When I think about heritage… I always remember how much our traditions have changed.
Take the girls’ pre-wedding night, for example.
Today it’s a loud celebration — parties, music, laughter.
But once it was completely different — quiet, sincere, deeply feminine. It was an evening of farewell and at the same time a blessing. A moment when friends prepared the young woman for her new life. They didn’t go out or dance. They gathered in a house — just like this one here in the grove. They shared warmth. They shared what they themselves knew. Heritage was passed down not through loud words, but through quiet movements of women’s hands. The braid was at the heart of this ritual. For many years the girl kept it as a symbol of her life. And on the girls’ evening, her friends could braid it or unbraid it. Each movement was support. Each touch — a blessing. The maiden wreath was just as important. It was decorated with ribbons:
red — for love,
yellow — for light,
green — for hope.
The wreath was not merely an ornament — it was a language. In some villages there was a quiet ritual — the maiden mirror. A friend would hand the bride-to-be a mirror — not to see herself, but to look at the past she was about to leave behind. And then they lit a candle — the posvit.
A light that accompanies a woman on her path. It reminded her: your fate is new, but you are not alone. For me, heritage is the connection. What is passed down not through things, but through moments. Like a ribbon passed from hand to hand. It is what makes us who we are.