Light Love Rituals EBOOK

Budni Vecher

December 24 – Бъдни вечер – Budni vecher: Christmas Eve, Small Christmas, or Bozhitch.
December 25 – Коледа – Koleda: Christmas.
In the Eastern Orthodox Church, the Christmas season starts on December 20 (Ignazhden, St. Ignatius’ Day) and continues until December 27 (Stefanovden, St. Stefan’s Day).

Christmas Eve. The year is coming to a close. It’s a time of festivity for Christian and non-Christian alike. In the Eastern Orthodox Church, Budni vecher marks the end of forty days of fasting from meat to purify both body and soul. In preparation for the holiday, families thoroughly cleanse and tidy their houses, because on Koleda, Christmas, traditional beliefs prohibit sweeping, washing, cleaning, and any kind of household work. The Christmas celebration lasts three days, ending on December 27, St. Stefan’s Day.
A more unusual “cleansing” is the removal of bad spirits. Christmas Eve, or rather, midnight Christmas morning, is the beginning of the “Dirty Days” or “Unclean Days,” which continue until January 6, St. Jordan’s Day or the Epiphany. During this period, the boundary between the spirit and human worlds is thin, and it’s believed that those on the other side can easily pass over to our world.
To banish the evil spirits, the female head of household walks around the home and yard with burning incense called tamiyan. This tradition began long ago when people believed unseen beings lurked in dark corners. By ridding their homes of both dirt and spirits, families can greet the new year clean and full of positive energy.
The day’s elaborate rituals and traditions hold special meanings and focus on the health and well-being of each family member, as well as fertility of people and the land. For example, after kneading dough, women touch fruit-bearing trees to either ask for a larger harvest or ease in conceiving children.
Unlike many other Bulgarian holidays, Budni vecher is one that involves the entire family. The male head of household’s task is to secure and prepare the budnik or Yule log, while the females prepare the meal. An unengaged young woman is responsible for starting the kneading of the dough—to ensure that fertility, not only of people but of animals and the land, remains within the household. Then an older woman, dressed in her finest clothing, takes over. Children (traditionally boys) visit and bless family and friends. Late in the evening, young men and a few boys participate in a caroling and blessing activity.
When cutting the budnik, the man cannot select any tree. It must be fruit-bearing or a resilient tree such as an oak (one that is three years old), whose folk name is called a healing tree. This budnik symbolizes the Tree of Life, the World Tree. The word “budnik” comes from the Bulgarian budeshte for “future,” because the log is believed to bring prosperity to the home in the coming year. And the term Budni vecher solidifies this definition because it means “the evening of what is to be.”
A special ritual accompanies the cutting of the tree. Since it is considered a sacred tree, it cannot touch the ground. A ritual surrounds bringing the budnik into the home as well. The man asks his family if they glorify the Young God. To which they reply that they glorify and welcomed Him.
Inside the home, the man drills a hole into the thicker end of the log; fills it with oil, wine, and incense; and finally plugs the hole. While he does this, the females in the home sing to the log. With the ritual complete, the man wraps a white linen or hempen cloth around the plugged area and sets the budnik by the hearth.
Unlike the tradition in the western world of decorating a Christmas tree, in earlier times, Bulgarians burned the symbolic tree. The man lights the wood at the start of the meal, and invites God to join them. Next, the oldest woman in the family sprinkles both the log and the fire with grain to ensure an abundant harvest in the coming year.
The fire, which burns throughout the night, sends its energy to the reborn Sun so that it can shine down and produce a rich harvest. Additionally, the ashes and unburnt parts that remain are said to possess magical powers. Scattered over an unfertile field, the ashes are believed to produce abundant crops, while small bits added to animal feed grant livestock health and fertility. In some villages, people sprinkle budnik ashes in a hen’s nest, hoping the bird will lay more eggs. Pieces of the wood are also used to make parts of the wooden plough.
Food for the evening meal is always meatless. In older times, the bounty reflected food produced on the family’s land. Usually, an odd number of dishes is served: seven or nine is common, although twelve is another special, magical number. Some of these items may be a main dish, such as corn, boiled beans, potatoes, rice-stuffed cabbage leaves (sarmi), red peppers stuffed with rice, various types of pastries: cheese (banitsa), a pumpkin banitsa (tikvenik), or a cabbage banitsa (zelnik). Other dishes are simpler, like boiled wheat and oshav, boiled dried fruit. Additional items that require no preparation may include onions, garlic (to keep away evil spirits who might want to join the meal), pickles, honey, and walnuts. The drink of choice is red wine.
The bread (pitka), however, is the highlight of the meal. This bread, called bogovica, is dedicated to the Sun god (bog being the word for “god”). It symbolizes life-giving energy. Various celebrations throughout the year serve different types of breads with assorted types of decorations. For Budni vecher, the loaf is round. On top, decorations are made from the same dough. The decorations may be elaborate, realistic designs or simple, stylized images. Items represent family members, the home, fields, ploughs, oxen, beehives, vineyards—whatever is appropriate for each specific household and its occupation. Most often, individual loaves carry one theme, but they may all be combined into one pitka as well.
Dozens of smaller loaves and rolls with a hole in the center are also made. These are handed out to the men and boys who later in the evening come to sing songs and give their blessings to the family.
Inside the pitka, wrapped in foil, a single coin is hidden. More modern celebrations include fortunes that are written on paper. These fortunes are blessings for the individual family members for health, wealth, happiness, and luck throughout the year. The person who gets the coin will have the greatest luck throughout the year.
During the meal, the family sits in front of the burning fire on a low table called a sinia or on a cloth set over straw (which symbolizes the manger in which Jesus was born). Every aspect of the meal, including the food itself, is symbolic of blessings and a bountiful harvest. There are many dishes, the fruits of the earth, so that the harvest may be as bountiful and the livestock abundant. A purse of coins may also be placed on the table or cloth. Or even a bowl of sand from a nearby river. The belief is that the sand was taken from the creature who lives in the river, and so it is magical. After the meal, the family rubs the sand in their hands as a way to ensure their hens lay numerous eggs, or the family members throw wheat into the sand to ensure a plentiful harvest. And arranged around the table may be farm instruments, such as a sickle, yoke, or plough.
At the beginning of the meal, the head of household waves smoke from burning incense around to cleanse the area of evil spirits and bless his family. Next, he breaks the decorated pitka over his head. If the piece he holds in his right hand is larger, then winter wheat will be plentiful. If the piece in his left hand is larger, then summer wheat will be plentiful.
The man breaks the bread again, giving each person one, from oldest to youngest. The first piece, however, is wrapped in a white cloth and set aside to represent the household or the Virgin Mary. The next piece is for the animals.
People do not generally eat the first piece of their bread. They wrap it in a kerchief and place it beneath their pillows in order to have prophetic dreams. A girl of marriageable age hopes her dream will be about her future husband.
The meal is begun earlier in the day than regular meals in the hopes that the grain will ripen early. The family waits until all members are present, and then serves each dish at the same time. Once the meal starts, no one except the head of the household may leave the table until the feast is over. To get up before then signifies that hens will abandon their nests, and as a result, chicks won’t hatch. If the head of the household must leave, he does so bent over, symbolizing heavy heads of grain or ears of corn weighing down stalks, or tree branches full of fruit.
The family remains at the table for a long time as a way to ensure that the magic of the evening and their predicted destinies will come true. When the meal is finished, everyone leaves the table at the same time. This is to guarantee that grains will ripen at the same time.
They leave the food on the table so those in the family who have passed on may partake of the celebration. Also, they leave a few crumbs on the floor to ensure wheat will be plentiful. A portion of the bread is also placed on a high shelf so that the corn will grow high.
The straw from under the table is believed to have fertility powers. Women about to give birth lie on it to ensure health for their unborn child. And children roll in it, in one direction, to make stalks, heavy with grain or corn, bend under the weight. Afterwards, the straw is spread under fruit-bearing trees or tied to its branches so they have an abundant crop. The straw may also be burned over a field on Georgiovden, St. George’s Day (May 6) to have a plentiful wheat crop and to protect it from hail.
In the evening, boys aged 6 to 12, called koledarcheta, dress in traditional outfits. Carrying bags and sticks of cornelian cherry (koledarki), the boys visit the homes of relatives and neighbors and sing short songs and wish a good harvest and an increase in animals to the households. The boys’ reward for their blessings are ring-shaped rolls, which the boys stick onto the staves. The boys place additional gifts of pieces of bacon or sausage, dried figs, and walnuts into their bags.
Midnight is a time for fellowship and blessings that extend beyond the family unit out into the community with the advent of the koleduvane. This is performed by the koledari, a group made up mostly of young unmarried, engaged, or newly married men.
The koledari are decked out in traditional clothing: an embroidered shirt, braided trousers, and a long woven sash. What distinguishes their manner of dress from other activities in which people wear traditional clothing are their fur caps. From these hang red threads onto which the men have strung popcorn, lumps of sugar, raisins, prunes, greenery, and other decorations. In earlier times, this was a ceremony to initiate a boy into manhood. During this ritual was the first time he wore the attire of an adult. Only after participating in this ritual was he allowed to seek a wife.
Earlier, on Ignazhden (December 20), the men began to practice the songs and blessings they would bestow on the families they visited. Additionally, the group selected the men who would lead each group of up to ten to fifteen singers. This is usually a married man who has participated in the ceremony before and who has a good grasp of the songs and blessings, because the repertoire can number as many as eighty.
Young boys, called kotki (cats), are part of the group. They run ahead, meowing, to announce the arrival of the men, who travel from house to house, visiting everyone except those in mourning. Each step along the way, the men sing songs: while traveling, when they first enter a home, and again upon leaving the house.
At each home, they greet the head of the family with a song and blessing, and offer him a drink from the baklitsa (a small wooden wine flask used on special occasions) that the leader carries. The koledari sing special songs to each person in the household, songs based on the person’s age, marital status, and occupation. These songs identify what that person’s hopes and dreams are: a bountiful harvest, marriage, health, happiness, and so on. The songs use idealized and exaggerated words. People believed that the spoken word had power and that the men who participated acquired magical powers and became priests of well-being.
In return, the mother or daughter of the household presents the men with gifts. These can be money, food (meat, bacon, beans, onions, flour), and drinks (wine). And once more, special bread is an important part of the ritual. Young women make special decorated rolls intended for a sweetheart or the young man they are engaged to.
Before proceeding to the next home, the koledari bless the home and promise the family health, happiness, and prosperity. The proceeds the men receive are used for a feast later on at the leader’s home. The bread is auctioned off. The young men vie to get the loaf that their fiancée or sweetheart made. All the remaining goods are sold, and the money is distributed among the poor and given to the church, schools, and local book clubs.

- Origins -
People in antiquity believed the winter solstice brought beginnings, rather than endings. Up until this date, the Sun was a dying god, his light shining less each day. On the solstice, however, the Sun was reborn as a new god called Mlada Boga or Young God, and daylight once again increased. The Bulgarian word for Christmas, Koleda, comes from the Roman Kalendi, a feast dedicated to the beginning of the Solar year.
Various religions celebrated the solstice in their own way. In the third century (274 A.D.), Emperor Aurelian combined these celebrations into a single festival called the “Birthday of the Unconquered Sun,” observed on December 25. Eventually, the early church designated this day as the celebration of the birth of Christ, and “Young God” came to refer to Jesus rather than a pagan, or non-Christian, deity.
During the solstice, people in antiquity believed the heavens and Earth were at their closest points and merged, renewing natural energies. With the release of this power, vile spirits and the souls of the dead had free rein to mingle with people. These unsavory beings desired to bring chaos to the world by preventing the return of light, that is, the rebirth of the Sun God. People therefore performed rituals to protect families and crops.

- Rituals in Practice -
If you’d like to share these rituals and holidays with children, we invite you into the home of a fictional family, so you can celebrate with them. Let’s now meet Maria and Georgi, who live in Emona, a small village in Bulgaria along the Black Sea. They have two children: 8-year-old Nikolay, whom everyone calls Niki, and his 15-year-old sister, Rada. You’ll also meet Baba Marta, Georgi’s mother, who lives with the family. The children adore her and love to listen to her stories. And we can’t forget the children’s puppy, Balkan. He’s a Bulgarian Shepherd, also called a Karakachan.

Early in the morning, Rada makes a fortune bread. She mixes flour into the wet dough with a spoon, then glances at her mother, who’s sitting at the kitchen table. “Did you used to make the pitka when you were young, before you were engaged to Dad?”
Maria looks up from writing on slips of paper. “Yes, I always started the dough. My mother told me that having the yeast’s fermentation on my hands ensured everyone in the house could eventually have children.”
“I thought that’s why you touched the fruit trees with the dough.”
“True, we do that so women can conceive, but that ritual ensures our land stays fertile as well. It’ll make sure our apple and plum trees have plenty of fruit, our garden has lots of vegetables, and the grapes in your father’s vineyard are fat in the fall.”
Rada continues mixing the dough. “I like making this. Maybe I can do the whole thing next time.”
“That would be helpful. It’s my responsibility to finish the bread today, but you can make the tikvenik later.”
“Sure.” Rada adds more flour to the dough. When it’s firm enough to knead with her fingers, she says, “You can take over now, Mom.”
“Thank you. I’ve finished writing the pitka fortunes. Will you wrap them in foil?”
“After I read them. I want to see which one I might get.”
Maria trades places and works the rest of the flour into the dough. She sets it aside to rise, then goes outside. Rada joins her.
With the sticky dough still clinging to her fingers, Maria touches the fruit trees in their yard and prays, “Lord, please give us a bountiful harvest this year.”
“Is asking God’s help part of the ritual?”
“No, but it doesn’t hurt. Before you were born, every time I did this, I asked Him to let me have children.” Maria grins at Rada. “And here you and Niki are.”
Spirit Removal
Once inside, Maria cleans her fingers, then kneels at the fireplace. She grasps a hot coal with tongs and drops it into a pan on top of tamiyan. The fragrant scent of incense fills the air. She carries the pan to the next room. Niki tags along, clinging to his mother’s apron as she walks through each room.
He looks into dark corners and pushes smoke toward them. “Are you sure this will chase away bad spirits?”
She pats his head. “Yes. You can sleep well tonight and think about what St. Nicholas will bring you tomorrow.”
Satisfied she’s cleansed the house, Maria heads back outside where more spirits linger. Niki scrambles from window to window, watching as his mother walks around the house. When she returns, he rushes toward her. “Mom, I saw black shapes running away when the smoke got near them.”
“Really?” She arches her brows, then places the incense on a low table, where the family will eat the evening meal. “I hope I got rid of them all.”
Preparing the Meal
Maria inserts the foil-wrapped fortunes into the pitka when the dough has risen, then she places the pan into the oven. Soon its mouth-watering aroma drifts throughout the house. While the bread bakes, Rada removes filo dough from the refrigerator for tikvenik, a pumpkin banitsa. Maria gets the ingredients to make sarmi, stuffed grape leaves, and oshav, boiled dry apples and plums.
Niki rushes over, with his puppy, Balkan, behind him. “Let me help too.”
Maria points toward the cupboard. “You can get mixed nuts, honey, apples, plums, and dried fruit, and put them into the dishes on the table.”
He rubs his finger over the colorful design baked into the clay bowls. “These are the ones you bought in the market this week.”
“That’s right. We all got something new for the house, so we’ll have good luck.”
Niki retrieves the requested items and eats a few nuts while he pours them into the bowl. He counts the dishes for the feast, starting with the ones he placed on the table. “One, two, three, four, five.” He looks at Rada rolling up the tikvenik log. “Six.” Then he turns toward his mother and counts the sarmi and oshav. “Seven, eight.” And finally he looks at the oven and breathes in deep. “Nine.” He points at each item, counting them again. “Only nine this year?”
“No, silly, twelve,” Rada replies as she ruffles his hair. “I’ll take out red wine, olives, and garlic later. We used to have only seven or nine before Baba moved in, but you were too young to remember that.”
“Why does it matter how many we have?” Niki pops more nuts into his mouth.
Maria answers from the sink, where she’s washing grape leaves. “We make sure we have seven, nine, or twelve dishes because those are special numbers. Seven is magical, nine is how many months a baby grows, and twelve signifies the months of the year.”
Niki peeks into the oven when Rada checks the bread. “The dough grapes on top of the pitka are so golden. Why do we have grapes on top anyway?”
“You have lots of questions today,” she says. “That’s what Dad does for work. Since he grows grapes, we decorate the pitka with them.” She places the bread on top of the stove to cool. “Farmers decorate theirs with ploughs, like your friend Yordan’s family. My friend Helena prefers to have a cross and other religious symbols on top.”
Niki sticks his nose close to the bread. “Mmm. I love this.” He moves out of the way when his sister puts the tikvenik and sarmi into the oven. “And both of those. Next year I want to help.”

The Budnik
While the women prepare the meal, Georgi walks around the forest and carries an axe over his shoulder. He looks for a young, straight oak. Last year, he felled an apple tree that no longer bore fruit. He trudges toward an oak and walks around it, inspecting the trunk. “Yes, this will do,” he says. He chops it down, but doesn’t allow the section he’ll use as a budnik, or Yule log, to touch the ground, so its magical power doesn’t seep into the soil.
Upon entering his home, he calls out, “Do you glorify the Young God?” To which his family replies, “Yes, we glorify the Young God. We welcome him.”
He sets the wood down to prepare the budnik. First, he carves a small hole into the trunk’s long side with a chisel and hammer. Then Georgi pours incense, oil, and wine into the hole, plugs it, wraps the log in a white cloth, and sets the wood by the fireplace.
As the day progresses, Rada calls to Niki, “You can help now by telling Dad and Baba we’ll be ready in about half an hour.”
“Can I help Dad with the straw?” Niki jiggles from foot to foot.
“Go check,” Maria says. “I think he’s resting in his room.”
Niki dashes away, returning moments later, handfuls of straw clutched close to his chest. “I’m helping Dad!”
Close behind him, Georgi stretches. “First, I need to get the budnik burning.” He removes the white cloth and places the log into the fireplace with the plugged end on top.
Niki comes over and sits on the hearth. “Can I help with that too?”
“Sure. You can take the plug out, while I get matches to light the budnik.”
Niki grasps the plug and yanks on it until his father returns. “I think it’s stuck.”
“I guess I put it in too tight.” Georgi wraps his hands around Niki’s. The two pull together until the plug pops out. He hands his son a match. “You can light the fire.”
Niki peers into the hole, then sniffs it. “It’s like what Mom burned earlier. Will this keep bad spirits away too?”
Georgi chuckles. “No, it’s to make sure everyone stays healthy. When the budnik burns, it sends energy toward the sun. In return, the sun protects us.”
“Isn’t the sun already hot enough? It doesn’t need more energy.”
“It’s a different kind of energy. The budnik’s fire symbolizes the sun’s heat, light, and ability to ensure life. We let the wood burn all night so its energy helps with the sun’s rebirth at the solstice. You can ask Baba to tell you one of her stories about the sun being reborn every year.”

The Meal
“Now the straw?” Niki asks.
Georgi nods. “Yes.”
He and Niki spread the straw in front of the hearth. Over the straw, Georgi sets a sinia, the low, wooden table Maria had placed the incense on earlier.
“Dad?” Niki sits on exposed straw. “Why aren’t we putting the cloth down like we did last year?”
“It was too difficult for Baba to get up from sitting on the floor. Remember?”
Niki nods as Baba enters the room. He kisses both her cheeks when she sits in her rocker. “I know why we put straw on the floor.”
“You do?” She pretends she doesn’t know why. “Please tell me.”
“It’s because Jesus was born in a stable.”
“That’s right.” Baba rocks in her chair. “And do you know what we do with the straw afterwards?”
“Um, burn it around the fruit trees?”
“Not quite. Your dad will scatter some under the fruit trees, and burn the rest in the vineyard.”
Niki looks at his dad, then back to his grandmother. “Why does he do that?”
“He puts it under the trees so they’ll produce more fruit, and he burns some in the vineyard to protect the grapes from hailstorms.”
Baba leans forward and motions for Niki to come closer. She whispers, “And do you know what your mother did when she had you in her belly?”
“No,” he whispers back.
“She lay on the straw before your father took it away, so you would be born healthy.”
Niki stares at his mother. “Mom, is—?”
Maria puts her finger to her lips. “Niki, you can help set the table. Everything’s ready.”
He skips over and picks up the nuts, eating another one.
After they finish setting the table, everyone sits on three-legged wooden chairs.
Georgi breaks the bread into chunks and wraps the first piece in a white cloth.
Niki reaches for it. “Can I have that one?”
“No,” his father says. “That’s for the entire household.” He breaks off another piece and places it on a plate. “This one’s for Balkan.”
“Balkan can’t eat it.” Niki pouts. “Why does he get a piece before me?”
“He has to have a fortune too. You can eat his piece later if you want.”
“Yes, I do.” Niki smiles.
Finally, Georgi passes a piece to every family member, beginning with Baba, then Maria, Rada, and finally Niki.
Niki smashes his piece, looking for the foil-covered treasure hidden inside. “I hope I get the coin so I’ll be the luckiest one this year.” He unwraps the foil and sighs. “Nope. It’s a fortune. ‘You will grow tall and strong this year.’ Yay! I’m going to be as tall as Dad.”
Baba breaks in. “Did anyone get the coin?”
Everyone says, “No,” at the same time.
Niki wiggles in his seat. “Can I check the others, pleeeease.”
“Go ahead.” His mother hands him the plate. “Check the house one first.”
After he tears it apart, he shouts, “The coin’s here. Yay! We’re all going to be healthy and lucky this year. I’m going to eat this piece and save mine to put under my pillow.”
Baba puts her hand on Niki’s. “I hope you have a wonderful dream. Budni vecher dreams are certain to become reality.” Next, Baba winks at Rada. “And perhaps you’ll dream of a nice young man.”
“Baba, no! If I do, I’ll have to marry him in a year, and I’m not ready for that.” Rada blushes. “I still want to participate in the lazaruvane this spring and wear flowers in my hair, and all the other fun things we do on Tsvenitsa.”
Balkan whines, nosing in between each person.
“Someone should let the dog out while we eat.” Georgi looks at Maria, who arches her eyebrows.
“What?” she says. “You know we can’t get up once the meal’s started. Only the head of household, and that’s you.”
He chuckles. “Of course. We don’t want to chance having bad luck.” He stoops as he walks toward the door.
Niki tugs on his grandmother’s sleeve. “Baba, something’s wrong with Dad.”
“Nothing to worry about.” She smiles at him. “It’s customary to walk bent over if we have to leave the table. It represents heavy grains of wheat on the stalk. We do it to make sure the harvest is plentiful.”
When the family finishes their meal, Niki says, “I’ll help clean up.”
“Not tonight,” Maria says. “We leave food out all night so our ancestors’ spirits can eat their fill.”
“But ...” Niki purses his lips. “I thought you got rid of all the spirits.”
“Yes, dear, I did. The bad ones. Our ancestors are good spirits, who protect us, not harm us.”

The Koledari Blessings
Later that evening, Niki’s friend Yordan Dimitrov stops by with his father Adrian. “Niki, I’m so excited to be in the koleduvane procession this year. Are you?”
“Yes.” Niki puts on his jacket, then grabs his traditional folk costume from the chair. “Let’s go. Bye, Mom, Dad, Baba, Rada. See you later.”
They say their own good-byes and wait for the carolers to return.
“Our little boy is growing up.” Maria sighs.
“At least it’s no longer an initiation rite,” Baba says. “He’s not ready to go out on his own and start a family.”
“No, but my little warrior thinks he has the power to battle spirits that bring winter’s cold.”
Soon after midnight, the parade of boys and bachelors makes its way back to Niki’s house. Niki and Yordan walk in front, shouting, “The koledari are coming,” as loudly as they can, then they meow and giggle. They swing their carved walking sticks, which are decorated with flowers and popcorn. Several ring-shaped buns dangle around the top of their staffs. The bags at their sides are stuffed with coins, walnuts, bacon, sausage, and cheese that they’ve received in return for blessings they’ve given at each home.
As the leader, Adrian knocks on the door and is the first to enter. He raises his baklitsa and recites a blessing: “Health from God. Merriment from us.” Then he drinks a toast.
The koledari gather around him and sing, “Welcome us. We sing for you, dear hosts. We are kind guests visiting. Kind guests, koledari.”
They sing other traditional songs and recite incantations about health, well-being, and happiness for the house and family. Maria and Georgi give each of them gifts, which the singers add to their bulging bags.
After the koledari say good-bye, Niki runs back inside as his father is about to close the door. He wraps his arms around his mother and quickly says, “Bye, Mom!” He rushes to catch up with the other singers, who are proceeding to the next house to give their blessings and receive more gifts.

- Supplemental Chapter Material -

Did you know...?
Spirits cannot cast spells using bread and wine because these items symbolize the body and blood of Christ. In fact, these sacred items frighten demons.

Holiday Predictions
You’ve already learned that placing a piece of the pitka beneath one’s pillow is a way to predict future events. Other ways of making predictions on Budni vecher also exist. Some of these are listed below.

• Snow on this day indicates bees will swarm more than usual.
• If the weather is foggy, the year will be foggy as well.
• Cracking a walnut and finding plump meat inside means you’ll be healthy and successful for the year. But, beware, if it’s shriveled, you’ll suffer illness and have bad luck.
• To determine whether each month of the year will be wet or dry, place twelve flakes of onion near the burning budnik and put a pinch of salt on each. On the flakes where the salt becomes moist, those months will be wet. And if salt remains dry, those months will be dry as well.

The Twelve Days of Christmas
The twleve days of Christmas, in Christian theology, are the days assigned to Jesus’ birth on December 25 and the arrival of the Magi, the three wise men, on January 6. But since the date for the birthday of Jesus was assigned by the Church to coincide with a pagan holiday, do these twelve days of Christmas also have another meaning? If so, what is it?
It’s likely to have to do with the differences in the solar and lunar calendars. In the solar calendar, when you divide the twelve months to approximate the lunar cycle of approximately 30 days, you end up with an extra five days. These are split among the months. However, if you look at the 365 1/4 days from the lunar calendar, which was how many ancient agricultural societies marked off time, the cycle can be fairly well calculated alternating months of 29 and 30 days. Now, take 12 lunar cycles each of the average of 29 1/2 days and you get 354 days. When you subtract it from 365 1/4 days, you have a little over 11 days, rounded up to 12. These extra days were lumped together at the end of the year to equate to one solar cycle.