by Kirby Lindsay, posted 30 December 1998
This column originally appeared on December 30, 1998, published in The Seattle Press.
Take several hundred people, a 4000-square-foot unheated warehouse/blacksmith shop, some volunteers, food, a varied assortment of donated items, 20 degree weather on the shortest day of the year and what do you get?
Well, if you are the Fremont Arts Council (FAC), you have a fantasy-filled and frolicsome Feast of the Winter Solstice.
Donations Make It Probable
This annual event is a living lesson in the spirit of cooperation. It’s a transformation made possible through the efforts of everyone involved. It’s a result of the energy that flows within this community. It’s a reflection of the influence of everyone involved.
Unlike the Summer Solstice Parade, or any other FAC event, the Winter Feast does not have funding. Donations are solicited but not relied upon.
Instead, participants rely on their ability to make something out of nothing.
The site was donated from generous friends of friends. The tools and supplies at the FAC’s home, The Powerhouse, were used to build chandeliers, candles, wall coverings, pillows, and a sanctuary. Friends, and friends of friends of friends, were applied to for donations of greens, gee gaws, tables, and anything that might work.
Donations from Bucky Products, Essential Baking Company and other area businesses were gratefully accepted. Maque da Vis donated his stages which, when stood on end and attached with great care, became false walls behind which the regular tenant’s tools were stored.
Many Hands Make It Possible
Still, it is the unstinting sweat of the volunteers that makes the Feast possible at all. In order to attend, participation and involvement in the preparation, or clean-up, is expected. It isn’t all drudgery, though. If you find ‘lift that bale, tote that barge’ work unappealing, you may attend the pre-Feast candle-making party.
Or, the headdress making party, where over 300 ‘blank’ forms (crafted by industrious volunteers in advance) are decorated with all kinds of gee gaws, objects and frou-frou. At the 1998 Feast, I saw headdresses covered in plastic toy gears, feathers, beads, a long flowing veil, Christmas decorations and one had a plastic toy phone which fit over the wearer’s ear when worn. These diverse and unique works of art are given at the door during the Feast to add even more color to an already colorful event.
The artful invitations are also created at a party. This year’s invite was a “cootie catcher” like those we played with as children. They were made of purple paper with gorgeous black script and silver or gold highlights and intricately folded. This lovely keepsake invited bearers to the Feast Of The Winter Solstice at 5:56 p.m. on December 21st, 1998.
By the night of the Feast, a huge, rough blacksmith shop had been converted into a forest dell. Candlelight gave an ethereal glow to the enchanted scene while people, dressed in every way imaginable, created a kaleidoscope of images. Some wore costumes, others donned period dress and some just came in whatever was comfortable and warm.
Eating was done first, at the largest potluck I have ever seen, then musicians share their talents and dancing ensued.
Community was the overlying feeling. For many, this is their opportunity to “Celebrate the Season” with friends. It was fun to talk to people I haven’t seen in a year, that I see all year but never get to talk to about anything but business, and people I have never met before.
For some, this is a serious observance of a sacred day. The Winter Solstice marks the end of the infertile and dark season and the beginning of growth and light.
Overall, though, it is a participatory event. People walk in and are put to work – doing anything and everything. From unloading the chairs and sweeping the floor to cleaning up the floor and folding the chairs, everything must be done and every hand is used.
Even when the Feast ends, the sense of cooperation continues. The day after the Feast, I arrived at 11 a.m. to help 25 – 30 volunteers clean and return this magical wonderland into a usable blacksmith shop. The transformation wasn’t upsetting; it was astounding. By the time I left, four hours later, many hands HAD made light work.
No longer a wooded glen or the scene of a huge party, this was a space for craftsmen. The tools and supplies and art created for the Feast were transported to The Powerhouse where everything will be put away for next year.
And, immediately, discussions started on what the FAC wants to do better or different next year. For, in this event as in Fremont, everyone can contribute to the whole and all voices combine to create the magic.
©2011 Kirby Lindsay. This column is protected by intellectual property laws, including U.S. copyright laws. Reproduction, adaptation or distribution without permission is prohibited.