H A G-Wise 3: Knowing the Land, Knowing the Hag
Rain-rain-rain, an experiment in weaving wonder, the liminal spaces between seasons-a photo essay, a culture of gifting, elderberry recipe, citizenship, tying myself in knots, and more...
Rain, Rain, Go Away!
It has been the strangest summer. According to Met Eirreann, Ireland’s meteorological body, we have had the wettest summer since records began. In Ireland, we received 217% of our long term average of rainfall; here in Cavan, that worked out at 210%. We’re used to rain, it’s why we have so many lakes. But it rained heavily every day in July, and although we’ve had the occasional dry and - dare I say it - sunny day since, it hasn’t changed much. I look at the waterlogged ground and low grey skies and think how much more can the land take? And yet it does, absorbing the excess and spiriting it away deep beneath our feet in folds and seams and cracks in the rock, and pouring it safely into rivers and lakes.
Meanwhile, the air we breathe is perpetually damp, and for the first time ever in all my years of living here, I notice the trails of damp on some of the walls in our home, as the wetness of clothes and towels and shoes lingers. Even with windows open, the damp creeps in and makes its presence felt. I am grateful for the abundance of water when in other parts of the world the land is burning. But the constant grey and wet seeped into my bones and brain over the summer, turning me into an island that was sealed off and unreachable for much of it. It has been hard to pull myself free, and to be honest, I’m still not quite there yet. But I’m working on it.
An Experiment in Weaving Wonder
This is what I have drying on my kitchen windowsill this morning. From the left: meadowsweet seeds, bay willow leaves (because they are meant to be quite aromatic and often used in pot pourris), leaves from my dragon tree, meadowsweet flowers macerating in sunflower oil, crocosmia seeds, ribwort plantain leaves, crocosmia leaves, and ribwort plantain stems. All of this, except the dragon tree leaves, has been foraged from nature’s larder in my local area, where crocosmia, which is not native to Ireland, has become naturalised. My interest here is not medicinal, or nutritional; I am experimenting in how I can best feed my newly-fledged weaving addiction. I know where these plants are located, so I can gather more if initial attempts prove successful.
I also intend to experiment with other foraged plants: in my garden, I have lots of grey willow, much of which is not supple for weaving, but some of it is, and will at least provide bark for weaving in the spring, and branches for uprights. I also have a lot of dogwood in my garden. Locally, there is an abundance of snowberry, which is invasive here; its reddish-brown branches are long and narrow and straight, and promise good weaving potential. Billard’s Bridewort (Spiraea x billardii) is another naturalised plant in my locality that I suspect may offer good weaving. I also intend to harvest some sycamore and hazel suckers, which will provide sturdy rods for uprights. I’m so excited to begin this weaving experiment this winter, that I am impatient for the leaves to fall! This is such a reversal for me. But I won’t harvest any branches until leaves and seeds have been dispersed. And I’ll keep you posted as my research progresses.
The Liminal Spaces between Seasons - A Photo Essay
On Tuesday, there was blue sky, so I headed out for a walk. I didn’t take my usual route, for some reason. There are hills, this way. I think I needed to be high up, to be close to that clear blue. After a kilometre or so, I crested the first hill; from there I could see Loughcrew. And the sun was warm.
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