shrimping

We set off for a walk on an October weekend, welly-footed, nets and buckets in hand. Our destination was a series of rock pools near La Turballe. Hidden in the beneath the glittering water amongst the sand and seaweed was a treasure trove of periwinkles, oysters, mussels and shrimps.

la gare, Nantes

 
It's rush hour in Nantes by the time we arrive at the train station. The place is crowded with people, tourists taking photos, office workers pouring out from buses and trams and dashing towards the platforms in their tight trousers, smart suits and high heeled shoes. As we wait for our train in our creased clothes and with our rucksacks on our backs, we are surrounded by commuters. We eavesdrop on their conversations, snatching snippets of their daily grind. We laugh firstly at their funny clothes, their harrassed expressions, the fact that their telephones seem to be an extension of themselves. And then we laught at ourselves. I hadn't realised just how much I've turned into a country bumpkin...

tarte aux pommes

A bowl of apples from our secret orchard were turned into a delicious (gluten and dairy free) tarte aux pommes in the hands of my chéri. Just the thing to raise the spirits on a particularly poorly day at the end of last week. 

(Needles to say, it was so delicious, there wasn't time to photograph it before *abracadabra* it had been magicked away...)  

bittersweet

Ripe sloe berries out in the hedgerows then in our foraging basket are a sure sign that summer's coming to an end...but that sloe gin (or patxaran) for Christmas is in sight. 

chestnuts

He often comes back from his mountain walks pockets bulging with gifts for me, his girl. Today, there were bilberries, rose-hips, parasol mushrooms (my favourite). And chestnuts. Our first chestnuts. Autumn must be coming after all.

walnuts

Walnuts all over. All sizes and colours. Some hiding in their green jackets, some waving to us from high in the trees' branches, some hidden amongst the golden leaves that carpet the ground. Baskets, pockets, bags and hands full. Fingers stained black. Basket-fulls of walnuts. Bucketfulls of black husks, gradually ready for a dye bath in a few weeks. Not yet chilly autumn air that is filled with the scent of early autumn.

nougèr (spun)

After spinning and plying, I dyed the finished yarn using a natural plant dye prepared from the late summer leaves of the walnut tree, “nougèr” in the local dialect.

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"nougèr"

Ingredients: 32g of washed and carded wool. The fibre used was white Berrichon du Cher, from Gèdre.

Spinning: Two singles spun from rolags in the Z direction, using a semi-worsted technique. 

Plying: two singles plied in the S direction until balanced. 

Finishing: Wound off into a skein, washed and dried weighted to set the ply. Naturally dyed with foraged walnut leaves.

Quantity: 30g giving 32m of finished yarn

WPI: 9

Yarn Weight: DK

bilberries

The hillsides are still full of myrtilles sauvages, wild bilberries. Knowing that this glut isn't going to last, we could have picked bucketfulls of these gorgeous little fruits to turn into jams or tartes in the kitchen back at home. But we preferred to follow the lead from the flocks of sheep: sit down and gorge ourselves on the hillside, straight from the bush. 

elergy for a walnut tree

Old friend now there is no one alive
who remembers when you were young
it was high summer when I first saw you
in the blaze of day most of my life ago
with the dry grass whispering in your shade
and already you had lived through wars
and echoes of wars around your silence
through days of parting and seasons of absence
with the house emptying as the years went their way
until it was home to bats and swallows
and still when spring climbed toward summer
you opened once more the curled sleeping fingers
of newborn leaves as though nothing had happened
you and the seasons spoke the same language
and all these years I have looked through your limbs
to the river below and the roofs and the night
and you were the way I saw the world

WS Merwin
From The Moon Before Morning 

in the orchard

There's something wonderfully therapeutic about picking fruit. Even on an especially slow day, when I'm not up to much more than sitting in the long grass and gently knitting a few rows whilst my love does all the hard work. 

 (I've finally succumbed...Melody's enthusiasm for Fairisle is contagious...)

chestnut husks (natural dyed)

In the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air. On the hob, the chestnuts are simmering happily. We rest our tired legs under the table and from the window we can see the billowing clouds hanging low in the valley.

The timer buzzes and drags me from my revery. The chestnuts are done, my coffee cup is empty. It's time to dye some yarn...

I prepare the dye bath as I would if I were to use walnut shells. I boil the shells for about an hour to obtain the dye bath, removing the husks and adding a good dose of white vinegar once the concoction had cooled a little. Then I plunge a skein of damp yarn into the saucepan.

After bringing it once more to the boil, I gently simmer the bath for over an hour. Once the water has sufficiently cooled, I rinse the skein in luke warm water (to avoid felting!) until the water runs clear. 

I'm left with a fabulously smelling skein of yarn in a warm brown tone. I'm rather pleased by the results of my first attempt at natural dyeing...and can't wait to get something onto the needles!  

that old chestnut

After many days of sunshine, we wake to a rather overcast Sunday. The chill in the air is accompanied by gentle rain showers. We pull on a jumper and decide to go with it, pretending it is Autumn rather than early Summer. 

We remember a kilo of foraged chestnuts, lying dormant in the freezer since late autumn. We turn on the radio, take out our pen knives and set to work, side by side.

 

No matter what method you use, preparing foraged chestnuts is always a labour of love. We tend to chill (or freeze) them first for at least an hour before starting. Using a strong, sharp knife, we cut them in half from top to bottom. Then we plunge them into boiling water for about ten minutes before draining and removing the nuts with a paring knife. It helps to keep the nuts warm as we work, as this helps the skins to come off. Once all the nuts are skinned, they then go back into a saucepan covered with water to simmer for about half an hour until tender. 

As we tend to eat mainly vegetarian (and at the moment without both gluten and dairy products too!) chestnuts are one of our favourite wild ingredients. Unlike other nuts, they are lower in oil and protein but higher in starch, which makes them a useful addition to cakes and savoury loaves, including our favourite wild chestnut and mushroom loaf from our French Vegetarian cookery bible: Ma cuisine végétarienne pour tous les jours by Garance Leureux (Editions La Plage). 

500g of wild chestnuts in their skins will yield about 350g once prepared. And what to do with all those left over husks...?

busy hands

We're now back in our valley home, after a few weeks away. Lately, fatigue has been becoming more and more a heavy weight around my neck. Not the everyday tiredness that comes from leading a hectic life. Nor the Sunday morning sluggishness and lethargy be-known to students brought on by one too many sugary cups of coffee, frequent late nights or not enough fresh vegetables. Rather an exhaustion that greets you when you wake in the morning, that a good night sleep won't lift. A tiredness so consuming it seeps into your bones, that could drain away all happiness if you let it do so.

Just a few short months ago, I was a teacher and translator. Working for myself from home. Weaving together words and untangling muddled syntax. It feels like another life ago. I've been off work since March, too ill to work. And as this current rough seems to be showing no sign of abating, looks like I'll be taking the rest of the summer off too.

As we try to navigate our way back to that path of wellness, my days have been stripped back to the essential. Eating wholesome food. Fresh air. Long sleeps. Deep breaths.

Foraging in the woods helps. Picnics in the sunshine helps. Spending time with friends helps. And above all, keeping my hands busy helps.

breathing space

A pause had been in order for a very long time. A pause from work. A pause from the valley.

I left for Dorset, returned in Normandy. Now we are in Brittany to rest beside the sea. These weeks spent with my family and belle-famille are starting to resemble an early spring ritual now. Off we go in search of the elusive Spring that still shows no sign of turning up back down in our mountains, recharging our batteries and renewing links with our points d'ancrage.

flotsam and jetsom

 

We've been walking in woodlands, across meadows and through salt marshes. But today I am in my favourite place, beside the sea. I walk along the shore at a snail's pace. I take baby steps. It's frustratingly slow and I seem to tire very easily at the moment. But this will have to do for now.

The sea  invigorates me. I feel the breath rush out of my lungs and the sharp intake of new air. The tang of salt spray, the sound of surf, the call of the sea birds.

Spindle in hand, I walk slowly and carefully, just at that place where the waters and the sand overlap.

I walk slowly because I am tired today. But also to keep the yarn that I am slowly creating from breaking and loosing the whole thing to the sea...

As I walk, as I spin, I find other fibres twisted together by man but also spun by Mother Nature herself, thrown up from the depths of the sea's belly to rest here a while on the sand.

wild larder

  1) Nettles. 2) Lungwort. 3) Cowslips. 4) Navelwort.  

We haven't had a veggie garden since last spring, when a terrible flood washed it down to the sea. But Mother Nature has been kind to us so far this year, ensuring our larder stays stocked full of fresh greens and vitamins, providing you know where to look  of course.

Nettle soup and pesto. Watercress and navelwort salad. Wild garlic tarte. Beside the river, the green shooting things keep on sprouting. In the kitchen, the possibilities are endless.