>The Kirchtamichl - Mihil: the strong one, the big one, a god once upon a time - is born in great secrecy. The unmarried girls lock themselves up in a room to dress the life-size straw figure in the traditional Tyrolean costume: white shirt, leather breeches with green suspenders, white stockings, low black boots, a stiff brown jacket and a wide-brimmed hat over the mask of a laughing young man. To keep him nourished, they tie a Kirchtakropfn - a kind of sour, highly yeasted, oblong doughnut - to his hat.
>If our people did not succeed in setting up the Kirchtamichl, the disgrace was felt by the entire village, spirits sagged and appetites waned: the Kropfn tastead dry, the Sulze was bitter. Nor could one look forward to the invitation from relatives in the next village on their Kirchtag, for one might encounter the Gais Kirchtamichl, disfigured and tied like a prisoner to their pole.
>If our people did not succeed in setting up the Kirchtamichl, the disgrace was felt by the entire village, spirits sagged and appetites waned: the Kropfn tastead dry, the Sulze was bitter. Nor could one look forward to the invitation from relatives in the next village on their Kirchtag, for one might encounter the Gais Kirchtamichl, disfigured and tied like a prisoner to their pole.
