We do have a name for Easter.
Baak-giizhigad. Literally, "Chicken-Egg Day."
Fitting, I suppose, particularly since the contemporary [read: Christian] form of Easter has no real analogue in our traditions. Oh, we recognize the emergence of Spring in various ways, but none with the same kind of trappings.
I prefer the demarcation of the moons [our version of the months].
Depending on where you live, even the names of the months [moons] may vary. I count at least nine different names for what, in English, we call April, and some of those have regional variants, too. In some areas, it's Bebookwedaagiming-Giizhis, the Broken-Snowshoe Moon. I learned that as the name for March, although where I'm from, you better hope your snowshoes last through March. I can see them falling apart a bit by April.
But since today is Easter, I'm using the word I was taught to represent the month April, Mizhiwe-Giizhis, the Cottontail Rabbit Moon.
Of course, this is Anishinaabemowin, so nothing's as simple as it seems. Our usual word for "Rabbit" is Waabooz, including the clan name. Some folks use it for cottontails, too - but not for the moon. The difference, as far as I can tell, lies in the fact that Mizhiwe-Giizhis marks the appearance of the new little rabbits. Too new, too young, too small: Not enough size or substance to qualify as a dodem, a clan personifier, Waabooz.
These little guys:
But my lands are far away, and here, the markers are different.
Here, my marker for the arrival of Spring occurs when I can go outside in the morning and the first sound I hear is the song of Moonigwene, Meadowlark:
And, yes, the snow and sleet are not uncommon here in the spring, either. Some years, we're lucky enough to have a meadowlark pair stay with us all winter long; they disappear for a while in the fall, and then return in December or January to ride out the season. And while they retain the splotch of brilliant yellow on their breasts (his larger and brighter than hers), the rest of their plumage becomes more muted, off-white threaded with pale browns and grays.
Not this year, though. This year, they left in the fall and stayed away through most of the snows.
That's how I knew it was finally Spring - when they returned to sing to us. Despite the six inches of snow on the ground five days ago:
Of course, it was all gone by mid-afternoon. 70 degrees the next day.
Climate change.
The dandelions appeared on March 31. So did our onions in the west garden. Today, the chives were in full bloom in the north garden - and so was the rhubarb, with huge green leaves and brilliant ruby-red stems peeking through. We're going to have to plant early this year.
And now, as I get ready to post this, I see that on this day when we mark new life, another Kossack has embarked on her journey to another plane. My heart breaks for MoonWomyn and the pain that must be piercing her heart and soul at this moment.
Julie, your photos of binesiwag, the wingéd ones, brought us both joy. This is for you and MoonWomyn, with our prayers for the journey:
May peace, love, and joy embrace you both.
All photos copyright Wings; all rights reserved.