Legend goes that a Roman soldier riding through town found a poor peddler dying in the cold. Mr. Martin, being a kind and gentle soul, took his cloak off his back and drew his sword, cutting the cloak in half. He gave the bigger half to the peddler, who survived. Martin then dreamt that the peddler was Jesus, and became a saint. That's all it took, folks.
St. Martin's Day is celebrated on November 11th, and is a HUGE deal in this Catholic neck of the woods. The children make paper lanterns and prance through town, bonfires are lit, songs are sung, and a man on a horse makes a "woah nelly!" appearance.
The girl's kindergarten held a Lanternfest in St. Martin's honour, and were spoiled with treats and sausages and raisin buns. The buns are meant to be split and shared with another child, in keeping with the sentiment of the evening. Claudia, my dear, quickly shoved the whole thing in her mouth. There are days where we just don't fit in.