We wanted to make shopping with us even easier, so we’ve wrangled with the postal sprites and can now offer FREE SHIPPING on all U.K. orders– as always orders ship via Royal Mail First Class Post. Plus, International shipments are even lower— a flat rate of just £1 to the EU and £3 to the US and rest of the world, no matter how many items you purchase, you’ll enjoy the same reliable international air mail service. These new shipping rates are good at both my independent shop, Feralstrumpet.co.uk as well as my Etsy shop. No coupon necessary!
The Sound of the Sea
The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep,
And round the pebbly beaches far and wide
I heard the first wave of the rising tide
Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep;
A voice out of the silence of the deep,
A sound mysteriously multiplied
As of a cataract from the mountain’s side,
Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep.
So comes to us at times, from the unknown
And inaccessible solitudes of being,
The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul;
And inspirations, that we deem our own,
Are some divine foreshadowing and foreseeing
Of things beyond our reason or control.
–Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I have long been influenced by the sea but now its proximity seems to come into my work in more subtle ways. I have always loved using shell shapes and ammonite fossils in my work, as well as abalone and repurposed pearls. With my daily visits to the sea I now find different lights and moods and even movement come into play. One instance of this is in the Sea Chains earring design. The hues of deep reds and bright blue-greens echo the diversity of colours in the tide pools at New Aberdour– red, brown and grass green seaweeds mix with blue crabs and pink anemones, and all seem to flow in a meditative dance.
I designed these earrings to move and flow with the wearer, much like the seaweeds in the rock pools!
Today is the Harvest Full Moon. What has come to fruition for you that was perhaps planted in the spring? For me, I began preparations to relocate to Scotland and now, here I am.
In a very physical sense, my harvest is seaweed, something I have begun to learn about, forage and cook. It’s everywhere, tasty, nutritious and free. But one can’t glean for seaweeds and not take in the other bounty of the sea: the acceptance of constant change, awesome beauty, power and peace.
To eat what grows where you are has many benefits, but perhaps the most profound is the bonding power of this activity. Just as I used to cook with the nettle and blackberries that grew in the wasteland behind my house in York, here I have started to eat weeds from the sea.
Unlike berries and other wild plants, almost all UK seaweed, when harvested in non-polluted waters, is harmless to humans and many are highly nutritious. Initially I was using the Sea Vegetables Cookbook by Evelyn McConnaughey. Though I’ve now found other more current books that are actually by UK foragers, I started with this Oregon-based cookbook from the 80s with its old school fusion of 1950s comfort food, hippie health eats and mermaid chow. Most of all, the author shared my awed passion and glee at finding these strange plants could be eaten in delicious ways.
I have done most of my foraging at Whitehills– a sheltered beach in the wild Banffshire coastline. Perched on a hill above the beach is an ancient red well– its water has a high iron content and was once revered for its healing properties. The stretch of beach is named Muggie Machlin, after after a suicide: a young pregnant girl who died of exposure “a long time ago” by sitting on a rock on the beach one night in the middle of winter. This beach has captured my imagination and deserves a post of its own.
On to cooking– so far I have made pasta with alaria and tomato sauce, gutweed stir fry, vegan dashi from scratch and an all-purpose seasoning sprinkle that ads umami and colour to just about anything savoury. Mike jokingly said that it added natural MSG– but that isn’t far from the truth. Seaweeds contain natural glutamines– chemicals that tell your brain the thing you are eating is delicious. One dish I tried with laver (basically the same seaweed as nori) was laverbread, which isn’t bread at all but a kind of black gloop or sauce. To make laverbread, you have to boil the seaweed for 10 hours to “bring out the flavour.” I tried to stay true to the “recipe” but it was, as anything boiled for 10 hours is bound to be, inedible.
I began to struggle with McConnaughey’s book– basically the line drawings could only take me so far, endearing as they were, and we were looking at a totally different part of the world, with a different ecosystem. I then found Galloway Wild Foods, a great website full of information for the Scottish forager.
My journey of discovery with seaweed continues as I check the tide tables and wander the beaches, I start to understand my new home with the rhythms and flavours all its own.
High on the cliffs above the small fishing town of Gardenstoun, or Gamrie as the locals still call it, sits the ruins of a kirkyard that was built on the site of The Battle of the Bloody Pits of 1004 where Norse raiders were slaughtered by the Scots. Like most parts of this coast, it is a place of sweeping beauty. We happened upon it out of curiousity– seeing the walls of the ruins from the town below. Climbing up the lumpy path from the single track gravel road, I felt an eeire disquiet in this remote place, even before I learned more of it.
We know so little of these “raiders”. Christian historians have often distorted their history, reducing the Norse folk during the Viking age to cartoonish berserkers. We know that they are part of us– through recent DNA testing and before that, the fragments of language that have adhered to places– the the churchyard itself or “kirkyard”. Kirk, meaning church, is borrowed from Old Norse. That we have so little left of that time when the Norse people ruled an age of world-changing seafaring expertise, artistic and spiritual vision, will remain one of our great mysteries.
St. John’s Kirkyard commemorates the annihilation of a Viking party– built and rebuilt over centuries after the battle. Legend has it the Scottish general promised to build a church on the site if the Christian God could just prove that he was on their side. The church was built at the foot of the “Bloody Pits” where the Norsemen’s bodies where piled after the battle. This area earned its name from the carnage, and the scavengers who fed on the bodies. History records them as cattle raiders who were surrounded as they waited for a fair wind to aid them away. Skulls of the vanquished were displayed in the walls of the church behind the pulpit even into the 19th century, hence the its other name: The Church of the Sculls.
One wonders what happened to the skulls of the Norsemen that were once on display. The surrounding area could be said to be one very large, unquiet grave, but the graves inside the walled yard are something else– some of the most fascinating examples of 18th century momento mori that I have seen are here, often coupled with the crossed femur bones, an hourglass and bell. The path I walked to get to the yard may have been an ancient corpse road, and was no doubt used by parishioners for 800 years who trekked over miles to worship there through all weather from the surrounding villages.
What a hard life is a fisherman’s. Standing in the ruins I thought of the sermon on Jonah from Moby Dick, where the pastor seems to be “praying at the bottom of the sea” and his voice was “like the continual tolling of a bell in a ship that is foundering at sea in a fog–”
- “In black distress, I called my God/When I could scarce believe him mine/He bowed his ear to my complaints-/No more the whale did me confine.
- “With speed he flew to my relief,/As on a radiant dolphin borne;/Awful, yet bright, as lightning shone/The face of my Deliverer God.”
The congregation sings, drowning out the howling storm outside the church.
And, here now, I feel a bristling in the wind from the hillock above. Without a familiar song to guide them, the other bones in their shallow pits turn.
I have recently moved to Banff on the north east coast of Scotland. We live in a house that was once a free school, built in 1803, with our office and workshop upstairs and our living space downstairs with a large cottage garden out back. The coast here is wild and beautiful. Dolphins regularly migrate through this part of the North sea at this time, and the days are long– dusk coming around midnight.
I am excited to see how my work will develop here– given the space and freedom this new living situation provides, as well as the rich inspiration the sea brings– every hour the colour shifts and moods produce a kaleidoscope of colours in the interplay of sea, sky and sunlight.
I plan to continue unpacking my altar today– what are you doing on this longest day?
This is my sixth holiday season peddling my wares and I’m so grateful to all my customers, many who have become friends over the years. It is customary to have a sale after Thanksgiving in the US, and of course now there is Small Business Saturday and CyberMonday in addition to Black Friday. I thought this year I would just extend my gratitude from Thanksgiving (I still kind of celebrate it, especially if I can find a Tofurky in the North) to cover the weekend! From Friday the 25th to Monday the 28th I’ll be offering 20% off store-wide at both feralstrumpet.co.uk and Feral Strumpet on Etsy. Simply use coupon code THANX2016 at checkout to receive the discount.
It’s that time of year again where the darkness gathers around us and we look for little signs of life and light. I’ve many lovely designs that celebrate this light-in-the-darkness! This giving season can be so fun and full of delight when you have treasures to choose from, perfect for everyone in your life! I’ve also put together some handy deadlines as a guideline for final order dates if you would like your package to arrive before Christmas. These dates are based on Royal Mail Guidelines and are a suggestion, not a guarantee. During this busy time, we recommend upgrading your shipping to included tracking, as this method is often faster than regular mail.