𝐑𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠
Yesterday I took a flask of hot water into the Forest. The aim was simple. To gather a few hazel catkins, rich in tannins and phenolics, young nettle tips for their vitamins and minerals, and hawthorn leaf buds offering more of the same, and to drop them into the flask as I walked.
As I followed the paths I could feel the contents rolling around inside, infusing, bruising, slowly becoming something else. For a moment I was transported to the Anatolian plains, to soured milk ferments carried in skins tied to horses’ saddles. Almost.
The resulting tonic was a pale brown, no doubt drawn from the catkins’ tannins.
This felt like a rite of spring. A phenological brew. A small act marking the transition from winter to spring. I sipped it in the parking and wondered what would have changed in a week’s time when I walked some of the same paths again.
It is good to have a patch and to wander it mindfully, pausing, listening, looking. The connective processes even made my tinnitus recede for a while.