The History and Lore of Icelandic Winter
Icelandic winter may seem bleak, depicted as a time of harsh snows, storms, and relative isolation from much of the world. In today’s age, of course, this is less prominent, though here on this frozen Arctic rock, the weather can change quickly, and without a little preparation, you could find yourself stuck out alone in the cold. Luckily, we now have the internet and can stay in nearly constant contact with our loved ones and communities. Of course, this wasn't always the case. In the past, the Icelandic winter was feared and respected, and many of the spirits and ideas of the season have endured, trickling down to modern traditions and children's stories. We don’t have to look far back in the modern age to find tales of the Yule lads, their mother Grýla, and her terrifying Christmas Cat. And while these more contemporary tales and blends of nineteenth- and twentieth-century folklore are fun, there is a lot more to this season for those of us who practice, read about, and remember the old ways.
Icelandic winter begins on the starting date of Gormánuður, a month of the Old Norse calendar. This day is the Saturday that falls between the twenty-first and twenty-seventh of October. It marked the time when animals would be taken in from the outside, a time of feasting on some of the bounties of the year's harvest. Within living traditions, we regard the day with simple acts of lighting candles, burning some of the remaining herbs of the previous year, and leaving offerings of food outside as the spirits begin to retake the land. When Christianity came to Iceland, most scholars agree that there was at least a two-hundred-year period of Kristintaka—Christianisation before things finally settled into a more Christian-dominated way of life. Most of the traditional feasting that was held at the start of Gormánuður would have eventually moved to All Saint’s Day on the first of November. Icelandic winter is long, stretching from the end of October all the way into the beginning of March. During this time, before modern technology, we see the importance of storytelling, the reading of fortunes, and traditional crafts becoming the primary activities of the home. With the animals taken in and the men back from their farming, fishing, and hunting, winter life was focussed on the homestead, wherein the traditionally feminine forces ruled daily life.
Moving from the first day of winter at the beginning of Gormánuður, we move into November and the next month on the Old Norse calendar, Ýlir. This month falls on the Monday between the twentieth and twenty-sixth of November. The snows settle in and the spirits of the land take hold more visibly. This is the time that the landvættir, the land wights, begin their rule. As winters power grows, the human world retracts. The household and boundaries of the farm become the only land that humans have any claim to. The household was traditionally the realm of women, and winter is their season. The forces of the spirits outside become palpable, and even to this day, visiting tourists comment on the feeling of nature this time of year. As the skies grow darker by the day, storytelling becomes the focus; tales of the spirits outside and those attached to us, such as the disír as well as tröll and other winter spirits lurking outside. While we take care and caution as we move about in nature most of the time, this is a time for us to do so with even greater attention. We can use this as a time to clean the land before deep winter comes, as litter picking and small acts like this serve the community in more ways than one before the spirits take hold once more.
As winter grows longer and darker, some of these tröll and vættir come more into focus. We tell stories of trolls luring travellers to their death, only to be found the following spring, as well as ghosts, particularly draugar. The most famous of these trolls is arguably Grýla, and those who watched The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina will have seen a rather inaccurate portrayal of this spirit, with an equally inaccurate pronunciation of her name. A name that still in living tradition isn’t spoken often aloud when out in the nature. Grýla’s name is very old, we even see it mentioned in Snorri’s thirteenth-century Edda, and some other thirteenth-century literature. But she was not associated with her Yule Lads and the modern Christmas tradition until the seventeenth century at the earliest, more on that later. Within our living tradition at this time of year, we revere the old winter spirits of Grýla and Skaði, as well as acknowledging Freyr’s sorrow at being spurned by Gerður (spring). We also specifically focus on the disír, as the name of this blót, disírblót dictates. The focus for us in our blót is normally one of thanks, reverence, and gratitude, while also asking to be spared from the worst of Icelandic winter and stay warm and well in good company. The winter solstice and our disírblót normally coincide with the beginning of the next month in the Old Norse calendar, Mörsugur, which starts on the Wednesday between the twentieth and twenty-sixth of December.
The disír are revered as spirits linked to death and the afterlife, as well as the personal fates of everyone. To have one’s disír “leave” is a death sentence and indicates one is within their final hours. These beings, along with the nornir and valkyrjur, control one's fate from womb to tomb. So, we must always keep them in high regard. For us, blóts to the disír not only serve to appease the external forces of winter but revere our own disír. Jól (Christmas) has always been a time for ghost stories, something many seem to forget, even with Andy Williams’s “Most Wonderful Time of the Year” reminding us annually. This has long been the case, with ghosts and the idea of those lost returning from death being prominent even in the Icelandic Sagas. Draugar, the physical risen dead, were much feared in the Viking Age, and Jól is one of the times these creatures could return and cause all sorts of mischief. In the thirteenth-century Grettisaga, we see Glámr die and return as a draugur during Christmas; interestingly, the foreshadowing of his death comes from his favouring of Pagan traditions above the new Christian ones. We even see mention of trolls in the same saga, on another Jól-eve. This is a time for cautionary tales and holding close that which you value.
With Christmas fully underway, we can discuss the more modern traditions observed in Iceland. Grýla and her Yule Lads were first mentioned in a poem from the seventeenth century. This revival of folklore has taken over to become Iceland’s famous Thirteen Santa Clauses. Grýla’s Thirteen Yule Lads aren’t her only children, she has had many children with a few different trolls. Feared as a child catching winter spirit, she prowls the land, along with her giant cat, the jólakötturinn, searching for misbehaving children. This description of her as a child catcher may well come from another poem describing her clothing including one hundred sacks, each containing fifty children. A decree was passed in the eighteenth century, outlawing the use of Grýla and her story as a scare tactic to make children behave well. Nowadays, we see gentler and more soft-faced depictions of her and her children, mischievous rather than terrifying. The Yule Lads can be spotted projected onto buildings around Reykjavík during Christmas, and until recent years, two sculptures of Grýla and her husband Leppalúdi were paraded up and down the main street. A sculpture of her pet, the jólkötturinn can be found lit up down on Austurstræti during the weeks leading up to Christmas.
Back to the folklore of the season, winter is mostly a time of introspection, of prophecy, the season of the spákona. Within a traditional mindset, this is a heavily gendered time, though we, of course, don’t need to see it as such in the modern day. The word spákona means “seeress,” though also have other names for seers, such as spámaður (masculine) and spákvár (non-binary). This season of divination, this quite literal dark half of the year, has been the time for tarot readings, bone throwing, and more since the old days. Even these days, in Reykjavík, some families hold New Years Eve and Day gatherings for reading cards and more. In the Viking Age, written sources tell us of the travelling Völvur going from farm to farm and sitting atop a seat, stool, or platform to speak prophecies of what was to come for the families in that area. Her staff clacking on the ground as she paced toward the farm with her retinue is a sound that would have cut through the darkness and freshly fallen snow, announcing her arrival to those eagerly waiting quietly at the farm. From a practitioner's perspective, these dark nights, lit by candles, surrounded by snow and darkness, provide a most practical environment for many forms of divination.
As the New Year comes and goes, we find the first few days of January a liminal time, even in the modern world, many of us haven’t gone back to work and the new year hasn’t quite kicked off. In Iceland, Christmas lasts until Þrettándinn, the thirteenth: this is the last night of Christmas, and one of the times of year that the hidden folk move home. It is the final day we have to perform two things. Firstly, the whole home should be cleansed and cleared of unwanted energies and negativity. This is done, similar to Scottish tradition, by burning juniper throughout the home, then opening all the doors and windows to let the smoke blow free before closing the house up again against the winter cold. This is performed while speaking a few chants and charms and moving about the house leaving no corner free from the smoking juniper.
Secondly, this day is the last day we can safely perform a year walk, ársgangur, without roaming spirits playing tricks on us, as many are too busy moving house. The ársgangur is a tradition Iceland has in common with Sweden. One should set about doing this in secret, leaving the farmstead and taking oneself off on a walk led by your intuition and guided by your spirits. It may take you to a mount, to another farm, a church, or even simply down your own street. During this walk, you must pay attention to all you see, hear, and sense. The animals you encounter could tell you a lot about many possible futures. The spirits you see or feel may also impart messages. This is very much a solo experience, during which we interact with internal and external spirits, most often non-verbally as some say this walk must be undertaken in complete silence, a common theme in Icelandic folklore and magic. Walking past the graveyard may reveal to us the identities of those who are to die this coming year. Seeing baby animals could indicate a birth in the family. Seeing ravens on the roof of our neighbours is often a bad omen. These interpretations of what one sees should be recorded and referenced throughout the year ahead.
Icelandic winter traditions don’t end there. Þrettándinn, the last night of Christmas, originally comes from the date of Gömlu Jólin, the old Christmas. In Icelandic folklore, this is a night special to the hidden folk, and in the old days, villages would gather for bonfires, dancing with masks on so that the hidden folk would join in disguise and dance with the villagers. This has given way to more modern bonfires, singing, and fireworks. Though we, within living tradition, also make sure to hold a blót on this night, the focus of this changes for us depending on what we feel is most appropriate though there is most often an aspect of reverence for the hidden people in our celebrations. We often burn things that haven’t served us during the previous year as well as herbal offerings and sometimes effigies. This was a night of mischief and mystery in the past, though now it nothing more than a glass of champagne and fireworks to the mundane world.
Moving into January, the last winter tradition I’ll mention is Þorri. This refers to the name of the Old Norse calendar month as well as the personification of this season. In the old days, it would have been a larger mid-winter feast, with the start of this month falling on the Friday between January nineteenth and twenty-fifth. The name might come from the verb að þverra, “to wither,” or the adjective þurr, “to dry.” It could also be a nickname for Iceland’s primary deity, Ása-Þór. In the Middle Ages, this season was personified into the figure we now revere, Þorri, the bearer of winter, and modern interest in the folklore of Iceland has seen it grow into much more of a national tradition since the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. In modern times, this feast usually consists of eating and drinking “traditional” food, such as consuming brennivín and eating dried fish, blood sausage, and other culinary dishes. For us in living tradition, as well as those working on a more Ásatrú based Pagan framework, it is the time of year to hold Þorrablót. This blót, for us, often has a focus on Ása-Þór, as well as Þorri the winter bearing spirit. We give thanks, and ask for Þór’s help and protection, as well as pray for his aid in ending human conflicts, more relevant now than ever. We hold a feast and often spend our evening after the ceremony drinking mead and playing music. Finally, once the festivities have died down and everyone has said their goodbyes, one last piece of nineteenth-century folklore dictates that the head of the household must stand on the porch and welcome Þorri, lest his icy wrath fall upon the homestead. This is done by walking barefoot to the gate of the property (or standing on the porch), traditionally wearing only a loose shirt, and one leg of a pair of pants, then bouncing on one leg as you welcome his spirit. This is, of course, both good fun and incredibly cold, so do as you feel if you wish to partake in this tradition. This bit of folklore was collected by arguably Iceland’s most famous folklorist, Jón Árnason, by word of mouth, so maybe take it with a pinch of salt.
Winter continues in Iceland until March, with the darkness losing power after the winter solstice, the days get slowly longer, and life returns from beneath the snow. With winter fully gripping the world now, I recommend giving some of these traditions a try. The year walk can be enlightening wherever you end up taking it. And candlelit divination over the festive season is something I’m sure many witches can get behind. Maybe light a candle this year for your disír and ask that the nornir keep you in good fate. Gleðilegt Hátið og Gleðilegt Nýtt Ár from Iceland.
Albert Björn Shiell
Sources:
Ólöf Bjarnadóttir, A New Kind of Feminine: The Effects of the Icelandic Conversion on Female Religious Participation and the Image of the Feminine Divine, 2017. Link
Svante Janson, The IcelandicCcalendar. Scripta Islandica, Isländska Sällskapets årsbok 62/2011, Uppsala 2011.
Jón Árnason, Ízlenskar Þjóðsögur og Æfintýri, 1863.
Jakobsson, Ármann and Miriam Mayburd. Paranormal Encounters in Iceland 1150–1400. Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications, 2020.
“Monsters and the Monstrous in the Sagas – The Saga of Grettir the Strong.” The Postgrad Chronicles, 2017.
Richard Fahey, “Medieval Trolls: Monsters from Scandinavian Myth and Legend.” Medieval Studies Research Blog, 2020.
Nora K Chadwick, “Norse Ghosts (A Study in the Draugr and the Haugúbi).” Folklore 57 (1946): 50–65.
Árni Björnsson, Saga daganna (Reykjavík: Mál og menning, 1993). Chapters “Þorri” (pp. 433-481). English version is called “High Days and Holidays in Iceland.”
Snorri’s Prose Edda, Penguin Classics; Illustrated edition (January 31, 2006).
