November
November is a transitory month, the harvest is over, and my pantry is stocked with Elderberry jam, Hawthorn ketchup and all sorts of syrups that have gone into voluntary fermentation; meanwhile, the dark ebbs ever nearer. This shift in energy feels a little uncomfortable at first and my mind and body resist the slowness, so tuned into believing productivity is what makes for success. But, as the cold hits, I find myself willingly retreat indoors, light the fire and begin a crafty project.
Death and dormancy are essential processes in nature. Without them, there can be no growth nor new possibilities. With this in mind, I try to embrace the dream-like state Winter can induce. Learning that we, like plants cannot perform the same all year round has been incredibly powerful and allowed me to be slower. Rest, nourishment and creativity are the three things I most look forward to in Winter.
In the Field
This November has been bizarrely warm with no threat of frost so far. As a result, dandelions, nettles and other lush greens jump out at me on my walks. Instinctively, I know this is not the food I should be gathering right now, instead, I turn my attention to the vegetable garden, harvesting squash, beetroot and potatoes. I think potatoes are such an underrated food. For me, root vegetables are one of the biggest joys in Winter. They fuel an inner furnace whilst I’m outside working in the garden all day.
In the Woods
November blesses us with the delights of Winter Chanterelles, Hedgehog Mushrooms and Amethyst Deceivers. Hedgehogs are my favourite, cooked the same day in lots of butter and garlic. Last year, I pickled a large jar of Winter Chanterelles; they felt incredibly luxurious and transformed the dullest of dishes come January and February. So much so, I’ve decided to make another jar this year after filling my basket full one afternoon. I shall leave the recipe for you below.
I am in love with bracken this year. They are bronze flames lighting up the woodland floor. If you’re lucky enough to be out in the woods on a bright, Autumnal day, look out for where the light streams down through the canopy leaving orbits around the bracken. It is something out of a fairy tale.
Winter Chanterelles.
1 kg chanterelles (or any firm mushrooms)
1 tablespoon black peppercorns
1 tablespoon coriander seeds
1 litre white wine vinegar
2 cloves of garlic, finely sliced
2 sprigs of woody herbs (we used rosemary and thyme)
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon ground allspice
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon flaky sea-salt
2 tablespoon sugar
Good quality olive oil (not extra-virgin, which is too strongly flavoured), enough to cover the mushrooms in the jars
In a dry frying pan, roast the peppercorns and coriander seeds, shaking the pan frequently so that they don’t burn. Set aside.
Pour the vinegar into a large pan. Add the the roasted spices, garlic, herbs, ground spices, sugar, salt and 500ml water. Stir and bring to the boil.
Add the chopped mushrooms, bring the back to a simmer and cook for 15–20 minutes (or until the mushrooms are cooked through). Remove the pan from the heat and leave to cool a little. Scoop out the mushrooms with a slotted spoon and spread them onto a clean teatowel to dry.
Pack the dry pickled mushrooms into the jars and pour in enough olive oil to cover. Fasten the lids onto the jars and shake them gently to ensure there are no air bubbles and all the mushrooms are well covered. Store the jar in a cool place – unopened, they should keep for up to 2 months.
In the Garden
The garden is going to bed and I really wish to follow. Instead, I have been busy up and down ladders pruning roses. This is a joy of a job, especially in a garden with such characterful and romantic Roses. Despite concern, I am grateful for this mild Winter; the birds have had longer to feast on the hips, and I have had more time to make rosehip syrup and rosehip and orange jam. I covet rosehips, the plumper the better.
In the Cauldron
Willow dye bath.
There has been a hype of activity in my cauldron this November. All sorts of plant material has been brewed for dyeing. Willow has been the biggest triumph yielding an extraordinary Autumnal pink! This proved quite the contrast to earlier in the Summer when the exact same plant gave a golden grey. Mysteries such as this confirm my love for the craft; full of surprises and always so much to learn. I am intrigued by the science behind it all too. My immediate reaction was to assume the colour change is related to the break down of chlorophyll within the Willow revealing anthocyanin, the pigment responsible for Autumn colour. I can tell my cauldron won’t be having much of a rest this Winter, I have been dreaming up many new dyeing endeavours – silk ribbons for Christmas, testing new plant materials and perhaps most excitingly, dyeing wool which I am attempting to spin myself!
In the Fire
The fire is a metaphor for things that are ‘cooking’. This could be food, dreams, plans etc. At the moment, it feels fair to say I have been planning and dreaming a lot. I think Winter is the perfect time for dreaming. Reflecting on what we have harvested the year gone and plotting for the following. I am feeling very excited about the prospect of holding some workshops next year. I am so passionate about trying to carve out a slow and seasonal way of living in this somewhat frantic world. The possibility of being able to share this with others brings me a huge amount of joy.
Inspiration
I was recently told the etymology of inspiration, in-spirito meaning, to be in spirit. I think that is beautiful and very true. When we are inspired, we are surely in spirit too. It goes without saying that I am most inspired by nature, the subtle shifts in the season. But, a large source of my inspiration comes from the art and craft of others.
I feel very fortunate to have a strong relationship with a knowledgeable and extremely creative woman in my local village, Charlotte Molesworth. Charlotte’s way of living inspires me endlessly. From the beginning, Charlotte and her husband Donald have put sustainability at the forefront of their lives creating an extraordinary home and garden from scratch. Every box started as a cutting, plants were gifted from friends, and furniture found in skips and then ‘upcycled’ to become bohemian works of art; Charlotte and Donald have breathed life into all they do and in return the place thrives. It is a timeless and enticing symbol of ‘slow living'.
Recently I visited Charlotte with the intention of being taught to spin wool from local fleece. Spinning is a craft I have been yearning to learn for a while. I craved to connect to fibre in its raw essence, to observe and be a part of its transformation into a textile. I see this as a large and important part of my plant dyeing journey and understanding of textile production in a slow and sustainable way.
Charlotte, with a great deal of patience, did indeed teach me to spin; but more than that, through passing on this ancient craft, Charlotte enabled me to connect to the source, to elders, to women, to farmers, to fashion, to knowledge, to community and to the moment.
To thank Charlotte for her time and the wheel, I traded Winter Chanterelles that I had found in the woods that morning.
