Maritime Pilgrimage to Our Lady of Tarac and Gender Roles Reflected in It

Abstract

The maritime pilgrimage of Our Lady of Tarac in the Kornati islands, Dalmatia, Croatia, is held on the first Sunday in July. The culture of these island communities is based on a patriarchal system that implies gender inequality. This cultural order has an impact on the construction of gender and religious identities in children and adults when they participate in pilgrimages. The basic methodological approach of the paper is autoethnography. The author concludes that the model of cryptomatriarchy along with the dominant patriarchy well explains well the role of women/mothers and grandmothers in the context of the pilgrimage. The pilgrimage also serves as a framework for transferring gender roles to children.

1. The Location and History of the Pilgrimage Site

The maritime pilgrimage of Our Lady of Tarac on the island of Kornat in Dalmatia takes place on the first Sunday in July. It is unique because the Kornati archipelago is not permanently inhabited and there is no regular boat transport line; instead, transport must be arranged privately. On the pilgrimage day, some fishermen from Murter, the permanent settlement from which most Kornati landowners come from, volunteer to transport pilgrims in their fishing boats. Yet, material traces of occasional inhabitancy of the Kornat island exist as early as the Neolithic period, continuing through the Illyrian, ancient, and Mediaeval periods until the modern day.

The Romanesque church of Our Lady of Tarac, which pilgrims visit every year, is in a clearing at the foot of the hill on which stands Justinian’s fortress—tureta.1 Behind the church is the former Tarac field with a pond Lokva2, the largest in the Kornati archipelago. In front of the church there is a clearing without any grass or scrub, and below it is the blue of the sea and sky stretching into infinity, dotted with gilded islands and their dry-stone walls. When the unknown builder decided to place a church here, he was very aware of the power of the view with its immense blue in a thousand shades. Even if there were no church or fortress here, any visitor who happened to pass through this part of the Kornat island would certainly pause for a few moments to, taken in the views, scents, and silence. The faithful who began this maritime pilgrimage were also probably inspired by the intoxicating powers of the sea.

Due to the beauty of the landscape and to its economic resources no one was left indifferent. The expanse of grass-covered karst was suitable for pastures, and the sea formerly featured numerous rich fishing spots, known by the locals as pošte.3 They also fished in secret since the complex use rights did not allow them to fish legally.4

The central event of the pilgrimage to Our Lady of Tarac, aside from the celebration of Mass, is a lunch that has been traditionally held for the priest and his church guests for over a hundred years following established schedule at certain Kornati ports.5 The church itself-has changed its name throughout history; today, it is called Our Lady of Tarac, or as the locals call it, Gospe o’ Tarca. It was built in the 14th century as the wing of a larger6 6th-century early Christian church that was called St. Mary (Sveta Marija). This older, more spacious church was dedicated to St. Mary, Mother of God, and; in the oldest archival documents, the entire archipelago is called Insula Sanctae Mariae (Island of St. Mary) after the church, or Stomorin Otok in Croatian (Skračić 2021, p. 102). In the first Austrian cadastral survey (1824–1830), the building (both the more recent one and the smaller 14th-century one) are described as ruina (ruins). During the purchase (kupovština7) of this part of the Kornati archipelago—Zmorašnji Kurnat—in 1896, the church was still in ruins. Since this was roughly seventy years after the Austrian survey; it was presumablyrenovated at this point, probably by those living in Murter, who also established the pilgrimage at the same time. Hence, it can be concluded that Mass has been celebrated here from the construction of the first church in the 6th century, continued in the church built in the 14th century, and has continued in the renovated church until the present day.

Our Lady of Tarac has, until recently, been a sanctuary of Kornati’s farmers and shepherds. The feast day of Our Lady was 2 July by the old Church calendar; the date by the new calendar is 31 May. Recently, the pilgrimage to Our Lady of Tarac has been scheduled on the Sunday nearest to 2 July, i.e., the first Sunday of the month of July. As Skračić (2021, p. 104) states, the change in the date of the festivity was a way to turn the pilgrimage into a tourist product. This Madonna is unique in that it is rudimentary and has no exterior decorative features, not even flags. The painting of the Madonna—as there is no statue—is not transported from one church to another as is common in pilgrimages. No one leaves gold as an offering. The offerings left are most often common, simple rosaries, along with the great prayers of the residents, hoping for survival on the tough karst of this distant colonised archipelago.

The natural environment is impressive and truly worthy of a maritime religious sanctuary. Although Our Lady of Tarac was a sanctuary for Kornati’s shepherds and farmers until recenly. The pilgrimage is maritime in character because they also had to cross the sea from Murter to the Kornati islands. However, times have changed, and since the second half of the 20th century, farmers and shepherds have become rare among the pilgrims. Tarac, now overgrown, is no longer a field and the profile of the participants has broadened considerablyto include not just the locals but also all who are interested in the event, i.e.: adventurers, sportsmen, tourists, official, whiletechnological innovation, such as the invention of fast motorboats has accelerated this change in the pilgrims’ profile.

With the changed character of the participants, the ritual of pilgrimage has also changed. For one thing, a procession and blessing of the fields, which once was an integral part of the celebration of Mass, is now held in a superficial and abbreviated form.

Since the Kornati archipelago is isolated, people observe both sedentary and mobile lifestyles, incompatible yet complementary, ways of life. Throughmovement and other activities, people seek the unrealised or lost parts of themselves that disturb them when they live a sedentary lifestyle. Faith and religious pilgrimages offer shelter and strength to many, giving them the strength for further spiritual journeys. Katić and Eade (2022) state that through movement in a group, people can change their identity and become someone they otherwise cannot be on a daily basis or—at least for a moment—can return to the kind of personal they once were. A tangible place of pilgrimage can channel the emotions and narratives encouraged by the movement of people and provide them with recognizable identities, ideas, and feelings.

The great distance from the mainland meant that life was insecure so the Kornati residents always ensured they had a sacral place to retreat to. For this reason, three churches were altogether built on the archipelago: this one, on the island of Kornat, another on the island of Piškera, and a third one on the island of Žut. Today, all of them sarve a sacral function.8 and mark both the continuity of life in this part of the Mediterranean and the religious tradition of its inhabitants.

2. The Goal and the Hypotheses of the Research

This paper is centred on theoretical issues involving gender roles in a small island community. The culture of the Kornati island communities is based on a patriarchal system that implies gender inequality. It is defined by a patrilinear inheritance, patrilocal marriage, the asymmetry of power, and the reproduction of life within a family, which is the basic unit of society. Within that cultural order, men and women are formed by learning their different social roles constructed by cultural norms (gender). These roles are learned from birth, and during their lifetime, individuals more or less successfully harmonize them with their individuality.

In the community of Murter and Kornati,9 which I have studied, some changes have occurred during the last one hundred years. Due to education, industrialization, political changes, and employment outside of the community, the central authority of pater familias has weakened. However, when family members gather again to work on their farms and pastures in Kornati, the traditional patterns of patriarchy resurface. The same is the case when local religious practices, such as the maritime pilgrimage, are organized.

Accordingly, I have designed research questions which aim to determine what effect the local social structure has on the construction of gender and religious identities among children and adults, whether this reflects on the pilgrimage, and if so, how. I also address how the behaviour and identities of mothers and sons can be explained through the model of cryptomatriarchy, that is, “the hidden power of older women” (Simić 1983). Included are also various motivations of male and female Catholic pilgrims as I observed them.

3. The Methodology of Research in Kornati

The main motivation for this work is my belonging to the local culture. I was born and raised in a Kurnatari family that once often stayed and worked on the Kornat island, although now less often. I have participated in the pilgrimage of Our Lady of Tarac numerous times. As I conducted the interviews for this research project, other research focuses became apparent. The names of my interlocutors will remain anonymous, and some content will have been modified to some extent so that they cannot be recognised.

The basic methodological starting point of the paper is autoethnography. I hail from this local culture. I grew up in it and have been constantly returning to the region from the city of Zadar where I was educated and have worked as a professional. Some years, I stay in Murter and Kornati continuously for months at a time. Thus, each of the following methodological concepts applies to me: autoethnographer, insider, and a halfy (Abu-Lughod 1991).

Chang (2007, p. 2) describes autoethnography as an ethnographic inquiry that uses autobiographical material from the researcher’s life as a primary source of data. Unlike other self-narrative material such as autobiographies and memoirs, the autoethnographer emphasizes cultural analysis and interpretation of the researcher’s own behaviour, thoughts, and experiences in relation to others in society. An autoethnography should be ethnographic in its methodological orientation, cultural in its interpretive dimension, and autobiographical in terms of content. In my research of this region, I have adhered to the methodological strategy of autoethnography, using its qualitative and narrative basis.

An insider is a person who is a native, indigenous anthropologist, i.e., a local participant in a culture. However, insider status as a concept can also be applied to those who participate in a given area to a full extent for a long period of time (Gulin Zrnić 2006). Active participation is important to fully understand the topic you are researching. As an insider, you must take an emotional and cognitive step away to think like an ethnographer. Rationalising life experiences is necessary in both fieldwork and writing.

Halfies is a term for bicultural people. This biculturality may imply having parents from different cultures or a fragmented identity; in my case, I am a halfy because I describe my native culture from both a scientific perspective and from the perspective of my urban life.

Although pilgrimage is a religious topic, my research approach is secular; however, I am also a believer on a certain level: I was born in this kind of community and was raised in the Catholic faith. Throughout my life, I have become a religious halfy. There is a part of me motivated by faith and another that is critical towards, analyses, opposes, and is disturbed by the dominance of patriarchal powers in various parts of life, including religion. Like Hastrup (1992), I believe that fieldwork lies between autobiography and anthropology—connecting personal experience with general knowledge—when the “I” is not isolated within the field of work, but rather “I”, the anthropologist, am free to wander between the “personal” and the “objective”.

4. Local Pilgrims: Their Motivations, Organization, and the Course of the Pilgrimage Events

For some pilgrims, prayer is a public spectacle, and competition is a strong incentive for them. Other pilgrims are not inclined to public prayer amongst many people, and as they know that they are able to “visit Our Lady” at any time of the year, they come in wintertime. Through the life story of one family, I describe their self-sacrificing faith and hope that, through sincere prayer away from the sight of others and in a desolate part of the year, they can overcome the problems that afflict them and accept the inevitability of their situation. Since this pilgrimage in addition to the religious and prayer aspect also has a social, feast component, socializing is also a very important motivation to attend the pilgrimage. The date is often called the Feast Day of Our Lady of Tarac (Fešta Gospe od Tarca).

The number of pilgrims is large, about a hundred or more, excepting the two years of the pandemic (2020 and 2021). Before the 1960s, when there were no motorboats and tourism was not developed, only locals would participate since they were present in the Kornati archipelago for shepherding and agricultural activities. Whole extended families would participate in the pilgrimage, men and women, children and adults.

Pilgrims came to Our Lady of Tarac on her feast day either on foot from the coves where they lived or by boat. Boats would come from other Kornati islands, more remote coves on the island of Kornat, or from Murter. Walking was often also a part of pilgrims’ vows, so pilgrims on foot were once more numerous, regardless of the distance they had to walk. The island of Kornat is 25.2 km long, so it was necessary to set aside several hours to hike to the Mass and back home.

In my childhood in the 1960s, Mass was held inside the church. For decades, the church has been unable to accommodate all the pilgrims, a number of whom are tourists, so Mass is held in the clearing in front of the church in improvised shade provided by a sail. This sail rising above the pilgrims during Mass also symbolically emphasises the maritime character of the pilgrimage. In addition to the traditional pilgrimage by boat and the celebration of Mass, there was also a blessing of the fields, pastures, and sea, along with the Glagolitic singing10 of O Lord, We Praise Thee (Tebe Boga hvalimo11). Fewer and fewer residents of the Kornati archipelago work in agriculture or livestock farming. Fishing and tourism have suppressed these old local professions, and as Mass service follows trends on the ground, the ritual of the blessing of the field has waned in importance. Although the number of pilgrims—both locals and outsiders—decreased during the recent pandemic, the pilgrimage continued. Yet the number of pilgrims did not decrease so much that everyone could fit into the church, so even in this reduced form, Mass was still held in front of it.

In the usual order, residents of a port on Kornat would once a year host the parish priest of Murter and his guests. This was a holy place to the old Kurnatari and their parish priests, as we read in Jerko Skračić’s novella collection Osunčani otoci (in English: Sun-drenched Islands) in his story Dani gnjeva (in English: Days of Wrath) (Skračić 1943). In the past, the priest would have come from Murter in a leut sailboat. Today, his transport, accommodation, and other needs are seen to by families who have been taking up this duty in succession, according to a schedule established for more than a hundred years. While researching the question of which families host the priest and how and when this organization took place, Boris Turčinov and Vladimir Skračić provided me with a wealth of information; I also used data from Vladimir Skračić’s (2021) Kòrnati kad su bili Kurnȁti. It is difficult to find answers to the question of why it was the way it was; the actors of the time are no longer alive, and the answers of today’s actors are not clear.

At the time of the kupovština, there were only two ports on Kornat: Vruje and Lučica. Other ports that participated in the festivity came about later. As the colonate population of the islands increased, new ports appeared: Kravjačica, Strižnja, Šipnate, and Levrnaka. These ports became involved in ensuring the arrival and hosting of the priest and his guests. It is also important to emphasize that all these ports were built on old plots known as parat (part of a whole belonging to one owner), located where Kornat is the widest, so that the pastures were the most bountiful and the owners well-to-do. Otherwise, the Kornati soil is only partly suitable for pastures, and the fertile areas are only small fields. But there are large fields: Žejkovci (field—olive grove) beneath Pedinka hill and in the hinterland of Kravjačica and Lučica; Trtuša (the largest field on this island) in the hinterland of Velike Vruje; and Tarac, a historical field in the hinterland of Our Lady of Tarac.

The rule was that only families with a paškula (a pasture with a sole owner, usually delineated with dry stone walls) and livestock (sheep, a herd with a sole owner) could be involved in hosting the priest. These families were able to treat the priest and his entourage because they had means. Families without a paškula could not take part. Such families were rare, as most who came to the archipelago had become owners of a part of a pasture or field.

Until 1980, the families involved in hosting were divided into four groups. Vruje, the largest port with the most families, was divided into two groups. The order was as follows: (a) Vruje 1, (b) Kravjačica, (c) Vruje 2, and (d) Lučica.

The families included in the port Vruje 1 were the Jerat family (in its entirety), some of the Turčinov family (Bandel, Hrokešin, and Brgađer), some of the Šikin family (Knjaić and Lovrić—Poteštat), and in recent years, the Beban and Bažokić families.

The port of Vruje 2 included the remainder of the Turčinov family (Stipić, Medin, and Pejin) and some of the Šikin family (Memed, Paun, Bortulo, and Liles). Why was the Turčinov family divided? Why the Šikić family? I overheard that the cause of this division was an argument between two brothers. Arguments were uncommon but they happened, and anecdotes are told about the lives of the family members involved. There are no more witnesses to that time, and the available information is uncertain. It is an ethnologically important fact, however, that Kurnatari families from Murter remained undivided even after the death of the father because, together, the brothers maintained the family land on the archipelago.12 In the late 20th C, some sisters became included as well based on their legal inheritance right, although this is contrary to the traditional patriarchal rule.

The port of Kravjačica also included all its own families and those from Strižnja while

The Lučica port included all its own families, as well as the Rameša family from Šipnat and the Ježina family from Levrnaka.

The task of transporting the priest fell to each of these ports every fourth year. If, for example, the people of Šipnate wanted to host the priest, they had to wait for Lučica’s turn and then obtain the permission of everyone from Lučica. The same held for Levrnaka. All residents of the port who wanted to could participate in the lunch and participate in expenses.

As I have taken part in this pilgrimage nearly every year since my childhood, as both a pilgrim and a researcher in the years of the project13, I can speak to the technical preparations the day before and immediately before the pilgrimage.

The interior of the church is maintained only just before the feast day and not at all throughout the year. Even the clapper on the church bell was broken for quite some time. The key to the church is available to everyone. It is kept in a recess in the façade under a window. As I pass beneath the church quite often by boat, I often see that the doors of the church are open because not all its visitors are responsible.

The Kurnatari from the port that is organising the lunch that year arrive there on Saturday afternoon. Women clean the church’s movable inventory—which is quite modest—sweep the floor, beat the rugs, and put candles on the altar. For decades, the established rule has been that workers from the National Park of the Kornati archipelago bring from a storeroom the parts that, when assembled, provide shade. This refers to the aforementioned sail. While working, a great debate is going on about where which part goes and how tightly and in how many places the parts should be connected for the gaps to be as small as possible and the rays of sun that pass through as narrow as possible. This shady protection from the heat is an essential part of the preparations; its builders are aware of this and put in a great effort. A garland is placed on the façade around the church door. In previous years, I watched women in other ports going off to pick the green leaves of various local plants and then working together to weave the garland in the street, in front of their stone houses, while telling funny stories and anecdotes. When they finish the preparatory work on Saturday afternoon, everyone prays together and sings one of the numerous hymns to the Virgin Mary.

Even during these preparations, the division between male and female jobs is clear. In situations like this when many members of the local patriarchal community work together, dividing jobs into male and female goes almost as a textbook example. From morning until night, women are busy reproducing everyday family life: they cook, enlist, wash, arrange, maintain social relations, distribute fish and meat, take care of children and the elderly and sick people, etc. Men’s jobs involve going to the pastures (gora), slaughtering sheep, carrying heavy objects, roasting on a spit, and lifting fishing nets from great depths, etc. In circumstances where there is a lack of people, the division of labour does not fixed. Everyone does what they can to get the jobdone—whether the job is related to a house, a boat, a field, or social relations.

A day or two before the pilgrimage, men go to herd sheep in the hilly pastures known as gore. They bring sheep to a pen where as many lambs are put aside to be roasted as are needed for the number of pilgrims attending. If the lunch is to be held in the street, dishes, glasses, and cutlery are gathered from the local houses. No house, not even the wealthiest, has enough of the same type of dishes for the large number of pilgrims, so they are in all colours and sizes, both brand new and in good condition, and when such are lacking, even those a bit chipped and worn are used. The organisers set up tables one next to the other in a long row and cover them with white tablecloths, giving the impression that everyone is sitting together at the same table. The women of the hosting port decorate the streets and windows with scarves of all kinds. Flown from ropes tied to the walls of the houses high above guests’ heads, these “flags of femininity” are carefully and affectionately kept only for such occasions.

On Sunday morning, on the very day of the Mass, women cook soup on the street in a large pot, while in their houses, they prepare fritters (pršunate). A mid-morning meal (marenda) is also prepared for the organisers working on preparations in the port. Marenda is a warm meal served between breakfast and lunch; on occasions when roast lamb is an essential part of the celebratory lunch, it is customary that liver is served for marenda. Otherwise, marenda is a meal with its own social and family significance in other contexts. It is reserved for informal gatherings. Close friends often have marenda together on Sunday, the day of family, before going to Mass, after which each goes home for lunch. Marenda can also be a casual warm meal on a workday.

The day after the celebration of Our Lady of Tarac, when the feast is over, the organisers gather again (pofeštin) for marenda. They eat the remaining food, have a glass of wine, sing, and make an account of the expenses (konat). The konat can be hard on the pocketbook for some and hard on both the pocketbook and the spirit for others; debates have been known to outlive some treasurers. I have heard for decades the same anecdotes about former treasurers who died even before I was born.

The festive lunch in the hosting port is held immediately after the Mass, as soon as the priest, his guests, and the pilgrims from the port sail back from Our Lady of Tarac to the port. After an opening prayer, and with some nice food, good wine, and pleasant conversation, everyone relaxes; after lunch, the singing begins. Other Kurnatari or tourists who enjoy singing are allowed to join in this sung part of the lunch. The priest and his entourage stay for a time before sailing back to Murter. The repertoire then expands from religious songs to other topics; along with good wine, the music can last until the early hours.

5. About Maritime Pilgrims from the Perspective of Kornati

Maritime pilgrimages are initiated by people who live off the sea, by the sea, or often cross the sea on their working travels. They have not always been necessarily fishermen or sailors; occasionally, pilgrims have also been farmers and shepherds, as in this pilgrimage. The places of these pilgrimages are not chosen at random; they are consecrated sites with a long religious history. Such is also the example of the Church of Our Lady of Tarac. The central Dalmatian coast has been marked. changes in its peoples, cultures, religions, and economic affairs since the Iron Age. All these events, as well as the impressive nature of the sea landscape, have breathed a mythological spirituality into the Kornati archipelago and consecrated it.

It is common in maritime pilgrimages for sacred paintings or statues to be carried across the sea. This is not the case in this pilgrimage. Before the era of motorised boats, the journey from Murter to Tarac on the Kornat island would have taken all day. The pilgrims who came to the Church on foot, although once numerous, also opted against carrying holy symbols across the karst. The limestone karst is difficult to walk on; there are no built roads, and Our Lady of Tarac is the only church on the entire island of Kornat. Instead of paintings and statues, these pilgrims have carried on their journeys great and deep prayers. They come from the archipelago, meeting along the way fishermen, sailors, tourists, and politicians who make their living off the sea or on the sea. The expanse of the sea, the fresh air, the colours and scents, sailing, crossing over several rows of boats that are anchored in parallel in the port because of the small space—all this is part of the experience of maritime pilgrims. It is the power of the sea landscape that frames and shapes the experience of pilgrims on a maritime pilgrimage, as well as our own embodied experience with the event of the pilgrimage (Katić and McDonald 2020).

I witnessed the fact that the sea environment creates a deep, pervasive experience for pilgrims when I encountered them in the city, and they would excitedly tell me they had seen me on the pilgrimage or tell me they had been there and what they had experienced. On the day of the pilgrimage, the leading story on the Croatian Radiotelevision Channel 1 evening news is about the pilgrimage to Our Lady of Tarac. For us Kurnatari, the pilgrimage is a herald of summer. Talking about our plans to go to the archipelago, we often say “We’re going before Our Lady of Tarac…” or “We’re going after Our Lady of Tarac…”

6. Religious Identities of Pilgrims

Formerly, many Kurnatari pilgrims would go to Our Lady of Tarac on foot. Some still walk today, but you could count them on one hand. The church would fill up sometimes, and sometimes it would not. It depended on the day of the week the festivity fell on. This is suitably illustrated in a text by scientist Vladimir Skračić, a Kurnatar from Lavsa, a representative of the older generation, who was a church singer and altar boy in his youth:

“It was in the early 1970s. All the pilgrims together on 2 July that year could not fill the church. As hardly anyone came to the Mass apart from the Kurnatari from the surrounding ports, especially if the feast did not fall on Sunday, there were no church singers, except those who temporarily dwelt in adjacent ports. On that occasion, there was only one singer—my godfather Jakov Jerat Pekun. I have always loved Glagolitic singing, which by then I thoroughly mastered through many years of serving at Mass with Don Lovro Kramar. My godfather knew this, so he called me over and we sang at Mass together, at the blessing of the fields, and “We Praise Thee, O God” in the procession. An unforgettable day of my belonging to the Kornati archipelago!”.

(Skračić 2021, pp. 104–5)

One family, a mother and son, told me the story of their winter pilgrimage. Kurnatari pilgrims also made a pilgrimage in the time of year when troubles would darken their days. One windy winter, the mother and son went to the islands. It was just before Christmas. They read, cooked, and sat by the fire in their house’s open fireplace (komin). The bura wind raged outside for days, screaming, howling, pounding, creeping into the chimney, and pushing smoke back into the kitchen. On Christmas day, they walked to Our Lady of Tarac to thank her for the peace they found on the island. The entire way to the Church and back, a cat followed them. He also received a part of the Madonna’s gift, as well as a small meal. They told me they had enjoyed many Christmases and that they had all melded into one in their memories, but this one—calm, modest, and full of gratefulness—had its own place on the shelf of their reminiscences.

One interlocutor told me that amongst the pious pilgrims, there were some others whose behaviour was bothersome. She describes a scene with a robust, built man, heavy of breath and foot, who pushes a wad of bills into the alms box (lemozina) and kneels on the bare ground during the central part of the Mass. However, the day before, she says, he swindled her by giving her a broken water pump, claiming that he could find nothing better, and that she was profiting off his generosity. The fact that the pump did not work, was rusted away in parts, and that the woman’s bathroom was constantly wet, he characterised as her petty, ungrateful observations. Since he obviously thinks and behaves from a position of power, did his prayers also reflect this patriarchal inequality?14

7. The Gender Identities of Pilgrims

As a preschooler in the 1960s, I would often be alone with my grandparents on the Kornat island in our little cove where we were the only residents. They would make cheese at that time of year15, spring and early summer, and I would play and discover the world around me. On the Sunday of Our Lady of Tarac, they would wake me up early in the morning. They would give me a drink of whey and a piece of bread spread with fresh curd (pujina). My grandmother would put socks and flip-flops on my feet. At the time, no one had sneakers, at least in our world. It was not easy to walk in flip-flops and socks, but it was better than walking with bare feet on thistles (sikavci, Picnomon acarna, Scolymus hispanicus, Carduus pycnocephalus) and thorns (drača, Paliurus spina-christi). Walking to church across the karst in the sun with no shade was not easy, at least not for me or my grandmother.

In the meantime, my grandfather would still be busy with preparations alongside the other organisers of the pilgrimage who then went to the church by boat. Our port of Male Vruje is more than three nautical miles from the church, as the path is not straight. At one point on the path, my grandmother and I would stop in the shade to rest, drink, and eat a bit before continuing on. Along the way, my grandmother would pass the time by telling me stories from her life about people she used to meet or socialise with. She had spent half of her life on the Kornati archipelago. Exactly a half because that was how people lived: as a girl at home, she would spend a month on the archipelago and a month at home, and when she married, my grandparents took turns with my grandfather’s brother and his wife. Namely, each of these two families would be in kurnati continuously for six months and thus maintain the estate. Grandmother never learned to swim, read, or write, but she was astute and had a sharp mind and tongue. Her brother was a doctor, and he taught her some basic first aid; with this knowledge, she saved a few people and one child from certain death.

While walking, grandmother would tell me about some women who were unable to have children but became mothers after much prayer to the Madonna. She also spoke about a woman who prayed to the Madonna for her husband to stop beating herbut Our Lady of Tarac had not heard her prayer because she sways her hips too much when she walks. It was not exactly clear to me why this was important to the Madonna, but I still took care to watch how I walked. Grandmother also told me a story about two brothers who went to steal some lambs as they had none of their own. One stole them while the other kept watch. The thief exclaimed to the one on guard: “Look, with God’s help, I caught two!” I asked why God helped him when he was not supposed to steal, and I was unsatisfied with the answer. My grandmother would swear and yell so much when she was angry that the only solution was to hide until she calmed down.

There in church, grandmother sang at Mass. I also prayed, thinking since Madonna had forgiven those adults, she would likely forgive me for having punctured my friend’s rubber doll: when we were playing doctor, I gave the doll an injection with a needle. But, for this mischief, I was punished16 when I returned home and my actions came to light. My mother would not hear an explanation, instead saying that I had to be punished because I had been bad. When a similar situation happened to my brother, she said it had been an accident and that it could have happened to anyone.

In this very way, through everyday life, children learn about justice and injustice, gender, and faith. McNaughton (2000) emphasizes that children (re)create patriarchal gender relationships and (re)produce gender and social practices through play. Lindsey and Mize (2001), writing about child behaviour or activity at play depending on gender as it relates to the parent/guardian, show that children are sensitive from a very early age not only to their own gender identity but to that of others as well.

An older woman in the next ethnographic vignette is a mother, a grandmother, and—significant for the analysis of her behaviour—she has a successful son. One year, when she was a host on the day of the festivity, she asked us to wait for her while she went to bring white tablecloths from her house. These tablecloths were needed for the tables in preparation for the lunch. So, we all wait in a boat. We know the Mass will begin before we arrive at the Church, but we cannot leave because we promised her we would wait for her. And she obviously is not hurrying back. The owner (captain) of the boat stands on the waterfront holding the mooring rope. At one moment, she leaves her house and runs past us, saying as she passes: “Go on, children, you’ll be late!” She boarded a speedboat which rushes off before us, leaving a white trail of foam behind it in the water. They certainly made it on time, or at least for the beginning of the Mass, while we were left to our own devices with our put-put motor. The three nautical miles from our port to Tarac is a journey that takes a good 20 min with a boat motor of 20–30 horsepower boat motor.

When we arrived, the neighbour lady did not even have the time to say hello, let alone to apologise. She was busy greeting the numerous pilgrims who were important to her. Later at lunch, we heard her saying that faith is in the human heart and that she never misses the pilgrimage to Our Lady of Tarac. At the end of the day, they waited for her again in the boat. This time, it was members of her own family who had to make it home at a certain time that evening for an important arrangement. However, she was singing, this time together with the captain of the family boat, her back turned towards those waiting for her to leave and trying to persuade the captain to have another drink and sing one more song. I was told that later on the boat (which was quite late) she talked about how pious she was, how she always helped people, and that no one knew the extent of her good deeds. She characterized her grim companions as petty souls guided only by personal interests, while she was on an exalted spiritual path.

In my research, I met the family of another elderly woman who also has a successful son. In this case, his is an economic success. Her son allowed her to distribute money from the sale of fish and meat after all family needs were met. But she did not help her daughter who married and lived very poorly, without a washing machine, and had small children; rather, this elderly woman wanted to honour the community and make herself important.

The daughter of another woman told me that her mother never remembered her birthday. The daughter is married but lives next door. That mother celebrates her son’s birthday and his wife’s and children’s, as well as her own, but always forgets the date of her daughter’s.

8. How Can One Explain Such Behaviour?

With advancing years, women move to a higher status; they are more respected than in their earlier lives, similar to the status enjoyed by men. They are allowed more freedom in their behaviour and are liberated from the limitations of their younger days. The power of men, on the other hand, diminishes in their middle age. This is both tied to the physiology of gender, as well as to events in the developmental cycle of the family itself. Grown-up daughters still regularly marry out of their parents’ home, while elderly parents still frequently live with their married son(s), daughters-in-law, and grandchildren.

Simić and Meyerhoff (1978) call the authority of older women cryptomatriarchy. The mother described above had successful sons behind her and could afford to behave as she did. The concept of the successful son is defined by his achieved education, profession, income, and social prestige. The concept of a successful daughter is much less clearly defined and can almost never compete on equal terms with the native idea of the successful son.

Of course, such a position is not achieved by all women/mothers. To attain this prestigious role, a woman must have important qualities such as perseverance, cunning, a desire for power, a certain dose of insensitivity to subordinates, a desire for control, and the responsibilities of a leader.

Duringthe last few decades, patriarchy in this area has weakened, and the expressions of cryptomatriarchy are no longer so pronounced. Weakened by the new way of life, education, employment, living separately, access to information from the outside world, etc., patriarchy has been preserved in its strongest form only among the older generation, i.e., amongstthose already in advanced years. However, these elders pressure younger family members through various wiles, taking advantage of the difficult conditions of temporary cohabitation on the Kornati archipelago. Houses here are close together, the living space geographically separated and distant from the mainland, while transport is limited, and tasks involving fishing and shepherding require working together.

One year, I met another woman on the pilgrimage who also had a successful son. I saw her in church during the Mass held in front of the church, praying devoutly, her eyes full of tears and her hands clasped. After Mass, she approached me and told me she had bought a tapet—a carpet for the Madonna—and then casually mentioned she had no way to return to the port. “Well, you can go by boat”, I told her. That day, a trawler was transporting everyone who went on the pilgrimage.17 I asked why she was not coming with us. She answered that no one would let her on the boat. I asked the captain to take her with the other pilgrims, to which he replied that he would because today was a holy day and we should forgive our enemies. As we were walking downhill towards the boat, she told me how she could never understand how people could despise and reject an elderly, ill woman with such a noble heart. By that “noble woman”, she meant herself.

Half a year later, on a cold winter evening, I was invited to join the captain’s family for dinner; that is when the captain told me the reason for his quarrel with the woman. She made it impossible for him to complete any work on his property. She was his next-door neighbour, and there were some tasks he could not undertake without her permission. He briefly recounted her quarrels with the other people in the port. For example, she was selling a single square meter of pasture her neighbour needed as a path, and she would not allow anyone to cross her yard, not even her neighbour’s cat.

9. Religion, Family, and Gender

Gender inequality in this patriarchal cultural order is observed as women’s nonparticipation in some religious rites, as the separation of men and women in religious institutions and events—such as funerals and processions—and as a clear division of men’s and women’s tasks in the religious context. The asymmetry of power results in the differing status of men and women and, in an ironic sense, in an uneven distribution of “God’s grace”. Both men and women learn their culturally determined roles through a lifelong process that begins in childhood and lasts through all segments and stages of life.

Geertz (1973) emphasizes that rituals are models through which children learn without words, simply by observing the order of how people stand in church or walk in processions or how their parents divide their tasks in everyday life and in a ritual context. They also listen to family conversations about how inheritance is divided.

During her research on a pilgrimage on a Greek island (Dubisch 1995, p. 13), Jill Dubisch notes that her interest in the study of gender—or, more precisely, women (the term “gender” was not as broadly used at the time she wrote this as it is now)—was related to the female being. However, she did not feel her interest was based on a sense of universal sisterhood but rather only concern for women and certain features of their lives, which male anthropologists overlooked or misrepresented. Gender was not the original focus of her research on the pilgrimage, but it became inevitable if she wanted to explain what she had observed and experienced. In fact, her research on pilgrimage only broadened her understanding of gender issues.

Tomalin and Starkey (2021) affirm that religious traditions usually include adherence to opinions and dictate what behaviour is expected of men and women by their families, as well as by society as a whole. This includes what their sexual behaviour and orientation should be, as well as their family order. Regardless of whether their religion was freely chosen or imposed, in various ways, believers both comply with and resist the influence that religion has on their gender identity and their experience of the world in general.

Shillitoe and Benoit (2022) draw attention to how religion is involved in shaping children’s gender identity, warning that the literature often neglects childhood and marginalises children’s experiences in favour of a focus on adults. She devotes more attention to conversations in which adults describe their thoughts on and memories of childhood. Along these lines, I told the story from my childhood when I attended the pilgrimage with my grandmother, describing our conversations and my thoughts. Now, at a distance of many years, I can say that untying the knots that arise during the formation of gender and religious identities in a family is not at all an easy process, much less a quick one. Yet, events such as weddings, processions, and pilgrimages outside of the local community build, digest, and transform identities and cultural norms, thus further shaping families; families then shape communities, bringing innovations and promoting and redefining cultural change. The family provides a basic orientation in life. Geertz (1973) and Ortner (1973) call family “the core value of life”; as such, it changes most slowly because any change disrupts the foundations of life, and this is the hardest for people to bear.

Ultimately, Simić’s (1983) work on the cryptomatriarchy proved most useful for my research, for obtaining the fullest insight into the construction of gender identities in the culture of Murter and Kornati. Related to cryptomatriarchy, it can be said first that gender asymmetry of power and a mother’s desire to possess power form a mother’s identity. She further greatly moulds the gender role of her son or sons as the basis upon which they will grow through life. On the other hand, a daughter has a completely secondary role in the life of the family to which she was born, as she will leave the family home when she marries.

The visible patriarchal nature of power also includes a hidden female power, which develops gradually throughout a mature woman’s life and through the life span of the family she marries into. Simić concludes in his work on the cryptomatriarchy that women do not gain power because they are women but because they are mothers, i.e., through the relationship of mother and son. According to this author, the continuity of the love life between spouses is poorly developed. As men age, their parents die, and they lose the vitality that is valued in a patriarchal society. Women experience a parallel decline in sexual attractiveness but with it comes increased freedom of behaviour, power, and reputation. The son is the mother’s primary focus. As a member of his father’s lineage and heir to his assets, when a son grows up and gains power, he can grant his mother status if he so desires. The extent to which the mother will attain her own power in the family through the son’s power depends on his will. This is not the result of sex or seniority but rather of events related to the development cycle of the family itself.

Simic’s insight into such family relations applies to the local culture that I am describing. In Murter and Kornati, the family has not been perceived as an isolated entity at any moment of time but as an intergenerational continuum from the past to the present and the future. The everyday life of a woman’s family is related to cooking, distributing food, washing, caring for children, the elderly and the sick, arranging the interior and exterior space, cultivating the garden, maintaining communication with relatives and friends, cherishing the memory of the family’s dead, and prayer itself. These residents live different lives in their apartments in the cities, but when they come to small houses and common economic resources in Kornati, they quickly return to the old patriarchal code.

A mother’s status and social prestige in every generation arise from the nature of the mother–son relationship. Such everyday relations in Kornati society, including the mother–son relationship, are replicated both on the pilgrimage to Our Lady of Tarac and in the local religious life in general. Although the organization and public participation in religious ceremonies is a male area in principle, through the role of mothers of successful sons, women receive a special status that they express through out-of-the-ordinary behaviour during the pilgrimage itself.

10. Conclusions

The maritime pilgrimage of Our Lady of Tarac on the Kornati Islands is a multifaceted phenomenon, woven from threads of faith, history, tradition, geographic position, and the power of the sea. It serves as a microcosm of the Kurnati community reflecting its social structure, gender roles in children and adults, and religious identities. Through the lens of auto ethnography, informed by personal experience and extensive research, this work has sought to untangle these threads and illuminate the significance of this unique pilgrimage. After several date changes, the pilgrimage now takes place every year on the first Sunday in July. It is unique because Kornati is not permanently inhabited and has no regular shipping and the closest distance from the island of Murter to the place of pilgrimage in Kornati is about twenty nautical miles. At its core, the pilgrimage remains a powerful expression of faith for many Kurnatari. The Madonna of Tarac serves as a beacon of hope and solace, particularly for those navigating life’s hardships. Winter pilgrimages undertaken in times of personal struggle exemplify this deep devotional connection.

However, the pilgrimage community itself is changing. The decline of traditional agricultural and pastoral lifestyles, along with the ease of motorized shipping and the advent of tourism, has reshaped participation. While families used to make pilgrimages together on foot and come by oar and sailboats, now fast motor boats have become the norm. The influx of tourists has also expanded the pilgrim profile, introducing new motivations and dynamics as well as altering the date of the pilgrimage itself.

The pilgrimage still reflects the patriarchal system of this island community, however. Traditional gender norms are reflected in the division of labour whereby women are responsible for household chores, decorating, hosting, and caring of children, the sick, and the elderly, while men tend to do manual labour, and public and transport–related tasks. Yet, despite this strict division between male and female roles, this is a cryptomatriarchal model which offers a nuanced insight into the hidden power of a woman—the mother of a son and her upward trajectory within the family and community. Mothers often wield significant influence within families, and their prayers and devotion hold deep meaning.