Autumn festivals: from the countryside to the town square, with chestnuts in your pocket

When the air has been thick with the scent of withered leaves for weeks, and the afternoon, though reluctant, begins to drift by with a kind of comforting languor… that's when we know autumn is well underway. We remember those times we went to the mountains with empty pockets, thrilled to return with fists full of chestnuts after countless pricked fingers by spiky husks. The elders taught us to open them with our feet, saying, “This is how you do it, don't prick yourself…” And then getting home, lighting the embers, and sitting down together to peel chestnuts: the crackling, the warmth caressing our hands, the smoke welcoming us even before we sit down. Because even though the cold starts to creep in, there's a special warmth to autumn.

A ritual that comes down from the mountain to the plaza

We gather in the mountains or at the edge of the chestnut grove; then we go down to the center of town, to our familiar square, and share what autumn has brought. The fruit that the earth, with patience, has given us. We sit together, laugh, look around, recognize faces, remember when we were children running among burrs, burning our fingers a little as we opened them… And what was once a solitary task becomes a collective celebration. The countryside settles in the square, and the square fills with the countryside.

Chestnut tree in Praza da Herrería (Pontevedra), during the autumn festivities. Photo by Juantiagues , under CC BY-SA 4.0 license, via Wikimedia Commons.

Some autumn festivals that make room for us

Here we tell you about some celebrations that, from different corners of Spain, summarize that encounter between fruit, fire and community.

Magosto (Galicia and other northern areas)

In regions such as Galicia, León, Zamora or Asturias, the Magosto —also called amagüestu or castanyada in local variants— is celebrated between November 1 and 11, coinciding with All Saints' Day or Saint Martin of Tours.
The bonfire is lit, chestnuts pop on the drum, the new wine makes its appearance, faces are smudged with ash, and tradition offers a serious yet joyful nod to the land. This is a moment when we gather, return to our origins, share the bounty, and conversation becomes the rustling of leaves, embers, and laughter both old and new.

A cone of roasted chestnuts in a Galician street, typical of autumn festivals. Photo by HombreDHojalata , under CC BY-SA 4.0 license, via Wikimedia Commons.

New wine and grape harvest festivals (various corners of Spain)

Autumn is also the time for the grape harvest, for picking the ripe grapes, treading them barefoot, and watching the must slowly transform into wine. In many towns across Spain, from Toro to Jumilla, and including Navalcarnero, the arrival of the new wine is celebrated like any other important event: with music, food, and the town square as the main stage.

Carts and baskets of grapes during the Grape Harvest Festival in Toro (Zamora), a traditional celebration of the new wine. Photo by Ángel M. Felicísimo, under CC BY-SA 2.0 license, via Wikimedia Commons.

Each place has its own way of doing it, but the same scene repeats itself everywhere: the grapes are harvested in the fields and then brought down to the town square. There, the new wine is opened, toasts are made, conversations are shared, and songs are sung. It's a celebration of gratitude and joy, with the scent of damp earth and the taste of shared tradition. A way to celebrate the work of the land and the art of transforming its fruit into something to be enjoyed together, glass in hand, as autumn approaches.

Grape Harvest Festival in Labastida (Rioja Alavesa), a popular celebration with a parade of traditional costumes and freshly harvested grapes. Photo by Zarateman , under CC0 1.0 Universal license (Public Domain), via Wikimedia Commons.

Chaquetía Festival (Coria, Province of Cáceres)

A little quieter, almost whispered. In Coria and its surrounding villages, a festival is celebrated on October 31st where "la chaquetía"—a picnic of seasonal fruits—takes center stage. Roasted chestnuts, folk music, modest stalls but full of soul.  

The ritual is simple: come, sit around the bonfire, chat with the neighbor who's known you forever, the crunch of chestnuts between your teeth. And leave with your pockets overflowing with memories.

The smell, the gesture, the memory

Amid the laughter and the smoke, some arrive with their scarves tightly wrapped around them—those lovingly knitted ones that truly keep you warm—others bring their little baskets still half full of chestnuts, and at some makeshift tables, there's always a steaming ceramic jug of sweet wine, passed from hand to hand. Sometimes, if you look closely, you'll even spot a corner with a wool blanket folded on a bench or a lit candle to ward off the chill. Small details that warm the soul.

And what happens when we're already in the town square and the bonfire crackles? Well, the smell of roasted chestnuts transports us, without asking permission, back to childhood: to the cold that crept in on tiptoe, to laughter with hands full, to the cousin who would roast a whole chestnut and "give" it to whoever was listening. We realize that the celebration of autumn doesn't need garish lights: with a bonfire, some friends, and the bounty of the earth, we already have everything. In the city, in the village, on the mountainside, or in the square across the way: the rural finds its place in the urban, and the urban turns its gaze back to the countryside.

At that moment: gloves are ripped off so hands can be placed in the warmth of the embers, pockets are no longer empty but full of chestnuts, and voices mingle with the crackling of the fire. We look at each other, remembering that what we are celebrating is much more than a harvest. It is a way of being, a gesture of gratitude, a shared "here we are."

Let's celebrate what we have together

So, when the leaves have formed golden carpets, and the cold is just a detail behind a warm blanket, let's go out, let's find that square, that bonfire, that group. Because celebrating what is ours—the chestnut, the grape, the late fruit, the new wine—is also celebrating the beauty of simplicity, of what is handmade, of what is shared.

And above all, it's about feeling that we are part of something bigger: the land that welcomes us, the square that brings us together, the festival that moves us.

Thank you for joining us in this story. Thank you to the hands that gather, the embers that warm, the squares that welcome. And thank you, who are there, ready to experience the authentic. Because, even though it's cold outside, in here—in the square, by the fire, among hands that share—the atmosphere always warms up. These festivities make autumn feel warm, like a soft blanket on your knees or a sip of wine from a clay cup .

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