It was only April, but summer was truly here. I wished I could fly off to some cooler place and escape the heat for a while. That’s when I heard about Iceland and how it celebrates The First Day of Summer, or as they say, Sumardagurinn Fyrsti . And, it is a public holiday to boot. So, off I flew.
When I arrived at Reykjavik, the capital city, I was a bit surprised because it still felt like winter to me! It was cold. Shivering and stuttering, I approached a friendly looking man and asked him, “Is this the first day of summer?” He looked down at me and shrugged. I took that to mean “Yes” and I muttered to myself, “You could have fooled me!” That sentence seemed to have annoyed the man, because he retorted, rather violently I must add, “Listen, don’t come here with all your stuffed up notions of summer. In our country, we decide when it is summer!” I was taken aback. Seeing my reaction, he smiled and said, “Just kidding! Our first day of summer is according to the old Icelandic calendar which had only two seasons — summer and winter! So actually, today it’s more like the first day of mid-Spring!”
Long tradition
We became pretty friendly after that. His name was Jón and he went on to tell me that the long, cold winters made everyone want to celebrate summer as soon as possible. The old Icelandic calendar was used from the settlement of Iceland in the 9th century till the 19th century, parallel to the Julian and the Gregorian calendar. Winter began in late October and lasted till April. According to the old calendar, which was week-based the official timing of the first day of summer was the second Thursday after April 11, on the first day of the month of Harpa.
Celebrating the advent of summer is an age old custom. In the 16th century, children were given gifts, known as summer gifts. Every town in Iceland has its own programme. In the capital, there were scouts parades and brass bands. I watched astounded as they passed by shivering and pink in the face. The temperature recorded on the first day of summer hovered between 4° and 5° C. Not my kind of summer, surely. Where I come from even winter temperatures don’t dip that far! And then through the icy, cold air I smelt food. I followed by nose and found Icelandic pancakes. They were being served with sugar or filled with whipped cream and jam. I opted for whipped cream and jam, of course.
With no warning, Jón suddenly began to spout poetry. Filled with pancakes I was in a jocular mood, so I heard him out.
The Plover Has Come
The golden plover has come to sing away the snow,
to sing away the misery, that she can do.
She has told me that soon comes the whimbrel,
sunshine to valleys and blossoming fields.
She has given me a piece of her mind,
That I sleep too much and don’t work at all.
She has told me to get up and work,
and, with hopefulness, welcome summer now.
A crowd had gathered and they cheered. Jón explained that the golden plover is a migratory bird that leaves in winter and returns in summer. It is a tiny wading bird and its arrival heralds spring. Sighting it is an exciting event, and there are many poems written about it.
“And the whimbrel?” I asked tentatively.
“Another harbinger of spring,” he replied.
