ciboule en poudre, Winterzwiebelpulver, cebolleta en polvo, Allium fistulosum

You can see from the photo of the onion stems just how big the plants had grown – too big to eat as they were. There were two choices: use them for stock, or dry and grind them. The latter it was.

The leaves were chopped into rings and dried in the dehydrator set at 50oC. How long did it take? I didn’t time it, but most of the day. The stems weren’t only thick as, but also very glutinous.

Once finished, they went into the blender and whizzed until ground. The powder is still good after a month or so of storage, and the smell is still quite pungent. Great for soups and stews, and also replacing the package full of salt and other things that comes with instant noodles.

I shall definitely be doing some more, as the bunch I cut back now doesn’t look as though it was trimmed in the first place. We grow ’em big ‘ere!

I’ve been using my Turkish spindles a lot lately, more so than the other types in my collection. My IST spindles are in the following woods: London Plane, Bog Oak and Spalted Beech. But why these choices?

I’m a Londoner. London Plane trees are everywhere in the capital – lining the streets and spreading out in the parks, nudging branches with red and white horse chestnuts. As a schoolchild, I would wander home in the autumn and early winter, scrunching through the fallen leaves on the pavement. I can still remember the smell and was reminded of that when I was in Dublin in 2018, where their autumn had come a little earlier than in Sussex. Do children (and adults) still play with itchy balls? Hopefully everyone’s learnt how itchy these things can be and are kinder to their friends. If you don’t know what an itchy ball is, it’s the dried fruit of the plane. When it’s broken open, the hairy seeds can cause quite an irritation when plopped down someone’s back. Not nice and potentially dangerous.

I had a moment of nostalgia when I was walking along North Terrace, Adelaide, and a plane leaf dropped from it’s twig, and drifted down to the pavement in the most poetic fashion, gliding here and there, twisting, turning, floating upwards and then downwards again. Autumn, and an image of Winnie the Pooh coming to mind.

So that leads on to oak, the national tree of England. The sight of one of these trees spreading its boughs un-nudged in a field is symbolic of the English countryside. The smell of rotting oak leaves also reminds me of my childhood, walking home from school through the “squirrel park” where the “parky” used to spend all his time clearing up the fallen leaves with a besom, then carting them off in his wheelbarrow to a humongous compost pile. The smell was strangely sweet/herbal and one that I’m never likely to forget. The spindles are actually made from bog oak – 4,000 year-old oak from the fens. As a history buff, this adds heaps to their appeal.

And beech… Have you ever walked past or through a beech grove in the cooler months, where the unmistakable copper glow of the carpet of fallen leaves contrasts perfectly with the smooth, silver-grey trunks? In summer, the leaves provide a cooling shade from the sun, with their lighter undersides adding an individually mysterious shimmer. There I go a-waxing lyrical… I remember being taught how to eat beech nuts by my Mum, who no doubt hadn’t savoured them since her childhood. We were at Farthing Downs, south of Croydon, where we so often used to take our dog Penny for a walk. The beech trees were at the top of the road, where it became a footpath, and stood proudly at the entrance to some fascinating woodland.

OK, so that’s how I choose my spindles! What makes IST Turkish spindles unique is the shape of the arms and also the brass weights, giving them more spin. The overall design is unique to craftsman Ian Tait. Note that my blog is non-commercial, and that any recommendation of a product or supplier is simply that.

Kaka beak, Kōwhai Ngutu-kākā, Papageienschnabel

It must’ve been over fifteen years ago that I bought a packet each of red and white kaka beak seeds from New Zealand (legally and through the post). This was after only one successful attempt at growing our native Sturt’s desert pea. I had it in my head that kaka beak needed to be sown in autumn, and so two or three years in a row I sowed a pot of each colour, saw a few grow, some even to their first pair of true leaves, then cark it.

A few years ago I came across the remaining seeds, and repeated the experiment, this time checking with a supplier on the optimum sowing time. Seems they can be planted for most of the year. The first re-attempt came to nought, but out of the second attempt I ended up with four plants of the red. None of the white ones came up, but I might try again, considering the viability of the red seeds. How could I tell them apart? The red-flowering ones are black, and the white-flowering ones a pale brown.

My largest specimen (not full-sized by any means) grew buds last year, but these dried up on a particularly hot day. The specimen was later planted behind a retaining wall at the side of the house, and I’ve watched the buds develop eagerly. Then today, the first open flower!

I guess there are some people, particularly “across the ditch”, laughing at this great achievement. Well, I still get a kick any time seeds germinate. Always have done. Always will. And now one’s flowering.

Back to the plant per se, it seems that it is critically endangered in the wild and restricted to one location. Thankfully it’s not so rare in cultivation.

(English version below)

Habe ich das Buch vor einer Woche auf Google Books gefunden. Es wurde in Fraktur gedruckt. Der Autor hieß Joseph Mollenhauer: praktisch gelerneter Färber zu Fuld. Und das Titel: Praktischer und sehr anwendbarer Waid und Schoenfaerber zum Gebrauch für Wertmesiter und Liebhaber.

Die Vorrede beginnt so: Da ich wegen politischer Verfassung des Staates meine praktische Kentniße nicht weiter benutzen kann noch darf; so bin von vielen Freunden aufgefordert worden, diese meine Färbkenntniße gemeinnützig zu machen.

Ich habe noch nichts um die politische Verfassung zu dieser Zeit in Hesse herasugefunden. Trotzdem wird das Buch mir immer mehr interessant. Kann es das Original sein, oder eine Kopie?

Vor der Vorrede wird geschrieben  – und es scheint in zwei Shriftarten zusammen – Dieses färbbuch gefördert (?) mir Johann Henrich Marx… November 1806. Die Vorrede wurde aber am 30 April 1801 geschrieben. Vielleicht wurde denn diese Inschrift vom Verwandten geschrieben? So viele Fragen, die ohne Zeitmaschine nicht werden beantwortet können..

A little more uncovered…

I was able to find a printed copy of the work on Google Books, written in Fraktur – a lot easier to understand! It was written in 1801 by Joseph Mollenhauer: experienced dyer at Fuld, and titled Practical woad and beautiful colours for the use of professionals and enthusiasts. I’m still deciding on the best translation, so don’t quote me on that for the time being.

So, was this the original, or a handwritten copy? Just before the introduction there is a page that states This book was …. to me by Johann Henrich Marx… November 1806. This inscription seems to be written in two different scripts, and with the word for “this” – dieses – looking more like vinfub, you can understand the difficulty in trying to decipher it. What is clear is that the introduction was written on 30th April, 1801.

The author begins his introduction, Because I can’t practise my craft any longer due to the State constitution, many friends have asked me to pass on my dyeing knowledge. I haven’t yet been able to find out what the constitutional thingamajig was, but have been wondering why my BA couldn’t have included being thrown such a work and being told to go and research it…

(English version below…)

Einer Mitgliederin unseres Bundes wurde dieses Buch von ihrem Großvater gegeben. Das Buch wurde 1801-1806 im Schwarzwald geschrieben, wo ihre Verwandte beim Marxfabrik in Lambrecht arbeitete. Es liegt jetzt im Lutheranischen Arkiv hier in Adelaide. Ein Faksimile bleibt mit dem Handspinners and Weavers Guild SA. Das Foto wird mit Genehmigung kopiert.

Am Anfang des Buches steht das Alphabet in normaler Handschrift. Auf der nächsten Seite steht das Aphabet in Kurrentschrift. Ein sehr deutiger Schlüssel, aber trotzdem ist die Schrift sehr schwer zu lesen.

Das nächste Projekt besteht darauf, das Buch in moderne Schrift (sowie auch auf Englisch) übersetzen und drucken zu lassen.

Es war echt eine Vergnügen, solch einen historischen Schatz anzuschauen.

Dyeing, social history and languages all in one! It was such a pleasure to view this book, written in 1801-1806 in the Black Forest, where the author worked at the Marx wool factory. The handwriting alone is something to marvel at, even though it is difficult to read. Whilst studying in Germany, I was given a photocopy (from and English text!) of 1940’s Gothic alphabet to help me read official documents of that period. I have to say that Gothic script is a lot easier to understand than Kurrent! At the front of the book there is a page with the alphabet in regular handwriting, and on the opposite side the alphabet in Kurrent. Still difficult to read!

The book was given to a member of the HSWG SA by her grandfather, who inherited it from his relatives. The original has been kindly donated to the Lutheran Archive in Adelaide, whist a facsimile has been donated to the Guild.

It would be wonderful to find a way of transcribing and translating the book, and perhaps even getting it printed.