TIME OF MARTENITSA

In times of climate change and unpredictable weather, Bulgarians stick almost religiously to celebrating a rite dedicated to the arrival of spring. Come mid-February stores, shops and dedicated street stalls start selling ornaments of red-and-white thread in a variety of shapes and sizes. On 1 March everyone puts on at least one of these ornaments on their wrists or coat lapels, as a symbol of being healthy and happy throughout the year. They would wear them until they see a blossoming tree for the first time, or the first stork or swallow for the year. Then, they would put them up a tree.

Many Bulgarians believe that their famed martenitsa is unique, but they actually share this tradition with people in Romania, Moldova, North Macedonia, and parts of Greece. The rite that you see today is the latest reincarnation of a very old tradition. In fact, it is so old that no one is sure of its exact origins. However, historians believe that there is at least some degree of certainty about its past. Combing through ancient Greek, Roman and Byzantine accounts have resulted in the discovery of a possible predecessor of modern martenitsa. In ancient Greece, people would decorate an olive branch with red and white wool threads and would give it, in a bloodless sacrifice, to Apollo. When the Slavs and the proto-Bulgarians settled in the Balkans, in the 5th-7th centuries, they adopted the tradition and passed it down through generations of later Bulgarians.

Some historians believe that the Greek tradition descended from an even older one. According to this interpretation, the martenitsa red thread symbolised the mysterious Great Goddess of the Thracians, the creator of the universe, while the white one stood for her son and lover, the Great God. Entwined, they represented the rebirth of Nature and the beginning of the agricultural year.

A supernatural entity that is strongly tied (pun intended) to the martenitsa tradition can also be traced back to the Great Goddess. On 1 March, Bulgarians also paid their respects to Baba, or Granny, Marta. Capricious, unpredictable, and prone to fits of rage, to modern feminists she might seem as a misogynistic caricature created by the patriarchy of yore. Yet, Granny Marta's quirky behaviour was fit for an ancient deity. According to lore, she lived in the mountains and had the power to protect people, especially young children, from illnesses and things evil. She controlled the weather and expressed her fluctuating moods through it: some days it would be warm and sunny, others – freezing cold, with sudden snowfalls. For some reason, Baba Marta would be triggered by the sight of old women. This is why old Bulgarian women would make martenitsi for the entire household, the livestock and even the farming tools, but would stay in their houses on 1 March, lest Granny Marta sees them and gets angry.

Baba Marta would also get angry at her brothers Golyam, or Big, Sechko and Malak, or Small, Sechko – as Bulgarians called the months of January and February. Usually, it was for misbehaviour, like drinking all the wine.

The traditions and beliefs connected to 1 March and martenitsi are millennia old and changed in time. Their latest transformation unfolded in the 20th century, driven by two major forces – urbanisation that cut entire communities from their rural lives and the beliefs and rites connected to them, and nationalism.

In 1918, a respected Bulgarian writer, Nikolay Raynov, penned a book of imagined legends about Khan Asparukh, the proto-Bulgarian ruler who founded Bulgaria in 681. One of them told how the khan's wife, Ahinora, invented the first martenitsa. She was so sad that Asparukh was far away, in yet another war with the Byzantines, that she entwined red and white thread, tied it to a dove's leg and sent the bird as a message of love to her husband. Soon, the invented legend was being promoted as authentic. With time, it morphed into several versions. All of them include a woman, a ruler, and a dove with a thread on one of its legs, and all are promoted as genuine.

Baba Marta changed, too. As fewer people were dependent for their survival on the whims of March weather, she gradually became a friendly, benevolent old woman who just loves giving kids martenitsi. In this image she is featured in countless cards, illustrations and nursery rhymes.

Martenitsi evolved along with her. As early as 1973, when prominent anthropologist Hristo Vakarelski published his seminal work Ethnography of Bulgaria, they have become something one buys rather than makes at home. "Today there are many and different martenitsi on the market and people enjoy exchanging them," Vakarelski approvingly wrote in his book.

He would probably be more critical about the martenitsi on the market in the 2020s, as most of them are made in China. The ones for children even have metal or plastic elements – badges with pop or chalga stars, characters of the Marvel universe and popular cartoons.

However, for many Bulgarians the globalisation of martenitsi has gone too far. Hence the sudden popularity of more traditional designs and materials, like wool.

Climate change is the latest factor contributing to how modern Bulgarians celebrate 1 March. As winters get warmer, people now often see the first blossoming tree or a stork long before 1 March. This is why many of them would wear their martenitsi until the arrival of astronomical spring, which this year is on 20 March.

If you decide to participate in the tradition – and if you have Bulgarian friends it will be impossible not to, here is a piece of advice. Wherever you decide to take your martenitsi off, tie them to a fruit-bearing tree, not just any tree. After all, the rite is connected to the beginning of the farming year.