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The podcast about everyday stuff that turns out to be older, weirder, and way more meaningful than we realized.
Hook (shared experience)
You’ve probably walked past one before. A street corner where flowers are gathered, candles burning low, photos taped to a wall, maybe stuffed animals lined up along the curb. Nobody planned it, nobody announced it – but it grew, day by day, as people added what they could.
You stop, and for a moment, you’re part of that shared grief.
It’s probably a folk thing.
Intro
Welcome to It’s Probably a Folk Thing; the podcast about everyday experiences that turn out to be older, weirder, and far more meaningful than we realized.
Segment 1: The Pattern of Public Mourning
When tragedy strikes (whether it’s due to a natural disaster, a local accident, or the actions of the depraved) people don’t just mourn privately. They come together. And it’s in that coming together that we see the power of the community – what folklorists call the “folk group.”
They come together in different ways.
• They hold candlelight vigils in city squares.
• They place flowers, notes, and photos at a fence or doorway.
• They lower the flags, wear black armbands, and hold moments of silence.
None of this comes from a government instruction manual. These are community rituals, passed along almost instinctively. This “instinctive knowledge” is a sure sign of folklore. Remember that folklore constitutes the kind of culture that spreads informally.
Segment 2: September 11th and Beyond
After September 11th, the country saw waves of these acts. Firehouses became places where people left flowers, helmets, flags, and handwritten cards. People lined up for blood drives even when supply was already overflowing. Schoolchildren held moments of silence; entire sports stadiums did, too.
And we’ve seen the same pattern after natural disasters, after violence in schools or neighborhoods, and after tragedies that ripple through whole towns.
Segment 3: Why We Do This
Part of what makes these memorials and vigils powerful is that they are folklore. Their power lies in the grassroots nature of the responses. The folklore of the people comes in a wave of community. That wave brings companionship, comfort, and an element of peace.
Another thing that makes them powerful is the symbols that people use. And because they’re folklore, they can mean different things to different people, even within the same group.
• A candle might mean hope, remembrance, or simply the power a single light demonstrates as it shines through the darkness.
• Flowers might stand for beauty, respect, or the love of humanity.
• Silence might be reverence, reflection, or solidarity.
The point isn’t that they mean one thing, but that they allow people to express meaning, whatever that meaning is for them. These shared practices strengthen the sense of belonging to a group, even when each individual brings their own interpretation.
Segment 4: The Living Tradition
Some tributes fade quickly: the flowers wilt, the candles burn out. Others become permanent: roadside markers for car accidents, anniversaries kept year after year, spaces like memorials and gardens that turn personal loss into collective memory.
And every time a new tragedy strikes, the pattern returns. Not because anyone told us to, but because as humans, we’ve always made sense of loss by sharing it. We’ve learned that when we mourn with those who mourn, we all find a measure of peace together.
Outro
So the next time you see candles flickering on a sidewalk, or pause with strangers for a moment of silence, remember. You’re participating in one of the oldest, deepest traditions we have: mourning together, so we don’t mourn alone.
It’s definitely a folk thing.
Until next time.