Feature: With Estonia's mardipäev and kadripäev, is Halloween one too many?
Come fall, people across Estonia await costumed visitors on their doorsteps – for the folk holidays mardipäev and kadripäev. But the rise of Halloween has many locals wondering what this means for their own traditions, and whether the newcomer is a burden – or a boon.
Every October, you'll find at least one expat earnestly asking on Facebook whether Halloween is celebrated in Estonia: are there parties, and where can kids trick-or-treat?
While some people provide helpful advice, others reply with variations of, "Welcome to Estonia! We have our own holidays here in November – mardipäev and kadripäev." Halloween is stressed as a foreign thing.
Mardipäev (St. Martin's Day), kadripäev (St. Catherine's Day) and All Hallows' Day all take place in late fall, with overlapping roots and similar traditions of dressing up and going door to door the night before.
On St. Martin's Eve, November 9, kids dress up in mart costumes of dark clothing and sing songs, pose riddles and bless the crops of the homes they visit. On St. Catherine's Eve, November 24, they do the same, only dressed as kadrid in white and blessing people's herds instead.
When explaining to non-Estonians, it's not uncommon to boil it down to these being "Estonia's two Halloweens."
Some locals find that two's company, but three's a crowd. Concerns are raised each year that Estonia's own mardipäev and kadripäev traditions are dying out, and some don't hesitate to point the finger directly at the growing popularity of the Western, commercialized Halloween.
Others will point out that the two folk holidays had already been losing steam among locals themselves. If anything, the rise of Halloween in Estonia may be spurring more adults to amp up their efforts to pass mardipäev and kadripäev customs down to younger generations.
Is there room in Estonia's calendar for all three?
Somewhere else's custom
If you ask current 20- and 30-somethings, many first remember Halloween from American movies or English class.
"We talked in school about this being an element of anglophone culture – like we discussed the Queen of England and red double-decker buses," recalled journalist and folklore enthusiast Linda Eensaar. "'This is something that is done somewhere else.'"
As a kid unfamiliar with its cultural background, she felt like she wouldn't have had the right to celebrate Halloween.
Politician and Tallinn resident Liina Freivald remembers hearing about it as far back as in the 80s, when Estonia was still under Soviet occupation.
"My earlier memories of Halloween go back to a time when I could get a taste of Western culture as a teen by watching horror movies on Finnish television – one of the few channels available," Freivald said.
It's difficult to pinpoint exactly when Halloween really started catching on in Estonia. Many people mention the 2010s. International retailers with Halloween products, like H&M and Flying Tiger, first reached Estonia that same decade.
By that point, a few kids were already trying their luck trick-or-treating, saying "Komm või pomm!" Candy or bomb, in Estonian.
Halloween still isn't well-established in Estonia today. Bigger cities may have parties and even decorated houses, but elsewhere, Halloween is usually limited to school parties.
"I've never heard of anyone in our area going door-to-door on the 31st," said Ingemari Paap, a resident of Räpina in Southeastern Estonia. But she has noticed how popular carving jack-o-lanterns is, especially at Räpina Horticulture School and the local youth center.
Kadri Jaska, an English teacher in Iisaku, works the topic into her lessons, teaching students about the history of Halloween paired with themed vocabulary and games.
With the exception of school events, she doesn't celebrate Halloween, because to her, it's a commercial holiday. "I don't decorate my house either," she said.
Others, including those who have lived or worked abroad, have their own parties.
After moving from Võru to Harju County, former U.S. au pair Katrina Kõivsaar became friends with people who go all out for Halloween. "There's always a line for who gets to organize [our party] next year," she said.
'Well? Do something too!'
Even the basic premise of trick-or-treating sparks mixed reactions among locals.
In Estonia, children have to perform a song or recite a poem for each gift at Christmas. Mardipäev and kadripäev, with their riddles, jokes and songs, work the same way. In the U.S., some still expect costumes and a verbal "Trick or treat." For others, ringing their doorbell is enough.
Kaisa, another former U.S. au pair, admitted her kids trick-or-treat on the 31st. "But I've told them that they need to do riddles too, not just say 'Komm või pomm,'" she added. "Offer them something in return."
As a kid, Eensaar and her friends would don white costumes and paint their lips and cheeks red for St. Catherine's Eve.
"And when we were let in, we'd bless their herds and crops and all that," she described. "I didn't know many kadri songs or have many runosongs memorized. But some families would still say, 'Well? Do something too!' So one time we had no other choice but to sing Koit Toome pop songs."
Locals have long worried that their mardipäev and kadripäev traditions are dying out, and the arrival of Western Halloween is hastening that decline. Meanwhile, foreigners in Estonia have found it difficult to celebrate them.
Illinois native Heidi Erbsen, the Estonian country representative for American Councils, has lived in Estonia for years, and only in the last three, in Tallinn, has she even seen anyone celebrate Halloween. In six years in Tartu, only one kid knocked on her window once for mardipäev.
Last year, her neighbors in Tallinn organized trick-or-treating, which was mostly well received on Facebook and a hit at their home. Erbsen still felt hurt by negative comments that people should be celebrating mardipäev and kadripäev instead.
"My first impression was – if this is true, why has no one posted an invitation like this for us to join a kadri- or mardipäev?" she recalled. "I would be so happy to participate if someone gave me some instructions and told me where to go." But in nine years of living in Estonia, despite an active interest in local customs, she has never been included.
Somebody's buying it
Between being left out of the loop on "Estonia's own holidays" and the prevalence of widely available Halloween-themed stuff, it's unsurprising that some may find it easier to celebrate Halloween. Options for mardi- and kadripäev-themed content, especially for kids, are relatively limited too.
This consumer culture, in turn, is many locals' third major bone of contention with Halloween. Many people in the U.S. do make their own costumes, decorations and Halloween treats, but that dimension has largely been lost in translation.
More and more local stores are carrying Halloween candy, pumpkins and costumes. Even popular Estonian confectioner Kalev makes several Halloween-themed candies.
Jaska feels very strongly about Halloween as a consumer holiday, calling it a "huge crime" to generate even more waste with plastic decorations and cheap costumes. Setomaa resident Ode Oras has nothing against the day, but is "fundamentally opposed to all kinds of plastic bric-a-brac."
Others point out that demand for it in Estonia clearly exists. "Stores wouldn't be selling these Halloween goods if nobody was buying them," Eensaar pointed out.
Many locals will admit that mardipäev and kadripäev had been losing steam in Estonia anyway. While some of them criticize the celebration of Halloween instead, quite a few adults today distinctly remember grownups of the time ignoring the mardid and kadrid at their door. For some, this was enough to turn them off wanting to keep these traditions going.
Jaska's family growing up was always happy to let them in, and her students today know they're welcome at her door. But she also knows other homes aren't so welcoming.
In Tartu, Oras went door-to-door on St. Martin's Eve in the late 90s and early 2000s. "It was 50-50 whether someone would open their door, and over time, we were welcomed less and less," she recalled. "It was disappointing, but you'd move on to the next door and try again."
Eensaar had similar experiences. "So I'm not surprised in the least that this custom is dying out," she declared. "It was like we were some kind of annoying door-to-door salesmen or something; it got embarrassing for us as preteens too. And somewhere around 11 years old, we gave up on these customs."
Getting with the times
Halloween fans and critics will admit that mardipäev and kadripäev may seem old fashioned too.
Kõivsaar said it's "kind of boring, in a way," that kadripäev is limited to white and mardipäev dark-colored costumes; Halloween gives you free rein to dress up as all kinds of things.
In a 2022 episode of the podcast "Folksti," cultural historian and folklorist Marju Kõivupuu explained that in the past, Estonian customs looked different too. A hundred years ago, it was mostly adults going from farm to farm.
In an era where communications were limited, even by mail, mardid and kadrid did more than just bless people's herds and crops – they also brought community news from around the area. This could go on for weeks.
Kids are still taught the songs and customs, but in today's digitalized society, where two-thirds of the population lives in urban areas, both of these historical aspects have fallen by the wayside. Is it time for an update?
"Unfortunately, the thing about old customs is that if we're desperate to keep doing something the old-fashioned way, they'll just end up content for museums," Eensaar warned.
To keep culture alive, it should have meaning for modern-day folks too. "Like what blessings on my herds do I need in my centrally heated apartment in 2024?" she laughed. "Maybe we could modernize that somehow – send blessings on my electricity prices."
In a piece for Õpetaja Leht also published by ERR in 2022, folklorist Jaan Sudak likewise said why not wish people good luck with school and the lottery.
"This doesn't change the meaning of mardipäev," he wrote. "What's also endured is the simple human desire for some entertainment during depressing and gloomy fall nights – to visit each other and have a little fun."
Perhaps counterintuitively, some locals in Estonia credit Halloween with helping revitalize the old folk traditions.
According to politician and former journalist Viljar Voog, mardipäev had already been much more popular in Estonia than kadripäev. "But keeping alive our national culture is clearly helping mardipäev compete with Halloween," he added.
Recognizing that Halloween is likely here to stay, Jaska contemplated whether one option may be to combine the folk with the foreign.
"Maybe for those who don't like the [traditional] costumes, they could go door-to-door in nicer costumes – but still follow our customs, learn the old songs, recite poems and riddles," she suggested. "But at the 'right time,' not on Halloween. Now that has potential!"
What really matters
Many locals are still hopeful there's room in Estonia for all three fall holidays.
For Oras, Halloween now marks the start of the time of souls (hingedeaeg), which culminates with mardipäev and kadripäev – a bit like how the Christmas season begins with Advent.
She noted the overlap between Estonia's All Souls' Day (hingedepäev) and the origins of Halloween, and how costumes were traditionally used to ward off evil. "If we remember and honor these aspects, I think these holidays could easily coexist," she said.
Eensaar pointed out that in the past, there were actually even more folk holidays and observances in Estonia, setting the rules and rhythm for people's everyday lives – when one could work or not, or when livestock should be turned out to pasture. Back then, these involved everyone, not just kids.
"I think the question isn't only whether there's room for three costume-centric holidays, but whether we're able to recognize the meaning behind them," she said. Even so, she acknowledged that rushing to do it all likely isn't the answer either.
"These holidays are actually meant for taking a breather," Eensaar emphasized. "So, to reassure parents: pick your favorite. What matters in the end is that things like these are enjoyable to do as a community, and as a family."
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Editor: Helen Wright