sixty three and a half miles of bliss

I went to Minehead this morning, from Rockwell Green via Taunton by bus. That's the No. 15  followed by the No. 18 to be precise. There was a problem with our No. 18 not going up hills very well, so we swapped buses and our's was demoted to light duties - the town centre shuttle-bus route -  which is mainly on the flat.  Despite the swap over and diversion to find a sturdier steed, we still got there on time and I wasn't a minute late for my rag rug gig at a care home in Minehead. The sun was shining all the way and the views of the Quantocks were splendid.

Good session at the care home - lots of memories, laughter and conversation.

Then another equally enjoyable trip back. but the best thing about the bus journey today was discovering that I can sew really well by bus. I basted yards of fabric strips all ready for braiding a rug later on and I can't tell you how satisfying that was!

To be working just as efficiently at what I would normally be doing at home, but with the pictures-in-motion backdrop of West Somerset and snatches of bird song through the open door every time we stopped for passengers, was 63 and a half miles of bliss.

billy cat and wild garlic

Had another wonderful day at The Old Sale Rooms in which my "knowledge of random stuff" (thank you Steve - facebook friend and real life neighbour) has grown exponentially!

I didn't know until today, for instance, that Avonmouth docks always smelt of talc in the 1950s because it was imported there. I didn't know talc smelt of talc in fact. I thought it smelt of lavender or some such.

I didn't know until today, that there is a delightful alleyway opposite The Old Sale Rooms patrolled by the sleek Billy-Cat and that night skies up above the cottages that this alleyway leads to, are (to quote Candy who used to live there) " just awesome". For a step or two away from one of Wellington's main streets and the night sky is unpolluted and the stars as bright as anything.

I didn't know until today, the difference between 'bookland' and 'folkland'.

I didn't know until today, that a hop, skip and a jump away from Mantle Street, grows wild garlic (during wild garlic season that is)!

I didn't know until today, that the incident of a frozen sprout being used to break a window shortly after Christmas one year back along, was held up by our local press as an indicator of the then rising crime rate. And that reading the report of this misdemeanour (not pleasant for the victim of course) helped one man new to Wellington, having recently migrated from one of the crime hotspots of the North, sleep a lot better in his bed, than he had done for a long, long time...

Just how these memories of (mostly) Mantle Street will be illustrated in the memory rug, I have yet to work out. But the best thing for now, I've decided, is just to enjoy them!

Mantle Street Memories on Mondays.

I shall be 'in residence' at The Old Sale Rooms in Wellington on Mondays for the next few months, collecting and recording Mantle Street Memories that we are hoping people will come and share with us (originally I'd intended to be at The OSR on Thursdays but "Mantle Street Memories on Mondays" has more of a ring to it don't you think!)

We will be creating a memory board to display individual memories of Mantle Street, for everyone to enjoy reading. And also, when I have enough memories collected, I will design a rag rug to illustrate them and will work at it in situ and anyone who would like to, is welcome to bring in a little piece of fabric to add to it!

(If for any reason I'm unable to be at The Old Sale Rooms on a Monday, I will put a note on my blog to let you know, 'tho don't let it put you off visiting the OSR!)

a green dragon in the Green Dragon

 

On the 4th of February, roundabout the time of the feast of Brigid, some Wellington people gathered together along with a dragon and a spinner, in the back bar of The Green Dragon to celebrate that time of year when some people think of looking for signs of spring.

For myself, that need to look ahead and hold on to the certainty that spring follows winter, is more urgent than it was last year, 'though my home is safe from flooding and I've only had to wade through water-over-my-boots once to get home this winter.  A song was sung about the exploitation of weavers, and the spinner talked about Brigid and I got the gist of why we look to her, here in this area of weaving, for she of the snowy white garb is associated with the beginning of the lambing season.

Hearths, thresholds and doorways are also part of  the Brigid symbolism. I've been thinking about hearths and thresholds a lot recently in association with rug making. Thresholds: liminal spaces that are crossed by visitors, inviting worlds to collide. Hearths: where stories are written in flames and songfulness is learnt. Travelling by bus across the county for my rag rug 'gigs', I've rediscovered the pleasure of enjoying "reading in motion" - it  somehow heightens my engagement. Just finished Jeanette Winterson's "Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?" in which she talks about stories as being thresholds where the writer and her readers meet.

 

 

 

 

clootie catkins

Walked around Langford Heathfield this afternoon with a friend. Lots of signs of spring. Acorns sprouting shoots, and bright green catkins hanging from the branches like small clootie strips.

clootie wells

 

Clootie tree at Sancreed Well, Cornwall (Wikipedia)
 

Thinking about Imbolc and Clootie wells. And then, by extension - clootie rugs. How symbolic fabric is, of life and connectedness. We are wrapped in it from cradle to grave. And that metaphor for spatial and social connectedness - warp and weft, seems to somehow renew itself through constant usage.


Also springs to mind at this coming of spring, is Kathleen Jamie's poem: The Wishing Tree. Better to loosely tie our hopes and wishes to the branches I think, than press copper coins into the fissures of its bark (note that only immaterial wishes are granted).


Notes on Clootie Wells from Wikipedia:

When used at the clootie wells in Scotland and Ireland, the pieces of cloth are generally dipped in the water of the holy well and then tied to a branch while a prayer of supplication is said to the spirit of the well – in modern times usually a saint, but in pre-Christian times a goddess or local nature spirit. This is most often done by those seeking healing, though some may do it simply to honour the spirit of the well. In either case, many see this as a probable continuation of the ancient Celtic practice of leaving votive offerings in wells or pits.

 
The sacred trees at clootie wells are usually Whitethorn trees, though Ash trees are also common.
The most popular times for pilgrimages to clootie wells, like other holy wells, are on the feast days of Saints, the Pattern or Patron day, or on the old Gaelic festival days of Imbolc (1 February), Beltane (1 May), Lughnasadh (1 August), or Samhain (1 November).