It’s springtime in Buxton and the birds are birding with wild abandon. From where I’m sitting, I can hear a blackbird giving it some welly and a gaggle of geese honking their way across the gardens like they’ve got very strong opinions.

No sign of Mary Queen of Scots’ ghost yet – though I’ve been keeping an eye out, just in case she fancies a wander. I’m only a couple of hundred yards from the old Roman Baths, which may or may not still echo with the murmur of ancient conversations and the slosh of warm mineral waters.

Being here, so close to where the Romans once relaxed their weary bones, has got me thinking about Cerealia – their joyful, rather peculiar spring festival dedicated to the goddess Ceres.

Pull up a chair, and I’ll tell you all about it…

Each spring, as the blossoms unfurl and the days stretch out with lazy optimism, we’re reminded that ancient Rome had a knack for celebrating just about everything with flair, fire, and quite a lot of flour. One such celebration was Cerealia, a festival dedicated to Ceres, the Roman goddess of agriculture, grain, fertility, and, by extension, every loaf of bread you’ve ever enjoyed. Without her, there’d be no pizza, and that alone makes her worthy of a festival or two.

Cerealia was held around mid-to-late April, just as the fields were greening and the threat of frost was slinking off for another year. It was a time of joy, warmth, and communal gratitude for the food growing beneath their sandalled feet. The whole affair was a bit of a love letter to Mother Earth’s pantry, and the Romans knew how to throw a thank-you party.

Now, we’re not talking about a quiet blessing of the crops followed by a polite tea. This was Rome, after all. The festival went on for about a week, and it had everything – games, plays, torchlit processions, and even some rather confused foxes.

Yes, you read that right.

Foxes.

You see, one of the more peculiar parts of Cerealia involved releasing live foxes into the Circus Maximus with flaming torches tied to their tails. It sounds like something out of a strange dream or a druid’s dare, but there was method to their madness…sort of.

The symbolism was all about purification, chasing away crop blight, and bringing heat and energy to the earth, like a torch relay of fertility. The fox, already seen as a sneaky pest in the granaries, became a kind of fire sprite running wild for the greater good. We’re not quite sure how the foxes felt about this, though one assumes they had a very strong opinion.

Ceres herself was a big deal. She was the Roman version of the Greek Demeter, and people took her role very seriously. She was believed to be the one who taught humans how to farm, which is probably why her temple was smack bang in the middle of the city, near the Forum. It wasn’t just a spot to light a candle and murmur thanks – it was also a hub for plebeians (the common folk) to meet, organise, and sometimes riot about the price of grain. You could say Ceres was a bit of a political goddess, quietly watching over both crops and class wars.

During Cerealia, people would dress in white, symbolising purity and hope, and offer the first fruits of the season.

Bakers, naturally, got involved. Festivals like this were practically an advert for the joys of the bakery. It’s not a stretch to imagine that bread was given as offerings, eaten in enormous quantities, and probably used as pillows after too much wine and dancing.

Theatres put on comedies, markets brimmed with seasonal goods, and the whole thing felt like a massive village fête. Only with fewer tombolas and more toga.

Aside from setting fire to foxes (which I obviously don’t agree with or suggest anyone attempts) there’s something quite charming about how the Romans celebrated their deities, not just with solemn rituals, but with food, fire, and flair.

Cerealia wasn’t a quiet prayer but a full-on spring shindig. It was a communal moment to say, “Thanks for the barley, Ceres,” and “Please don’t let the next harvest fail,” while also squeezing in a bit of fox-chasing and theatrical banter.

Today, we may not light foxes on fire (mercifully), but we still gather in spring with cakes, festivals, and that peculiar energy that arrives when the world finally feels alive again.

So if you happen to be munching on toast, pasta, or even a cheeky biscuit this month, perhaps spare a thought for Ceres, the unsung goddess behind your snack. After all, she kept Rome fed, fired up, and fabulously festive – tails and all.