Otis Women’s Brew Bash

“Oh boy, this won’t be good.” Mom had tugged me along at a brisk pace the whole way Aunt Margie’s house, excited for me to attend my first Otis women’s brew bash. Now her pace slowed, though her grip on my hand remained fierce.

As we approached the gate leading to Aunt Margie’s backyard, we could see a huddle of women with twinkling strands of fairy lights and luminaries throughout the yard, adding a little brightness in the waning evening light. I tried to count the heads and guess who all was in attendance.

Aunt Margie, of course, and her daughter Mattie, our hosts for the evening. Grandma Viv and her sister Auntie Mae, the elder states-ladies of the family, though we surely wouldn’t hear much out of Auntie Mae as her hearing was fading and dementia had settled over her within the last few years. Then there was Aunt Jess and her twin girls Greta and Mable, which made me sour because, at eleven, they were two years younger than me and this was only my first brew bash.

With me and Mom, that made nine. I had to agree with Mom: this wouldn’t be good. Too many cooks always spoil the brew, Still, this was my first brew bash and I was determined to make the most of it. To show off my bewitching, brewing skills and add something special to the night.

I straightened my hat, a stylish witch’s hat that was shorter than most and tinted a deep purple, and gave Mom’s hand a squeeze.

“It’ll be fine, Mom,” I said as she opened the gate and led us into the yard.

“You’re right,” Mom said. “I’m just sorry Greta and Mable are here. It’s not fair that they’re coming to their first brew bash at the same time as you. Feels less special, doesn’t it?”

While I wholeheartedly agreed, I didn’t want to feed into the negativity. Mom had a tendancy to focus on what was wrong and miss all that was right in the world around her. I would be different. Though it wasn’t fair, I would find a way to make the event special for myself.

So instead of joining in with Mom’s moaning, I smiled at her and shrugged.

Mom smiled back and me and wrapped me in a big hug. “Faye, you’re the best. You know that, right?”

My smile did that thing where, when it becomes a true smile, not a forced one, it goes crooked, angling up the right side of my face and giving away my true inner happiness at this show of affection from my mom.

“Peg! Faye! You’re here!” Aunt Margie had spotted us and now the whole crowd of women turned to look our way and slowly expanded their circle to welcome us.

We gave hugs all around and made quick small talk with the women of our family. Aunts, cousins, mothers, nieces all embraced, smiled and caught up on the last months of each other’s lives.

“Alright then,” Grandma Viv said, as she ushered her sister to a chair at the edge of the patio. “Let’s begin.”

Aunt Margie removed a large stone from the center of the patio and moved it into the grass with Mattie’s help. As they rejoined the circle, clapping dirt and dust off their hands, Grandma Viv stepped on a small stone at the edge of the patio near Auntie Mae’s chair and an enormous black cauldron raised up from the ground where the patio stone had been removed. 

Though my mom had told me about this amazing feature of Aunt Margie’s yard, it was still a wonder to watch. And clearly Aunt Jess hadn’t clued her daughters in as the twins’ eyes went wide, first in fright then in awe.

Before any ingredients were added to the cauldron, Grandma Viv led us in some enchantations and readings from the book of the Otis women’s history. Mom had explained it’s all part of the tradition. 

The Otis women hold a brew bash every six years to create a special concoction intended to bring all the women and their families good luck until the next bash. It’s hard to say whether or not it really works. I guess we generally have good luck. Auntie Mae is 96 and just starting to fall weak to old age-related ailments. Grandma Viv is still going strong at 92, often mistaken for a woman in her early 70s.

Mom, Aunt Margie and Aunt Jess all have beautiful families and homes, successful careers and marriages. Mattie, Greta, Mable and I are all pretty good kids. Good grades, happy and having fun in our chosen activities. Maybe nothing elaborately lucky or full of good fortune, but certainly long, happy, healthy lives all around for the Otis women.

We finish the various readings and recitations and it’s time to begin making the brew. There are several standard ingredients that are always included: frog’s toes, fly’s wings, mushroom juice, dandelion petals, things of that nature. But then each year, Grandma Viv and Auntie Mae request each woman bring something else to make that year’s brew unique and something to help our good luck last another six years.

In the days before the brew bash, Mom had told me she was nervous about this year. Not only was nine women too many, in her opinion, but Auntie Mae’s dementia meant she wasn’t in the best frame of mind to be helping create the brew recipe. And the recipe should always be made by two Otis women.

Mom had suggested to her sisters that Aunt Margie should take Auntie Mae’s place. As the next eldest Otis woman, she was next in line to help with the recipes. But Grandma Viv got wind of the idea and would have none of it. Her sister would participate until she was unable to, and Grandma Viv insisted Auntie Mae was still capable of creating a potent brew recipe.

After the standard ingredients were in the cauldron and simmering away, we went around the circle, each woman adding the special ingredient they’d be instructed to bring. 

The catch was we’d each been told in secret, and sworn to keep that secrecy so no woman, apart from Grandma VIv and Auntie Mae, knew all the ingredients in advance.

Aunt Margie added nail clippings from a black cat. Mattie tossed in five strands of red hair, each precisely five inches long.

Mom stirred in cabbage broth and I added peels from three oranges. So far, so good. All was simmering away without incident.

Aunt Jess added more black cat nail clippings and we all looked at each other nervously. Was this a mistake, or did we need a double portion of this ingredient, specifically brought by two different people?

Greta added water from nearby Lake Michigan and her twin Mable dumped in a bag full of fallen Maple leaves. Another odd choice which caused orange sparks to shoot from the cauldron.

Everyone looked around the circle and then to Grandma Viv for guidance. Her face remained calm and she stepped forward to add her ingredient: more cabbage broth. Another duplicate ingredient. Mom and my aunts shuffled anxiously and I could sense the kind of recipe was unprecedented.

Aunt Margie and Mom helped Auntie Mae from her chair where she’d been watching intently. Auntie Mae shuffled up to the cauldron and then waved Aunt Margie and Mom away, waiting until they were back to their places in the circle to take one last step toward the cauldron.

We all waited eagerly to see what Auntie Mae would add to the brew and see what would happen next. She stood poised at the edge of the cauldron for a long beat, then spry as a teenager, put her hands on the red-hot rim of the big pot and hoisted herself in.

Before anyone could react, green flames shot from the cauldron, engulfing Auntie Mae so we couldn’t see her.

Great and Mable hid their faces in Aunt Jess’s dress and wept. Mom held me close.

And Grandma Viv smiled and waved at the cauldron, bidding her sister a final farewell.

“Luck is with us all tonight,” Grandma said, the traditional closing to a brew bash.

“And for the years ahead,” we all replied in unison.