“Try this one on!” Mary told me excitedly as she flung a slightly dusty shirt into my lap. Mary knelt over an opened trunk filled with colorful clothing and what looked like a heap of straw.

“Are you sure this is a real holiday?” I asked uneasily, my sister Mary had moved to Ireland several years ago while I had spent my entire life in America. It was the first time my parents and I had visited her at her new home, and after the slightly strange Christmas celebration we had had last night I had no idea if Mary’s description of St. Stephen's Day was merely a joke.

Mary laughed happily and pulled out a pair of multicolored pants and handed them to me. “Of course! Everyone here loves St. Stephen's Day; I know you’ll love it Erin. Now for our masks.” She chirped, stooping to reach into the faded trunk once again. I looked quizzically at the straw masks she handed me but obediently added it to the pile of clothes Mary had chosen for us. “Let’s go get dressed.” Mary suggested as I sneezed on the musty attic air.

We climbed down the ladder and went to our rooms. It didn’t take me long to get into my vibrant outfit and although I was embarrassed at how silly I looked, the feeling quickly disappeared when Mary entered the room in her similarly ridiculous costume. We both laughed at the other’s clown-like appearance and stood together in the mirror holding the straw masks in front of our faces. Mary was many years older than me and much taller but we both had the same wild red hair.

“What are we suppose to be dressed as?” I asked Mary, muffled a little by my mask.

Mary pulled the mask away from her face “We’re called Strawboys. The day after Christmas, St. Steven’s Day, is celebrated here in Ireland. An old story says that it was a wren that betrayed St. Steven and that it why we hold this festival on his day.” Mary walked away from the mirror and sat on patchwork quilt that lay on my bed. “The first time I saw the going of the wren I thought it was so strange. We parade about town with all the other Strawboys who will have masks just like us. A céilí band will follow us as we go through the village, going house to house singing and dancing.”

“Like caroling, then?” I asked.

Mary looked up and smiled, “Yes, I suppose it is a little like caroling.”

I walked over to the window that illuminated the room with mid-morning light. “No snow” I commented wistfully. I hadn’t seen a single snowflake the entire week. I was missing the Christmas that I would be having at home, the familiar Christmas carols, eggnog, it was so different here that I wondered how Mary could be comfortable with it.

“I know. I miss it too.” Mary admitted. I looked back at the window and glimpsed another group of Strawboys snaking through the misty street, laughing and nearly skipping. There was something odd about seeing such kaleidoscopic clothing against the sepia flagstones and whitewashed homes crowed along the street, like people huddled together against the gusty wind that rattled the windowpanes. The weather had been gray since I had arrived in Ireland and seeing the colors delighted me. “You just have to give it a chance Erin; there are lots of wonderful customs here.”

“Like St. Stephen’s Day?” I asked, turning from the window with a grin.

Mary raised her straw mask to her face. “Like St. Stephen’s Day!” She yelled playfully as she chased me out of the room and down the stairs to where our parents waited at the door.

A fiddle and a tin whistle began playing outside, “You’d better hurry!” said Papa as he pulled the door open. Mary and I rushed out onto the cobbled street and raced to the village center; winding through the narrow streets with our masks clutched to our chests and reached the large assembly of Strawboys just as the accordion and flute joined into the music.

The crowd was lively and merry and I was soon caught up in a spinning world of colors, strumming music and excited faces hidden by auburn masks of straw.

“I’m glad you gave Ireland a chance!” Mary hollered to me as the group began another song and we joined hands for another dance.

“I am too.” I called back. This wasn’t home, this wasn’t my tradition, but this is where Mary was, so this was Christmas. As I reeled around and around in our disjointed dance, I peered up at the cloudy sky and caught the first snowflakes of winter on my eyelashes.