Vegan Burns Socks at Equinox

There is a solemn ritual that is held very dear by old salts around the Bay of Chesapeake. It is not a ritual for the faint of heart, but since most of those sailors are cut from molds of iron, they have made the ritual a tradition.

At the Spring Equinox (this year last Sunday March 20th) sailors gather round a driftwood fire at a favorite beach to share their stories of winter woes and their hopes for Spring time boat repairs in readiness for a summer of sailing. Since we have our little boat Mandy on the edge of the Chesapeake, we took it upon ourselves to bring this sailor’s tradition to our lake edge B & B. The snow was gone, the fire pit was full of leaves and sticks and we had some pleasant people staying at the Inn who were pretty gung ho for an evening camp fire, despite the March wind whistling through the forest of pines all around us. The first day of Spring? Well maybe.

After plying the guests with plenty of the complimentary red and white wine and some getting to know you conversation, everyone was jolly despite the fire's smoke that insisted of changing direction constantly. One of the guests was a recent convert to a vegan diet and held the stage talking about the wonders it wrought on his general health. He was also, among other things, a sailor and knew the boatyard at Deltaville, VA very well.

Inspired by the company I suddenly remembered the sailor’s Spring Equinox ritual that I read about last summer. At the official arrival of Spring, when the fire is roaring, the maritime set remove their stinky old winter socks and toss them joyfully onto the fire. It is an act of defiance to the Winter. It says, “I’ve had enough and I just won’t take any more of it!” From then on a proper sailor will not wear socks again until the following year, despite all efforts from the weather to dissuade him.

Our Vegan was the first to rip them off and fling them onto the pyre. With an inspired “Whoop!” Richard was next, and then all of a sudden socks were flying in the air and landing solidly in the flames. I moved down wind, since there was no telling how old those stockings might be. One of the guests announced how fun it was to be part of such merriment and asked his wife to remind him to tell the grand-kids.

The wind grew in strength and everyone decided to retreat back into the cozy inn, probably in search of fresh socks. It suddenly occured to me as I watched the dying flames that the monks who built the place for their mountain retreats would have approved of the fun, despite it smacking of paganism, because they were a “discalced” order which means, they wore no shoes or socks, even in the winter.