My first week in Newfoundland was full of everything I needed: A Christmas tree lighting in Quidi Vidi Village, a kitchen party, pints at The Duke of Duckworth, dinner with my family, and a drive with my road-rage rampant but outrageously hilarious sister Amanda.

“If you want to talk about weather, Newfoundland is the land of the damned,” she said while driving on what felt like the coldest day ever, trying to shield her eyes from the blaring sun. “You either freeze to death, or if the sun comes out at all, it burns straight through your retinas.” Well said.

I had a dance party with my nephews, an audition, a late night tea party/dehydrating cry with my mother, an all night pub crawl that ended with a morning coffee; a few minutes ago, a stranger paused and said, “Hello,” to me. I was standing on a porch. He was driving by in his truck. I love Newfoundland.

But a highlight of my trip so far—no, a highlight of my year so far—was marching in the Mummers Parade.

Photos: Nancy Beaton @ncbeets

Do you know what a Mummer is? I don’t blame you if you don’t; bear with me, because I know it’s wacky. I’ve told many a Mainlander, and it always ends in a curious Google search.

Mummering is an outport Newfoundland tradition that was practiced during the 12 days of Christmas (the 12 days from Boxing Day to Old Christmas Day). Members of the community, old and young, would dress up in crazy outfits (including masks and face scarves) to conceal their identities. They then went from house to house—people showed their willingness to participate by leaving their porch lights on—dancing and drinking with their hosts until they tired out or their identities were discovered.

The Mummers Festival is a folk initiative that promotes community integration and reinvigoration of that tradition. With free workshops that educate and encourage participation from all community members, the festival ends with a parade and celebration. The Mummers Festival website sheds a lot of light on Mummering and living traditions as a part of Folklore.

I arrived at Matthew’s house later than most of my friends, and what a crowd I arrived to! Everyone was dressed so colorfully and creatively (the key to Mummer fashion is to just throw stuff together). Thea wore a lampshade on her head. Amy made a mask from a pillowcase. Jason and Erin had spent days crafting giant puppets that would soar above the crowd. I grabbed some scarves from Matthew’s floor, and with a few wraps around my head and a bow made with bright blue crinoline, I was ready to Mummer.

You know you are going to have a good time when one friend says to another before you leave, “Lock the rum and the duct tape in the house, we’re going to be late.” It was 2pm.

We arrived at the meeting place, a nearby elementary school, right in time to join hundreds of our fellow Mummers: little Mummers, big Mummers, baby Mummers! People operated elaborate puppets and played homemade instruments like ugly sticks and spoons. People even dressed up their pets.

Mummer 1: “Look at that sweet baby Mummer!”

Mummer 2: “I just saw a dog with a bra on.”

Photos: Nancy Beaton @ncbeets

Foolishness. Pure, utter foolishness. Dancing and screaming and laughing. Holding hands and skipping and hugging. And nobody knows who the hell anyone else is. The trick is that it’s anonymous; everyone is welcome, everyone belongs. The more foolish and fun and outrageous, the better. People aren’t afraid.

I stood in the middle of a crowd and screamed at the top of my lungs with everyone else. And it felt great. I was more liberated surrounded by a thousand Mummers, more free amidst the herd, more alive and united, than I could ever describe.

It was pretty trippy. 1,600 people, both spectators and Mummers, were on site by the end of the parade. And then we took it to the next level: Mummer karaoke.

I hadn’t been to the Georgetown Pub in 10 years. The last time I was there was when I lived in a house rampant with mice and had to use their ATM to get money out to pay our exterminator. Needless to say, I was happy to be back under different circumstances (and quite possibly with a better sense of fashion).

The population of the bar was half-Mummer, half-civilian, and all fun. The host had fun trying to figure out which Mummers were boys and which were girls, and there was a couple of toasty regulars who slow danced to almost every song, including “Like a Prayer” and “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”

I laughed so hard all day that once things wrapped up, I had to go home and take a nap. If I didn’t think we’d get arrested or inadvertently start a fashion trend, I’d start a Mummers club in Toronto!

On second thought, maybe I will anyway.