The Holly King and Oak King’s (Not-So-Epic) Battle at Backcountry Mystic
There’s something undeniably magical about the summer solstice—when the sun lingers just a little too long, the lemonade is spiked with suspicious herbs (thanks, Nova), and nature herself seems to pause and blink at the weird things humans are doing to celebrate her. At Backcountry Mystic, that meant one thing this year: an overly ambitious, deeply chaotic reenactment of the Holly King and Oak King’s legendary battle.
And I do mean legendary in the sense of “people will be talking about this disaster for years.”
Who Are the Holly King and Oak King’s? (And Why Were We Cosplaying as Them?)
Before we get into the stage blood, the glue gun injuries, and the emotional damage to Nate’s dignity, let’s start with some folklore.
The Holly King and Oak King’s myth is rooted in Celtic and neopagan traditions. These two figures—often portrayed as twin brothers, rivals, or seasonal aspects of nature—battle for dominance twice a year. The Oak King rules from Yule to Litha (winter to summer solstice), symbolizing the light half of the year. Then, at summer solstice, the Holly King defeats him and reigns from Litha to Yule, bringing on the darker half.
It’s all very poetic. Death and rebirth, light and shadow, balance and duality. Nature personified as two seasonally combative dudes in leaf capes. A metaphor for the eternal dance of the seasons.
Unless you live in BriarVeil, where it becomes two grown men in repurposed bathrobes whacking each other with foam swords while children scream “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”
It Started with Good Intentions
As usual.
The idea came to me during a moment of rare inspiration (or mild heatstroke): “Let’s host a solstice gathering at Backcountry Mystic. Something educational. Traditional. Maybe even… reverent.”
Cue the laughter of the gods.
Nate was volunteered as the Oak King because he owns a brown bathrobe and, in his words, “already looks like someone who talks to trees.” Owen was disturbingly quick to volunteer as the Holly King, citing “deep emotional ties to winter” and “a lot of unresolved issues with sunlight.”
Costumes were cobbled together from thrift store detritus, glitter glue, and what I sincerely hope was fake moss. Nova, of course, appointed herself “Creative Director of War” and took her role a little too seriously.
Rowan was in charge of the script, which he wrote in runes for “authenticity.” No one could read it, but he insisted that was part of the vibe.
The Reenactment (a.k.a. How Not to Host a Ritual)
It began with promise. Isaac handed out sun-shaped cookies. Someone brought a solar-powered disco ball. Spirits were high.
And then Kevin, our freeloading neighborhood goat, ate half of Nate’s costume and pooped near the altar.
Nova detonated her “solstice fog effect” (a repurposed humidifier filled with clove oil) five minutes early, blinding the audience and briefly triggering an asthma attack in Rainey. We called that atmosphere.
As the fog cleared, Owen stormed out in his Holly King getup—green velvet cloak, sunglasses, and a holly crown that looked suspiciously like a rebranded Christmas wreath. He screamed, “DARKNESS RISES!” and tripped over a sprinkler.
Nate, ever the reluctant warrior, shuffled out holding his noodle sword like it owed him money. He tried to deliver a rousing speech about renewal and the cycle of life but was interrupted by Rowan yelling, “STAY ON SCRIPT!” and Nova launching a glitter bomb that coated the front row in what I can only describe as biodegradable shame.
The battle commenced. And by battle, I mean two grown men awkwardly slapping each other with foam until Kevin headbutted Owen in solidarity with sunlight.
The fight ended when the sacred sun effigy (a papier-mâché orb Nova made from old cereal boxes) caught fire after someone placed it too close to a citronella torch. Isaac tried to douse the flames with lemonade. It did not help.
We did not have a winner. Unless you count chaos, in which case—congratulations, chaos.
Why We’ll Probably Do It Again Anyway
After the smoke cleared and Kevin was lured away with pretzels, we all sat in the grass. Covered in glitter. Smelling like clove and regret. But laughing.
Because here’s the thing: ritual doesn’t have to be perfect. The Holly King and Oak King’s story isn’t about flawless execution—it’s about transition. About showing up to mark the turning of the wheel in whatever way you can. Even if that includes goat interference and accidental arson.
In that moment, with the sun still glowing on the horizon, someone pointed out a hawk circling above us. Everyone got quiet. Even the kids. Just for a heartbeat, we remembered why we were doing this. Then Kevin farted, and the spell was broken.
Still, I’d like to think the Oak King was smiling somewhere—maybe proud, maybe just amused. And I’m sure the Holly King is already plotting next year’s chaos.
We’ll be ready. Sort of.
In Summary:
- The Holly King and Oak King’s myth reminds us that change is inevitable and cyclical.
- Reenactments are a terrible idea unless you enjoy mild injuries and glitter inhalation.
- Kevin is now banned from ritual spaces (pending appeal).
Your Turn
Have you ever hosted a solstice ritual that went hilariously off the rails? Tell me everything in the comments. Bonus points if yours also featured a goat.
💜 Everlie
