Irish Traveller Craft Weave a thread/ Grat'i glūtug

Weaving and yarn spinning is a part of our human heritage, in both our history and the mythologies that grow and entwine themselves about it. From the three fates who spun, tethered and severed the cords of existence to the tales of sleeping beauty, the thread of safety that guided wandering souls though the ancient labyrinth of rebirth to even that of the magickal spindle of Manannan Mac Lir who wove a cloak of mist and invisibility for all those that were blessed to posses it

The Pavee like most of the Elder people spun and wove threads in the night, gathering fleece and mane to spin into garments and cords, enchanting them with thoughts, prayers and the wishes yet to unfold. This was done not only for income but for protection, deflection, enchantment and prayer.



For a while now I've being weaving, with fingers that are growing nimble and a roll of thread that is growing and awaiting binding and knitting. I've found it surprisingly relaxing, somewhat addictive and very inspiring towards forging a deeper connection with the past and the echoes of it that I carry with me. Even tonight after some time spinning I feel the past near and the future brighter, woven like the threads with purpose and cause.

How to spin and weave thread

First yarn is needed.
You can gain this through the fleece of sheep and goats as well as the wind caught mane of horses, any good farmers market or knitting store. I find that having a good relationship with any local vets is a godsend for this and so many other crafts. I especially enjoy walking along the field sides in spring and collecting the yarn from barbed wire and bush tips.

Get yourself a spindle.
Drop spindles are easy to find, though if you cant you can always get yourself an old CD and attach a stick to it. However I have a liking for the older Pavee spindles, they were 90 degree branch angles, spun between fingers with one hand and lent too by the other. The above picture shows mine, it's made from white thorn and measures about five inches in length.

Spinning
Now, to begin spinning you need to first have a leader/lean too for the yarn to follow. You can start this by tying about 10-15 inches of thread onto the spindle.

Leave the fibers at the end of the lean too loose, threading yarn between your fingers onto the lean too while holding the spindle in one hand and spin it clockwise.

Allow yourself a lot of practice in how your thread on the yarn, how much tension given by the twisting spindle and how quick you can move it. Always allow yourself “fluff” at the end of the thread so that you can add more yarn as you go along.

Winding.
Try to keep tension on your new threads to allow the twists to run in the same direction, which gives strength and order to the thread. Because yarn always comes through at a different rate and size, keep an eye on the depth of the thread, by adjusting the tension you can change how thick or thin the thread will be. Once you get to full extended arms reach, just loop the thread to the centre of the spindle and start again using the new thread as you would of the original lean too.

Spinning techniques and ideas.
I find that a gentle rocking motion can give ease to the spinning and weave in a sense of connection. For those that have a sense of the living mysteries this can not only help alter the state of consciousness but give a deeper sense of repertoire between the spindle, the thread and the intention of the weaver.

Whispering in prayers, listening to sacred songs as you spin can make for an excellent act of personal connection, giving power and association to the work as it is in motion and later when it is worn.

Depending on the work there is a wide horizon of possibilities, from weaving in herbs, feathers, sacred charms, soot and dust, holy oil and nail, hair and living breath.

If the fancy takes you spend time considering the wood of the spindle, if you want to inscribe words and symbols upon it. WIth a little bit of effort you can take a simple tool and make it a potent vessel for change and progression.

Currently I'm working on a bracelet for my sister and a prayer filled thread for a necklace drop. The possibilities of such a craft and engagement are as limitless as the imagination and intention of those that weave.

*If your yarn if pulling apart, add a few more twists to it and work slowly in the spins to weave them firm.
*If your going to use dye, it is best to do so before you thread and bind the yarn, as it sets for a better over all colour and you can get the in between fibers.
*Depending on the spindle size it will sooner or later start to wobble and become difficult to spin, when this happens just remove the yarn from the spindle and start over. When knitting you can make a small side knot to bind them together.
*I like too double spin my yarn, which is once the length is done I start a second with more yarn, this time I just spin it the opposite direction.
*I noticed that my last three posts have being craft orientated, expect more cultural insights soon!

Irish Traveller Craft Collecting tree sap/Bog'ath skracho liba

Tree sap is like the blood of the woods, it's waters are wild with a hidden sweetness, a drift with it's own flow, it courses unseen through the beating heart of every forest, calling out and collecting it. Mostly unknown and unnoticed it ripples through the land and those that grow upon it...



Tree sap can be used to make syrup, the base of medicine, the crust of incense, the binding agent in bread and biscuits, as a healing salve, fermented into a potent alcoholic beverage as well as a carrier of the many beneficial and potent qualities of the tree it was collected from.

There are a number of trees and bushes which can be successfully tapped for their sap. Some are suitable for human consumption the others only for external use or only of the arts of the twilight nights. For example, Willow which can give a high yield may seem welcoming but the sap contains a lot of salicylic acid, which is the active ingredient of Aspirin. As you can imagine, it would be best, not mixed with mundane foods.

Freshly made Birch syrup

Tree's that are traditionally held to be suitable for tapping:

Birch
Ash
Larch
Beech
Lime
Sycamore
Willow
Elder

I have tried all of the above, my favourite by far being that of birch, it has a light scent and somewhat sweet. It works great as an astringent and seems to take being frozen far better then any of the others.

Things to consider before tapping a tree

*Correctly identify the tree, it's qualities and suitability of use.
*Traditional warms to keep away from guardian trees, those that are the biggest and most dominant within a forest or woods. Legend holds that such a tree is a living guardian of the area, who's roots entwine with all the others, to wound it, even in a shared exchange, is to draw danger to all those that rest beneath it's branches.
*It is recommended not to tap a Yew tree of that of Hawthorn.
*Check for illness on in the tree itself and around it, like wise if it has being wounded previously by winds, over growth of fungus or animals. Allow such trees to rest and renew, you don't want to do any permanent damage.
*Don't retap a tree until at least three years later.
*Take heed of the season. While tapping in March gives a quick bounty, winter offers very little to none.
*Please bare in mind that although powerful and majestic, trees are also living, so only take from mature trees that can cope with the exchange.
*Leave something in return, be it coins, some ale, seeds. Not only does it respect the tree but you partake in the eternal dance of respectful co-existence.

How to collect the Liba/Sap:

The most basic way is to simply drill a hole in the lower trunk, about 30mm deep, though depending on the tree different degrees of penetration are required. Drill the hole slightly upwards so that gravity can help the process along.

You can now either insert a plastic tube to act as a drip or a funnel pipe with a bucket below it. Be sure to cover both the hole and end of tube (that goes into the container) well, to avoid insects and woodland drift.

Let the tap drip naturally for 48 hours before collection, then seal the wound. Some people use some loose twigs to bind the wound but I find this risky as the tree can continue to bleed through. I use a simple poultice ofcomfrey root and water, it binds well, hardens quick and will naturally fall away after the tree has started to heal.

Preserving the Liba/Sap:

While some, like beech you can drink immediately while others are best turned into a syrup. Most will start to cloud and go “sour”, if left unprocessed within a day or two. I like do boil mine down into a syrup, depending on the tree it can take anywhere from 3 litres to make 200ml of syrup to 10 gallons for a single pint.

Open fires are best for this, as electrical and gas stoves although acceptable can prove to be expensive in the long run. Once done you have little more to do but enjoy and share :)

If you dare, do let me know how you get on!

*Skracho ‘a tree, bush’. Thought to arise from the Gaelic 'sgeach'.

Irish Traveller Craft Pavee Clothes dyeing/ Gotchcha chiych

“Sure her shawl was blue like the evening sky, and her hair was as dark as night
Dyed it was in morning dew, and it shun with it's own light”

-Extract from 'The tinker woman's shawl' by Mikey Kelly, Cork 1934



Dyes, woven from the herbs of nature not only carry the colour of the wild but the power, purpose and properties of the herbs used. Many of the old one regularly utilised and partook of these gifts in the making of shawls and other garments, so too it was often used in the renewing of old things gifted or found, giving fresh life and beauty to what would otherwise be left behind.

While in our modern times we have out grown some of these skills, we are not without their knowledge and possibility of use and if we are willing and in the want, there is a whole harvest of potential just waiting for us.

Firstly, when dyeing it is always best to consider the fabric being used. Not many realise and I certainly didn't at the beginning but all fabrics dye differently. Animal fibers such as wool dye very differently then that of vegetable fibers like linen and cotton, even how they tend to dry is different.

For the dyeing/gotchcha you'll need:

Large pot.
Tongs.
Wooden spoon/cleaned sticks for stirring.
Clothes line to hang cloth to dry.
Fresh water.
Mortar and pestle for grinding.
Measuring spoons.
Colour fixative.

A colour fixative is very important, especially here in Ireland where it rains almost two out of three days (though hasn't the weather being amazing the last while!) I tend to use vinegar but in delicate or old wool it's not always the best. Experiment with it and your herbs to see which ones work best for you.

Easily found fixatives:

Vinegar.
Old penny coins (it's the copper).
Rusty nails.
Backing soda.

General rule of thumb for the herbs:
I boil 1 pound of herbs to every 5 gallons of water, for about 2 hours. I then strain off the herb and add my fixative and boil for another 20 minutes. Then it's time to add (up to 2 pounds of fabric) and boil away for 15 or so minutes. Rinse wool and hang out to dry.

Walla!

Other herbs traditionally used in dyeing:

Black: Alder
Brown: Burdock, Comfrey, Onion and Fennel.
Amber: Goldenrod, Plantain.
Blue: Elder, Elecampane.
Pink: Bloodroot, Beet, Madder
Green: Angelica, Betony, Foxglove, Rosemary and every reliable Yarrow
Gray: Poplar and much to my surprise, raspberry.
Red: Dandelion, St. Johns Wort and hops.

*Polyester I have found rarely takes natural dyes well.
*Now, if your going to dye some clothes that have being previously worn make sure that it has being washed very-very well as the natural oils of the body can often make the colour take unevenly (though to be honest this seems to only be an issue when doing t-shirts and the likes).
*Try adding rubber gloves to the tools needed, while getting your hands in their, with all it's rustic charm may have it's glory, having stained hands for about a week certainly take the shine off it a bit.
*Image courtasy of Richard of Nomadic Media
*Tʹūch/ Chiych; ‘clothes’. Thought to arise from the word 'ēadach'.
*Gotchcha; ‘colour’ thought to arise from the Gaelic 'dath'.
*Don't be afraid to play around with quantities and herbal blends, you might surprise yourself :)

Gri gru/ Tessomancy blend give away!

The fire dances to the twilight tune, drawing its jagged amber toned figures across the grass, etching out it's boundary in a warming crackling carousel. Our breath rises like a mist, a silver smoke that lingers before weaving it's way into the dark, escaping from our lips into the mystery of the night.

We sit close to the fire, one keeping it ablaze and the kettle filled, the other moves with nimble fingers grinding and blending the herbs, all the while weaving whispers and thoughts into the movements, the scents rises and draw the mind close, the cups are gathered and the tales... they are about to come...

The cup, the tea, the key...

Tea leaf reading has being a part of the Pavee lore and peoples practice for a time longer then most can remember. Some have read for an insight, piercing the cup and stewed herbs for sights to be seen in the sake of aid and comfort, while others it must be said have taken to its trade, for the sound of filled pocket and a fed stomach.

The ways of a cup reading are many and the techniques are many more, however the recipes are among those things that people once spoke about in hushed voices, for fear of being seen as foolish or more so for giving away the secrets gathered through the trials of road and the glimpses of the world greater then us all.

One of the recipes I like to use, and I use many, is below. Each ingredient is picked with care, intention, attention given to the time and passage of nature and the natural forces, along with respect for the plant it was gifted from.

Gri gru/ Fortune tea

Hazelnut leaves
Rose hips
Apple
Mint
Marigold flowers
Borage
Dandelion petals
Rose blossoms

At the moment I've a large jar of homemade Gri gru/ Tessomancy/ Tea leaf reading tea to give away, all you need to do to be in with a chance to win is comment below, a tale or story from your own life or cultural background. What ever it is :)

At the end of the month ill randomly pick a commenter and post it off to them – as the young one's say: simples.

*Now, usually like to add some traditional Indian black too it too, although it's never being the dominant base of any of my teas.
*Gris ‘fortune’, ‘charm’ 'knowing'. Thought to arise from the Gaelic 'fios' meaning ‘knowledge’.
*Gre; ‘tea’. Thought to arise from the Gaelic 'tae' which is a Gaelic/English loan word.
*The key is one that was owned by my grandmother, I like to have it near by when trying to scry and pierce through to the knowledge of the self.

Irish Traveller Cure Grit'a griwa awast/ Sweeping away illness

Mala nu sedi, mala nu clispen, nu mala a lart o ghammi srilik

The hand that heals, the hand that hurts, the hand that mends the broken wheel
-Traditional healing prayer



Stories I believe are a part of us all, just as much as us as our breath and bone, flesh and heart held hopes. they are woven through us like the very fabric of our being, stories like this are our mysteries and our wonder; they are our horrors and our deep gnawing pain and yet they too are the light of our redemption.

Over the last month or so I have being taking part in a folklore project, among many of the treasures gained is an insight into the lesser known remedies used by the elder Pavee and in part, through the union of shared heritage, that of the wider Irish Tradition.

Here are some I have come across, give them a look over and ponder the rythem and roll within them. Not only do they give breath to the understanding of illness, and the active engagement of it's rememdy, but does much to colour in the images and perceptions of healing as held by the Elders.


Ailments and their remedies

Acne: Horseradish vinegar, fresh dew on the firs morning of may, Goats milk.

Asthma: Greased brown paper applied to the chest, onion and honey.

Backache: Rubbing your back of the gravestone of a direct family member. Rubbing fresh garlic on the chest area.

Burns: Putting butter onto the burn. Juice of elder bark, marigold lard and cabbage leaf.

Childbirth: For an easy labour keep a hens feather near the bed (Perhaps symbolic projection of the ease in which hens lay their eggs).

Colds: Yarrow and Elder blossom tea, ground ginger and water.

Constipation: Chewing liquorice root.

Depression: Nettle soup. Apple cider vinegar.

Diarrhoea: Camomile tea, Blackberry root, marigold tea, warm milk with fresh mushroom.

Earache: Get a child with the same name as you to blow in your ear. Wash your ear out with the strained juices of previously boiled hawthorn leaves.

Eczema: Half a potato rubbed onto the skin. Pulp carrots and cabbage and apply to effected area while it is still warm.

Gallstones: Taking three teaspoons of castor oil daily is said to help with pain.

Headaches: Rosemary oil or warm Rosemary tea rubbed onto the feet.

Insomnia: Lime blossom and Valerian tea. Eat a raw onion before bed.

Kidney pains: Drink holy waters. Blackcurrent jam. Nettle tea.

Memory: Rosemary and lemon balm tea. Rubbing your temples with a stone from a holy well.

Rheumatism: Beating the joints gently with fresh nettle. Poultice of yellow dock and sweet meadow.

Ringworm: Rubbing a crab apple onto effected area (later burning the apple). Coat in a fresh bread compress.

Sinuses: Suck on a piece of natural beeswax.

Skin ulcers: Milk with blackberry. A poultice of oak leaves. Coal tar.

Sting: Dock leaves. Urine.

Warts: Juice of the Dandelion stem, trail of a snail. Soil from a relatives grave

*Photo by Kelly Cook
*I hope that once I have cleared up the audio that ill be able to host them here on the blog in MP3 form.

Irish Traveller Stories Tale of the Owl / Ulchabhán lʹesko

A very short traditional tale....

The night they say was still when the voice was heard, calling through the branches of a juniper tree to those that sat in the circle about a fire, kindled with hopes of holding back the hungry hands of winter.



From under the sheltering arms of the tree arose an owl, feathers silver like the moon, soft as the first breath of morning wind, with eyes like obsidian that caught and shimmed in the flickering flames of the fire.

“Death is coming” said the owl, with a voice that echoed through the air. “Death is coming...”.

Those that heard arose to their feet, fear raised, horror was in their footing as they ran away. They ran to the high lands and the low lands, they ran to the burnt lands and to the altars of the stone church. For a day they shook hands, forgive grudges, held each other tight, lit candles against their own shadows and sung loud of hopes and the glory of life.

That night death did not visit but again the Owl came and again the Owl spoke... “Death is coming. Death is coming....”

Like before the people found the winter chill kiss their bones and fear dance in their mind and once again they held each other tight through the night, speaking words of hope, of kindness, of love...

Again death did not visit....

On the third night the ruffle of feathers against the night air was heard and like before the owl arose and spoke to the Pavees as they sat about the freshly kindled fire.

“Death is coming, death is coming...”

This time though the Pavee's let the words fall on empty ears, some shouted “away with you owl, we will have no more of you!”, others still threw stones and filled the air with cries of anger.

With that the Owl took to the wind and spoke no more to the Pavees by the fire.

In the days that followed most talked of the Owl as a liar and a fool but as the days turned to years and years to decades those who had the hearts to listen, understood the message of the Owl.

Death is coming... be it in the coming dawn or in the far off horizon....

...however kindness, hope and love is already here.

So, go on, ask yourself... do you need an Owl in your life? Would you listen or throw stones?

*Painting by Susan Tower.
*Lʹesko is thought to arise from the Gaelic 'sgēal'.

Irish Traveller Recipe Geimhread Gre/ Winter tea

Late last night, after a reminder of a promise sowed in the hight of spring; I went camping. Cold and frost bitten the night was, but so full of stars and whispering winds. We took shelter by a high bank next to a slow running river and set camp with as much warmth and safety our numbing hands could manage.

It truly brought home the strength of those who did this on a daily basis. Myself and my companion, a northern Pavee who hungers to embrace the elder ways, talked for at lenght of how it may of being out of pattern and ignorance that many people clung to the one of the many cultural aspects, namely the nomadic ways.



Though we eventually agreed that it all seemed so very hollow, lacking in both an innate intuitive understanding and the lingering calls and wounds of forced assimilation. I recalled again the well worn saying, that I heard so many times in my youth; “it may of being hard, but it was beautiful”.

We kindled a fire with flint and ruffled straw, built with dry twigs and well pressed paper. With patience and a timed breath we lured it into flame, welcoming it slowly with offerings of larger wooden pieces and clumps of reed. Finally it danced in the night, it's smoke weaving up beyond the glare and blending into the darkness, one whose stood as a silent company, that seemed welcoming and reassuring.

We set about to make a warming winter tea, gathering together some local herbs and those saved and dried since the hight of summer. We boiled water in skillet pots and with warmed fingers ground the herbs between fingers and palms.

If you'd like to try the blend, based on a sharing of two:

2 tbsp of dried rosehips
2 tbsp. Of dried chamomile flowers
1 tbsp. fresh ginger root
2 tsp. Crushed fresh juniper berries
2 ltrs of freshly boiled water

It brought us warmth and good taste as we sat beside the flickering flames. We sat and talked about life, heritage and changes. Seeding new plans to do this again, to never forget and to try, when we could, to steal back the songs, rhythms and beautiful light.

In respect of our shared belonging, tonight I raise my cup to you x

Irish Traveller Heritage Remembering the old ones / Granhē'ath a ogak nuk

Here at the dawning days of December I find myself looking back to the month of November, which was born from the twilight hours of Samhain, a day, event and time within the circle of the year that is very dear to me.

Samhain to the elder ones was the time when that veil between the world thinned and wore weak, allowing for just a while, the void between what was, and what is, to dance among the moments.



Within the month of November visiting of the graves, or place of earthly loss, is held to be very important. The candles for the dead, gifts for the souls and recalling of old tales is paramount, reminding the living of the footsteps that brought us to where we now are and the life's through which our own has come into being.

I like to bring gifts of memory and connection to my ancestors, such as hot tea and fresh tobacco, a comic book and drops of whiskey. Sometimes I sing in a low voice favourite songs or whisper prayers to the wind, other times it's just a wandering conversation as I pluck weeds and roots from the resting place.

Most of all though I like to give them candles, candles of many colours and sizes, some scented and some that melt and drip like morning dew. I like to offer up a prayer too, or share at meals some of my own.

Shelta:
O granhē mils,
A tōm grua,
Se monikers a granhē, se monikers wikad stafa ni gresko,
O granhē mils,
Dils grīto a grītoath,
Dils karkn a liba sa suds o munia ladu,
O granhē mils,

Translation:
I remember you,
my beloved many,
Who's names I know and who's names have long gone unspoken,
I remember you,
Your breath I breathe,
Your body and blood has mingled with the sacred soil,
I remember you.

Keeping the memory is so important, as the old ones say it keeps us linked through the threads of life, as is marking the places of transition. On any journey through the lands of Ireland you may find yourself coming across headstones and markers of places where some Pavees have died. In part this is marking the spot in reverence of the life lived while at other times it is both a response to the generation of those who were given rest without such markings, likewise when a voice goes unheard people find other ways to speak out, seeking to be known, to be understood, to be remembered.

Who ever you are, where ever you are from, I hope you take time to recall and give thanks to the sacrifices of those who have come before you, marking their transitions and recalling that not only are they a part of our past but they are very much an intricate aspect and living presence within our present.

*Samhain is also known as Halloween.

Irish Traveller Craft The Birthing cord/ Srāpa o'Gachlin

“With the safe confinement cord I cant go wrong!”
-Breda Claffey, in the play Honey Spike

To the elder Pavee cords have always held power. Not just in their presence but in their making, their weaving, their knotting and even their different intention of use.



In modern times with all our luxuries and often distant view of such skills and effort it can be difficult to perceive the reasoning behind such belief, but if we take time to consider that cords are threads of being, woven by the human hand with intention, thought and skill, then it is more understandable for them to be associated with such potential and power.

Among the many cords that were and continue to be used, even if some are in a somewhat fractured form, is that of the 'birthing cord'.

The birthing cord is constructed out of three cords, intwined into one, each symbolising a different aspect of the female form, enchanted with a prayer and bound to the body out of both reverence and the want of it's effect.

The cord is made out of two white cords and one red.

White Cord: The young maiden/ A Gothen
Red Cord: The Mother/ A Kamair
White Cord: The old woman/ A Ogak Beoir

The two white cords are symbolic of the phases in female life where bringing forth a child is not possible. Those of childhood and old age, where the body keeps its blood and the flesh remains unmarked. The red is the blood of giving, that which passes from mother to child, linking each through the ages, each to each in a chain unbroken since the primal beginning.

By weaving the cords for one who stands in the place of being, A kamair. andhe tie-ing and knotting it, it is said to hold them there in safety while honouring that sacred place of being.

Once the three are woven into one cord it can be blessed.. Most often a local priest or nun was called upon for such things, but a heartfelt prayer was also thought to be enough:

Stafara
“Bwikad a kamair, lart a kon'in
gramil o lusul, dʹonådu coldee
Ala sha Dhalyōn o ragli”

Prayer:
“Keep the mother and mind the child
like a flower let them bloom
Another in the garden of God”

In modern times most who honour the birthing cord have come to wear that of the St Philomena cord. While hers is designed to be tied about the stomach it is most often ties to the wrist in line with the elder tradition.

It is not just woman though who wore and wear this, but that of male youths and men, as the binding of the blood honoured their parents too and stood as both a point of connection and blessed holder of luck, love and the protective colour red.

Perhaps you too fancy weaving your own... go on, it takes but a short time and some attentive motions.

*Konʹīn; ‘a child’. Etymology is unusual but possibly a hypocoristic adaptation of the Gaelic 'coinīn' meaning ‘a rabbit’
*Picture by James, the ever reliable owner of a very impressive camera.
*Gramail; ‘like’, is thought to arise from the Gaelic 'amhail'.
*Ala; ‘another’, is thought to arise from the Irish eile.
*Koldni/ coldni, coldi ‘a bud’, is thought to arise from the Gaeilic 'coinnle'.

Irish Traveller Stories The well of Answers

Lʹesk'ath Skrubol

We gathered where the land was flat and dry, where the ancient oak trees stood on the horizon like sentinels of the night. We sat in a circle around a fire kindled with dry drift wood gathered that morning and some keirans of turf we gathered along the twisting dusty road. The fire was dancing before us, it's golden dew washing over us in warmth and good company, welcoming the night and the jewelled sky.



Fresh tea, dry ginger bread and old brewed ale swapped hands as we whispered and hummed along to the chill and the wind. Soon it started. First with a song, then a tale, then a poem, then a joke, soon to the rhythm of a dance and the listening to the call of an friendly owl that came from the west.

Among many told was one that stuck a cord with me, my own visit to a well and the common bonds shared in the circle of the night.

A traditional tale: The well of answers....

At the bottom of a valley in Kerry, where the hill of Dunkerron meets the lands of the O'Sullivan stands a well known as the well of answers.

To pass it in the night you would not know if for anything else then a pitch of stone, much like a fallen much forgotten old wall and in the day would think more then twice to drink from it, but once it was a well that people had gathered too. With a wooden frame which was once used to raise the water and a shining bucket used to keep it's life sustaining fluid.

In those days it is said a young Pavee man, in no more then his 17th year was passing when he came across an old crone. Ragged and wrinkled she was, with a face etched in time and a thousand sorrows, her hair was ruffled and carried with it some twigs and leaves most likely gathered as the old woman had made her way through the woods. Her hands were rough and stained with mud, her teeth a cold yellow and her back twisted like an old hawthorn.

She etched towards him, in guarded steps as the air moved about her, carrying a stench like death and rotting leaves. She called to the young Pavee and he answered. Soon they began to speak and share there knowings of the day. Time was quickly passing and before the young Pavee and the old crone parted she stepped again closer to him. She told him that in her youth she was a beautiful maiden, as wild as the morning sun and as enchanting as the first breath of a child. All her life though she stood in waiting for a handsome man that would kiss her, for her and not for sake of the eye.

In her waiting though time had made it's own advances and she was stripped of her youth and fleshy beauty. She spoke in sorrow of how she had never being kissed and made a promise to the young Pavee, in sight of the forest floor and ancient hills that she would tell him a great secret if he would kiss her.

The young Pavee touched by her tale took the old crone in his arms and with a great embrace kissed her. At that very moment, when there lips touched the old crone transformed herself into a beautiful maiden, with hair of a fiery red that shone like polished silver and skin that glowed with the joys of the moment.

The young Pavee, shocked at the transformation was stunned for words. The maiden then lent forward and whispered into his ear.

“Take a stone that rest at your feet and truly give it to the well. What your heart wishes for, you will have”.

With that she disappeared into the air, leaving nothing but the shimmer of her presence in her passing.

The young Pavee still shocked at what had happened took route away from the well and returned to his camp. That night about the flames of the camp fire he told the tale of what happened. Everyone there listened to his words and took in mind that they would travel to the well and take a stone to its waters.

The next morning most who were of age left the camp and travelled to the well. The young Pavee however stayed behind, still stirred by his meeting with the old crone.

That night the rest of the camp returned, excitedly carrying with them gifts and treasures, minds of high hopes and lungs filled with cheer with the prices they would get for the jewels they now possessed.

Hearing how the well had granted their wishes the young man decided to gather his courage and decided the next morning he too would go to the well.

At dawn he left and once he was within sight he picked a stone and holding it close to his heart he whispered his wish to it. Holding it up he was about to throw it into the water when he realised that the well was now filled with stones. Having being filled the day before by those who had come before him.

Looking about him he saw how the valley seemed worn and wounded, he knew that the water of the well would be missed and so with his stone and hopeful heart he tossed the stone into the well wishing for its waters to return.

After a few brief moments he heard a plop as the stone drew itself into the water. He knew in that instance that the stones had being taken.

Turning around with intention of returning to the camp he caught glimpse of the young maiden sitting a few feet form him. She smiled and told him that the wishes that had came before him were no more, for they were not the secret she had told him.

She again repeated her promise, lingering for a moment or two on words that willed the truth into his mind and heart...

“Take a stone..... that rest at your feet..... and truly give it... to the well. What your heart wishes for....., you will have”.

She had promised no worldly wishes for they rested in the mind she had only promised those of the heart, the true wishes and wants... and he had gained one of the greatest of them. Knowing when to take and when to return, being kind and having the courage to look beyond what the eye glares.

With that the story ended, the teller agreed with us that the young Pavee must of also of won the maidens heart and lived a life full with wonder and love. Not without troubles however or the wants of the day but one as grand as any tale and as bright as any star.

*The best part of the story is however we were told is that with kindness we can be transformed, with courage we can be renewed and with the effort to pick up our own stones and stir the water of the well... who knows what we can achieve.

Irish Traveller Craft Make Tin Can Lanterns

Nʹāka ludus

Lanterns, luminaries and lamps are among the more famous of the Pavee metal crafts. The skill of mending, brazing and tapping even now brings a lot of cheer and happiness to those fortunate to still work with the earth and her gifts.

Traditionally lamps would be mended out of a single sheet of metal, mostly tin or brass and to the more fortunate that of copper and would of taken a long time with much patience. However modern conveniences offers up a modern aid that puts making a lamp within the reach of most people.



Gather some empty food cans that have plain sides without ridges. Although those with ridges can be easily tapped out with a light hammer and a side stone. Remove the label and wash well to remove any lingering food/juices.

With a marker draw a pattern of dots on the outside of the can. Although this was not done traditionally, with most minceirs/metal workers using the eye for direction, it makes it a far easier approach to start with.

Next you can either fill the can with water and freeze over night until fully solid or fill with sand or dry soil and sit it mouth down on the ground or on a stone to keep the contents in.

When filled or solid with ice use an assortment of nails (although I like to use an old screw driver tip) to pierce the metal along the dots.

Next, either dry out or empty the can, clean it out.

You can either pierce it through the top, on both sides and fit with some thin wire for hanging or leave it on a table.

Just add the candle and light the light shine though.

Having a sheet of copper at home I hope to take a step by step post of how to craft a camp from one piece alone.

*Photo taken by the ever gifted and camera ready Blaine.
*I like making these as gifts for those with people's names on it in English/Shelta or Ogham.
*Why not pick up some heat resistant paint... and go wild!
*This is my 101st post so I want to take a moment to genuinely thank people for following, sharing, caring and building the bridges between us all – thank you x

Irish Traveller Heritage The Well of the Truthful Voice

Skrubol a Gresko d'arp

There is a well in Clifden in the west of Galway, which stands carved into the slate and limestone of a rising hill. The steps to it are a light grey, like the shade of a cloud that stands in company of a rainbow. The well itself is surrounded by tall Poplars trees, whose leaves rattle like bone in the wind and wave gently with the passing gale.



They call it 'Skrubol a Gresko d'arp', the well of the 'Truthful voice', as it is said that those that sit by it, allowing the water to grow still, might with a hopeful heart and mind felt intention not only catch their own true reflection but pierce through the crack of the mundane world and speak with an inner voice, untouched by the expectations of the mind or the demands of the everyday life.

I sat for an hour, sprinkling dill seeds around it's open eye and listening to the ocean that moved behind me in the tides and flow of it's own dance. As with tradition you speak a name to who you want to talk with and let your true voice ring out.

My conversation with the dusking sky and stirring waters was a lengthy one, perhaps too you will one day sit beside a well, reach out, reach in and carry that with you in the time ahead.

Remind yourself not of the haste and battle but of the warmth and light that stands wanting behind it, beyond it and most often because of it's confusion, due to it.

Today I learned or was reminded that...

I don't care what your community is. I do care however that it has made you a kinder, more compassionate person.
I care that you never stop learning.
I care that you're growing past whatever happened to you as a child or last year.
I care that you are willing and able to adapt and change as your life does.
I care that you care about the Earth.
I care that you care about someone and something outside yourself.
I care that you live life with devotion and reverence.
I care that you respect others paths.
I care that you can conduct adult relationships with respect and understanding.
I care that you get how hilarious life is.
I care that you know when to ask for help.
I care that you realize that someone will always be smarter, more powerful, and more together than you.
I care that you realize it doesn't matter, because tomorrow you'll be smarter, more powerful, and more together than you were yesterday.
I care that you have reasons for everything you do, even if those reasons are purely intuitive.
I care that you can admit when you're wrong.
I care that you know you're both a tiny speck in a vast ocean and a rare, precious jewel in the golden sands of Eternity.
I care that you're making a difference.
I care that you know when to speak and when silence is best.
I care that you are as healthy as you can be.
I care that you're contributing to your family and community.
I care that your capacity for love and joy increase with every passing year.
I care that you believe in yourself.
I care that you're doing the best you can.

Be it to the waters or the wild, what do you care about?

*Skrubol/ well is born from the shelta Skai, which in turn is a derivative for uische, Gaelic for water.
*Inspired by D. Sylvan
*Gresko; ‘a voice’. Thought to arise from the Gaelic 'guth'.

Irish Travellers Herb Preserving herbs

Bwikad'ath planda

Preserving herbs is a skill I feel everyone should have a chance to learn in life, not only for the access to the healing qualities of natures bounty or the innate aesthetic beauty they often possess, but it can provide a genuine connection to the living world all year round and fill a home with sweet scent and lingering memories.



The Four roads of keeping herbs

The breathing winds
The many waters
The warming fires
The hallowed earth

Firstly, ensure that the herbs or roots are freshly gained and carefully washed. Gathering can be a very involving process but be kind and wise when approaching a plant or tree. Never take more then it can stand or without a trade.

The breathing winds.
This is the most popular of preserving techniques and is very open and accessible to everyone. You need only the herbs and some string to bind them at the base and hang them in a well ventilated area.

Find a dry, warm but not too humid place to hang them, preferably dark or shaded. Leave for 1 to 3 weeks, until they easily crumble to rubbing between finger tips. Sometimes, especially if the plant has many attached seeds a paper bag is the best option. Loosely filled, tied and with a good few air holes.

They old ones say where plants are dried is very important, as the winds, four in all, one for each cardinal point, carry different associations and attributes. Take heed where you hang yours.

The many waters.
Water, oil, putchin, ale... the list goes on. However I usually use oil and leave the herbs intact in stem form. This allows the oil to be infused with the herbs but they are usually still suitable for most roasts and so forth. I tend to use ale when brewing, the same with putchin (although this does seem to have a very good preservation effect on most herbs, especially the seeds) and fresh clean water for no more then three day storage in which I want the herbs to remain highly hydrated.

The warming fires.
Herbs can be dried by the fire and in spring and summer it is one of my favourite ways, especially when the fire is open and the flames are smouldering. They are usually kept by the fire on a flat stone and watched carefully. For indoor fire drying I use the over or the bottom shelf of the stove.
For ovens I usually recommend around 200ºF, unless its a heavy wood then 150 and for much longer. You just have to place herbs on a tray covered in baking paper. Watch very carefully though and turn them over if necessary, remove them when they start to crisp. What the fire is made of, especially in terms of the living flame, is said to impart its own attributes on the herbs. I like to burn willow wood for drying herbs. The warmth and sparks are very beautiful.

The hallowed earth.
Using earth is more of the rarer types of preserving herbs and roots but it is one I enjoy very much. The trick is to use aspects of earth that draw out moisture rather then add it. Fine sand, salt and crushed chalk are all good options, even if they are harder to get out of the herb when finished. I especially like using salt when dealing with delicate petals like rose and honeysuckle blossoms. Leave them in a well mixed container and check once a week.



*I find that one of the best time to harvest herbs is during a misty evening when everything is still wet, but before the sun beats down and draws out the oils (not too common in Ireland mind you!). Early noon is usually a good time too as herbs picked under these conditions will retain their flavour longer and are less prone to mildew.
*Herbs that will be used mostly for their leaves are best picked before they flower (i.e. as soon as the buds arrive).
*Take time to label and date jars or bags, you may be surprised at how similar some very different herbs look like once they are dried or how long they can hide out in the press.

Irish Traveller Song Thomas sings

History and common knowledge speaks and shares of how the Pavee have always sung, how they have have always passed those long eves of winter and the dawning mornings of spring with a sound and a rhythm.

Although the air is a bit stiller these days, there are many who continue on the traditions of the voice and among them I am glad to see is Thomas McCarthy.

Thomas is an Pavee singer who's family heralds from Birr in County Offaly and he was blessed to learn many of his songs from his mother, the late Mary McCarthy. Mary was a very well known singer and song maker whose family was charmed with the want of collecting some of the old songs from their travels to fairs and other local singers.

Thomas carries on the art and trade by often singing in public and in gatherings, be they formal or social. His voice, although untrained, carries with it the authentic natural call of the sean nós and I hope you have being enchanted as much as I am with it.



Enjoy!

Irish Traveller Cure The three pots

Lately I've being feeling a bit under the weather, so along with seeing a professional, utilising the local herbs and trying to maintain some sense of balance I've began to rediscover some of the older healing ways and how the elder ones tapped into the underlining flow.



The old ones mention the three pots, the 'Goppa šīka', that rest within every living person and it is how these pots are filled, kept and emptied that defines the health and well being of a person.

Introducing three pots/ Goppa šīka

Hungry pot/ Goppa grani brās
The first pot is the hungry pot, its the pot of the stomach. Like all the pots it is empty at birth and needs filling. To fill the hungry pot they say you must eat well, mostly living foods not too old or without life in them and use the spoons of the pot to turn the food. The spoons of the hungry pot are the legs, they turn when we walk and exercise. If it rests unturned then the food grows mouldy and will produce illness. Caution should be taken if the food turns too slow or too swift, like wise if it goes un-emptied.

Giving pot/ Goppa bug
The second pot is the giving pot, it is the pot of the chest. To fill the giving pot we are told that we must honour all emotions, what ever they may be. The sorrows and anger are just as real and in balance of the body as laugher and joy. The spoons of the giving pot are the arms, used in embraces, handshakes and in older times, when we lacked the tools of a better engagement, defence. Making peace with the self and others and sharing ones own truth is vital for keeping the pot well.

Thinking pot/ Goppa Sang
The third pot is the thinking pot, it is the pot of the head. When kept well it if filled with wise thoughts and knowledge, when kept badly it has nothing more then the echoes of others opinions and without substance. Unlike the other pots the thinking pot has three spoons. Two are the ears the third is the tongue. Giving reference to how we should speak as half as much as we listen.

Each pot has a place to play within the health and healing of the body and greater being. Each also has an effect on the other, be it with rising steam or the pouring our of that which is above. Keeping the pots is not just a single act but a way of life. It is one that calls us all back to not only great each day, with more attention and respect, but know lovingly our own place among it all.

*Goppa (guppa); ‘a pot’ is thought to arise from the Gaelic 'pota'. It may be a translation of ‘furnace’ or 'smith’ also thought to arise from the Gaelic gabha meaning ‘smith’.

Irish Traveller Heritage How to be a poet

A local Pavee/ Irish Traveller neighbour of mine is somewhat of a poet, know for his tales and the rhymes of quick wit and often deeply stirring notions. Recently I asked him how one becomes a poet and this is, in part, how he explained it.



To be a poet you need four things, or in its own way, four experiences.

A broken heart.
So that you have known the high mountains of love and the sorrowful low valleys of loss and all the worlds in between. Having being both vulnerable and brave, you have experienced the polarities of living that open up the doors, to not only poetry, but that lingering true self.

Becoming lost.
Losing yourself means simply not knowing, which also means being truly open to learning and experiencing without judgement or a pre-tailored views. By stripping away the constant and the ensured, we can open our life to wild new ideas, insights and perspectives.

Finding yourself in a quiet spot.
Finding yourself and your way isn't really about geography but about connecting with genuine passions and interests. Its about overcoming the expectations of society and having the self truth to weave forth your own tales and telling. In the solitude of a quiet spot you can befriend yourself and share the world anew.

Finding a voice like your own.
Every poet has a muse. Sometimes they are the dreams of the night and those that murmur in the moments between breaths. They can be the sound of a childs laughter or the rhythm of a strong hove against the bending grains of autumn. Finding someone or something that echoes back your own forgotten voice is a blessing and one worth searching out, in the kindness of others or the raw beauty of the written word.

What else I wondered was needed? Nothing he said, with these everything else took care of themselves.

*Photo was captured by the gifted John Band.

Irish Traveller Craft Things to do with Egg shells

Grat'i sē inock rūmōg mark

Eggs to the elder Pavee were seen as vessels of life, not only that which was symbolically connected to the holy days of Easter but as conduits of exchange, protection and journey. The shell itself, seen as bone and brawn, held most of the focus, with that which was contained within being mostly a source of food.



Kind treatment of chickens was a must. After all the rooster was seen as being part prophet, born it is assumed of biblical references and the hen the mother of a living spark that rustles and grows external to the bowl within the female kind.

Here are six things you can do with Egg shells

Make Spirit candles/ Gratʹi graafsha blinkam
Spirit candles use the egg shell, carefully maintained (except for the top) as the container for the wax. A wick of sheep wool, reinforced with horse hair was set through the middle and allowed to cool. The candles were lit as a prayer for the dead as well as in hope of healing for the living. Centring and sharing the nexus point of a living container on the recovery of a loved one.

Help skin irritations/ karkn lugil
Dissolve a crushed eggshell in a small jar of apple cider vinegar (can take about two days) and use the mixture to treat mild skin irritations and itchy skin.

Increase beauty/ Bug bura
Pulverize dried egg shells to dust, being sure not to leave any potentially sharp shell pieces intact. Whisk the powder in with an egg white and use for a healthful, skin-tightening facial. Allow the face mask to dry before rinsing it off in fresh clean water.

Banish ill luck/ Suwneed gami grah
An egg shell, containing a few drops of water, set on hot coals is said by lore to drive away ill luck and the sometimes unhelpful griwogs/ fairies.

Rag tree prayers/ Muni skracho Stafara
Traditionally an egg would be rubbed against a point of illness or pain, the white and yolk given to the tree and the shells were halved and left on the the tips and branch spokes of rag trees as prayer markers.

Prayer
Grōmug bʹin'ey, grōmug b'in'ey, lugil a nap. Grōmug bʹin'ey, grōmug b'in'ey, a moniker Dhaylon!

Translation
Little egg, little egg, take my pain. Little egg, little egg, in Gods name!

Pregnancy tea/ Tae Bejiggered
In the later days of the pregnancy it is suggested to drink a large cup of raspberry leaf and nettle tea with 1/8 tsp of powdered egg shells to speed the way forward and aid the delivery.


*Grōmug is thought to arise from the Gaelic ūbh/ugh meaning ‘egg’.
* Nap ‘to take off’ is also thought to arise from the Gaelic 'bain'.
*Skracho ‘a tree/bush’, is thought to arise from the Gaelic 'sgeach' .
*Picture taken by the ever trusty camera of maryp.
*Graafsha is thought to arise from the Gaelic 'taidbhse' meaning ‘a ghost’.

Irish Traveller Lore: The Salmon of knowledge

Granēl eusk

The tale of the wise salmon is a well told one in which I wont repeat in full for fear of boring you but one that has a special significance and difference in the Pavee lore.

You see, the wise salmon (also know by the Gaelic term, an braddan feasa) was said to of gained its knowledge from eating nine hazel nuts from nine hazel trees that surround the Skrubol Granēl/ Tobar Segais, the well of wisdom. By eating the hazel nuts, whose trees had being nurtured and given water and life by the well, it imbued the salmon with knowledge of all things.



It is said that the poet Finn Eces had spent seven years fishing in the river Boyne for the wise salmon, in a hope of eating him and gaining that knowledge. One day Finn Eces came upon a young hero called Fionn who was on a journey from the two wise woman of Sliabh bloom.

Upon hearing who Fionn was he agreed to take him as his apprentice and for some time following taught him many wise things as well as crafts and trade. Eventually Finn Eces caught the salmon and after making Pionn promise not to eat it asked him to prepare it in a meal for him.

As Fionn was roasting the fish he accidentally burned his thumb when a drop of the wise salmons fat fell on it, in a want to stop the pain he sucked on his thumb to ease the pain. By doing so he was the first to taste the salmon and thus gained its power.

Finn Eces learning of the incident allowed Fionn to eat the salmon as he felt that fate had decided, despite Finn Eces many years of fishing, that it was a gift best used by Fionn.

From that time on when ever Fionn was in need of understanding or knowledge he would suckle his thumb and it was in a large part by this that Fionn was later to become the leader of the Fianna, the warrior clan of Eire.

For most that is where the tale ends but for the elder Pavees it continued.

After Fionn had eaten the Salmon he went off on his travels to begin a life of a legend and heroism and the camp site was then occupied by a family of Pavee. Among the family members was a very old woman who sensed something unusual in the bones of the fish that had being left beside the fire.

Knowing the legend of the wise salmon she gathered up the bones and returned them to the river. Returning when she could to feed them with mint and apples. The wise salmon being a being of magic, for it had all knowledge in the world, eeventually returned to form and for her aid granted her three answers to any questions.

The old woman thought long and hard and one twilight asked the wise salmon and in the silence of the night the wise salmon whispered the answers to her.



Five things you can also do with salmon bones.

Make wise tea/ Granēl gre
Gather up the bones and put them into a pot and cover with cold clean water. Add a dash of vinegar to draw out the minerals. Put the pot over a low heat and allow to gently simmer. Leave for 12-48 hours, checking now and then to add water if it needs it. Skim off any fat and scum from the surface as you go. When you feel it is ready, add onion, garlic and marshmallow root and bring to a boil. Add salt to taste.

Make a wise candle/ Granēl blinkam
When clean and fully dried add the bones to a jar. Melt down some bees wax and place a wick into the jar. I usually cut longer then needed and twist it about a small twig with groves where the lid is to ensure it stays. Pour in the wax and allow it to set. The flame of this candle is said to carry the light giving knowledge of the salmon.

Return to the river/ Suwnee agrḗš a skai
Why not? Return the bones to where they came and complete the circle. Be sure however to only return cleaned bones and leave them in a place that people will most likely not be walking on. I like to leave mine under a rock

Make a healing powder/ Sedi lurp eusk
Dry the bones and ground into a power. When added to a salve it is said to aid healing and can make a very sturdy addition to a poltrice.

Make a fish sauce/ Eusk graser
Steep the bones over night in a simmering pot. Strain off any fat and remove the bones. With some vinegar blend up, like the old Pavee woman, some dried apple skin and mint. Mix together and allow to stand for ten or so minutes. It makes a tasty and interesting fish sauce.

*The old woman was said to of lived a long, happy life.
*What three questions would you ask?
*Painting is by Brian Boylan
*Eusk means fish. It may of developed from the gaelic 'iasc'.
*I have not being successful in finding a traditional term for the 'Tobar Segais', so I have simply translated it as 'Skrubol Granēl', the wise well.

Irish Traveller Stories A story telling tool

A story telling tool
Tari grainne

“...He wore on his hip a type of round buckle made of clay that had several stings to it. Each string ended in a disc in which he had painted on images...” - Mary Burke, Galway, in a letter to her sister. 1934

The tools of the older seanachi and storyteller were many, from environmental triggers, well paced sentence, hand movements and lingering eye contact. The ways of building a story and holding it were more, as was the methods of remembering them.

The above letter extract interested me greatly as I've never really seen such a thing before. I have asked around and there does seem to be a general consensus that some used tools like that, but mostly its a vague recollection.



The use of the beady bags and other pictorial representations of memory and occasion, could very well stand to the reasoning that within a oral tradition, in which there was little to no recorded script, that the use of such images based tools is more then plausible.

The above picture is of my own one that I made during the week, I made it with a traditional clay recipe (found Here) and painted the images on it, also from a traditional recipe

Traditional paint recipe
Gratʹi got'a

¼ cup of water
1 tsp Comfrey leaves
1 tsp juniper berries
1 tsp rose hip
3 tsp of apple cider vinegar
4 tsp of flour
Candle
Matches
Spoon

Bring water to the boil and add the grounded herbs/vinegar, allow to simmer for 5 minutes then let it steep over night. Next day, strain out herbs and light candle. Hold the spoon over the candle and allow it to gather soot. Every so often stir in this soot into the herb mixture and repeat. After about an hour of soot gathering and mixing your liquid should be of sufficient strength. Add the flour and mix well. It should be blended enough to use the resulting paste as a paint.

I've named the tool “Tari Grainne”. Grainne means hoop or ring. As the buckles circle is like that of all good stories, to borrow the good words of T.S.Eliot “and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time”

I hope to add links and discs to this as I go along.

*The above letter reference is an extract from a letter given to me by one of Mary's great grand daughters, it discussed a day that a elderly Pavee man came to mend the homesteads buckets and spent the night telling tales by the kitchen fire.
*Got'a which means both 'paint' and ‘colour’ is thought to arise from the Gaelic 'dath.
*The paint recipe actually makes a very dark brown rather then a black, with enough effort put into its creation you will hardly notice the difference.
*I used a tipped pheasant feather as a quill, it just added to the moment.
*What stories would you add to yours?

Irish Traveller Craft Archangel Michaels Spear

Calra Michael

I've moved home.

It feels weird here. You know that sense of bewilderment that whispers past us in the morning when we first wake, where the eyes have yet to adjust and your not too familiar with your surroundings. In fact, you could be just about anywhere...

My new landlord wont allow me to place a horseshoe above the front door. Well it's not the horse shoe itself really but the sturdy hooks to secure it. So instead I'm exploring other crafts and ideas to substitute the tradition.

One which comes to mind most is that of Calra Michael, a craft that symbolises the spear and blade of the Archangel Michael.



I've always liked Calra Michaels as the symbol of the blade and spear connects in well with that of the early Celtic god Lugh. By tradition the gifts offered and protection bestowed is very much the same, so much so I can help but feel they belong to one another.

The making of a Calra Michael is easy enough and in the past I've taught some local children to make them at Samahin/Halloween.

Gather together.
A flexible branch with three points.
Some brightly coloured thread

Strip off any leaves and extra branches. Carefully remove the bark. Next join the three points of the branch together and with the thread bind it up to form a spear head.

Of course its very optional but I like to say of a prayer here to dedicate it to the purpose.

Michael Thardyur
Michael Thopan
Michael bwikad
Awást o tharsp

Translation

Michael strong
Michael brave
Michael keep me
From the grave

Once sprinkled with some holy water, or none at all, put in a place of entrance or exit at the homestead or room.

I think ill tuck mine behind an old Brigid cross that I've brought from my family home when I first moved out years ago.


*The three points of the branch, bound by the thread, are said to represent the trinity.
*A young branch is usually best as they tend to be more pliable but I have had good results with older wood steeped over night in water.
*Calra, meaning blade may of arisen from the old Gaelic word claíomh.
*Thardyur is hought to arise from the Gaelic 'lāidir'.
*Take some time to consider what type of tree and colour thread you will use, the associations and legends imbued with the wood and colour can give much personal effect to the craft.

Irish Traveller Heritage Hope Boxes

Rubōg Ela

A few decades ago when the Pavee began to move into houses, either by their own choice or by the wilful actions of a larger community, people began giving each other gifts of Rubōg Ela, other wise known as hope boxes.

Not only as gifts of hope in a dawning time but they were to act as treasure keepers and minders of memory. They were filled with symbols of reflection and giving of luck and charm. The custom seemed to fall out of vogue as the years past by but I feel that like many other things, its worth remembering and re-giving.

Recently a friend of mine, a busy dynamic and passionate Pavee woman, moved into a new home and I thought it would be nice to gather a few items together and pass on to her, her very own Rubōg Ela.



The items I picked were:

A stone that I painted with a green wheel. Symbolising our nomadic roots and the aspiration that her heritage would not be a stone that pulled her down but one that could stand and move as a powerful foundation of growth.

A copper coin in hopes of prosperity as well as remembering the worthy crafts and knowings of our past and how they too belong within our present.

A pouch of herbs for healing, so that sickness and illness would have little standing in her life.

A small cutting of willow, so that her sorrows may be handled like the wise tree, bending and moving with the winds of change yet with roots sturdy enough to survive any chaos.

A shell that is shaped like an eye, so that she would never be overlooked or without focus in the great ocean of life.

A candle whose first flame was first kindled by that of an open camp-fire. So that she would never be without light or the warmth of good company.

Horse-chest nut for strength in all things and the understanding it is from a small action that great changes come to pass.

A crows feather, for the wisdom of right action that defy the fears and moves beyond expectations.

So... what would you put in your Rubōg Ela?

*Most Rubōg Ela's were only that of matchstick boxes
*The tradition of a coin for luck and prosperity is still very much in common usage.

Irish Traveller Stories The Fighting Horses

flithering gofans

It was just passing dawn, with the sun still touching the far off horizon. A young subleen was wandering along a path within sight of his grandmother, who crouched along the hedgerow picking fresh mushrooms and wild herbs.

As he walked the young subleen saw that, at the end of the path there was etched with time and busy motion, a crossroads that cut its rambling way through a woods and low valley.

Once the young subleen, with well chosen steps was at the crossroads her grandmother called to him to return. Somehow he was not able to obey her grandmothers call and instead sat down at the side of the road on some soft grass and welcoming lilacs.

Eventually his grandmother, carrying a heavy basket laden with the morning finds accompanied him and took a brief rest along side him on the grass.



“Where is this grandmother? Where are we?” inquired the young subleen, his mind curious at the crossroads.
“Here child” said the grandmother, “is where the horses meet to flither and fight”.
“Fight grandmother? Fight! Why would horses fight? Said the young boy, whose interest deepened.
“Because they have forgotten how to make peace” said the grandmother with a sadness in her eyes.
The old woman reached out with her arm and pointed her aged yet nimble finger towards a path in the crossroads.
“Here is where the muni horses come from” she said, and in turning her hand to another path “and this is where the gami horses come from and you see there child, where the paths meet at the end of our path? Now that's where they meet too”.

The young subleen feeling the courage of youth said with a clenched fist “When do they meet grandmother!? Ill help them in the barney, ill flither them!”
“Oh no child” spoke the grandmother, “you cant fight like that. The gami horses don't understand the kick, even though they use it often and the muni horses don't want to use it at all”
“Then what grandmother?” said the young subleen, with the want to help ringing in his voice.

“You feed and shoe them” smiled the grandmother.

“Awhhh!” said the young subleen, looking at his grandmothers basket. “ill leave some of the mushrooms and herbs here so and get my father to tap up some shoes!”.

“No, no child” said the grandmother, with a whisp of laughter in her voice “they are not fed with our food nor shoed with our metal, they are though with the food and metal of the world”.

Again the grandmother reached out and gestured towards the paths. “The muni horses feed on kindness and compassion and are shoed with our love and respect, patience and hope. The gami horses feed upon evil deeds and lies and get new shoes from tears and anger”

“I don't understand grandmother” spoke the child, confused at her tale. “In time you will” replied the old woman, “In time you will....”

After a pause the grandmother got to her feet and with her outreached hand help the young subleen to his. “It is not just this crossroad child that you'll see the horses come to battle, but almost every one. Not just on the roads of journey but in the heart”.

With that the grandmother and young subleen began again to walk and returned along their own path to home, for a meal of fresh mushrooms and herbs.

*That night, like this one, that young subleen, although a bit more aged, sits pondering his choices.
*Grandmothers sadly arent around forever but if you listen enough, you'll still hear wise words.
*Painting is by the talented Debbie Grayson Lincoln.
*Translation: Gami (negitive) Muni (positive) Subleen (boy) Flitering (fight).
*What ever your own choice and where ever your crossroads, I hope you leave the meal and shoes of loving action for the muni horses.

Irish Traveller Craft Gifts for the Rag Tree

I'm moving soon, so two days ago, wanting to know more about the new area I went for a long walk to explore. Taking notice on the flora and fauna of the location I happened to wander down a muddy path, laden with well trodden stones and short wispy grass.

At the end of the winding, well sheltered lane, stood proud a rag tree. It was tall and already bare, it's bark dark like it had being turned to charcoal by the kisses of a fire. Along its base were the gifts, given by the faithful.



Rosary and trinkets, small statues and scapulars, bits of cloth and egg shells. All tied and woven fine among the tree trunk and it's mighty roots. I sensed a great calm there too, something I've being missing of late and a sense of reassured belonging.

Last night I made up some Lʹibis lubin/ sweet dough, formed them into some symbols of reflection and painted them with non toxic paint.

L'ibis lubin/ Sweet dough recipe
1 Duck egg
½ cup of water
½ cup of sugar
1 cup of flour

The red cross, sacrifice and returning whole.
The mother to be, blue like the ocean and alive with the inner spark.
The earthen wheel, knowing that all journeys are not only on, but with the earth.



I returned to the tree this morning, amidst the storm and hung them, embroidered with my prayers, from it's branches, letting the wind tickle them into a sway.

Here's to heartfelt prayers and mind filled hopes.

*An earlier post on rag trees can be found Here.
*For some reason I wasn't comfortable taking a picture of the rag tree's items, left in a loving hope by others and instead choose to capture the trees tall lightening like branches.
*Lūbīn, also meaning ‘a loaf’ is thought to possibly arise from the Gaelic 'builín'.
*Try when possible not to leave biodegradable items (or at least consider returning later to tidy up).

Irish Traveller Recipe Famine soup

Empty bowl Soup
Palhm Mafon skai

Last night I stood with many others in a vigil of rememberer, the candles lit for the beloved dead were like faint stars along the streets, flickering and waving to those in that passed by. The twilight was cold and damp with the wind was singing out it's song for the coming storm. I thought of those we've lost, those we've kept and those we've never known, yet feel somewhat less for not having met them.



After returning home, with hands marked with white speckles of paraffin wax I thought of how each generation seems to of had a great wounding. Each tide of the coming maturity has a rise and fall of it's people and how sometimes those experiences can sustain us, while others they leave fresh wounds.

From the struggle for independence and civil conflict, to the war of the worlds and domination by foreign lands, there has with a certain degree of certainty, being left a mark on the land and the human psyche of those that inhabit it.

Among the great wounds is that of the famine.

Just around the corner from my home rests a large cast iron pot, turned on its side. It's about five foot tall and rests beneath the arms of an ancient Ash tree, somewhat wrapped in the tight fingers of ivy. At it's mouth grows a sapling sweetgum.



The pot, although most do not even know of it, is a famine pot. One in which during the famine times local people would gather around to take the life sustaining broth. Each year at Michaelmas I remake some of the famine soup recipe and leave it there, along with grains and fresh fruit. Sometimes I feel it is important to attend to the old wounds just as much as the new, making the way forward all the more blessed by recalling those of past and making their sacrifices and pain one of continued meaning and significance.

Palhm Mafon skai
Famine soup recipe
4 oz. or 1/2 cup of beef
2 oz. or 1/4 cup drippings
2 onions
8 quarts water
8 oz. or 1 cup flour 8 oz. or 1 cup barley
1/2 oz. or 1 tsp. brown sugar
3 oz or 1/3 cup salt

(This is a 50th of the original recipe)

This recipe seems to of being kept alive since the famine times, although the one I usually share has undergone some changes, which is to be expected with time and the culinary adaptation of those that made it. I've shared this around the open fire on cold Samhain nights and on the table of family gatherings.

It's worth the effort, even for just connecting through taste, to those that have come before us.

*Failmhe means 'empty'.
*Mafon means bowl but also cup (the etymology of which may be from the Gaelic 'cupan') for in the older days they might as well of being the same.
*Michaelmas, 29th September also happens on Mabon, the celtic festival of the second harvest.
*Famine recipes differ from region to region and most likely from soup to soup, depending on the actual ingredients at hand. The above is the one said to be used locally.
*On this note its also worth mentioning that although the great famine is believed by some to be the genesis point of the Pavee, this theory is not supported by the facts nor inherited nomadic traits within humanity. Undoubtedly the community changed, adopted and adapted due to the increase of migrant workers and those who took to the roads in search of substance however it is an unfair reduction of the community and the experience it carries to reduce it to this event alone.

Irish Traveller Cure Healing cuts and scraps

Frepha'd sark

Yesterday I fell off my bike on a sharp bend along a well trodden path through a local wood. Not only did I find myself tossed into the waiting spikes of a hawthorn tree but I cut the tip of my finger against the bell that rests snug on the bikes handlebars.

After returning home, my pride more wounded then the arm, one which was trailed with torn scratches and scrapes, I set about to make a healing salve and a natural bandage.



I disinfected the area with a tea made from echinacea, wormwood and goldenseal (1 tsp of each herb to pint of boiling water) once cold applying it topically to the scraps to help fight any possible infections.

In line with an earlier Alam's I made a simple balm and then poultice out of Juniper leaves/ berries, yarrow and dried marshmallow stalks. This time however for I used a muslin cloth instead of local leaves, as the night was upon me by the time I was home and I had no appropriate leaves at hand.

I also washed my fingers cut with the disinfection tea.

For a cut “bandage” I cracked a fresh hens egg and used the inner membrane of the shell as a bandage. It is an excellent and cost effective way of healing a cut speedily and I have found that this approach has never resulted in a scar.

Merely crack an egg, and pull the shells white membrane away from the inside of the shell. For best results the side that is most in contact with the raw eggs yolk should be applied to the cut.

Once dried it will constrict and form a firm bandage.

I said a prayer over it too, to unify the age old trinity: the body (herbs) the mind (intention) and spirit (prayer).

A libha sarog
A sark tohhm
A karkn lugil
A dha ogaks moniker
D'umik a libha nalks
Dha karkn fhas
Dha lugil kuldrum

Personal translation

The blood is red,
The cut is deep
The flesh has pain
In the old ones name
Let the blood dry
The flesh grow
The pain sleep

A day later I am very much on the mend.

*I sometimes accidentally refer to muslin cloth as Muslim cloth. Take care when buying it at the local market or store!
*The recipe for the topically applied tea was given to me in part by my Pavee friend Mary, her original recipe included witch hazel, which I omitted due to not having any on hand.
*For cuts, if in need of stitches, please do go find a medical professional.
*Instead of “the old ones name” feel free to replace with deity of choice.
*Using an egg to heal a cut is known as “twally”. I tend to give the egg to the earth.
*If the Grōmug/egg bandage becomes too constricted merely add a little water to it and it will expand.
*Craiceann is Gaelic for skin and may be the root word for 'karkn'.
*Kuldrum; ‘asleep’/'sleep'. May of arisen from the Gaelic 'codladh'.
*Frepha'd; 'cure' is thought to arise from the old Irish noun, frepaid.
*Photo by the ever helpful Barbara McKell – thank misses!

Irish Traveller Proverbs Pavee proverbs/ Pavee granēls

Below is another list of Pavee adages and proverbs, this time they are not as diverse as the last list, mentioning within themselves one of the Pavees/Irish travellers most recognised symbols and co walker of the older roads, the Gofan, the horse.



When speaking of knowing the time of action:

“A wise horse, needs only kick once”.
A granhe'l gofan uchd luber nuk.

When speaking of how a child, once supported can be anything, regardless of their parents limitations:

“With good grass a foal can outrun its mare”.
Bwikad mun'i glask a graro ayim suri grifi

When acknowledging that life is not always black and white but a lot of shade:

“The best of horses have many a colour”.
Muni'ath a gofan bwikad tohhm gota


For an earlier post on Pavee/Irish Traveller proverbs, click here


*Lōber (lubrān, lūber); ‘to hit’, ‘strike’, ‘beat’. Thought to arise from the Gaelic 'buail'.
*Glask; ‘grass’. Thought to arise from the Gaelic 'glas meaning green.
*Got'a (gotchkha, gawht); ‘colour’, may of arisen from the Gaelic 'dath'.

Irish Traveller Recipe Mint at Midnight

After having a bit of a stressful day my stomach has not being at all content tonight so I'm out of bed in search of my favourite digestive tea. Shifting through the herb press and trolling the garden I've gathered up a few sprigs of mint, catnip, spearmint and lemon verbena. After giving them a good rinse in the sink I gave them a crush in the pestle and mortar. Spooning the results into a mug I drizzle a divine spoon or two of local honey on top.



After the kettle boiled I poured the water on top, waited fifteen minutes and the result: A tasty medical tea to give rest to an quarrelling tummy and carry me of to sleep.

Now its time to tip toe off to bed, ignore the book that has being catching my attention and let the tea do its work :)

Night all!

*I really suggest you use local honey, its the product of the local flora and will carry far more environmentally suited qualities.
*Recipe isnt my own but Margarets, a pavee neighbour, who once shared it with me over a good cup of tea .