The Little Candlemas Bear

The following is an original story inspired by Newfoundland Candlemas folklore. It’s the story of Little Bear who wakes to find his shadow missing. His search leads to a warm home, a wise Grandmother who shares a winter secret.

You can read it here or listen to it (and more Newfoundland Candlemas lore) on the Strange Truths and Tall Tales podcast.

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The Little Candlemas Bear

It was February 2nd — Candlemas Day — and Little Bear stirred in his den on the Blue Hill.

A deep, empty hunger gnawed at his belly, and the silence of his winter sleep felt too heavy to carry. He stretched his limbs, shook the frost from his fur, and sniffed the cold air.

His mother had always said he must sleep until spring, but something inside him whispered: Wake up.

So he did.

He lumbered toward the mouth of the den, blinking against the light. But the world outside was not warm and green as he had imagined. It was cold. It was gray. The sky was thick with cloud. The wind sighed over the valley, sending wisps of white from the branches of the frozen spruce across the hillside.

Little Bear frowned. This did not look like spring. He tried to remembered the rhyme:

“If your shadow you do see,
six more weeks of frost there’ll be.
If it’s gone and out of view,
then warmer days are coming through.”

He turned this way and that, lifting his great paws, searching the ground.

No shadow.

His heart leapt. No shadow meant no more winter. No more waiting.

Spring was here!

But as he wandered down the blue hill and into the quiet cove below, the world did not feel like spring at all. The sea was dark and restless, the sky was heavy with snow, and the wind had an icy bite.

He felt strangely alone. He missed his shadow.

It had always been with him, stretched beside him in the sunlight. It flickered and danced when he played and curled close when the days grew dim. Without it, he felt smaller somehow, as if a piece of himself were missing.

Was it lost somewhere in the snow? Had it wandered off without him? The thought made his chest feel hollow.

“I must find it,” Little Bear murmured, setting his paws firmly in the snow. “I can’t welcome spring without my shadow.”

So Little Bear pressed on, across the snow and frozen streams, searching for the shadow he had somehow lost.

Through the snow-covered woods and into the cove he walked, his paws leaving deep prints behind him. The cold nipped at his tail, but his heart was set on his search.

Grandmother’s House

Nestled at the edge of the cove was a saltbox house, its roof heavy with snow, its tiny kitchen window glowing like a lantern against the grey afternoon. Smoke curled from the chimney, and from inside came a soft humming

Little Bear nudged the door. It creaked open.

Inside, sitting at the table, was Grandmother. She was humming a beautiful melody.

A pot of fish stew bubbled on the stove, filling the air with warmth. It smelled so good, and Little Bear was so hungry but he had no time for stew, not until his shadow was back beside him.

Grandmother—though her eyes widened—did not move.

Little Bear did not growl. He did not bare his teeth. He sniffed, peering around the warm little room. He checked the floorboards, but his shadow was not there. He poked his nose into the space behind the wood stove. Not there either. He lifted the quilt of the nearest bed and peeked underneath. Still nothing.

His shoulders slumped.

“Where is it?” he murmured. “Where is my shadow?”

Brave Grandmother, who had seen many winters and knew many things, could see the worry in his face. She rose from her chair. She stepped toward him, slow and steady, and placed a gentle hand on his thick fur.

“Oh, my dear Little Bear,” she said softly, “whatever is the matter?”

“My shadow is gone,” said the sad little cub, “I think I lost it.”

Grandmother immediately understood.“Do not be sad. Your shadow is not lost. It’s only been borrowed.”

Little Bear blinked at her, “borrowed?”

A Winter Quilt

Grandmother nodded, her voice as soft as falling snow.

“When the long sleep begins, Mother Winter gathers the shadows of all the sleeping creatures. With a great icy needle, she stitches them, piece by piece, into a starry quilt that stretches across the sky. Each shadow she takes makes the night longer, deeper, and more beautiful, wrapping the world in peaceful darkness.”

She smiled, brushing a hand over Little Bear’s thick fur. “Your shadow is not lost, my dear—it is playing among the stars, dancing with the northern lights, drifting like mist between the constellations. When you look up at the winter sky, know that a piece of you is there, woven into the fabric of the long winter night.”

The fire crackled in the stove.

“And when the time is right,” Grandmother continued, “Mother Winter will unfasten the stitches and gently fold the night away. She will return the shadows to the earth, setting them free to stretch beside their owners once more. When you wake to a golden morning and see your shadow walking with you again, you will know that spring has come at last.”

She squeezed his paw warmly.

“So don’t worry, Little Bear. Everything is as it should be. Sleep a little longer, and when the world is ready, the sun will call your shadow home.”

She smiled so gently, that Little Bear couldn’t help but feel better.

“So… the rhyme? If my shadow is gone,” Little Bear’s brow furrowed, “doesn’t mean that winter is over?”

Grandmother shook her head. “Not on this coast, my dear. Here the days are rough and grum… there’s much more winter yet to come. Mother Winter is never ready to let go by February. You must return to your den and wait. When the season truly changes, you’ll know.”

Little Bear sighed, for he did not like waiting. But deep inside, he felt the truth of her words.

Grandmother looked at him kindly and ladled warm fish stew into a wooden bowl. “Before you go, have some supper to fill your belly. There is still sleeping left to do.”

Little Bear lapped up the stew, its warmth spreading through him, easing the ache of hunger. Little Bear nuzzled her hand in thanks.

Outside, the daylight had faded, and the first stars pricked through the clearing clouds. Little Bear looked up, wondering if his shadow were looking down on him.

Grandmother wrapped a quilt over her shoulders and took a lantern from the hook by the door, its flame flickered as she moved. “Come now, Little Bear. I will walk you home.”

Grandmother and Little Bear climbed the snowy hill, the lantern’s glow swaying with each step. The wind softened, and in the moonlight the trees cast long shadows over the frozen ground. When they reached the den, Little Bear turned and looked at Grandmother one last time. The lantern’s glow shimmered in her kind eyes, and above her, the winter sky stretched dark and wide.

She took the quilt from around her shoulders, “Take this,” she said, “I made it myself and filled it with the softest wool I could find. It will keep you comfortable until spring.”

Little Bear curled into his den, wrapping himself in the quilt. It smelled of wood-smoke and wool, and of kindness and of care. His belly was full, his heart no longer heavy. With his quilt, he wasn’t lonely anymore and he let sleep take him, dreaming of the day when the sun would shine bright, the streams would run free, and his shadow would return to walk beside him.

And so it was that winter lingered and Little Bear slept, and everything unfolded exactly as it was meant to be.

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