Patrimony

 

It's no secret I love Edinburgh and for that matter every place in Scotland that I've ever visited. In Scotland, it is impossible to think you're any place else. All those tartan rugs in pubs along with haggis on the menu says, "This is Scotland."

On the Royal Mile and other streets in Edinburgh there is a plethora of pipers all dressed in proper kilts and accessories. We were amused to see one who even had a machine that takes credit and debit cards along with his donation hat.  

Talk to Scotsmen or women and they are proud of their heritage. 

I do not have a drop of Scottish blood just a love of its history started when I was a child reading about Mary Queen of Scots. Imagine my excitement when I stood on the spot where she was crowned as a baby, saw a piece of the dress she wore when beheaded and a lock of her hair.

Likewise, I love my village in Southern France or Catalonia North. When I first found the village in the 1980s I spoke no French. Now my locals tell me it is time I learn Catalan. That will not happen, although Rick delighted one of the old Catalan mamies, by saying bonjour in Catalan. She knew the conversation would go no further in her mother tongue.

Even before the village became a tourist and retirement area for people from all over France and Europe, Catalan culture stayed even more so during the times it was forbidden. Native costumes were worn on special occasions and the traditional dance, the Sardan was danced at the drop of a whiny pipe. People in native costume go Easter Caroling, There are native dishes of roasted vegetables and local cheeses.

 

Switzerland has its traditions too, such as bringing the cows down from pasture for the winter. The cows are decorated for the occasion. The locals wear their regional costumes. There's an onion festival in Bern called the Zibelemärit going back to the 15th century.

Small towns also have their traditions. In the Vals de Travers where I moved from Boston, I came home from work on my first day to see the many fountains decorated, really decorated. One even looked like a giant cake with soap suds surrounding it to mimic whipped cream. Another had the cantons of the country laid out in paper wrapped sugar cubes printed with cantonal flags. My landlord explained they did that every year to celebrate the village joining the country almost a hundred years before.

 As a child, I envied the Italians with their "gravy" and Irish kids who knew step dancing long before Michael Flatley ever put on a tap dancing shoe. I didn't realize that my Saturday night baked beans cooked in my great grandmother's pot was also an example of my New England  patrimony. In fact, I didn't know the word patrimony.

I love the collective traditions of the past that a community of a family can celebrate, a coming together of a collective history be it mine or of a place I've moved or am passing through. I'm even more blessed that I've been able to enjoy those of other places as well as my own.