This would seem to be the year of the Hornbeam for me, they seem to be everywhere I look so far.
Their leaves are fabulous as they unfurl from writhing wood, as are their catkins and later their winged seeds.
I discovered a huge one that had surrendered it vertical status to the late winter winds, but which was throwing out buds with merry abandon. A few of it’s branches had shattered during the fall as they took the weight and momentum of the large boughs and trunk. One such branch had come off in a zig zagged shape and just screamed to be made in to something.
Over the years I have seen numerous museum and TV examples of throwing sticks in a range of shapes and styles. Commonly you’d find heavy ended straight lengths, ball ended sticks, s shaped lengths and curved sticks (like the boomerangs).
The stick that would be thrown (right)
The basic principle of the stone age, and before, tool was that it could be thrown from a distance away from the target and, upon impact, either kill or stun. When thrown in to a reed bed full of roosting birds, or at those in flight, or distracted rabbits, squirrels and other small game, you’d be more easily able to secure some nourishing meat than without a stick. Over the course of history these sticks often became dual purpose and refined from fallen branches in to aerodynamic devices that double up as clubs (to finish off a stunned creature or end a human on human scrap), and in some cases digging sticks for extracting starch rich tubers.
In the seeing of these simple but often cleverly adapted tools I caught a bit of inspiration and have decided to make a series of these sticks to see what I can learn.
As well as a S shaped stick I plan on making a lead ended club (1800s poacher style), a knobbed stick (similar to a shillelagh, but more throw friendly), a rounded knobbed club, a heavy ended straight stick and possibly a few of varying curvature too.
This particular blog post deals with an ‘s’ shaped stick. In examples I’ve seen they tend to be closer to uneven ended z shaped, although some are fully curved s shapes.
To make this I took the zigzag length of 8cm diameter green hornbeam and, using a knife, took off enough bark and wood to give it a flat top and bottom with a thickness of around 3.5cm.
From there I squared off the remaining barked edges so as to give a piece even in width and depth along the length.
After this it was simply a case of bevelling the edges down so as to leave the sides with a smaller surface (for greater impact pressure per square inch and ergo greater damage potential.
As I worked I noted the likely impact spots – the ends and the ‘corners’of the zigzag S shape. These I left a touch thicker and sharper – if I ever use this in a real life hunting event I want to give as quick an end as possible. Although I don’t plan on using it in anything living, other than in a survival situation.
I also wanted to moderate how the tool flew when thrown. With one end shorter, but almost equal in weight, it will whip round rather than curl, meaning it will keep a straighter flight path for longer.
Added to this I decided that it would be thrown with the right hand holding the longer end with the elbow of the stick bending towards my shoulder. This would give a directional bias that would see the stick curve towards the left in flight. So, leaving the outside (right) of the middle section thicker, and therefore heavier, meant that the stick would hold straighter for a right handed thrower.
Heavier ends.
A dry, a sand and several coats of oil and the stick was ready to go.
Most historical references suggest a stick as thick as your wrist and between 45cm and 60cm long to be ideal, but this one comes out heavy because of the choice of wood and so it’s dimensions are a more practical size and a little thinner than anecdotally recommended.
After a few trial throws I set two friends loose with it too. It flew straight and landed on the designed points (ends and corners) for all of us, meaning my grasp of basic physics is obviously pretty good!
I also took it back to the parent tree and.spoke with it about what I had done with it’s wood. It seemed pretty happy with the result, as am I.
Revisiting the parent tree.
Keep an eye out for future sticky adventures if you’ve enjoyed this blog.
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Those who have followed my blog for a while now will know that I am a keen forager with a taste for trying the more unusual or unknown.
Even experienced foragers can miss out on the almost transcendental bounties of the seemingly insubstantial things that are flowers.
They often appear in a flurry and then vanish as soon as they’re noticed, certainly before the foraging basket comes out.
Many of them are indeed insubstantial and are akin to eating small, crisp sheets of tissue with an occasional hit of nectar gracing the tongue.
Then there are some that are tougher than they seem and will hold up to a battering and should be made in to fritters (see this blog on Black Locust flowers).
While the flowering currant is a more substantial flower when taken as a full raceme, they also offer us a good amount of aromatics, meaning that they make a good syrup or cordial too.
A raceme of flowers
Ribes sanguineum, originates in the western States of North America but has found a home in a number of countries across the globe.
Introduced to Britain by David Douglas in the form of seeds sent back from the US in 1826 this plant has been a long valued beauty in early spring. It’s often found as a stalwart of aging council municipal planting schemes, yet, here in the UK, it doesn’t set nearly as much fruit as it’s relatives the black and red currant, unless in particularly favourable conditions.
This isn’t a bad thing here as the fruit are a touch insipid… and can lead to rampant invasion in some areas (it’s classed as a weed in New Zealand for example).
To make the most of fragrant flowers I like to make cordials or wines.
How to:
Here I gathered around 45 racemes from a willing specimen and, as a thank you, I struck 6 or 7 cuttings from it and placed them in the soil of a clearing near by; they root easily and will grow well unless hit by misfortune.
In hindsight I should probably have doubled gentle number of flowers picked as the syrup is only mildly perfumed despite the strong floral scent.
The donor
In well drained, drier soils the flowers can be incredibly pungent, so assess where you’re gathering your flowers from and how strong they are/ how strong you want the final taste to be.
The 45 racemes were popped in the bottom of a lidded pan and covered with 2 litres of piping hot (not quite boiling) water. They were left there, in the lidded pan for around 15 hours. The lid helps trap condensation which migh otherwise carry away the aromatic oils that give the flowers their characteristic scent.
The mixture was then strained of the flowers before being heated to a gentle simmer on the stove top. Then taken off the heat and an equal weight of sugar added to the amount of water (1ml of water weighs 1 gram).
It is possible to make a low sugar version of this using half or even a quarter of the amount of sugar I used, but my way makes a full syrup that should store for a long time, even out of the fridge. Less sugar would mean a shorter shelf life and possibly an accidental wine.
While the liquid reached simmering point I cleaned out four 750ml bottles and dug out a funnel.
Once bottled up it should now last for as long as we need it to and, could be added to more liquid and other flavours to ferment in to something alcoholic.
Let me know if you give this a try, and especially if you do it differently to me
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A beautiful colour in reused Rocks Organic squash bottles.
For years now I have been tinkering with leather craft and, as is my way, I got to wondering at the different textures and properties of the various scraps of leather I found myself using. The variety within bovine leather by animal, breed and even position on the body is mind-blowing.
With my experiments with fish leather and deer skin I caught a fascination bug with this beautiful and useful organ that we all wear to keep our insides in.
As such I keep an eye out for bargain priced items on eBay and auction sites that I might ne inspired by. I’d never intentionally fund the exotic leather trade unless I knew the animal that grew the skin was well cared for and well used in death so that the skin was an unwanted byproduct rather than the reason for it’s demise.
I am going to preface a little here by saying that I am not an expert in restoration of skin, but I am learning. Here I will share some of my learning experience with regards to the revitalising the skin of a beast from 80+ years ago. Future blogs may talk about thing like snake skin, eel skin and ostrich skin – skins popular in ages gone by that we now call vintage.
First things first, let’s meet the bag as was and look at what it took to strip it down and get it ready to work up.
The original item from the 1940s or earlier
If you look at the bag in the image above you’ll notice that the folded and joined edges look tatty and on the verge of splitting and that the fake arms are missing a claw or two. Sometimes this sort of wear comes from a long period of use and sometimes it comes from the tannins used in the processing of the skin.
Anyone who has tanned fresh hides knows that there’s an important washing off step for anything using acidic tannins to tan. If excessive tannins are left on they can eventually start to deteriorate the leather, even if dry. Under inspection, this bag was suffering from both wear and tear and excessive tannins.
Stripping down in to pieces
The first part of the disassembly process, for me, always starts with a brief moment of thanking the bag for what it was in terms of animal and item, what it has been used for and explaining what you’re planning on doing and why. In doing so you speak to it as a being with as full a story as you can know and seek cooperation from the hide. It’ll speak to you more of it’s needs and weak spots this way as you’re enabling yourself to be in mindful space when working with it.
Secondly we look at the stitches and lining. Often the stitches are well hidden and the lining is often a simple material that we may not want to keep.
If you can get access to stitches then start unpicking them with a tool designed for the job, or the sharp tip of a knife.
If you can’t then it’s time to either cut around failing clasps and find a way in that way, explore a failing crease (this can leave smaller pieces to use later though) or to slit through the liner.
In.this situation, the liner was a degraded faux leather that felt both rough and smooth at the same time. I slit through this from the inside to expose the main seams and cut around the clasp as well, setting the strap aside for later use.
In places the skin beside the seams tore, leaving the stitching behind, in others I snipped and cut them out.
The false feet were glued and stitched in place and these took gentle teasing apart. The cotton wool stuffed arms had been made using thin and now brittle strips of hide, sadly these couldn’t be saved and went in the compost a few steps later. The unbroken claws have been kept for a later project.
Once separated in to it’s constituent parts I had the lining (which was discarded), cotton wool and arm strips (that were composted) gummed up claws, a large main panel with glued on card backing, a strap, a clasp (recycled as broken) and two side panels.
The side panels felt different, at first I wasn’t sure they were crocodile skin despite both bearing the right (not matching, so less likely to be stamped) patterning. However, a little research suggest that these may be the softer, and better worked, under belly skin.
The next step was to remove grime, glue and card from all parts I was keeping. The hide and claws were layered in wet tea towels to give them a good soak and hopefully loosen up the glue (likely basic hide glue) so it could be removed.
Stripping out the false feet and starting the soaking process.
Wet cloth rather than immersion was used to prevent the 80+ year old and dry hide from absorbing water too quick through the gaps in the card backing, meaning it was less likely to swell irregularly and then split in engorged weak spots.
After a good 12 hours of soaking the parts were all rubbed clean under running water to remove as much grime and glue as possible. The card was rubbed off the main panel to expose a roughly tanned surface underneath. The connective tissue of the claws had turned to glòopy gelatine and so gave a visceral experience when washing off.
The tea colour of the rinsed off water and the feeling of my tannin rough fingers afterwards was enough to show me that the main panel was still full of unbound tannins that should have been washed off when the hide was originally preserved many decades ago.
Once all parts were rinsed they were left to drip dry in a cool and airy place until fully dry. This took several days but the final result was far less waxy and grimy feeling than it had been.
At this point it is important to check over for newly appeared tears and splits – a couple of the edges had split in this case and this means that the skin wouldn’t be up for much stretching once oiled up, as well as highlighting the areas that need trimming or reinforcing in order to make usable.
Once the hide was cleaned and dried it was time to consider the next steps – I could have used it as it was, but it would be likely to split further and be less resilient to tearing when simply putting a needle through it.
Oil enriched outer skins and freshly oiled inner skin.
I decided to give it a heavy coat of olive oil to see how thirsty it was and to bring out the natural sheen of the scales. I could’ve used a melted hard fat like tallow or lard, but I find these tend to leave more residue and go a little fry up smelly on sunny days when compared to olive oil or hemp oil. Olive oil can go a little waxy on the surface in cols weather mind, so it’s not perfect, but is definitely serviceable.
Leaving it overnight again I could then give an extra coat of oil to the few spots that turned out to have not drank their fill.
The skin took in a lot more of the oil than I anticipated and some of the thinner areas were a bit more saturated than I’d like. Here, with flat skins (unlike crocodile) it’s possible to lay them between two cotton rags/towels and weigh them down with an old heavy book or several wooden boards to press the excess oil out in to the cloths. Generally, I advise applying several lighter coats of oil.
In this case the skin was to be made in to a case for wooden items that wouldn’t suffer from a little oil coming off the interior of the case.
When the summer sun is hot I might tightly wrap the case in an old black cloth and leave it out in the heat to draw any excess oil out if it proves to be a problem.
But, why oil in the first place?
Oil is added to do several things: improve suppleness, add shine, waterproof and to slip between the connective fibres of skin preventing them from snagging up together plus to reduce oxidation decay over time and slow down the action of tannin residues.
After a good wipe down to remove oil still on the surface I might usually stretch any rigid spots out to add in flexibility, but in this case the skin would be more suited to the desired use if a bit stiff, and, I didn’t want to cause any further weakening of already split edges.
At this stage, the Crocodile skin had come up in to a beautiful dark chocolate brown and was ready to use.
For my particular project I had enough material to create a tapering sleeve of crocodile skin from the larger piece and, from the side panels, enough to make the base and top of the cap. The strap would go on to become a cap lanyard and belt, I would add in a collar or two of scrap bovine leather to finish it off.
The final product
With the shape required and with the skin being so rigid I could not simply sew and then turn the case inside out so as to hide the seams as I would with thinner cow leather. As such the stitching would need to be done on the outside using awl, curved needles and messy knots…. but I think it turned out OK and should see many more years of use.
At the time of writing I have some snakeskin beingn rejuvenated… so if I learn any more I’ll post again.
Let me know if you’ve done similar projects and if your technique varied from mine.
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It has long been a fashionable activity among the spiritually and naturally inclined to stack stones. Indeed I’ve posted about it before.
Stones hold long memories, gaining stories as they are worn away via erosion. Experts can, by a quick study, tell the approximate age and origins of a given rock, but, for many of our kind they’re simply just big bits of hard stuff; devoid of any exciting facts unless shiny and deemed valuable.
For many who are drawn to connect with the natural world there exists strong urges to handle and explore these lumps of the Earth. Yet, often the handling is done without thought for the locally ecological importance of these stones. For many it’s simply an opportunity to get an artsy image for social media.
I have done just that in the past myself, it’s been a part of my learning as I explored the creation of honouring rituals to the Earth and local spirits. Today, I know a little more and honour the landscape differently by imposing some regulations on myself around what stones I use.
Working in the ecological field, I have been blessed by many opportunities to examine, up close, some of the smaller denizens of this world. Underneath a rock can be a whole existential realm for hundreds of creatures.
I want to share, with you, my self imposed regulations and the reasons behind them. Where and why I deem it OK to create temporary skyward stacks from materials that have seen comparative eternity.
I’ll start off with those areas to consider leaving alone:
– Cairns and ancient landscapes. It’s often so tempting to build tiny temples out of stacked stones when in a landscapes where the Ancestral population have already done so, but there are often many, less obvious layers of history in the stones that are apparently just lying around. Cairns themselves often serve as homes or hibernation sanctuaries for small mammals and invertebrates that won’t appreciate being blocked by a misplaced stone. Rocks on the ground are often the rooftop lids that keep invertebrate eggs moist and form insulating caps for insect tunnels.
– Moorland, clifftops and established scree. These I leave alone for much the same reasons as above, but with the added risk of the destruction of habitats through moving lodged, or precariously pinned together rocks on a scree slope.
Tiny snails on a river rock
– River beds and woodland. The stones in a riverbed aren’t often naturally disturbed in such a way that leaves stones drying outside of the water, or stacked heavily on their largest surfaces. Many fish and invertebrates rely on river stones to safeguard their, often tiny, eggs and young. Being dried out or crushed between rocks doesn’t encourage a good population for those unfortunate species. Creatures like leeches, flatworms, hoglice or tiny river limpet might live their whole lives under a rock or two. Much the same is true (apart from the fish) for rocks that are longterm residents of the woodland floor. These creatures might seem insignificant or even unpleasant to some, but they’re the world to their own kind and a valuable part of the riparian and sylvestrian ecosystems.
– Field walls or ruins. The broken vestiges of human artifice often house a surprising diversity of species. Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it’s not there, or, that you were looking for the right signs. Some rare mosses, lichens and other flora can only be found in or on old stone walls where the accidental creation of a perfect microclimate found its way in to being.
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Stones in a flat cairn creating a microclimate
– Unsafeplaces. It might look aesthetically pleasing, but stacking stones above a foot path, or even from a foot path, or in high and windy places above access points is just not a great idea for obvious reasons. Sadly I have seen a lamb mangled by fallen stones from someone’s stone play on top of a wall next to an access gate. It wasn’t pretty and had evidently suffered a lot, being partially paralysed and having their eyes pecked out by corvids while still alive. There’s no reason to be thoughtless when making a stack
So…. you might be thinking that there’s not much opportunity left and you’re somewhat right. Then again, we belong to the world, not it to us. Recognising environmental limitations or bad ideas isn’t a strong point for most of our species… but trying won’t hurt you.
My ‘go ahead’ areas are those areas that sees constant, or recent disturbance from the natural world. Perhaps stones recently cast from a landslide that aren’t keeping anything secure, or, as here, those sea tossed pebbles that are on the sea strand, or, where the structure is intended to last a long time and provide more benefits than destruction; enhancing or creating habitats that support diversity of species.
To me the act of stone stacking is done out of respect for the place and to mark a place as honoured. That gives me all the more incentive to carefully think about the stones I’m using and to examine each one so as to minimise ecological damage at the least and to create a benefit at best.
The stones that the sea tussles in the tides each day are unlikely to be chosen to house eggs or homes for the majority. Obviously, it’s a good idea to avoid the more permanent feature rocks that make up rock pools or those that provide a home for seaweeds or other marine plants.
These tide tossed rocks are those in a state of flux and are essentially liminal. Liminal materials for ephemeral/liminal shrines that will be knocked over in due time – in liminal space.
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When we look at the goddess Brigid in her many forms and under plethora names we might spot that, as a goddess of fire, birth and forge she is a deity well acquainted with transformation.
One transformation that you might not associate, at first, with Brigid is that of milk to cheese. Yet, integral, and integrated for our ancestors, to Imbolc, Brigid’s fire festival, was the generation of the first milk of the year.
Many animals time their reproductive cycles so that their young are born for the coming of spring. Well, often a few weeks before the grass begins to grow again, allowing for the last of the fat stored over winter to feed the animals’ milk production.
Imbolc is often cited as coming from Irish Gaelic and means ‘in the belly’. This refers to the lamb bearing fullness of the ewes bellies.
So how does a goddess of fire have her big festival be linked to sheep farming? Well, the goddess we know as Brigid is likely wearing a more recent name and links through to much older goddess names. Scholars think Brigid, with her panacea of skills and seasonality, has come from an ancient form of mother goddess who’s nature was forgotten but rewritten several times since time immemorial. Brigid likely became a fire deity via being a solar deity and a forge and fertility deity through being an animistic principle of the landscape.
Some historians would suggest that her form wore the name Lassar, an ancient deity associated with both fire and ewes. Lassar herself is linked in to another goddess form; the goddess Crobh Dearg (Red Claw) and a pilgrimage site by the same name (Cathair Crobh Dearg) is also linked to Anu. Anu being Danu. Danu being the mother of the Tuatha de Danann and of very ancient origins.
Brigid may well be Danu wearing the skin of a blacksmith and a saint.
You’ll notice that I’ve been a bit vague on my sources and my conjecture. That’s because I want you, if curious, to research it a bit yourself and come to your own conclusions.
Brigid is pretty awesome as she is, regardless of any older personas. Yet I feel that personal gnosis and historic precedents are good bedfellows in the realm of understanding.
But I digress. Ewes bearing lambs is a big thing for Imbolc and not all sheep are the same.
Sheep of old
Modern varieties of sheep, as found in the british countryside, are incredible wool producing creatures with a tasty reputation to boot.
Yet, ancient sheep were mainly raised for meat, milk and hides.
This process began some 11000 years ago in ancient Mesopotamia when wild species of Mouflon were domesticated.
Primarily wool producing sheep varieties were only bred in to being around 6000 years ago. Before this the majority were self shearing varieties which shed their wool as the seasons changed.
Many of these ancient sheep breeds,as looked upon by our herding and hunting ancestors have survived through being well adapted to remote areas of northwestern Europe. Breeds such as the Soay, Hebridean, Shetland, and Boreray.
One ancient breed that has inspired a tattoo design (actual tattoo pending due to covid19 restrictions) is the Manx Loaghtan. I’ll share more in another post once it’s done.
These small ‘primitive ‘ short tailed sheep are impressive creatures despite their relatively diminutive size. When we look upon these mouse brown sheep, which were the main sheep breed of the Isle of Man until the mid 1900s we should be impressed with their hardiness and character, even as we look upon their four to six horned heads.
Ballacosnahan Farm Manx Loaghtans have an account on Twitter that’s worth a follow (@MLProduce) and a purchase from. They regularly post pictures, stories and videos of their brilliant looking sheep and have kindly given me permission to use a few images in this blog.
Having established that ancient sheep meant a lot to our Ancestors and the link to Brigid, it will come as no surprise that eating sheeps cheese is a bit of an Imbolc tradition for many.
While Manx Loaghtans may not be great for milk and cheese there are sheep like the Spanish Manchega breed which are. Manchego is a fabulous sweet but salty sheep milk cheese from the Manchega milk, and, it’s commonly available in most supermarkets. This year I’ve bought some Lancashire smoked sheep milk cheese and some Yorkshire Manchego from The Liverpool Cheese Company.
It’s a bit of a tradition in our family to have a little sheeps cheese on Imbolc to honour the time of year, the ancestors and the woolly beasts that have a link to Brigid and to honour Brigid herself.
I strongly recommend you check your local cheese supplier for local sheep cheese, but, if in a supermarket, like Lidl, then try to pick some up and raise a cheese coated oat cracker to a flame haired goddess… or perhaps leave one on the doorstep on Imbolc eve as an offering akin to the oak cake traditionally left for her as she passed by.
I also strongly recommend that you take another look at the Goddess of the fire and forge and see her tending the fire of new life in the belly of the animals without which humanity wouldn’t have survived to reach where we are now. Domestication is a form of co-adaptive evolution and without sheep and their like we wouldn’t be the same as a species.
If you feel inclined to do so, perhaps look again at where you buy your meat, milk and cheese, the welfare of the animals that provide it, and regenerative farming practices that raise them. It’s more affordable than many think to eat a little more ethically and small, more earth-kind businesses deserve rewarding for their work in stewarding the land and creatures that we have relied upon for millennia.
I am blessed to have been part of an online Inbolc devotional event for the past three or so years.
It’s headed up by a knowledge and considerate druid in Ireland and managed wonderfully well.
It’s always a pleasure and an inspiration to read through the lists from other devotees. There are a lot of gifted wordsmiths out there in the land of Brigid.
Today was my day to post up a devotion and an image as part of the 19 day lead up to Imbolc.
There is another partly written blog post about Brigid to come from me over the next few days.
Here I offer my prayer again. I hope you take some inspiration or enjoyment from it.
Prayer to Brigid
My heart to my hearth;
home of embers smouldering.
Smoored flat are the ashes;
a bed and doll are made.
Oat cakes sit upon the doorstep;
While white cloth gleams upon the hedge under scant moonlight.
The rushes and willow are woven;
Brigid’s crosses are freshly pinned above the door.
The ewes are calling you back;
their lambs sing your name.
Let age slough off you; flame haired and piercing eyes renewed.
Come Brigid to awaken the spring.
Come Brigid to fuel the growing earth’s forge.
Come Brigid to blow the sleeping embers to flame.
Come Brigid to weave healing in to our lives and bring the newborn’s cry.
A couple of days ago I came across an abandoned Christmas tree in the empty garden a few doors down from us. I jumped on the chance to grab it and hack up it’s still leafy corpse for dark and macabre magical purposes….
…..Ok, I admit, it’s a less nefarious story than I make out, but, it is to use in an ancient form of augury: fire scrying.
There’s a video link at the bottom of this blog post, but I’ll outline the basics here for those who prefer reading to simply watching.
Fire scrying is an easy form of divination that many people start to do accidentally while meditating by candlelight, or, often, after having had too much to drink or smoke around a campfire.
In short it’s allowing the conscious mind to fade out and the subconscious to take hold of the shape and flow of smoke and flame.
The hardest part of this is trusting your intuition enough to form some prophecy or insight.
It’s important to remember that augury is as much about divining the nature of a matter in the present as it is about foretelling, and, that all that is foretold is only accurate until situations change. In other words foretelling is more about the most likely outcome, or the path of least resistance, than it is about absolutes set in stone.
I will do a more detailed video and post on the topic of fire scrying and several folklore traditions involving it, in the coming weeks, all being well.
For this post I wanted to discuss the reuse of a resource that many have access to at this time of year and a way to make the current covid19 enforced lockdown a touch more magical.
Many of today’s western pagan folk are raised in the somewhat secular and somewhat Christian parent culture and as such like to keep hold of traditions like that of the Christmas tree, often turned back in to the Yule tree, as was the origin of the tradition.
It’s a better choice to have a potted tree that can be planted out or reused in a bigger pot after it has served it’s purpose in the yuletide home. Yet, many trees are sold cut, or are neglected water wise, and ultimately they dry out in the Christmas home and are discarded. If you’re not giving your tree to a collection service that uses them to stabilise sand dunes etc then it’s a good idea to trim it up for a ritual fire.
While in the home the tree gives up it’s life to serve the family, in doing so it inevitably absorbs some of the family energies. This gives it a strong links to those ot has been essentially sacrificed for and as such it becomes useful for family/household augury.
The foliage, cut to around 6 inch (15cm) lengths, can be a useful tool when applied to flame or hot coals.
As said above, the trees often dry out significantly in our centrally heated homes, but, once trimmed to length and left in a dry place to further dehydrate, the foliage will go up like tinder by the time Imbolc roles around.
Fir, pine and spruce are often bunched together when it comes to their ascribed magical attributes. Those attributes being that, as evergreens, they hold a place of balance, a benchmark pointing the here and now. Climbing them can give us a glimpse of the permanent, or, allows us to look forward, around and behind with eyes unfettered by hope and fear that linger in our present.
They are also resin rich and, once dry, they become a pyromanic’s wet dream. They burst in to noisy flames that crackle, pop, hiss and writhe. In the days of candle light many trees have tried to matyr themselves by catch fire and scorching family homes. Modern LED lights don’t cause such traumatic yuletide memories anywhere near as often, or as brutally.
Tonight, the 13th January, marks 19 days before Imbolc and the ‘coming of Bride’, or the return of the power of Bridgit.
Bridgid, as goddess and saint, has a lot of strings to her bow, but one of the most potent is that associated with fire and the forge. Flame marks the return of the green living fire of Spring and the first of the birthing of the year’s lambs.
In tradition Bridgid has a sacred flame and that is tended by 19 priestesses. This is one of the factors that leads some of her followers to hold a 19 day vigil or devotional that culminates with Imbolc.
There are numerous traditional practices for those who celebrate Imbolc and Bridgid’s strength returning. Fire is involved in many of these. I plan to do more blogs around these traditions in coming days.
How to get scrying….
* Trim your bushy beast (ahem) of a tree and leave to dry if it’s still too flexible. Brittle leaves indicate a greater dryness.
* Light a fire in your woodburner or a safe fire pit/chimenea/barbecue and allow a decent ember bed or bed of hot coals to develop. Cast a circle or create sacred space if you wish.
* Call upon Bridgid to bless your fire and grant it the power to offer prophecy and augury.
* Once the flames have stopped, but the embers are still hot use a poker or stick to level the embers and ashes, thereby removing the mounded hot spots.
* Cast your trimmings upon the embers and, while they smoke, let your mind ease in to a trance like state. Ask your questions, if you have any defined. Be concise but clear if you want a clearer answer.
* Watch the smoke dance, note where the fire first catches, see the movement of flames and the shapes and stories they tell. Watch how the embers fall or move. Listen to the fire and your intuition. Find meaning here.
* If nothing jumps out at you then try again.
* Importantly, try not to soil yourself if the flames arrive with a sudden roar! It really distracts from the mystical act of divination.
Sometimes filming a fire and rewatching it makes themes more noticeable, but, herein lies danger. Our minds are pattern seeking by their ape nature, and, the ability to pause or watch something again enables us to recognise more patterns. It’s therefore far better to be in the moment rather than to enable our minds to trick us in to seeing meaning that isn’t teally there in the ink stain, if you will.
Before we move in to three ascending awens, I ask you all to take a breath and allow your thoughts to reach in to the cauldron of the mind for a moment.
We stand together in our grove, but not all who should be here could be. This is also true in our wider lives.
The world of humankind has gone a little topsy turvy this year and many have been lost. Many more struggle onwards in this present moment, suffering abounds amidst the joy of the season, and, masks of bravery are worn as much as those of truck or treaters.
In your thoughts I ask that you reach out now to your ancestors and the spirits around you. Ask that they ease the suffering of those in need, sooth the peaks of pain, if felt, and bless those on the flat of the knife in need as well as those who find themselves on the knife edge between life and death. May the Awens we sing bring inspiration to our spiritual helpers and Ancestors to bring the peace we request. May those under the shadow of ill health feel no fear of the dark night, but find comfort in the softness of the dark soil that awaits the seeds of their new beginnings.
May those with poor health now find swift recovery; shedding their illnesses like falling leaves and be touched by the brightness of the autumnal dawn.
The awen is sung in three syllables as oo and wen … let us start one after the other …
Having heard of these little globules over the past few years, I has a chance to see them in the flesh for the first time a couple of weekends ago.
While on Angelsey for the first weekend of the Angelsey Druid Order’s training weekend of 2017, I wandered down to Lligwy beach. On previous visits I had found shells from Pilgrims Scallops and even tiny abalone shells, potentially from areas as far away as Mexico. As well as funnel web spiders and orchids alongside other wildflowers on the walk down to the beach.
On this visit more treasures turned up such as a hermit crab and rock fused oyster. Yet, more amazingly, the sandy shore and rocky outcrops were filled with scores of small jelly like globes.
These fascinating and transparent creatures are known as Sea Gooseberries and are part of a group of organisms known as Ctenophora and are a group of animals similar in nature to the jellyfish.
Although they look to be nothing more than ridged clear jelly at first glance, when one looks closer they will see fine red threads at the heart of the critter and grooved ribs along its outer surface.
In some species these ribs and the ‘threads’ inside are able to glow and flicker; attracting prey via bioluminescence. (Check out the videos of sea gooseberries feeding on YouTube).
What we can’t see out of the water and with the naked eye are the feeding strands, known as combs. These combs are used to filter plankton, fish and crustacean larvae from the sea – some species can consume more than their body weight on tiny organisms each day.
With such an appetite, these tiny critters can have a drastic effect on fish populations. A couple of species were introduced to the Black and Azoz seas much to the detriment of the local fish stocks.
Obviously, in my wonderment, I picked a few of these beauties up for a closer look and a photograph or two. After that, they were dropped in to a large rock pool to await the returning sea. This revealed another wonder from this marvellous creature….they disappeared from sight as soon as they went in to the water!
What with them being 99% water, that shouldn’t surprise me, but it didn’t half make me smile 🙂
Yet another example of the wonders of the natural world around us.
A good friend of mine, Brian, and myself took a day away from the grindstone yesterday to head up to the sandy beach of Formby.
We were joining a party of folk all interested in seeing the prehistoric footprints trapped and eroding layer by layer in the eluvial layers of estuarine mud.
It would appear that the beach at Formby is vanishing; the wind and tide stripping almost ten metres from the edge each year.
Although Formby is well known for the dunes and pine forests which house a delightful cluster of red squirrels, it wasn’t always so.
Jamie, our National Trust guide explained that the melt water of the most recent ice age dragged sediment and sand out to sea and effectively goes a sand bank, enlarging the coastline some four or five kilometres further out than it is today. This sand bank in turn trapped both water and debris until in time a mosaic of habitats had formed.
Habitats such as both salt and fresh water lagoons, wet forests, grass lands, salt marsh and scrub; ideal for a large array of animals and as hunting and gathering grounds for ancient humans some between four and six thousand years ago.
Due to the nature of the place it was regularly covered with flood brought layers of mud. This mud captured imprints in it and baked in the sun before a dusting of wind brought sand covered it over…. and then a new layer of mud arrived and so on.
As the sea encroaches upon the land the dunes are forced to retreat …. as they do they are uncovering many footprint storing layers of mud. The sea in turn is slowly wearing theses away – a dynamic landscape revealing ancient track ways.
On our visit the tide had left a lot more sand covering the mud layers than was ideal…. but we still saw a good number of species preserved – gilded in the imagination due to the heavy mud.
Contained in the mud could be seen the foot print of a juvenile auroch; a now extinct species of wild cow which would dwarf even a large modern bull by thrice the bulk.
Note the squared shape, the splayed toes and the rear imprint of the redundant bovine toes.
These incredibly heavy and strong animals are well known as powerful, ill tempered brutes to those who read legends of European origin.
Two species of deer were also traced – roe deer (above) and large red deer (below) – it seems that the red deer of old were bigger than our current moor land loving beasts.
Add to this the ancient foot prints of millenia old oyster catchers, amongst the eliptical burrow marks of molluscs from the 1700s (below) and we had quite a lot of finds.
Yet for many this obvious trail of tracks which show evidence of our own kind was the most fascinating.
Thousands of years ago people with a significantly different culture and world view to us walked in what was a significantly different landscape than the one we were seeing…. but for all the difference, they were still human – still us.
These layers of estuarine mud go down around six metres and may have many more treasures to share as they wear away.
Full red deers skulls replete antlers have been found buried in this mud and there must be more.I know I’ll be keeping an eye out.
The retreating dunes have also begun to unearth more modern finds… the remnants of an old caravan park.
A caravan park which, with every tide, disgorges chunks of concrete and bitumen and bricks.
Further up the coastline is a thick layer of compressed and shredded tobacco waste from a the Victorian era.
Seemingly dumped and shredded stems; abandoned after the nicotine had been extracted for the pesticide industry. It now looks like rock… but is soft enough to break apart and crumb up by hand.
Yet still potent enough to leave your hands stinking like stale tobacco.
However, going back to that caravan park debris. Some of it became a temporary stone circle of alternating monoliths and stone stacks.
All in under twenty minutes, yet unlike to last the evening tide.
It was a mixture of play time and of mystery – the query from a couple out walking along the beach as the light dimmed was enough to know that a little enchantment had been spread in to the world. … and all from bits of concrete foundations and tarmacadamed road.
And… as big kids do…. we couldn’t resist the urge to make ourselves feel like giants 🙂
Druid of Manannan 