Category Archives: Customs

Customs, conventions, and traditions of a group

Blessing the Fleet: A Family’s Springtime Tradition

Nationality: American
Age: 73
Occupation: Retired
Residence: Alameda, California

Informant Information:

Age: 73

Date of Performance: 2/26/2025

Language: English

Nationality: American

Occupation: Retired

Primary Language: English

Residence: Alameda, California

Text

“Many of the years of my childhood were spent near the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The region was settled by the French in the early eighteenth century, and their Catholic influence still prevailed in many festivals. Every spring, there was a blessing of the shrimp boat fleet in Bayou La Batre, in the bay near Mobile. We went several times and watched as the local Bishop, in all of his spring regalia—pectoral cross, mitre, and crozier (his staff)—blessed the fleet. My mother adopted the celebration for our family of seafood lovers. On the designated Sunday, she and her friend Ruth would prepare a big feast of fried and boiled shrimp, gumbo, Cajun potato salad, and fresh strawberry shortcake. The “Catholic” way to make the shortcake was not with cake and ice cream, but with seven layers of a large crispy wafer, interspersed with strawberries and topped with whipped cream.

Though we were not Catholic, we would always have Father Ryan at the table, decked out in his finest French Cassock to offer the blessing and, of course, stay for the meal. Most of the time, Father Ryan was known to us as “Tim,” one of my father’s Friday night poker buddies, who never even had a collar on then, much less the cassock. Afterwards, we sang some fun songs that I always thought had something to do with the shrimp boats, as there were lyrics about seamen, stormy nights, and high-seas adventures. Later in life, I discovered that these were traditional sea shanties that were just put into service for the blessing festival. I guess there aren’t a lot of songs about shrimp boats.”

Context

The informant grew up on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, where the French Catholic influence lingered in the community and shaped local traditions. One key tradition was the blessing of the shrimp boat fleet in Bayou La Batre, an event that became central to the informant’s family celebrations. Despite not being Catholic, the informant’s mother embraced the spirit of the festival and made it her own by preparing a lavish seafood feast, inspired by the flavors of the region. The presence of Father Ryan, who was also a close family friend, added an extra layer of warmth to the tradition. Father Ryan, often known to the family as “Tim,” would wear his cassock, a long, close-fitting black robe traditionally worn by Catholic clergy during religious ceremonies. This garment, which typically reaches the ankles and is a symbol of his clerical status, added a sense of formality to the celebration. The informant’s family would gather around the table for the blessing and feast, sharing in the joy of the event. After the meal, they sang traditional sea shanties, songs originally associated with sailors, that were adapted for the occasion. These playful tunes, centered on themes of seafaring, storms, and adventure, became part of the family’s unique celebration of the shrimp boat blessing. The informant’s family embraced the blending of community and personal rituals, transforming the tradition into something special for their own family.

Analysis

This celebration reflects the intersection of cultural influence, local customs, and familial bonding. The Catholic tradition of blessing the shrimp boat fleet becomes a fusion of community and personal ritual, as the informant’s mother adapts the event to fit their family’s love for seafood. By incorporating Father Ryan into the meal, the family also bridges the gap between the religious and the secular, celebrating with a blend of formality and familiarity. The food itself, deeply rooted in the region’s seafood culture, becomes more than just sustenance—it serves as a connection to the environment and a symbol of the family’s traditions. The sea shanties, originally created for sailors, offer a playful connection to the world of shrimping, and the informant’s discovery that they were traditional songs only enhances the sense of communal heritage. The family’s adaptation of the blessing, complete with a festive meal and singing, shows how traditions can be transformed and passed down, enriching family life and reinforcing connections to both the past and the present.

Christmas Eve Festival: A Jewish Family’s Holiday Celebration in Northern California

Nationality: American
Age: 63
Occupation: Retired
Residence: Alameda, California
Language: English

Informant Information:

Age: 63

Date of Performance: 2/18/2025

Language: English

Nationality: American

Occupation: Retired

Primary Language: English

Residence: Alameda, California

Text

“I grew up in the East Bay, and we didn’t have any family here except my immediate family. The rest lived on the East Coast. For Christmas Eve, we celebrated with, I think, five different families. Every year, it was always the same. My parents were in charge of bringing mulled wine, which is hot wine that you make by buying a gallon of cheap wine and heating it up with a cinnamon stick and raisins. It would warm up, and the flavors would mix together. I don’t know why that was the drink for our family to bring every year, but each family had to bring the same thing every year. Then, there was this amazing crocodile bread we had to bring. It was probably about three feet long, and there was a bakery in Berkeley that made this bread once a year for Christmas Eve. The bread had an open mouth, a long body, a tail, and frosting for teeth, eyes, and nostrils—it looked like a crocodile! That bread was the special Christmas food we always brought. We would go to a house in Oakland that was decked out with Christmas decorations, and the hostess, who hadn’t been raised with Christmas traditions, still threw a big Christmas party. She would bake endless types of Christmas cookies—so many different kinds! There was always a big ham, and after we ate, we’d sing the same Christmas carols every year. There were five different families, and people came from all sorts of places. Someone played guitar, and my dad, who didn’t have the best singing voice—our parents were Jewish—knew every Christmas carol ever written! He knew every single verse. We think it was because they sang Christmas carols in schools, or it could be because there were so many Irish people in his hometown on the East Coast, and they probably taught him the songs. But he loved Christmas carols—he loved everything about Christmas!”

Context:

For the informant, Christmas Eve was not just a holiday—it was an annual festival of community, food, and music. Growing up in the East Bay with most of her family on the East Coast, her family would celebrate Christmas Eve with five different families, creating a diverse, multicultural gathering. This festive evening was packed with an array of unique foods and drinks, and every family contributed to the event. Among the distinctive offerings were mulled wine sweet, warming, and aromatic and the ever-popular crocodile bread from a Berkeley bakery, which added a whimsical touch to the festivities.

The gathering was an immersive celebration of tradition. The event took place in a house in Oakland that was elaborately decorated for Christmas, creating a magical atmosphere for all the guests. Despite the hostess not being raised with Christmas traditions, she embraced the celebration with enthusiasm, baking a variety of cookies and ensuring the spirit of Christmas filled the home. The annual singing of Christmas carols, led by the informant’s father, was the heart of the festival. Though their parents were Jewish, the informant’s family had adopted this holiday celebration, seamlessly blending cultural and familial practices to create a unique tradition that persisted for years.

Analysis

This Christmas Eve celebration embodied the essence of a festive community gathering. More than just a holiday meal, it was an annual ritual where food, music, and tradition blended to create a joyful experience. The mulled wine and crocodile bread became emblematic of this celebration—a fusion of local flavors and whimsical traditions that felt both festive and personal. These foods carried a sense of belonging, offering a taste of Northern California’s regional character and the informant’s own family’s unique take on the holiday.

The Christmas carol singing, led by the informant’s father, turned this gathering into a communal festival, where even those with no formal musical training became part of the celebration. The ritual of singing carols deeply familiar to the informant’s father due to his East Coast upbringing added a layer of cultural continuity, connecting their family’s present-day traditions with his childhood memories. This annual event wasn’t just about food or carols; it was a coming together of families from different backgrounds, all participating in the festive spirit and creating their own hybrid celebration of Christmas.

What stands out about this tradition is the blending of cultural influences. The informant’s Jewish family adopted aspects of a Christian holiday, transforming it into a vibrant, inter-generational festival that created new customs that reflected the informant’s family’s diverse community and personal history. This tradition illustrates the power of food, music, and togetherness to shape a family’s identity and how rituals evolve and adapt to new contexts, reinforcing the importance of community and connection during the holiday season.

California Lemon Ritual: Visiting Family On The East Coast

Nationality: American
Age: 63
Occupation: Retired
Residence: Alameda, California

Informant Information

Age: 63

Date of Performance: 2/18/2025

Language: English

Nationality: American

Occupation: Retired

Primary Language: English

Residence: Alameda, California

Text

“If you grew up in California and all your family lives on the East Coast, you grow a lemon tree. When you visit family there, you bring lemons because it’s very exotic because you can’t grow lemons on the East Coast. You put them in a bag and then pack them in your suitcase. Eventually, some family members began visiting us on the West Coast when they got older, and they’d pick their own lemons from our lemon tree. I have a lemon tree in my backyard as a present for my husband because he’s from the South, and you also can’t grow lemons there.”

Context

The informant was born and raised in California, while her extended family remained on the East Coast. Her parents were originally from the East Coast, and she made frequent visits throughout her life. As part of those visits, she carried a seemingly simple but meaningful gift — fresh California lemons. This act became ritualized within her family, rooted in the regional differences in agriculture and climate. Lemons, while technically possible to grow in parts of the East and South, are far more common and thriving in California’s mild climate. In colder or more humid regions, lemon trees are vulnerable to environmental damage and rarely flourish.

For her family, receiving these lemons symbolized a piece of California, a vibrant, fragrant token of the West Coast lifestyle. When family members later visited her in California, they cherished the opportunity to pick lemons from her tree themselves. The ritual became a two-way cultural exchange, a reflection of rootedness and connection to place. Later, she planted a lemon tree in her own backyard as a housewarming gift to her Southern-born husband, making the tree not only a familial tradition but also a personal and romantic gesture.

Analysis

This lemon-gifting ritual illustrates how everyday items can carry deep cultural and emotional meaning, especially across geographic boundaries. What begins as a practical act of bringing fresh produce to family transforms into a ritual that marks identity, nostalgia, and care. The lemon tree functions as a living symbol of California, and its fruit becomes a physical expression of home, warmth, and abundance.

The act of transporting lemons across coasts shows the significance of regional differences in agricultural production while also emphasizing how natural resources can become symbolic commodities in family relationships. The ritual communicates more than just gift-giving. It speaks to the longing for home, the pride in one’s origin, and the desire to share that with loved ones who live far away. Furthermore, the informant’s continuation of the tradition by planting her own tree and offering it as a gift to her husband reflects how rituals evolve to include new meanings. The lemon tree is now both a bridge to her past and a symbol of unity in her marriage, showing how folklore adapts to new contexts while preserving its emotional roots.

Golden Eggs, Ham, and the “Easter Feeling”

Text

Every Easter, our entire extended family gathers at my grandmother’s house. There was never a formal reason–my grandma told me, “It just sort of ended up that way.” What began as a casual decision eventually solidified into tradition.

My Grandma recalled one of her favorite parts, “you kids would sprint through the backyard and living room for the Easter egg hunt. I loved it…” “…I always laughed at the fact that even though there were dozens of eggs filled with chocolate, you were all focused on the same thing: the ‘golden eggs…’” The golden eggs are indeed funny, there were always three of them–shiny, oversized plastic eggs that each held a five-dollar bill. We, as kids, didn’t really understand the value of five dollars back then. What mattered was the rarity. The golden eggs were sacred. We fought over them like little archaeologists hunting treasure, more excited by the idea of “winning” than by what was inside.

Later in the day, we’d all sit down for Easter dinner, always centered around a glazed ham. My grandma told me that it came from her father–“He always made a ham for Easter.” What she added, without ever needing to say so out loud, was the practice of everyone bringing something to the table. As the guest list grew each year, so did the variety of dishes. The potluck-style meal grew naturally out of necessity, but it came to define our Easter just as much as the egg hunt.

This last Easter was different. There was no egg hunt–there hasn’t been for a few years now–and the gathering wasn’t at Grandma’s house. Her home was damaged in the LA fires, and fewer people were able to come. Still, my grandma told me, “It still felt like Easter… There was family. There was laughter. And there was ham.”

Context

This tradition was expanded upon to me by my grandmother, who reflected fondly on years of hosting Easter at her home. She admitted that it wasn’t originally her intention to become the family’s “Easter matriarch”–it just happened. Over time, her home became the default gathering spot, and rituals formed naturally around that consistency.

She described the joy of watching us as children during the egg hunts, laughing at how seriously we took the hunt for the golden eggs. Though she couldn’t recall when or why that part of the tradition started, it clearly took on a life of its own. The money inside the eggs was never the point–it was the prestige, the shimmer, the chase. Something she[and I] looks back on now with warm nostalgia.

The dinner evolved more deliberately. She explained that her father always served ham on Easter, and when she began hosting, she continued that tradition. Over time, guests began bringing dishes of their own. She never asked them to–it just became understood. In her words, “It was never about telling people what to bring. It just made sense.” The gathering grew, the table expanded, and Easter became an informal but deeply rooted expression of our family’s thread that ties us all together.

Even after being unable to enter her home[thankfully not burnt down], and despite the changing logistics and attendance, she expressed a deep certainty: the “Easter feeling” had nothing to do with eggs or décor. It was about presence, food, and connection.

Analysis

This entry illustrates how informal rituals, when repeated and emotionally reinforced, evolve into meaningful family folklore. What began as a loose gathering became tradition through consistency and emotional investment. The Easter egg hunt, the golden eggs, and the communal meal are all ritualized behaviors that define Easter–not by religious observance, but by shared memory and performance.

The “golden egg” tradition, though not rooted in ancient folklore, mirrors folkloric patterns–assigning symbolic value to a rare object and embedding it in a playful competition. As with many children’s traditions, the meaning wasn’t in the literal reward, but in the emotional significance, the role-playing, and the storytelling that followed. It reflects how children interact with tradition through symbolism, scarcity, and status–concepts that resonate across many cultural customs.

Similarly, the evolution of the Easter meal highlights adaptive ritual: how tradition grows through informal negotiation. The potluck-style dinner wasn’t dictated–it arose organically, responding to shifting family size and resources. This mirrors how many communal folk practices begin: organically, in response to need, but later sustained by emotional investment.

The somewhat loss of the family home due to the LA fires introduces another layer: how tradition persists even in the absence of its physical setting. My grandmother’s insistence that “it still felt like Easter” reveals a truth about folklore–it’s less about place or object, and more about feeling, continuity, and presence. Even stripped of its original setting, the tradition held. And that endurance–the “Easter feeling”–is the most folkloric element of all.

Christmas Crowns, Cracker Jokes, and “Reindeer Poop”

Word of Mouth From my Mother

If you didn’t notice son, Christmas is a carefully choreographed tradition–I like to think of it as a mix of cozy ritual, a bit of British custom, and some parental magic. Every year, we manage to host your aunts, uncles, grandparents, and family friends under one roof, crowding them around a long dinner table for a meal that never changes: your father’s signature roast, buttery potatoes, and whatever else[she talked about as these dishes seeming to appear out of nowhere but feeling like they’ve always belonged]…

…You remember the main custom, before the meal begins, we all pop Christmas crackers, wear the paper crowns, and tell the corny jokes or trivia questions. Everyone has to wear their crown, no exceptions. [Something of a silent rule.] Inevitably, [Uncle name] brings the energy to the meal as he tries to guess the answer to someone else’s riddle before they finish reading it. It’s chaotic, silly, and comforting–exactly how it’s supposed to be…

…Remember on Christmas eve, we’d leave out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa, and you and your sister would go to bed, your father and I would leave out a few wrinkled dates in the front yard as “reindeer poop.” We’d also make sure that before Every Christmas morning, no matter how old you two[me and my sister] got, the milk would be half-drunk, the cookies nibbled, and the dates scattered. Even now, when you all know the “truth,” we still put the plate and dates out. It’s tradition…

Context

I interviewed my mom about our family’s Christmas rituals, and she lit up almost immediately. “It’s the one time of year when everyone is just… there,” she said. For her, Christmas was always about creating a sense of continuity–blending traditions from her own childhood with the new ones she and my dad created when we were young. The paper crowns and Christmas crackers come from my dad’s British side of the family, and they’ve been part of every holiday she can remember. “You can’t not wear the crown. It’s just part of the meal,” she joked.

She described how she and my dad would take turns arranging the Santa plate late at night–taking a careful bite of the cookies, sipping the milk just right, and tossing a few dates in the yard to complete the illusion.

These rituals weren’t grand or showy, but they were performed with deep consistency. Even now, with the kids grown, my parents still go through the motions–not because we believe, but because we remember.

Analysis

This Christmas tradition is an excellent example of domestic folklore: habitual, symbolic acts carried out within the family to affirm identity, belonging, and memory. While none of the individual actions–crackers, roast, Santa plates–are unique on their own, the specific combination of these elements, repeated year after year, becomes a form of narrative performance that binds the family together.

The Christmas crackers and paper crowns reflect a cultural carryover from British holiday customs, adapted into the family’s American context. They serve as both props and prompts–each one delivering not just a joke but a shared experience. The insistence on everyone wearing the crowns transforms a simple object into a badge of belonging, and the ritualized groaning at jokes adds a performative dimension to the meal.

The Santa cookies and “reindeer poop” represent another key aspect of holiday folklore: magical realism within childhood belief systems. These actions deliberately blur the line between fiction and reality, giving children something to believe in while also offering parents a way to perform care and wonder. Even as belief fades, the actions remain–now functioning not as proof of Santa, but as proof of love and continuity.

In this sense, the tradition has matured alongside the family: once a tool of imagination, it now functions as a nostalgic ritual that reaffirms connection across time. The ongoing performance of the Santa plate–even when no one is fooled–embodies the essence of folklore: shared meaning enacted again and again, not because we need to believe, but because we want to remember. It’s part of the ties that bind our family together and I will definitely continue this tradition–if not add onto it–with my own kids when the time comes.