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January 2016

The Hedgespoken Winter Raffle

It's the last day of the Hedgespoken Winter Raffle, and the last day to help this fine project by purchasing a raffle ticket, and/or by spreading the word. Six good reasons for supporting Hedgespoken:

1. It is an insanely cool project.
2. Everyone involved has been working insanely hard to get it off the ground.
3. Mythic Arts & Folk Arts aren't often supported by traditional Arts Funding sources, so it's up to
    those of us who love them & believe in them to support them in whatever ways we can.
4. My husband Howard is involved with making the Folk Theatre part of Hedgespoken happen, and
    it's going to be magical indeed.
5. For only £1 you might end up owning an original Rima Staines painting, or a handworked
    Smicklegrin leather mask.
6. Rima Staines & Tom Hirons are Good Folks (did you know they first met through their
    involvement with The Journal of Mythic Arts?)...so let's get this truck on the road.

For more information on the project go to the Hedgespoken website.
For updates on the project see the video above (from December), and the Hedgespoken blog.
The very beginnings of the project are here...and my gracious, how far they've come!

Hedgespoken-by-starlight-fi


One last post on the magic of water

Morning coffee

This morning, in a pause between rain showers, I took my coffee break out on the hill with The Last Selchie Child by Jane Yolen in my bag and the hound at my side. This lovely little edition from A Midsummer Night's Press contains poetry rooted in fairy tales, folklore, and myth -- including five gorgeous selchie poems, and one based on The Little Mermaid. I recommend it highly.

P1260998


From the archives: Water, wild and sacred

Dupath Well

Since we've been on a "water" theme all week, it seems appropriate to end with this piece of mine from 2013 -- even though it concludes with the same Margaret Atwood quote I used for Tuesday's post. Nevermind. It's worth repeating....

On a bright, clear morning some years ago, during the long, lovely days leading up to summer solstice, Wendy Froud and I drove through the lanes to the village of Callington in Cornwall (the county just west of us here in Devon). We parked at the edge of a farmyard and followed what was then an overgrown footpath to Dupath Well (originally "Theu Path" Well)...a deeply magical place buried in the green of the Cornish countryside.

The Lady of the WatersLike other holy wells in Devon and Cornwall, the spring that runs through Dupath Well is believed to have been a sacred site to Celtic peoples in the distant past, its older use now overlaid with a gloss of Christian legendry. At one time, this spring may have sat in a woodland grove of oak, rowan and thorn — trees sacred to the island's indigenous religions. In 1510, a group of Augustinian monks claimed the Dupath site for their own use, enclosing the spring in a small well house made out of rough-hewn granite. This was a common fate for many of the ancient pagan sites in the West Country. Unable to dissuade the local people from visiting their sacred places in nature, Christian authorities simply took them over, building churches where standing stones once stood and baptisteries over sacred springs, cutting down ceremonial groves and putting woodhenges to the torch. There are many, many wells like Dupath Well, scattered all over the West Country --- some of them covered and some still in use -- often named now for the Saints and associated with their miraculous lives. But scratch the surface of these legends and the palimpsests of older tales emerge: stories of fairies and piskies, the knights of King Arthur, and the old gods of the land.

Inside the tiny, chapel-like building erected over Dupath Well, the water pools in a shallow trough carved from a single granite slab. The air is thick, heavy with shadows, and with the ghosts, perhaps, of men and women drawn to this spot for many centuries. The stones are worn where they once knelt and prayed to the Virgin Mary, or to the Lady of the Waters. That day, on the bottom of the trough lay a handful of copper coins, a modern custom of making wishes that is not so very different from the older practice of throwing pins (associated with women's labor and magic) into a spring to ask for the water spirit's blessing. Wendy placed a small offering of wildflowers by the water -- which, too, is an ancient practice, recalling a time when it was the land itself our ancestors thanked for the gift of water, and of life itself.

Dupath Well

Belstone Well

Saxon Well

Lady Well

Today, with clean water piped directly into our homes and largely taken for granted, it takes a leap of imagination to consider how precious water would have been to those who fetched it daily from the riverside or village well. Deeply dependent on good local water sources, it's only natural that our ancestors would have revered those places where pure, life-sustaining water emerged like magic from the depths of the earth. Water plays a central role in myth, folk tales, fairy lore, and sacred stories not only here in the rain-soaked British Isles but all around the globe -- particularly, of course, in arid lands where the gift of water is most precious.

Circe Invidiosa by John William WaterhouseMany cultures associate water with women: with the Goddess, or with several goddesses, or a variety of female nature spirits. The !Kung of Botswana, for example, attribute the mythic origin of water to women, granting all women special power over water in all its form. All-mother, in an Aboriginal myth from northern Australia, arrived from the sea in the form of a rainbow serpent with children (the Ancestors) inside her. It was All-mother who made water for the Ancestors by urinating on the land, creating lakes, rivers and water holes to quench their thirst. The "living water" (running water) of springs and natural fountains is particularly associated in ancient mythological systems with women, fertility and childbirth. Greek wells and fountains were sacred to various goddesses and had miraculous powers – such as the fountain at Kanathos, in which Hera regained her virginity each year. Greek springs were the haunts of water nymphs, elemental spirits shaped like lovely young girls. (The original meaning of the Greek word for spring was "nubile maiden.") In Teutonic myth, the wild wood-wife (a kind of forest fairy) who loves the hero Wolfdietrich is transformed into a human girl when she's baptized in a sacred fountain. The Norse god Odin seeks wisdom and cunning from the fountain of the nature spirit Mimir; he sacrifices one of his eyes in exchange for a few precious sips of the water. In Celtic legend, the salmon of knowledge swims in a sacred spring or pool under the shade of a hazel tree; the falling hazelnuts contain all the wisdom of the world, swallowed by the fish.

Ritual washing in water, or immersion in a pool, has been part of various religious systems since the dawn of time. The priests of ancient Egypt washed themselves in water twice each day and twice each night; in Siberia, ritual washing of the body — accompanied by certain chants and prayers — was (and still is) a vital part of shamanic practices. In Hindu, ghats are traditional sites for public ritual bathing, an act by which one achieves both physical and spiritual purification. In strict Jewish household, hands must be washed before saying prayers and before any meal including bread; in Islam, mosques provide water for the faithful to wash before each of the five daily prayers. In the Christian tradition, baptism is described by St. Paul as "a ritual death and rebirth which simulates the death and resurrection of Christ." According to mythologist Mircea Eliade, "Immersion in water symbolizes a return to the pre-formal, a total regeneration, a new birth, for immersion means a dissolution of forms, a reintegration into the formlessness of pre-existence; and emerging from the water is a repetition of the act of creation in which form was first expressed."

The Danaides by John William Waterhouse

The idea of regeneration through water is echoed in tales around the world about fountains and springs with miraculous powers. Indigenous stories in Puerto Rico, Cuba, and Hispaniola all described a magical Fountain of Youth, located somewhere in the lands to the north. So pervasive were these stories that in the 16th century the Spanish conquistador Ponce de Leon actually set out to find it once and for all, equipping three ships at his own expense. He found Florida instead.

One Native American story describes a Fountain of Youth created by two hawks in the nether-world between heaven and earth -- but this fountain brings grief as those who drink of it outlive their children and friends, and eventually it's destroyed. In Japanese legends, the white and yellow leaves of the wild chrysanthemum confer blessings from Kiku-Jido, the chrysanthemum boy who dwells by the Fountain of Youth. These leaves are ceremonially dipped in sake to assure good health and long life. In the Alexander Tree Heads in a Well by Arthur RackhamRomances, Alexander sets off to find the fabled Fountain of Life in the Land of Darkness beyond the setting sun. The prophet Khizr is Alexander’s guide, but the two take separate forks in the road. It is Khizr, not his master, who finds the fountain, drinks the water, and obtains knowledge of god. Khizr is still venerated in modern India, in both Hindu and Muslim traditions. In Muslim practices, Khizr is honored by lighting lamps and setting them on little boats afloat on rivers and ponds.

In fairy tales, heroes are sent on long journeys to the Well at the End of the World, or to springs in the dark heart of the forest, ordered to retrieve a vial of the Water of Life, usually for a wicked fairy. A few drops from this water confers beauty, wisdom, fluency in the language of animals, and/or immortality. Sometimes the heroes partake of the water themselves, deliberately or accidently, and sometimes they bring the vial back intact. The fairy drinks, expecting to gain more power, and is cleansed of her wickedness instead. Other wells in fairy tales contain enchanted frogs, talking heads, imprisoned trolls, and fearsome looking snakes who turn out to be wise and good. But beware of old women who linger by the well, for they are usually fairies in disguise, and cranky. You've been warned.

The Roman Baths of Sulis Minverva

To the ancient peoples of the West Country, certain waters were deemed to have healing properties and thus were under divine protection. The famous hot spring at Bath in Somerset (the county just to the east of Devon) was dedicated to a Celtic goddess local to the place. When the Romans took the hot springs over and built the temple complex we know today, Sulis was linked with their goddess Minvera to become Sulis Minerva. Chalice Well in Glastonbury, also in Someset, is reputed to be among the oldest of continually used holy wells in all of Europe; archaeological evidence suggests it has been a sacred site for at least two thousands years. Even the standing stones and circles of Britain are generally found near wells or running water.

As Christianity spread, more and more springs were built over with chapels and well houses, and the groves around them removed. Devon and Cornwall, in particular, were deemed to be troublesome bastions of paganism. In the 5th century, a canon issued by the Second Council of Arles stated: "If in the territory of a bishop infidels light torches or venerate trees, fountains, or stones, and he neglects to abolish this usage, he must know that he is guilty of sacrilege." Yet pagan beliefs proved harder to eradicate than the sites themselves, for in the 10th, 11th and 12th centuries a stream of edicts were issued from church authorities denouncing the worship of "the sun or the moon, fire or flood, wells or stones or any kind of forest tree."

Menacuddle Well

St.Bryvyth's Well

Over time, however, pagan and Christian practices slowly blended together, and holy wells all over Great Britain were celebrated with Christian festivals that fell on the old pagan holy days. On the Isle of Man, for example, holy wells are frequented on August 1st, a day sacred to the Celtic god Lugh. August 1st is Lammas in the Christian calendar, but the older name for the holiday, Lugnasad, was still in use on the island until late in the 19th century. In Scotland, the well at Loch Maree is dedicated to St. Malrubha but its annual rites -- involving the sacrifice of a bull, an offering of milk poured on the ground, and coins driven into the bark of a tree -- are pagan in origin. The custom of "well dressing" is another Christian rite with pagan roots. During these ceremonies (still practiced in Derbyshire and other parts of Britain), village wells are decorated with pictures made of flowers, leaves, seeds, feathers and other natural objects. In centuries past, the wells were "dressed" to thank the patron spirit of the well and request good water for the year to come; now the ceremonies generally take place on Ascension Day, and the pictures created to dress the wells are biblical in nature.

St. Leonard's WellThe  Christian tales attached to springs and wells are often as magical as any to be found in Celtic lore. Wells were said to have sprung up where saints were beheaded or had fought off dragons, or where the Virgin Mary appeared and left small footprints pressed into the stone. Over the Channel in Brittany (which has linguistic and mythic connections to the West Country) "granny wells" dedicated to St. Anne (so called bcause Anne was the mother of Mary, and therefore the grandmother of Christ) were attributed with particular powers concerning fertility and childbirth. According to one old Breton legend, St. Anne settled there in her old age, where she was visited by Christ before she died. She asked him for a holy well to help the sick people of the region; he struck the ground three times, and the well of St. Anne-e-la-Palue was created.

Up until the 19th century, the holy wells of the West Country were still considered to have miraculous properties, and were visited by those seeking cures for disease, disability, or mental illness. Some wells were famous for offering prophetic information — generally determined through the movements of the water, or leaves floating upon the water, or fish swimming in the depths. At some wells, sacred water was drunk from circular cups carved out of animal bone (an echo of the cups carved out of human skulls by the ancient Celts). Pins (usually bent), coins, bits of metal, and flowers are common well offerings; and rags (called clouties) are tied to nearby trees, the cloth representing disease or misfortune left behind as one departs.

Clouties at Sanscreed Holy Well

Some wells, known as cursing wells, were rather less beneficent. The curses were made by dropping special cursing stones into the well, or the victim's name written on a piece of paper, or a wax effigy. At the famous cursing well of Ffynnon Elian, up in Wales, one could arrange for a curse by paying the well's Water Faery by Brian Froudguardian a fee to perform an elaborate cursing ritual. A curse could also be removed at this same well, for a somewhat larger fee.

In the mid-19th century, Thomas Quiller-Couch (father of Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch) became interested in the history of holy wells; he spent much of his life wandering the wilds of his native Cornwall seeking them out. Extensive notes on this project were discovered among his papers after his death, and in 1884 The Ancient and Holy Wells of Cornwall was published by the antiquarian's daughters, Mabel and Lillian. More recently, folklorist Paul Broadhurst re-visited the sites documented by Quiller Couch, and in 1991 he published Secret Shrines: In Search of the Old Holy Wells of Cornwall, an informative guide to the many wells still to be found in the Cornish countryside.

In addition to sites dedicated to Celtic goddesses and Christian saints, Broadhurst discovered crumbling old wells half-buried in ivy, bracken and briars inhabited by spirits somewhat less exalted: the piskies (fairies) of Cornish folklore. Wells under the protection of the piskies are not wells to be trifled with, for the piskies will take their revenge on any who dare to disturb their homes. A farmer decided to move the stone basin at St. Nun's Well (also known as Piskey's Well), with the intention of using it as a water trough for his pigs. He chained the stone to two oxen and pulled it the top of a steep hill — whereupon the stone broke free of the chains, rolled downhill, made a sharp turn right, and settled back into its place. One of the ox died on the spot, and the farmer was struck lame.

St. John's Well

All running water, not just spring water, can prove to be the haunt of fairies, for crossing over (or through) running water is one of the ways to enter their realm. Here in Devon and Cornwall, one still finds country folk who avoid running water by dusk or dark -- for the spirits who inhabit water can be troublesome, even deadly. The water spirit of the River Dart, for instance, is believed to demand sacrificial drownings, leading Bean-Nighe by Alan Lee.to the well-known local rhyme: "Dart, Dart, cruel Dart, every year she claims a heart." The water-wraithes up in Scotland are thin, ragged, and invariably dressed in green, haunting riversides by night to lead travelers to a watery death. In the Border Country between Scotland and England, the Washer by the Ford wails as she washes the grave clothes of those who are about to die -- similar to the dreaded Bean-Sidhe (Banshee) of Irish legends. The Bean-nighe, found in both Highland and Irish lore, is somewhat lesser known: a dangerous little fairy with ragged green clothes and webbed red feet. If you can get between the Bean-nighe and her water source, however, she is obliged to grant three wishes and refrain from doing harm. Jenny Greenteeth is a river hag also known as Peg Powler or a grindylow. She's an English fairy who specializes in dragging children ino stagnant pools. The Welsh water-leaper, called Llamhigyn Y Dwr, is a toad-like fairy who delights in tangling fishing lines and devouring any sheep who fall into the river. The fideal is a fairy who haunts lonely pools and hides herself in the grasses by the water; the glaistig, half-woman and half-goat, tends to lurk in the dark of caves behind waterfalls. Both are native to Scotland, but are known to roam as far south as Wales. The loireag of the Hebrides is a gentler breed of water fairy, although, as a connoisseur of music, even she can prove dangerous to those who dare to sing out of tune. In Ireland, the Lady of the Lake bestows blessings and good weather to those who seek her favor; in some towns she is still celebrated (or propitiated) at mid-summer festivals. Her name recalls the Lady of the Lake of Arthurian lore, who gave King Arthur his sword and now guards his body as he sleeps in Avalon.

Arthur at Avalon by Sir Edward Burne-Jones

The Last Sleep of Arthur by Sir Edward Burne-Jones

Chalice Well in Glastonbury is one of several sites where the Holy Grail is reputed to be hidden. At the foot of ancient Glastonbury Tor is a lovely garden where one can drink the red-tinged water of well — colored, according to legend, by the blood of Christ carried in the Grail. Although the well's association with Arthur may be (as some Arthurian scholars suggest) a legend of recent vintage, archaeological excavations in the 1960s established the site's antiquity — and the place manages to retain a tranquil, mystical atmosphere despite now doing dual duty as a sacred site and a tourist attraction. One often finds small offerings in the circle around the well's heavy lid: flowers, feathers, stones, small bits of cloth tied to a near-by tree . . . the old pagan ways still quietly practiced by many people to this day.  

Chalice Wall Gardens, Glastonbury

The Beauty Way

In North America, numerous springs, wells, and pools are sacred to land's First Nations. In such holy places one also finds offerings similar to those by Chalice Well: feathers, flowers, stones, sage, tobacco, small carved animal forms, scraps of red cloth tied to trees, and other tokens of prayer. The Native American sweat-lodge ceremony uses water sprinkled over red-hot rocks to create the steam that is called the "breath of life"; the lodge itself is the womb of mother earth in which one is washed clean, purified and spiritually reborn. In Native American Church ceremonies, a pail of Morning Water is traditionally carried and prayed over by a woman before being sent sun-wise around the circle to be shared by all. Water is sacred through its absence in the four-day Sundance ceremony, or the ritual of Crying for a Vision; after four days without water (or food), the first drop on the tongue is a potent reminder to be thankful for this precious gift from mother earth.

The River Teign by Brian FroudSome years ago at the Mythic Journeys conference in Atlanta, Tom Blue Wolf of the Eastern Lower Muscogee Creek Nation spoke of the need to cherish the wild waters of our lands -- particularly now, as water tables world-wide diminish at alarming rates. “Once upon a time,” he said, “the Chattahoochee River was known to the people here as the source of life. Every morning we would go to the water and fill ourselves with gratitude, and thank the Creator for giving us this source of life. We would honor it throughout the day. At that time, water was known as the Long Man. It came from a place that has no beginning, and goes to a place that has no end. But now, for the first time in the history of our people, we can see the end of water.”

At the same conference, mythologist Michael Meade spoke of the ancient symbolism of water and its mythic role in our lives today. “Of the elements (which some people count as four, and others count as five), water is the element for reconciliation. Water is the element of flow. When water goes missing, flow goes missing. The ancient Irish used to say that there are two suns in the world. One you see rise in the morning. The other is very deep in the earth, and it’s called the black sun or inner sun. It’s a hot fire in there; no one knows how hot. The earth is roughly seventy per cent water because of that hidden sun inside. When the water goes down, the earth heats up too much – part of the global warming that’s happening everywhere. It happens inside people also, because people are like the earth. People are seventy per cent water like the earth, and people have a hidden sun – or else we wouldn’t be ninety-six degrees when its forty degrees outside. Everyone in the world is burning, and the water in the body keeps that burning from becoming a fever. What happens literally also happens emotionally and spiritually, so when people forget how to carry water and how to use water to reconcile, you get an increasing amount of heated conflict, as we’re seeing around the world today. …In many cultures it’s the elders who carry the water, because elders are the peace-bringers. When a culture can’t remember or imagine peace on its streets or how to negotiate peace, it means its elders have forgotten what to do, how to carry water.”

As an elder now myself, I try to remember these words and carry water with respect.

Water 1

I'll give Margaret Atwood the last words today, from her mythic novel The Penelopiad. They are words that rustle like wind in my ears as Tilly and I follow the cold, clear stream winding through our own beloved piece of woods:

"Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can't go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.”

Water 2

''Water 3

Art above: Wendy as "Lady of the Waters" by Brian Froud, "Circe Invidiosa" and "The Danaides" by John William Waterhouse, a water faery by Brian Froud, a Bean-nighe by Alan Lee, "Arthur in Avalon" and "The Last Sleep of King Arthur" by Sir Edward Burne-Jones, and The River Teign (which flows through Chagford) by Brian Froud. The photographs of wells, springs, and baths above come from various British heritage sites. Please look in the picture captions for identifcation. (Run your cursor over the pictures to see the captions.) For more photographs of the wells of the West Country, go here. There's also a lovely post about The Well of St. John's in the Wilderness by the late (and much-missed) folklorist Thomas Hine on the Westcountry Folklore site.

A related post of mine on the four elements (or three, or  five, depending on how you're counting): Elemental Magic.


The magic of the world made visible

A detail from Underworld Beauty by Virginia Lee

From "Learning to See" by Robin Wall Kimmerer, author of Braiding Sweetgrass, from an earlier essay collection, Gathering Moss:

"I remember my first encounter with the North Pacific, at Rialto Beach on the Olympic Peninsula. As a landlocked botanist, I was anticipating my first glimpse of the ocean, craning my neck around every bend in the winding dirt road. We arrived in a dense gray fog that clung to the trees and beaded my hair with moisture. Had the skies been clear we would have seen only what we expected: rocky coast, lush forest, and the broad expanse of the sea. That day, the air was opaque and the backdrop of the coastal hills was visible only when the spires of Sitka Spruce briefly emerged from the clouds. We knew the ocean's presence only by the deep roar of the surf, out beyond the tidepools. Strange, that at the edge of this immensity, the world had become very small, the fog obscuring all but the middle distance. All my pent-up desire to see the panorama of the coast became focussed on the only things that I could see, the beach and the surrounding tidepools.

Mer Village by Virginia Lee

"Wandering in the grayness, we quickly lost sight of each other, my friends disappearing like ghosts in just a few steps. Our muffled voices knit us together, calling out the discovery of a perfect pebble, or the intact shell of a razor clam. I knew from pouring over field guides in anticipation of the trip that we 'should' see starfish in the tidepools, and this would be my first. The only starfish I'd ever seen was a dried one in a zoology class and I was eager to see them at home where they belonged. As I looked among the mussels and limpets, I saw none. The tidepools were encrusted with barnacles and exotic-looking algae, anemones, and chitons enough to satisfy the curiosity of a novince tidepooler. But no starfish.

Merfolk by Virginia Lee

On the south Devon coast

"Disappointed, I straightened up from the pools to relieve the growing stiffness in my back, and suddenly -- I saw one. Bright orange and clinging to a rock right before my eyes. And then it was as if a curtain had been pulled away and I saw them everywhere. Like stars revealing themselves one by one in a darkening summer night. Orange stars in the crevices of a black rock, speckled burgandy stars with outstretched arms, purple stars nestled together like a family huddled against the cold. In a cascade of discovery, the invisible was suddenly made visible.

The Selkie by Virginia Lee

On the north Devon coast

"A Cheyenne elder of my acquaintance once told me that the best way to find something is not to go looking for it. This is a hard concept for a scientist. But he said to watch out of the corner of your eye, open to possibility, and what you seek will be revealed. The revelation of suddenly seeing what I was blind to only moments before is a sublime experience for me. I can revisit those moments and still feel the surge of expansion. The boundaries between my world and the world of another being get pushed back with sudden clarity, an experience both humbling and joyful."

Merwyna by Marja Lee

The magical ocean imagery today is from two Chagford artists who are also mother and daughter: Marja and Virginia Lee. (Each picture is  identified in the hidden captions. Run your cursor over the images to see them.)

Marja Lee is a painter and harpist inspired by Celtic art, music, myth and mysticism. Born in the Netherlands, she studied art in Amsterdam, worked as a fashion illustrator in London, and then settled and raised her family here in Devon. Her delicate watercolor paintings and drawings are rich in esoteric symbolism, and fall into the Visionary tradition of such arists as Odilon Redon, Jessie M. King, and Sulamith Wulfing. The drawing just above and the painting below are by Marja.

Virginia Lee is a painter and sculptor inspired by folklore, Surrealism, and the mythic landscape of Dartmoor, where she was born. She has illustrated several fine books for children and adults, including The Frog Bride, Persephone, and The Secret History of Mermaids. She was a sculptor on the set of the Lord of the Rings films, and has published exquisite decks of "oracle" and "story world" cards. To see more of her work, please visit her website, her lovely blog, and her Etsy shop. The first four paintings and drawings above are by Virginia.

Mermaid by Marja LeeThe passage above is from Gathering Moss, a collection of linked essays on the natural & cultural history of mosses by Native American author & plant biologist Robin Wall Kimmerer (Oregon State University, 2003). The photographs of me and Tilly were taken by my husband. All rights to the text and art in this post is reserved by their creators.


Shaped by water

No Turning Back by Jason Decaires Taylor, Punta Nizuc, Mexico

From Singing to the Sound: Visions of Nature, Animals, & Spirit by Brenda Peterson, a beautiful collection of essays about life on America's Northwest coast:

"If landscape is character, then Northwesterners are most like water. We are shaped by the voluptuous shores and salt tides of Puget Sound, the deep currents of the Columbia, Salmon, and Snake rivers. Northwesterners have always been water folk, shaped by this Sound and also by the sounds of rapid rivers and dousing rains. Our tales are syncopated with rhythms of tide and wind, cries of seagulls, ospreys, and eagles, the mystical breath of whales, and grieving argpeggios of foghorns. Northwesterners are held back from falling off the proverbial edge of the world by a Pacific coastline whose nurturing rain forests and rocky peninsulas face the sea like guardians.

"Our intimacy with water is crucial to understanding our Northwest character; we are more changed by the environment than it is by us....When we try to spell out our 'rainy day intimacies' to outsiders, they cannot believe we actually enjoy living for many months aswirl in great, flowing gowns of gray mist. To survive here without the daily illumination of sunlight, we must have an inner life bright with hidden worlds.

copyright Jason deCaries Taylor

copyright Jason deCaries Taylor

copyright Jason deCaries Taylor

"Northwest Coast Natives tell stories of sea creatures and underwater tribes that shape-shift into humans then return to the original People -- the animals. For example, the Salmon People are an underwater tribe who also spend a season on land; the whales and seals can metamorphose into humans as easily as the ever-present mist and clouds change shape. Many Northwest coast tribes tell of merpeople, part human, part mammal, who mediate between the worlds to keep a watery balance. One of the most common gods was called 'Changer.' Many native tribes began their mythologies with water -- floods and seas creating what we now call The People. A Skagit myth details this beginning, when Changer decided 'to make all the rivers flow only one way' and that 'there should be bends in the rivers, so that there would be eddies where the fish could stop and rest. Changer decided that beasts should be placed in the forests. Human beings would have to keep out of their way.' "

copyright Jason deCaries Taylor

copyright Jason deCaries Taylor

"Northwesterners not only reckon with water shaping our physical boundaries, but also our heavens," Peterson writes a little later in the essay. "Rain is a Northwest native. One recent winter, we had twenty-seven inches of rain in three months and mudslides are now as familiar as side streets. Northwesterners live like slowly drowning people. We are well aware of the predictions that in the next millennium our Pacific Rim shores will sink from the volcanic tsunami waves copright by by Jason deCaires Taylorinto an Atlantis-like abyss. Our famous rainfall is perhaps all that shelters us from the massive population and industrial exploitations of nearby California. The rain is so ominpresent, especially between late October and even into June, that most Northwesterners disdain umbrella, the true sign of any tourist.

"One must be rather fluid to live underwater; one must learn to flow with a pulse greater than one's own. A tolerance for misting gray days means an acceptance that life itself is not black and white, but in between. If the horizons outside one's window are not sharply defined but ease into a sky intimately merged with sea and soft landscape, then perhaps shadows, both personal and collective, are not so terrifying. After all, most of the year Northwesterners can't even see their own literal shadows cast on the ground. We live inside the rain shadow. We tolerate edges and difference in people and places perhaps because our landscape blends and blurs as it embraces.

copyright Jason deCaries Taylor

"Widely acclaimed Port Angeles poet Tess Gallagher tells it this way: 'It is a faithful rain. You feel that it has some allegiance to the trees and the people....It brings an ongoing thoughtfulness to their faces, a meditativeness that causes them to fall silent for long periods, to stand at their windows looking out at nothing in particular. The people walk in the rain as within some spirit they wish not to offend with resistence.' "

copyright by Jason deCaires Taylor

The-gardener-05-jason-decaires-taylor-sculpture

copyright by Jason deCaires Taylor

My morning prayer: Let me learn to live the grey days of Dartmoor's "faithful rain" without resistence. May these long, wet winter months teach me to be more fluid, more meditative, unafraid of change and metamorphosis.

copyright by Jason deCaires Taylor

The extraordinary photographs today are by Jason deCaires Taylor, an artist and naturalist known for creating living underwater sculptures that evolve over time into coral reefs, intended "to portray how human intervention or interaction with nature can be positive and sustainable." Born to a British father and Guyanese mother, Taylor was raised in England and Asia, studied sculpture and ceramics in London, then trained as a diving instructor and marine conservationist before bringing all of his interests together in the making of environmental art. He is also the co-founder of an underwater sculpture park in the West Indies, and an underwater museum in Mexico. Currently based in the Canary Islands, he's at work on an new underwater museum for the Atlantic Ocean.

"Working in conservation, I am very concerned with all the associated effects of climate change and the state of peril our seas are in," says Taylor. “If we walked past a forest that was disintegrating every day, with animals dead by the side of the road, we would be much more aware of our actions. But underwater life is out of our sight and the problem is easily ignored. So a big part of my work is to bring people's focus and awareness to the destruction of our seas and of the natural world."

copyright by Jason deCaires Taylor

copyright by Jason deCaires Taylor

copyright by Jason deCaires TaylorThe passage above is from Brenda Peterson's essay "Faithful Rain," in Singing to the Sound (NewSage Press, 2000). I highly recommend her books -- including three wonderful fantasy novels about mermaids and silkies: The Drowning World, Tattoo Master, and The Secret Journal of Kate Morag. All rights to the text and art above is reserved by their respective creators.


Turning our attention to water

Water 1

From The Woman Who Watches Over the World: A Native Memoir by Chickasaw poet, novelist, and essayist Linda Hogan:

"It must have been a desert person who said from dust we come to dust we return, because, for most of us, water is the true element of our origin. Broken birthwaters signal our emergence into the air world, and through our lifetimes it is water that sustains us, water that is the human substance, the matter of cells.

"Some years ago I turned my attention to water. Perhaps, as people have done since the beginning of time, I went to the water to seek a cure, and became enamored of the deep. I was drawn to it in all its forms, ocean, river, lake, swamp.

Water 2

"In the dry country where I live, water comes to us as rain and snow and trickling creek, so I paid frequent visits to this mother element in her other shapes. I swam in the ocean, overcoming -- but only cautiously -- my fear of the depths my human feet could not touch.

Water 3

"I sat in mangrove swamps watching as the trees changed salt water into fresh. I waded around the 'eye of water,' the entrance where spring water rises from beneath the surface world, and floated underground rivers inside white limestone caverns. I paddled kayaks in the unsought but welcome presence of dolphins and wales, including a female humpback who gave birth where my friends and I sat. I submerged myself in hot springs and visited glaciers, and looked into the tragically endangered world of the paling, breathing coral reefs. I looked into a kelp bed, down into the dark, cold water, at thumb-nail sized jellyfish, white and pulsing. With my sister I walked from the edge of the sea to the black caves that, at low tide, are full and open with life as the tide goes out in its endless back and forth. There, in the tidepools at the edge of the sea, were worlds of beauty, starfish, orange and alive, anemones, seaweed, and patient waiting, a sort of creature faith that water would return.

Water 4

"I myself am a failure at faith. And also impatient at waiting. But I do know this, that thoughts and visions of water are always the same. They are beneath and inside, like the watershed which travels underground and the water that falls into it. And so, despite all my outward journeys, mostly I frequented water in an inner way, looking at the depths of my own life, my body of brine moisture and blood rivers. But there, too, in keeping with the nature of water, I realized my feet would not ever touch bottom.

Water 5

"The inside of a person is more mysterious than the inside of the world. It's just that we seem to inhabit it more plainly. Still, who knows it? Our human theories do not stretch large enough to pass easily through the inner territory. We are too fluid to pin down, and passing through our lives like water, we cannot easily be called back as we fall into self, time, and what seems like destiny. Like water that, in its oceanic destiny, follows a fierce journey of its own desires through rivers, sea waves, and even beneath ground, we each have our own journey too.

Water 6

 "It is only now, from within my own body, and from the other half of a century, that I can begin to see myself. I am just now becoming a human being, as many tribes say. And I am becoming a person old and joyous and vulnerable in new ways. Half a century is a great beginning and still the mystery of the self is there. Like water, I rush toward a destiny, a balance, a harmony. I call it sea level."

The Woman Who Watches Over the World by Linda Hogan

Our hill this winter is green, gold, and soggy, the streams white and wild with winter rain. My studio, though a dry, warm haven, rattles in the wind like a ship at sea. Rain drums on the roof, knocks on windows and enters in muddy paw prints criss-crossing the floor....

Water 7

Water 8

"Water does not resist," writes Margaret Atwood . "Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can't go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does."

Water and welliesThe passage by above is from The Women Who Watches Over the World by Linda Hogan (W.W. Norton & Co., 2001), a painful, brave, and beautiful memoir that I recommend reading in full. The quote by Margaret Atwood is from The Penelopiad (The Canongate Myth Series, 2005). The poem in the picture captions is from Jane Hirshfield's collection  Gravity & Angels (Weslyan University Press, 1988). All rights reserved by the authors.


Tunes for a Monday Morning

Photograph by Dafydd Thomas

Selkie drawing by Alan Lee

Today's music has an ocean theme, with songs of selchies, sailors, and ships lost at sea.

Above, "The Great Selchie" (Child Ballad No. 113), performed by American folk singer Judy Collins and Tommy Maken (of The Clancy Brothers) on a 1992 television program, Songs Of The Sea. (The second guitarist is uncredited.) Collins recorded the song on her second album, The Golden Apples of the Sun, way back in 1962. The ballad's words are traditional, and the tune is by Jim Waters.

Below, "Cruel," performed by Yorkshire singer/songwriter Kate Rusby and her band (including John McCusker on back-up vocals). This traditional song, set to new music by Rusby, appeared on her lovely sixth album, Underneath the Stars (2003).

Illustration by PJ Lynch

Above, the great English folk singer June Tabor performs Cyril Tawney's "The Grey Funnel Line" for BBC 4 in 2011, backed up Andy Cutting, Mark Emmerson, Tim Harries, Mark Lockheart, Martin Simpson, and Huw Warren. June first recorded the song with Maddy Prior on the first of their two collaborative albums, Silly Sisters (1976).

And to end with, original songs from two of my favorite songwriters, both of them from the West Country:

Below, "Lady of the Sea" by Seth Lakeman, who lives here in Devon on the other side of the moor. The song, a long time favorite, is from his third album, Freedom Fields (2006).

Storm at Sea illustration by PJ Lynch

Below, "Bow to the Sailor" by Ange Hardy, who hails from Somerset (the county just east of Devon). The song can be found on her gorgeous third album, Lament of the Black Sheep (2014).

East of the Sun, West of the Moon illustration by PJ Lynch

The photograph above is by Dafydd Thomas, the selkie skin drawing by Alan Lee, & the three paintings by P.J. Lynch.


Tunes for a Monday Morning

In a decade marked by displacement and migration due to war, poverty, and climate change, the emigration songs of Ireland are sadly relevant...and particularly poignant.

Above, the great Irish singer Seán Keane (from Caherlistrane in Galway) sings "Exile" by Kieran Wade, accompanied by Pat Coyne and Sean Regan. The song was recorded for Keane's emigration album The Irish Scattering (2008), but it could equally apply to those fleeing Syria and other troubled parts of the world today.

Below, Sinead O'Connor (from Glenageary, Ireland) sings "Skibbereen," a classic song about Ireland's Great Famime and the Young Irelander Rebellion of 1848. First published in The Irish Singer's Own Book (Boston, 1880), the song is attributed to Patrick Carpenter.

Irish Emigrants Leaving Home

Irish ''Tunnel Tigers''

Irish emigration didn't end with the potato famine, of course. Lack of work (particularly in rural areas) continued to break up families throughout the 20th century...and young people are still leaving Ireland for jobs in England and on the continent today.

Above, "England Has My Man" by Lisa O'Neill, a young singer/songwriter from County Cavan. The song is from her second album, Same Cloth or Not (2013).

Below, "Miles to Tralee" by Kelly Oliver, a young singer/songwriter from Herefordshire, England, telling the story of her Irish grandmother. The song will appear on Oliver's second album, Bedlam (March, 2016).

And to end with:

The song above is "The Exiles Return"  by Karan Casey (from County Waterford) and John Doyle (from Dublin). It comes from their lovely 2011 album of the same title.

Ellis Island

Syria refugee families, early 21st century

The images in this post: "Irish Emigrants Leaving Home," a drawing from The Illustrated London News (mid-19th century); "Tunnel Tigers," Irish migrants employed to do back-breaking, dangerous work on the English/Scottish subway and tunnel systems, mid-20th century; families in the Ellis Island immigrant processing center (New York harbor), early 20th century; and Syrian families in a refugee camp, early 21st century.

For more music on the subject of emigration and displacement, I recommend the "Homesickness" and "Exile" episodes of Ellen Kushner's brilliant radio program Sound & Spirit.