Midsummer Newsletter
Walking the Territory
Almost the longest day, the hay harvest. The weather hasn’t been warm and the tomatoes look shell-shocked. But the birds have all fledged and our garden is full of sparrows and starlings, and a woodpecker, which is exciting. There are foxes patrolling the estate again, and we spotted a dead badger on the road - which although sad in itself, means there must be live badgers somewhere close by. I have always had a ‘feeling’ about the wooded hill to the south of us, which I put down to the tradition of druids having a grove there, but perhaps I just sense the wariness of badgers in the denser woody bits.
It is the time of flowering grasses, as anyone who has hay fever will know. Fifty years ago, I was assured that no-one has hay fever after forty, but I can assure you it is not remotely true! Nevertheless, I love the shapes and texture of grass flowers, airy sparks, silky tufts, Christmas tree spangles of colour - soft pinks and browns and shades of cream. I love to see a field of long grass rippling like the sea, clouds of butterflies shimmering over it (a sight that is increasingly rare in this country now, but it still happens in the Hebrides) and to hear the sound of grasshoppers.
I was always caught out by the unexpected delight of grass, as my attention is usually grabbed by brighter things - flowers, swallows, dragonflies - until we moved here. There was a patch of waste ground beside the house, scheduled for the usual corporate mowing, but so far neglected, and full of things like red clover, mugwort, plantain, bistort and fumitory. Come July I noticed a suspicious rustling and movement in the long grass, and a disconsolate boy walking the path, shouting for friends who had apparently deserted him. Three heads suddenly appeared above the swaying grass-stems, and I remembered. I was seven; it was getting to the end of the summer term, and we were unexpectedly allowed off the playground to play on the field. It hadn’t been mowed because it was scheduled for new building and we were still quite small. We disappeared into the head-high grasses, made tunnels and highways, and tied stems together to make mantraps. We made nests and dens and lookout places. We went for what felt like miles into uncharted territory. We became invisible. And now, whenever there’s a trick of the light, a gust of wind, a flurry of birds, I see the field before me as I did then - the gateway to adventure.
It’s also the time of roses - wild roses spilling over the hedgerows, the rose border at its blossoming best in sprawling tangles of crimson ‘Tuscany’, the gold fading to cream of ‘Buff Beauty’ and the astonishing ‘Maiden’s Blush’ with its demure white outside petals and the deep fondant pink at its heart. I have begun to harvest rose petals, making a ‘stockpot’ of partially dried petals and salt that makes a deep rich long-lasting base for pot pourri. I’ll add lavender and scented leaves - lemon verbena, pelargonium leaves that smell of rose, lemon or cedar, southernwood and costmary, which as well as having a tangy smell of its own, has the ability to strengthen and enhance the scent of herbs it is mixed with. And soon I will be harvesting meadowsweet, mint, rosemary, purple sage and winter savory for moth repellants and muscle rubs and teas for winter.
Activism
The world seems in more than usual turmoil and chaos just now, and I have limited hopes for good outcomes from the many elections taking place this year. But as much as there are crises of various sorts, there are people doing good things about them - many farmers turning to regenerative techniques, many community groups building green spaces and networks of kindness, many people going out to protest about the behaviour of industries and governments. Since Beltane, I’ve been so busy with family, sorting out health issues and trying to focus my activist involvement that lately I haven’t been much more than a concerned observer, signing petitions and following the campaigns of younger and more informed folk. I’m going to concentrate on the environmental crisis - supporting Fossil Free Books, Global Justice and The Rewilding Scotland Alliance- and refugees. I may have a small initiative later this year to help these causes in my own way - watch this space.
Poetry News
I’ve been studying Mercury - the planet, the Roman god and the metal - for my next collection, and come up with a lot of fascinating folklore and references to alchemy and astrology which I have no doubt will get into the poems soon. I renewed my contacts with Geopoetics, by taking part in a poetry and music night as part of a recent conference on the writings of Kenneth White. I do have some serious reservations about his work, but he succeeded in opening up an enormous field of interest, that has sparked creativity in all kinds of areas from music to sculpture, architecture to ecology.
In August I’ll be at the Wee Gaitherin Festival in Stonehaven, as part of the Red Squirrel Press Showcase 12-1pm on the 2nd August. More details closer to the event. But by then we’ll be ready for Lughnasadh, and I’ll be chatting to you again. Have a good summer!