Midsummer Feasts and Fertility Fears: The Folklore of Eggs and the Solstice

In Scandinavia, Midsummer is one of the most anticipated nights of the year—a celebration of endless light, fertile fields, and the brief, intoxicating high point of the northern summer. Bonfires blaze, maypoles are raised, and tables overflow with herring, new potatoes, sour cream, fresh bread, and aquavit. It is a feast of abundance, a night to revel in the richness of the season.

But beneath the music, food, and revelry, old folklore whispered a more anxious truth: what you ate on Midsummer Eve could influence your future, even your ability to conceive. Among the dishes, none carried more weight—or more superstition—than the simple egg.

Eggs at the Solstice: Fertility Charm or Curse?

Eggs, universal symbols of life, renewal, and creation, naturally found their way into fertility folklore across Europe. In Scandinavia, they took on a particular charge on Midsummer Eve, the night when the sun lingered longest in the sky and the veil between the natural and supernatural felt thinnest.

Some strands of Swedish and Finnish folk belief warned women not to eat eggs on Midsummer Eve, claiming they could “bind the womb” and make it harder to conceive. The yolk, yellow and round like the sun, was said to trap the fertility energy of the solstice rather than release it, especially if consumed before the bonfire was lit.

Other traditions flipped the meaning entirely. In parts of rural Sweden and Norway, women were told to eat a fresh egg at sunset on Midsummer Eve to “invite life,” ensuring not only fertility but a strong, healthy child. Some even believed the egg could influence the sex of a future baby—eat the yolk for a boy, the white for a girl.

These contradictory beliefs reflected a common thread in Scandinavian folklore: the solstice was powerful, but unpredictable. It was a night of abundance and magic, but also one where the natural world teetered on a threshold. What you consumed—especially something as symbolic as an egg—could sway your fate, for better or worse.

Bonfires, Buried Shells, and Rituals of Abundance

The egg superstitions weren’t just about eating. They also extended to what you did with the shells. Some 18th-century Swedish farmers believed that cracking an egg and burying the shell beneath the Midsummer bonfire could “burn away” barrenness, freeing a woman to conceive. Others claimed the act cursed the woman unless she circled the fire three times to break the spell.

In some parts of Finland, young women were told to throw eggshells into running water before dawn, symbolically “sending away” infertility or bad luck. In Norway, a different variation suggested tossing eggshells into the Midsummer fire while whispering the name of a desired partner, as a kind of love charm.

These rituals tied into the wider theme of Midsummer as a liminal time. The solstice was believed to amplify the potency of certain foods and actions, making it a night to seek visions of a future spouse, secure a bountiful harvest, or protect against misfortune. Eggs, with their universal association with life, became natural focal points for these hopes and fears.

From Folk Magic to Folklore

By the 19th and 20th centuries, many of these beliefs had begun to fade, replaced by a more standardised, secular celebration of Midsummer. Christianity had long since subdued most of the overt fertility rituals, and urbanisation pulled people away from the agricultural rhythms that once made such customs feel vital.

Still, echoes of the egg lore survive in folk collections, regional sayings, and occasional local customs. Ethnographers in Sweden and Finland recorded older women reminiscing about the rituals—burying shells, eating eggs at certain times, or avoiding them entirely. These accounts reveal not only the persistence of such beliefs but the anxieties they carried.

For agrarian societies, fertility wasn’t just personal; it was communal. A barren year, whether of crops or children, threatened the future of the household and village alike. Midsummer, marking the turning point from light toward darkness, was a natural moment to harness every charm and caution available.

Fun Fact: Eggs, Fertility, and the Maypole

While eggs drew their own rituals, they also tied into broader Midsummer fertility symbols—most famously the maypole. In parts of rural Sweden, small egg-shaped tokens were sometimes hung from the maypole’s garlands, symbolising life and renewal. Couples who danced around the pole were, in some regions, told to eat an egg together afterward to “seal” the fertility blessing of the night.

Even when the original beliefs faded, the foods of Midsummer—rich with seasonal bounty—retained their association with life and vitality. Eggs, whether eaten or avoided, remained part of that older logic, a reminder that the feast was about more than indulgence. It was also a hedge against uncertainty, a bid to ensure that the abundance of summer would carry forward into the darker months ahead.

Why This Folklore Still Fascinates

Today, most Midsummer celebrations in Sweden, Norway, and Finland focus on communal joy rather than fertility fears. Families gather around maypoles, tables laden with herring and aquavit, and bonfires meant more for warmth and festivity than ritual power. Few stop to think about whether the eggs in their potato salad might once have been seen as a fertility charm or a curse.

Yet these old beliefs endure in the margins of memory because they capture a fundamental truth about Midsummer. Beneath the songs and feasts, the celebration reflects a tension between joy and fear—between the abundance of summer and the knowledge that the days will soon grow shorter, the harvest uncertain, and the winter inevitable.

The egg, simple and universal, embodied that balance. Life, potential, fragility, and fate—all in one shell. It’s no wonder our ancestors imbued it with such power on the longest day of the year.

So the next time you raise a glass at a Midsummer table or crack open a boiled egg with your herring, remember the generations who believed that act could shape their future. To them, it wasn’t just food. It was magic—sometimes a blessing, sometimes a risk, but always a symbol of the fragile line between feast and fear.