So Luxembourg has this festival. Beurgbrennen.
For all intents and purposes it's your standard pagan-holiday-turned-semi-religious-after-Christianity-came-to-Europe kind of holiday. The entire community comes out, lights a big pile of old Christmas trees on fire, and celebrates the 'burning away of winter' and the welcoming of spring.
Yup, once a year, every Luxembourgish village burns a giant cross.
For Americans this is a little unsettling: that kind of iconography is burned (ha, get it?) into our brains to represent hate. But here? Burning crosses mean only one thing - Beurgbrennen.
Over the weekend I went with Cafe Lux to a small village on the Mosel, and sat on the rocks, drinking beer, watching the end of another winter go up in flames. It felt warm and cozy - and not just because a pile of wood roughly the size of a house was burning five yards away from us. You couldn't help but feel the magic of standing together, with loved ones, watching the passage of time.