnia, his celebrations affect a significant number of mortals. Fortunately, Khellendros honors this day not by causing even more destruction than he already has, but rather by causing great, dark clouds to gather over all his territory, and filling the sky with tremendous bolts of Hghting. It would be a terrific display for folks to watch if not for the fact that the lightning does occasionally arc down to the ground, obliterating whatever is in its path.

This Abanasinian festival commemorates the day a group of friends who would eventually become known as the Heroes of the Lance gathered after a five year separation—the day they inadvertently began their resistance against the dragonarmies.

Originally, the holiday was observed only in Solace, more particularly at the Inn of the Last Home, where the friends met. As the years went on the celebration spread to surrounding towns, then as far as the city of Haven, until now it is a familiar event in many towns across the continent. However, for the most part revelries are confined to inns and taverns, where drinks and food are served at a substantial discount and bards sing tales of the Heroes' adventures.

Autumn holidays

Taking into consideration a broad cross-section of Ansalonian cultural traditions, there seem to be two prevalent ways to interpret the autumn season symbolically. Indeed, the way in which this particular season is perceived says a great deal about the way the group views the world as a whole. The two philosophical camps can best be described as "chaos" and "order."

For those from a "chaotic" tradition, autumn represents annual proof that anything good must eventually fall into disrepair and collapse altogether. The growth of the spring and summer, upon reaching fruition, turns into a season of shriveling death that leads unavoidably to a barren and lifeless end. Health and prosperity cannot be maintained, this school of thought teaches. They eventually will break down into illness and destitution.

The followers of "orderly" traditions, on the other hand, view the autumn as a culmination of the year's work. Harvest leads to plentiful storerooms and eventually allows one to rest when the winds of winter begin to blow—a well-earned recuperative period in which one prepares for the labors of the coming spring. All things happen in cycles, these philosophers say. Retraction and rest are as important as growth and exertion.

Each school of thought leads to a different interpretation of the autumnal holidays. For example, Harvest Come is seen as a joyous day of completion by the orderists, but as the beginning of the slow slide into death by the chaosists. Likewise, the chaosists consider Old Folks Day to be a last hurrah for the oldsters who will not survive the winter, while the orderists believe it is a day to honor those who have gained the most experience in this life.

In the end, neither group is right or wrong—but those who believe in an orderly world do tend to enjoy themselves more.

This day, also known as "Summer's End," is the counterpart to Spring Dawning. It marks the autumnal equinox, the date when day and night are again in perfect balance. However, this time it means that with each passing day the sun will shine a little less, and the night will last a little longer. Although the heat of summer may still linger in the air, the crops are in the process of being harvested and stored for winter (indeed, some harvests may even near completion as this day rolls around), and frost can occasionally be seen covering the morning grass.

The holiday itself is most often celebrated with a festival or feast praising the gods for the bounty of the land. Human communities often accompany this festival with some tradition of costumery, from a simple parade to a formal masquerade. Usually the theme of the costumes centers around the autumn foliage or food served during the season, such as gourds, roasted vegetables, and nuts. Some rural communities make work into a social event as they build a great communal smokehouse to salt and cure one another's beef and pork.

The Qualinesti treat the day with more pageantry and piety. Certainly they celebrate the coming of the most colorful season in their homeland, but this is also the traditional day for maidens to choose a potential husband. Many Qualinesti girls dream of becoming betrothed on Summer's End and wedding on Yule.

Dwarves consider this a more somber holiday—a time to work especially hard to prepare for the coming winter. [In point of fact, most dwarven holidays are somber. This race approaches celebrations with the same grim spirit of determination in which they do everything else. Even intoxication is undertaken with a kind of dour seriousness of purpose.] As they work they often sing the traditional parable of the ant and the grasshopper. In the most popular dwarvish version of the tale, the industrious ant not only survives the winter, but it also arises next spring to be king of all insects. (This version also features what many consider to be needlessly descriptive verses detailing the lazy grasshopper's fate.) Oddly enough, kender also like to tell this tale on Harvest Come. However, the moral they derive from the fable is somewhat different than what the dwarves intend: "Always make friends while you can, because you'll be needing people to visit and places to sleep during the long, dark winter."

This is another example of a holiday carried over from earlier times that has completely lost its original significance. For the sake of continuity and familiarity people gave new significance to the date and now whole new generations celebrate the day with little or no real understanding of its true meaning.

In the days when three moons traversed the Krynnish night, this holiday marked the night when all three moons stood full, one outlining the other, to form the eerie image of a red eye floating in the heavens. These were nights when powerful magic filled the ether, and common folk viewed the moons with trepidation. However, sorcerers of all three robes considered a Night of the Eye to be an auspicious time to begin or conclude research. It was also a night when apprentice wizards would travel door to door offering to perform minor spells for gifts of food or money, and children everywhere would bake red, white, and black cookies (one for each moon) and dress up in faux mage robes. All in all, it was a night filled with imagination and portent.

Since the Second Cataclysm there is only one moon in the sky, and as near as anyone can tell it has no connection whatever to the new forms of magic practiced in the Age of Mortals. The Festival of the Eye is still celebrated, however. Children still make cookies of the same colors (though most do not know why), but now they share terrifying stories around an evening bonfire. Occasionally these stories have something to do with evil wizards, but that is hardly a requirement. The only remaining practical link between this holiday and magic is that this is the day on which Palin Majere's Academy of Sorcery accepts a new group of students into its ranks. [This was written before Beryl's attack on the academy earlier this year and its destruction. Now we await the rise of some new school of magic.]

Living in Palanthas, it is easy to believe that the entire world treats the elderly with as little care or respect as people in large cities do. City dwellers have more neighbors, and they surround themselves with sufficient numbers of like-minded people that they often forget the unquestioning love that a tight family unit provides. In the country, however, the family is all. Even family members who are too old or frail to do any of the hard work are essential to surviving the long year.

It is likewise easy for the men and women who sow the field, keep the crops, and tend the herds to forget to offer thanks to their elders—the folks who churn the butter, gather the eggs, watch and raise the children, and keep the hearth and home warm and cozy. So, when all the crops have been gathered, they devote a day to give their thanks for all the work the parents and grandparents provide without a mumble of complaint.

On this day the younger members of the family perform chores and do deeds to make their elders' lives more comfortable. They make new chairs or stuff new pillows. They chop plenty of firewood and fix leaky roofs or drafty walls to keep aging bones warm in the coming months. They build new tools to make the old folks' daily chores easier to finish.

Cynical folk generally point out that all these "presents" to the elderly are really gifts to the rest of the family as well. After all, everyone needs firewood, and if the chores are easier for aging hands to perform, then they'll get done that much better and quicker. To these cynics I unashamedly say, "You're right"—but I also humbly suggest that they miss the point of the entire holiday.

Every member of the family is just as important as every other member. So by honoring the elderly, the family is really honoring itself.

This holiday began as an annual kender festival where they all compared the most interesting things they'd found recently in their pockets and gave thanks for such a fascinating world to wander about in. Folks who tend to distrust or dislike kender usually say that the purpose of this holiday is for kender to exchange secrets of thievery and practice innovative ways to separate honest folk from their rightful possessions.

Having taken the time to get to know more than one member of the race, though, I can forthrightly say that such dastardly and dishonorable thoughts practically never enter the head of the common kender. They truly enjoy their lives one moment at a time. Sadly, that means that whatever grabs a kender's imagination becomes an inseparable part of his or her world (thus they wind up walking off with many things that do not strictly belong to them).

However, in an odd reversal of the usual trend, humans have taken something from the kender—they have adopted and laid claim to the Thanks A Lot Day celebration and transformed it into the last and greatest of their autumn feasts.

Thanks A Lot Day meals feature everything imaginable from the autumn harvest: fresh baked pies, roasted gourds, fowl and meat of all varieties, breads and biscuits hot out of the oven, and all manner of sauces and syrups. It is, one pragmatist told me, the last chance to clear the larder of foods that will not keep through the winter.

I prefer to think of it as the last chance to dine together with all one's friends and family before the snows make traveling too difficult—but then Astinus always told me that my heart had too much sway over my head. [A common criticism by Astinus of members of our Order. It is far too easy to be ruled by emotion than logic. Since Astinus voiced a similar criticism of me, I have endeavored to correct the fault, but I have made only limited progress.]

Other Autumn holidays

Less widely celebrated autumn holidays include:

The gnomes actually refer to this festival as Updateandverifythedetailsofyourname Day. It is the day on which all gnomes visit their local genealogy guild to file corrections, addenda, and clarifications to their names. Invariably, over the course of a year, something about a gnome's name or title changes (often based on the success or failure of a particular experiment), and it is considered of the utmost importance that these changes be officially recorded. Gnomes take their names very seriously, since they are supposed to reflect every noteworthy event of their lives, as well as those of their ancestors.

This holiday of the barbarians who dwell in the Icewall region literally translates to "Reaver's Day." It commemorates the people's liberation from servitude to the Highlord Feal-thas, and is celebrated with a great feast, featuring food and drink brought in from warmer climes and hours of storytelling. Each person in attendance is expected to spin one tale of how he or she personally fought against the forces of evil. Any story featuring the death of a thanoi is particularly well received. The evening culminates with the clan elder telling the tale of how the Golden General slew the evil Feal-thas. By that time, however, many of the revelers have already passed out due to overconsumption of imported mead.

Dwarves wear their beards as proudly as Solamnic Knights wear their armor. On this day, though, all dwarves tuck their beards into their belts and hide them from public view. In fact, at the end of the day, a dwarf champion performs a ritual in which his beard is shaved clean off.

All of this is to honor the ancient hero Kharas, who shaved off his own beard to protest the Dwarfgate War. The newly shaved dwarf is handed the fabled Hammer of Kharas and then sequesters himself in a holy place until such time as his beard regrows enough to touch his chest. At that time a great feast is held and the clerics of Reorx take the sacred hammer back into hiding until next year's ceremony.

This holiday is considered intensely private, and no outsider has ever witnessed it. One of my brother Aesthetics somehow managed to get a merchant from Thorbardin to tell him of it, I suspect through bullheaded pestering rather than any scholarly wiles.

Winter holidays

In many corners of the continent winter is a fierce season of bone-chilling cold when the land, and quite often towns and cities, lies buried under feet of snow. At its simplest level, all the work done in the previous seasons was for the sole purpose of surviving this bleak and lifeless time. Folk who had successful years can spend the winter safely ensconced in their homes, while those who failed to do sufficient work or had poor luck visited upon their efforts must face the elements in often futile efforts to find the necessities of life.

Winter celebrations, for the most part, help to alleviate the feelings of isolation and oppression aroused by being snowbound for extended lengths of time. Although often based on what can be considered flimsy excuses for celebration, they bring joy to people just when they need it the most. Some of these holidays, however, serve the purpose of allowing superstitious folk the opportunity to offer ritual tribute to a season that often seems to have a cruel and spiteful intelligence and a knack for taking common hardships and turning them into personal disasters.

Please note: I have purposely omitted one of the most popular holidays in Palanthas and other large cities: Year Day (or Mark Year, as it is also commonly known). While it certainly falls into the category of "winter holiday," and even serves to bolster the above-mentioned thesis regarding the theme of winter celebrations, Year Day is completely antithetical to the overall discussion of holidays celebrated by folk who do not use calendars; the only real event associated with the day is switching from one year's calendar to the next.

The winter solstice, the first day of winter, is traditionally considered to be the last auspicious day to visit family and friends. After that, tradition holds, heavy snows make it too likely that one will be trapped away from home or, worse, stranded in the wilderness with no protection from the elements. It is a popular day for weddings and coming-of-age celebrations, and many rural human communities honor the holiday with a feast. They decorate a common hall with wreaths, sprigs of holly, pine cones, and hundreds upon hundreds of candles. The meal most often consists of fowl or pork and culminates in a prodigious display of desserts. Traditionally the cakes and cookies take the form of dragons, particularly of those known to be active in the region (this can be explained as either honoring the great creatures or providing an opportunity to ritually devour them, depending on current draconic-human relations).

Other cultures observe different Yule celebrations. For example, the dwarves decorate small trees with precious metals formed into the shape of fruits and nuts. Elves, on the other hand, celebrate this holiday musically. Each family makes a special set of Yule chimes that sing out the joys of the season to all their friends and neighbors. The Solamnic Knights hold an elaborate boar hunt, the object of which becomes the main course at that evening's feast. Gnomes, at the stroke of midnight, turn on every machine and apparatus in their homes creating a sound that they consider quite thrilling, but that insures that very few representatives of other races ever come to visit on Yule. [It also ensures a large number of explosions and guarantees work to the numerous gnomish fire brigades, each of which spends a large part of the year in feverish preparation for this event.]

One tradition observed nearly universally is the lighting of a Yule log—a long-burning branch whose fire is meant to last the whole winter through. When the flames crackle their loudest, all those gathered raise their glasses in a toast to a safe winter season and peace and prosperity in the coming year.

The anniversary of the First Cataclysm has, in the wake of the Summer of Chaos, lost some of its impact on the minds of the Ansalonian peoples (notable exceptions are those elves and dwarves old enough to remember both Cataclysms). People still honor the day by retelling the tale of the final years of Istar and the unmitigated hubris of the Kingpriest, but it seems somehow more allegorical than in years past. Parents use the story to illustrate the moral, "Pride goeth before a fall." No matter how correct one believes oneself to be, one must always allow the possibility of error or misjudgment.

This lesson is especially important during this season where carelessness or unwarranted certainty can mean becoming lost in a blizzard, buried beneath a wall of snow, or plunged through a thin crust into an icy lake. One can never be too careful. "And if a man as great as the Kingpriest can be so wrong about something," mothers tell their children, "people like you and I must take special care really to know what's happening around us."

While most communities honor this day with somber, private reflection, the city of Tarsis hosts an event known as the Tarsian Regatta. This city, once a great seaport, was landlocked by the First Cataclysm. On this one day they forget the loss their ancestors endured and relive their city's glory by building boats on wheels and racing them around Tarsis' centuries-dry harbor.

Exactly five weeks into the year, and no more than a month away from the start of the spring thaw, folks begin to go a bit stir-crazy—being locked in a cabin (or even a grand home) for so long wears on their nerves. To alleviate the stress and draw attention to the fact that better weather is quickly approaching, most cultures observe the holiday of Snow Feast.

Unlike other feasts throughout the year, this day is not about consuming large quantities of delicious food. There yet exists the possibility of more snow, and it would be the height of foolishness to be caught without adequate supplies because of a feast celebrating the coming of spring. Rather, on this day the people take advantage of the fact that the snow will not be around for much longer. They carve sculptures and other decorations out of ice, eat plates of cold dishes, and pour syrups and sauces over snowballs to make chilly desserts. Communities in mountainous regions often hold sled races, and even those in the warmer northern climes have competitions to see who can make the most wondrous castle out of packed snow (in warmer years snow can be replaced by wet sand).

By the beginning of the year's third month the snows are at least receding—often they are gone entirely. Farmers and other people who work the land must begin the arduous task of preparing for the hard business of starting spring growth. Fields must be tilled, fences must be mended, and the ravages of winter need to be repaired as quickly as the still-short days will allow. This usually means putting every person in the household to work. Even the youngest children can paint barns, feed hens, or pass tools to older siblings. It is, as one might imagine, exhausting, backbreaking work and not something that children suffer quietly. However, their complaints grow softer and less frequent when the promise of Kite Day dangles at the end of the week.

This holiday is every bit what it sounds like—a time to take a break from hard labor and relax by sailing kites on the gusting winds. Many families make a full day of it, packing a picnic lunch and going to the nearest hillside to enjoy the company of their neighbors. Children build their kites from gathered sticks and a kerchief donated by a grandparent or other relative. They often dye them festive colors or paint designs using a mixture of winterberries. Younger children simply enjoy the thrill of making the kite fly, while older children (including many young-at-heart adults) make their kites dive at one another in thrilling sky battles.

When the day is done, everyone is much more relaxed and ready to redouble their efforts to get their home and business all set for the coming of spring, just two weeks hence.

Other Winter holidays

Regional winter festivals include:

This apparently self-contradictory dwarf holiday celebrates both hard work and unbridled recreation. It takes its name from the ceremonial head of the festivities, the harnkegger, who must wear an outlandish outfit and to whom is given the honor of tapping and tasting the first barrel of late summer ale. (Dwarven spirits being what they are, it takes quite a while for this concoction to ferment.) Once the harnkegger is satisfied that the brew is ready to be drunk, a five-day festival of ale drinking, sausage roasting, and hard bread munching commences. At the festival's conclusion, representatives of each clan vote on the best ale of the batch. Any remaining barrels of that ale are set aside for use in official proceedings during the rest of the year.

While this is clearly a dwarf holiday, many other cultures choose to honor Harnkeggerfest with at least a rowdy day or two of celebration. [Many inns throughout Ansalon mark this holiday by tapping their first kegs of fall ale.]

During the Time of Darkness, the good metallic dragons found themselves held in check by the forces of Takhisis who held great clutches of their eggs as hostages. So it was that these noble beasts remained uninvolved as the forces of evil came within a hairsbreadth of conquering all of Ansalon.

On this day, toward the end of the War of the Lance, the Qualinesti prince Gilthanas and his true love Silvara the silver dragon discovered that the leaders of the dragonarmies were despoiling the eggs and transforming them into draconians to fill the ranks of their troops. This revelation freed the good dragons from their promise of neutrality and shifted the momentum of the war.

Metallic dragons honor the day by mourning their lost children and hunting down the draconians who stole their lives. In recent years fewer and fewer dragons can be seen on this day (since the Dragon Purge they have become afraid to fly about boldly), but those who live in areas near dragon nests say they can still hear the great beasts crying loudly at the memory of their lost children.

Oddly enough, no one is certain whether this holiday is named after the dragons' own action of breaking their promise of noninterference, or the Takhisan act of betrayal that allowed them such freedom.

For the elves of Qualinesti no day is more sacred than the one to honor the life and accomplishments of Kith-Kanan—the elf who led his people out of Silvanesti to form their own nation. The celebration is fairly reserved by human standards (and positively dour according to the dwarf tastes), but the elves consider it to be the most festive day of the year. They invite all friends of all races to dine and rejoice with them, and present tables filled with more food than could be consumed in three such celebrations. However, the festivities end precisely at midnight, when all nonelves must leave.

As it turns out (and many scholars consider this to be no accident), Kith-Kanandras falls just one day prior to the Silvanesti holiday of Silvanosdras—the birth date of Silvanos, the founder of the first elven nation. This day is treated much more solemnly and, though no outsider has ever witnessed it, the festival is said to be honored with ritual bathing, gala decorations, and a ceremonial retelling of the day Silvanos brought all the elves together on Sol-Fallon to swear oaths of dedication to the principles of democracy.