In the traditional Latvian calendar, Mārtiņi marks the end of the fall work cycle and the beginning of winter. It was the time when the year’s harvest was stored, fields lay dormant, and people turned inward to prepare for the dark, cold months ahead. Symbolically, this transition represented a movement from activity to stillness, from public labor to private reflection. But before retreating into winter’s quietude, Mārtiņi offered one last, vibrant burst of celebration.

This turning point was both practical and spiritual. Peasants paid their dues to landlords, contracts were renewed or ended, and herds were brought in from pasture. The home became the center of life once again. And into this shift stepped a holiday of music, masks, laughter, and feasting, rich with symbolism and deep communal meaning.

One of the most iconic and enduring customs of Mārtiņi is the appearance of Mārtiņbērni—costumed mummers who travel from house to house, much like carolers or trick-or-treaters. Dressed as animals, spirits, or exaggerated characters from village life, they perform songs, dances, and humorous skits in exchange for food or drink. Their arrival is boisterous, playful, and symbolic: they represent the spirits of fertility, abundance, and transition, ensuring that each household remains protected and prosperous through the winter.

Masks were—and still are—a key part of the tradition. Often handmade from wood, straw, or fabric, they blur the line between human and spirit, allowing the wearer to embody forces greater than themselves. To open one’s door to the Mārtiņbērni is to welcome fortune, creativity, and a bit of controlled chaos into the home—a necessary disruption before the calm of winter.

No Latvian celebration is complete without food, and Mārtiņi is especially known for its abundant and symbolic feast. At the center of the table is often roast goose, a tradition believed to have medieval origins and one that connects the festival to similar European Martinmas customs. The goose, fattened during the summer and autumn, represents completion, gratitude, and readiness for the winter to come.

Alongside the goose, dishes like rye bread, beans, root vegetables, and beer would fill the table—nourishing, earthy foods meant to sustain families during the colder months. In rural areas, these meals were not only about sustenance but also about community. Neighbors would gather to share, sing, and dance, reinforcing social bonds and offering a sense of continuity as the wheel of the year turned.

Although Mārtiņi's pagan roots stretch deep into the soil of Latvian history, its relevance has not faded. Today, the festival is still celebrated in folk centers, schools, and villages, where children don masks and sing old songs, and adults reconnect with customs that link them to their heritage. It is a time of storytelling, music, and ancestral memory, reminding Latvians of the rhythms of the earth and the wisdom of those who came before.

In modern cities, where life moves at a different pace, Mārtiņi may not be observed with the same intensity—but the values it upholds remain strong. The importance of honoring seasonal change, giving thanks, and gathering with others continues to find expression, even in contemporary settings. Whether through festivals, folklore groups, or family tables, Mārtiņi persists as a bridge between past and present.

Mārtiņi arrives just as the days grow shorter and colder, offering a final moment of light before winter’s deep stillness sets in. It is a celebration of work completed, a farewell to the fields, and a spirited invitation to the mysterious months ahead. Through songs, masks, and shared meals, Latvians reconnect with the cycle of the seasons and with each other.

To celebrate Mārtiņi the Latvian way is to step into a world where tradition is alive with laughter and meaning, where ancient customs still carry the warmth of the hearth, and where every masked figure knocking at the door reminds us that transformation—like winter—is part of life’s eternal dance.