When the sap stirs in the trees, and a green sheen begins to colour over the brown thatch along the roadsides, “thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages.”
Geoffrey Chaucer’s lines about rebirth in spring stir and cheer my sullen winter thoughts every year. Sure as the seasons. They are universal, singing of new life as it has happened for centuries.
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote, The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licóur Of which vertú engendred is the flour;
The language is strange but recognizable as English. It’s Middle English, spoken in medieval times after being stirred for generations in a mix of Old Norse and Norman French. Geoffrey Chaucer, the first great English poet, seized the new words and wove poetry and music into the change of seasons.
I use Chaucer’s words to describe the change of seasons here because they sing to me.
Through a different lens
The land I speak of, though, belongs to our forebears, the Coast Salish Peoples, particularly the W̱SÁNEĆ (Saanich) First Nation, who beheld the change of seasons through a different lens, had their own ways to describe them.
The two cultures/languages are worlds and ages apart, but I think there is a third language: that of the natural world. How ethno-European and North American aboriginal people describe Nature may be different in so many ways, but they are equally poetic. Equally compelling.
Chaucer wrote The Canterbury Tales near the end of the 14th century — pre-first contact times, though small numbers of Norse explorers may have graced the shores of North America by Chaucer’s time.
Slepen al the nyght with open ye
Here is more from Chaucer’s General Prologue to the Tales:
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, And smale foweles maken melodye, That slepen al the nyght with open ye,
It is a universal description of spring if you overlook words like “Zephirus,” which means “the west wind,” and “the Ram,” an astrological reference to Aries or the months of March and April. The snow melts, the sun warms the earth; there’s a sweetness in the air. Dare we hope for softer days after the bitter cold of winter, the relentless rain? Let the fire die out? Toss the scarves and winter coats aside?
So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages, Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes, To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes; And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The hooly blisful martir for to seke, That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.
(To hear a compelling reading of these lines in authentic Middle English, watch this excerpt the 1970s film, The Last Waltz. The reading was performed during the last concert by The Band and read by the poet Michael McLure.)
The mink sniffs the air
The proof is all around us: The earth warms, the water rushes down our tiny island’s creeks and roadside ditches. I’ve been hearing the morning crescendo of birdsong and the evening chorus of frogs for days.
Jennifer lies in the sun on the chaise lounge, eyes closed, listening to the waves. The Canada Geese have returned. The Turkey Vultures circle high above the cliffs. A brown mink down on the rocks, sniffs the air, looks up at me and dives into the water.
Boundary Pass is lazy, benign, but there is no solace of warmth in those waters, not even in the height of summer!
The W̱SÁNEĆ view of spring (of all the seasons!) is equally musical, if not a little foreign to my “European” ear (we are Scots in this house).
Thirteen moons
On South Pender Island, by the front gate of the (deconsecrated) Church of the Good Shepherd, there is a poster of The Thirteen Moons of the W̱SÁNEĆ Year (see image above). It shows the “integration and flow of activities” the W̱SÁNEĆ people undertook over their year.
April (roughly speaking) is shown as the month of salmonberry, red rock crab and hummingbirds. It is also the month for red alders and the “moon of bullheads” (the fish).
The traditional W̱SÁNEĆ year, according to the illustration caption, did not differentiate between these seasonal markers.
All was sacred to us
“It was not our way to separate these activities when we lived a traditional life because all was sacred to us. Our art, language, spirituality and our everyday activities were all one. In our homes and in the privacy of our longhouses, we continue to observe the wisdom of the past.”
Well, this sings to me, too. Maybe a little more so than Chaucer’s lines, as this blessed island, S,DÁYES (Pender Island), is where I’ve had the good graces to live for the past ten years. Thank you to the W̱SÁNEĆ people!
Spring feels good this year, no matter which language you’re using.
New Happy Monk Blog: Spring brings mixed blessings! A sense of loss, along with warmth and a new cast of light, "That Science cannot overtake / But Human Nature Feels." Westeros and Emily Dickinson`s sensitive heart. [ See LinkTree in Profile ]
New Happy Monk Blog: Spring brings mixed blessings! A sense of loss, along with warmth and a new cast of light, "That Science cannot overtake / But Human Nature Feels." Westeros and Emily Dickinson`s sensitive heart. [ See LinkTree in Profile ] ...
This little guy is a workhorse, plain and simple. A brute! Thursday, it milled over 27kg of incredible flour for a recipe that needed the freshest flour possible. And its output was beautiful. Wheat, spelt, rye and buckwheat. A larger mill could have handled that in a fraction of the time, but who’s complaining? Some amazing bread was the result, milled and mixed the same day. A Country Miche from an article by Eric Pallant @epallant in the Winter/Spring 2023 issue of Bread Lines.
This little guy is a workhorse, plain and simple. A brute! Thursday, it milled over 27kg of incredible flour for a recipe that needed the freshest flour possible. And its output was beautiful. Wheat, spelt, rye and buckwheat. A larger mill could have handled that in a fraction of the time, but who’s complaining? Some amazing bread was the result, milled and mixed the same day. A Country Miche from an article by Eric Pallant @epallant in the Winter/Spring 2023 issue of Bread Lines.
O, for a slice of raisin sourdough! that hath been Warm’d a long age in the deep delvéd oven, Tasting of Hestia and the ocean green, Rest and a slow moving song and sunburnt mirth!
O for a loaf full of the warm South Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded raisins winking at the crumb, And cinnamon-stainéd mouth; That I might eat, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim.
— Apologies to John Keats for my butchery of his “Ode to a Nightingale”
O, for a slice of raisin sourdough! that hath been Warm’d a long age in the deep delvéd oven, Tasting of Hestia and the ocean green, Rest and a slow moving song and sunburnt mirth!
O for a loaf full of the warm South Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded raisins winking at the crumb, And cinnamon-stainéd mouth; That I might eat, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim.
— Apologies to John Keats for my butchery of his “Ode to a Nightingale” ...
At the outset of the Happy Monk Baking Company, I cherished those early mornings, working alone with Mildrith in the dark before the birds began their glorious morning chorus. The world was silent, unhurried. Mildrith and me, the trees, the solid earth, a passing deer, the baskets of bread dough waiting for the oven.
Going to work in the pre-dawn hours was something bakers did, I thought. They sacrificed sleep and delivered their bread early to appreciative customers. It was a romantic notion on my part, a naïve commitment to the baking trade without fully understanding the consequences, i.e. sleep debt.
It was satisfying to have loaves ready for some customers before noon; it was a triumph! But by the time most of the bread was ready for delivery, bagged and labelled, my eyelids were growing heavy, my mind fuzzy, my body slowing down.
At the outset of the Happy Monk Baking Company, I cherished those early mornings, working alone with Mildrith in the dark before the birds began their glorious morning chorus. The world was silent, unhurried. Mildrith and me, the trees, the solid earth, a passing deer, the baskets of bread dough waiting for the oven.
Going to work in the pre-dawn hours was something bakers did, I thought. They sacrificed sleep and delivered their bread early to appreciative customers. It was a romantic notion on my part, a naïve commitment to the baking trade without fully understanding the consequences, i.e. sleep debt.
It was satisfying to have loaves ready for some customers before noon; it was a triumph! But by the time most of the bread was ready for delivery, bagged and labelled, my eyelids were growing heavy, my mind fuzzy, my body slowing down.
Milling a little corn to mix in with some marinated olives before they go into a tapenade infused dough. Big olive flavour … plus a rare shot of Mildrith, the wood-fired oven!
Milling a little corn to mix in with some marinated olives before they go into a tapenade infused dough. Big olive flavour … plus a rare shot of Mildrith, the wood-fired oven! ...
Happy Monk Tidings - November 1, 2023 🍞 - BAKER`S CHOICE: Sourdough Sandwich Loaf; BLOG: Don`t Let That Wonder Lawyer Tell You It`s Not Real Bread! [ See LinkTree in Profile ]
Happy Monk Tidings - November 1, 2023 🍞 - BAKER`S CHOICE: Sourdough Sandwich Loaf; BLOG: Don`t Let That Wonder Lawyer Tell You It`s Not Real Bread! [ See LinkTree in Profile ] ...
Dylan Thomas, one of my muses, would have been 109 years old this Friday, Oct. 27. One of a small-handful of poets whose words are cherished and summoned often for their music and wisdom. They soothe, they sing, they evoke. I`ll be thinking of him this bread day, under "the mustardseed sun"….. and the "switchback sea"…. as he "celebrates and spurns his driftwood thirty fifth wind turned age." . . . . #dylanthomas #poetsofinstagram #poetrylovers #poetryisnotdead #poetryofinstagram #poets #poetryislife #poetrylove #poetrydaily #poetryworld #poetryinstagram #bakerpoets #poetryforbakers #southpenderisland #penderisland
Dylan Thomas, one of my muses, would have been 109 years old this Friday, Oct. 27. One of a small-handful of poets whose words are cherished and summoned often for their music and wisdom. They soothe, they sing, they evoke. I`ll be thinking of him this bread day, under "the mustardseed sun"….. and the "switchback sea"…. as he "celebrates and spurns his driftwood thirty fifth wind turned age." . . . . #dylanthomas #poetsofinstagram #poetrylovers #poetryisnotdead #poetryofinstagram #poets #poetryislife #poetrylove #poetrydaily #poetryworld #poetryinstagram #bakerpoets #poetryforbakers #southpenderisland #penderisland
Happy Monk Tidings - BLOG: Abundance: Season of Apples; Baker`s Choice: Pender Island Apple Bread with Pender Apples and Twin Island Cider - October 4, 2023 🍞 [ See LinkTree in Profile ]
Happy Monk Tidings - BLOG: Abundance: Season of Apples; Baker`s Choice: Pender Island Apple Bread with Pender Apples and Twin Island Cider - October 4, 2023 🍞 [ See LinkTree in Profile ] ...
Happy Monk Tidings - September 20, 2023 🍞 - BAKER`S CHOICE: Garlic Levain Bread; BLOG: Harumph! Author Says Leave the Baking to the Professionals! [ See LinkTree in Profile ]
A hefty Country Miche, formula from Breadlines published by Bread Bakers Guild of America. Hefty in size, hefty in flavour. Four flours (Sifted Metchosin Wheat, Rye, Buckwheat, Spelt), a super-active levain and an intense crust colour. I think I’m addicted! It’s kind of finicky, though, and trying to work out a reasonable schedule to produce 40 loaves for Happy Monk customers.
A hefty Country Miche, formula from Breadlines published by Bread Bakers Guild of America. Hefty in size, hefty in flavour. Four flours (Sifted Metchosin Wheat, Rye, Buckwheat, Spelt), a super-active levain and an intense crust colour. I think I’m addicted! It’s kind of finicky, though, and trying to work out a reasonable schedule to produce 40 loaves for Happy Monk customers.
REMINDER: Happy Monk is on Summer Break! We`re off on our annual late summer respite. Next bread day is Sept. 22. See you then! (photo by Davy Joel Rippner)
REMINDER: Happy Monk is on Summer Break! We`re off on our annual late summer respite. Next bread day is Sept. 22. See you then! (photo by Davy Joel Rippner) ...
Happy Monk Tidings - August 30, 2023 🍞 - BAKER`S CHOICE: Mountain Rye Bread; BLOG: Making Bread and Art With A Message; NOTE: Happy Monk is on Holiday for the Next Two Weeks - https://mailchi.mp/ae234548bd1a/happy_monk_tidings_aug30
TASTE TEST! I’ve admired @eds_bred of Whistler for some time, though never been there or tasted their bread. But a generous customer brought me a loaf yesterday, a beautiful-looking Sesame-Poppyseed loaf. Coincidentally, I’d made a Sesame Sourdough loaf as my Baker’s Choice this week. How did the two loaves stack up? The Ed’s Bred’s loaf was gorgeous with a dark, sesame-poppyseed crust, lovely colour, subtle flavour. The wood-fired Happy Monk entry had a little less colour, but packed a powerful sesame whoomph. Great flavour for sesame fans! What can we learn from this?
TASTE TEST! I’ve admired @eds_bred of Whistler for some time, though never been there or tasted their bread. But a generous customer brought me a loaf yesterday, a beautiful-looking Sesame-Poppyseed loaf. Coincidentally, I’d made a Sesame Sourdough loaf as my Baker’s Choice this week. How did the two loaves stack up? The Ed’s Bred’s loaf was gorgeous with a dark, sesame-poppyseed crust, lovely colour, subtle flavour. The wood-fired Happy Monk entry had a little less colour, but packed a powerful sesame whoomph. Great flavour for sesame fans! What can we learn from this?
Happy Monk Blog - July 26, 2023 🍞 - Swimming the Neighbourhoods; how John Cheever`s short story, The Swimmer, made more sense to kids in the summertime. [See LinkTree in Profile ]
Happy Monk Blog - July 26, 2023 🍞 - Swimming the Neighbourhoods; how John Cheever`s short story, The Swimmer, made more sense to kids in the summertime. [See LinkTree in Profile ] ...
Lay your head on this pillow soft Potato-Rosemary Loaf, breathe in the aromatic rosemary leaves plucked straight from the garden. And when you wake, a glorious wood-fired loaf awaits … you might spread a little butter, drizzle some honey and your dreams may come true! . . .
Lay your head on this pillow soft Potato-Rosemary Loaf, breathe in the aromatic rosemary leaves plucked straight from the garden. And when you wake, a glorious wood-fired loaf awaits … you might spread a little butter, drizzle some honey and your dreams may come true! . . .
When April with its sweet-smelling flowers has pierced the drought of March to the root, And bathed every vein (of the plants) in such liquid By which power the flower is created;↩
When the west wind also, with its sweet breath, In every wood and field has breathed life into The tender new leaves, and the young sun Has run half its course in Aries, And small fowls make melody, Those that sleep all the night with open eyes↩
(So Nature incites them in their hearts), Then folk long to go on pilgrimages, And professional pilgrims to seek foreign shores, To distant shrines, known in various lands; And specially from every shire’s end Of England to Canterbury they travel, To seek the holy blessed martyr, Who helped them when they were sick.↩