Equinox

We celebrated the equinox with a tomato harvest. A number of the small-tomato type plants -- Isis, Red Pear, Purple Russian, Green Zebra, and two of the Red Zebra / Speckled Romans -- were done for the season, so we picked the usable fruit and cleaned up the beds. The Red Zebra and Striped Roman next to the corn are still carrying a lot of green fruit, so we left them to get on with it. We also picked all the big Hillbillys and Brandywines that were ripe. We had one of those along with corn and squash from the garden for the vegetable part of our celebration feast. And yesterday I canned ten pints of tomatoes! This has been a very gradual autumn in Denver -- still no frost, although it's been close a couple of times -- and we're now having the sort of warm, dry weather that we usually get after all the tomato plants are dead. Don't know how long it will last.

On the writing front, things are still going well: I finished chapter 15 today -- half the projected total -- and started the next. Figures on the sidebar as always.

Happy equinox!

-GRG

Previews

For those of you who haven't read Storyteller and Flight of the Hawk yet, I thought I would point out that there are limited previews for both books on Google Books as well as the "search inside" previews on amazon. The links are here and here. I don't know what percentage of the text it will let you read, but it should be a good equivalent to flipping through the physical book.

Tomato harvest...

Remember those little tomato seedlings in the cold frame last spring? Most of them did rather well -- especially the Hillbillys. I've canned 9 pints already and will be doing more this weekend, when we celebrate the Equinox with some garden harvesting activity.

And I've got 3 pages written so far of Chapter 15.

More harvest...

I've been eating some of my multi-colored corn as sweet corn this year. As long as the colors are pale, as in the picture, it's still good that way. The old ear beside it (from last year) shows the sort of colors the mature corn develops.

On the writing front, I've finally finished infamous chapter 14 and know where I'm going with the next few -- progress at last! Yay! Updated statistics are on the sidebar.

Harvest month is here

Only three apples this year. I think it's a pollination problem, so I've planted another variety nearby. Maybe next year I'll have enough for a pie!

On the writing front, things have finally got unstuck, and I hope to be finishing chapter 14 soon.

Free and Inexpensive

Just a reminder that my two poetry collections, Guernen Sang It and Guernen Sang Again, are free to download (and share) on my Lulu page. Also, pdf versions of Storyteller and Flight of the Hawk are available there inexpensively for those needing a budget solution. Finally, I will provide pdf copies of Storyteller free to anyone interested in writing an on-line review.

Book Reviews

Yes, I'm still here; no, writing is not going well at the moment. I'm stuck in chapter 14, and keep finding other things to do. Such as writing book reviews... so here are two short ones. I'm linking to LibraryThing now instead of direct to Amazon - check it out!
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Early Irish Farming (Early Irish law series)by Fergus Kelly, 1997, 770 pages.

An outstanding source of information on early Ireland, this book (based on the irish laws) covers far more than farming. Chapter headings include: Livestock; offenses by/against domestic animals; accidents, diseases, etc; crops; hunting and gathering; diet and cooking; farm layout; land-tenure; farm labour; tools and technology; and a number of appendices and indexes. Highly recommended to anyone interested in early Ireland.
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From Medieval to Modern Wales by R. R. Davies, 2004, University of Wales Press, 256 pages.

Medieval chapters include: the medieval Welsh world-view; the identity of 'Wales' in the 13th century; mobility and marriage in a border society; the interpretation of late medieval houses in Wales (=all post-1400). Also includes chapters on renaissance/modern topics. I got this book through interlibrary loan and found it interesting. I'm not sure I'm going to buy it, though, since a lot of it concerns post-medieval things and it's not cheap ($49.95 on amazon). The chapter on houses is pretty good, with some nice diagrams. What I found most interesting, however, is that although they have now found several hundred houses in Wales that are at least partially medieval, none of the wooden ones dated by tree rings are earlier than 1420 - all post Glyndwr's Rebellion!
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As to what the problem is with chapter 14 ... that's another post.

-GRG

Writing, Reading...

I'm writing again on The Ash Spear, and that means reading as well: more specifically, research, dipping into various books as I go. In response to a "What are you reading now?" thread on LibraryThing, I put up a short list of books I'd consulted in the last week, and thought readers of this blog might be interested, too.

In no particular order, then: The Picts and the Scots at War; Welsh Military Institutions, 633-1283; Blood Red Roses: The Archaeology of a mass grave from the Battle of Towton AD 1461 (an interlibrary loan, mostly interesting for discussion of battle injuries); Gwynedd: A Guide to Ancient and Historic Wales; An Atlas of Roman Britain; The Roman Cavalry; Dictionary of the Place-Names of Wales (a new acquistion); Armour from the Battle of Wisby 1361 (another interlibrary loan, ditto); The Law of Hywel Dda; The Welsh King and His Court.

As you can guess, there is probably fighting involved!

-GRG

Summer's End

The end of July – Gorffennaf, or Summer’s End, in Welsh – was hot. A long, record-breaking string of days with highs in the low to middle 90's (low 30's C), with little rain, and not as much overnight cooling as one would wish, culminated in three days in the low 100’s on Lammas weekend. Nothing like the brutal string of 100+ F days we had two summers ago, but still above the seasonal average. This is the time in Denver when the peak of the summer heat has usually passed, and heavy afternoon thunderstorms begin to give us some welcome moisture – but not this year.

Last weekend my neighborhood finally got lucky in the thunderstorm department, with a heavy downpour on Friday night which had the streets here running full and negated the need to water for a while. The cooler weather persuaded the squash to start setting again – they had stopped for a while in the peak of the heat – and now we have squash and tomatoes in abundance. The late-summer Farmer’s Market has corn – mine won’t be ready for a couple of weeks yet – and the early peaches and plums from the Western Slope are in. Melons from the Rocky Ford district – locally famous for them – and all the other vegetables and fruit you could want, harvest time in abundance.

This weekend the weather is strange. It’s been raining on and off since Thursday night, and cold – not over 50 here yesterday! There are thunderstorms embedded in it, rumbling around from time to time with heavier downpours, but on the whole the pattern is more like a winter storm, the kind that dumps a foot or two of snow on us. This wouldn’t be so remarkable in early September, but it doesn’t belong in August. Summer’s end indeed!

New stuff on the sidebar: an update on the Ash Spear – I’ve finally got a little more written; a Middle Welsh translation site just starting up; and two or three new blog links, including two sites that blog in Welsh here and here.

I’m off to the Farmer’s Market now as soon as the cats come in, and then back to writing.

Later update: the Farmer's Market was wet - many of the usual vendors didn't come, and some were packing up early. And I now have over 3 inches of water in my improvised rain gauge - in 36 hours! But I bought Montana cherrries at the market, and am presently going to warm up the kitchen by making jam.

-GRG

Cadair Eisteddfod Cymdeithas Madog

As I mentioned in May, Cwrs Cymraeg Cymdeithas Madog has an eisteddfod - a literary competition in Welsh - at the end of the course each year. The winner of the upper division competition wins the Chair - Cadair Eisteddfod Cymdeithas Madog. It's a traveling prize - he or she has to give it back in time for next year's course - but one much desired. The chair itself stands 14.5 inches tall. Its design is based on that of the chair given at the National Eisteddfod of Wales in 1988, and it was made by the same craftsman, using a piece of oak from a house over 600 years old. This year I won it for the first time, using the bardic name "Hebog". My entry is shown below, followed by a fairly literal translation. There are a few errors in the Welsh, but I have let them stand for now. The round thing in front of the chair in the picture is an engraved piece of slate from North Wales, which carries the name of the course and the year; and this I get to keep.


PONTYDD

“A fo ben, bid bont.” Gwerthfawr
ydyw’r geiriau’r hen gawr.
Nid i ŵr gwan bach ydyw
gario llwyth sydd bod yn lyw.
Dros ei gorff ei hun cerddant
a’i waed goch torriff eu chwant.

Brenin uchel un dydd daeth
o Iwerddon, gan arfaeth
trwy briodi morwyn lan
codi bont dros môr llydan.
Bendigeidfran gan ei chwaer
gwnaeth y bont – bu’n bensaer.
Branwen brydferth byddai’n gref,
gan ei gŵr elai adref.
Ond yr oedd hi’n aberth prid:
Yn eu pont yr oedd gwendid.
Bron â collwyd holl eu hedd:
daeth Efnissien i’r gwledd.

Torrodd sylfaen wan eu gwaith,
ond nid oeddynt heb obaith.
Am atgeweirio’r bont sâl
talodd Brân iddo iawndal.
Aeth heb bryder dros y don
y pâr priod i Iwerddon.
Ond parhâi, wedi’r hen ddig,
craciau dwfn anweledig.

A pwy oedd dechreuodd sôn
am y tal yr ebolion?
A pwy cymhellodd y gred
rhaid gosbi gwraig ddiniwed?
Ef yr oedd gan gelwydd hon
torrodd teyrnas Iwerddon.
Ond ys bai i’r brenin ffôl
am ei farn gamsyniol.

Bob dydd cosbodd cigydd cas
Branwen gan bonclust diflas.
Dagrau hallt ar ei boch fain
syrthient yn boeth heb udain.
Cloesid pyrth yr wlad i gyd;
bu dim dianc o’i thristlyd.
Dan y dŵr heb lef heb don
cwympasai’r bont yn ddison.

Wedi amser, neges daeth
i Brân am ei chaethwasaeth.
I’r orllewin hirbell las
edrychodd, a galanas
bu’n ei feddwl – llifoedd gwaed
talai am boen ei gydwaed.
Nid oedd nawr bont – croesi’r môr,
bai’n rhaid iddo bod blaenor,
a cherdded trwy’r dyfnder mawr
yn tynnu’i longau llwythfawr.

Gwelodd Gwyddelod ei ben
gan ddial ar ei dalcen.
Rhedodd pob un gan y gair
i’w brenin ar ei gadair.
Dweudodd wrthynt torri i lawr
pont dros afon llifeirfawr.
Byddent yn ddiogel iawn
er eu bod yn anghyfiawn.

A sut dweud yr hanes ddu
o Iwerddon a’i tyngu?
Pan daeth nifer Brân i’r min
bu dim obaith i’w gwerin.
Tân, cleddef, angau mawr,
dinistriad coch enfawr.
Dim ond saith y gwŷr ddaeth n’ôl
o’u brwydro gwaedlifol.

Cychwynnodd Iwerddon trist
ar ei llwybr hen amdrist:
pump o wraig i lenwi gwlad;
oesoedd o frawdladdiad.
Gwelodd Branwen beth y bo;
y môr hwn nad all pontio.
Torrodd chalon cryf yn dwy;
ddaeth ei ysbryd yn ddrudwy.

Gan waed byw coch fel offrwm
gwyd pont, nid maen ar faen trwm.
“A fo ben, bid bont,” meddai
yr hen gawr; yr oedd heb fai.
Aeth Brân yn bont yn lawen:
daeth adref dim ond ei ben.

- "Hebog"

BRIDGES

“He who would lead, let him be a bridge.” Valuable
are the words of the old giant.
Not for a small weak man it is
to carry the burden of being a leader.
Over his own body they will walk
and his red blood will slake their thirst.

A high king one day came
from Ireland, intending
through marrying a pure maiden
to build a bridge over a wide sea.
Brân the Blessed with his sister
made the bridge – he was chief builder.
Beautiful Branwen would be strong,
with her husband she would go home.
But she was a costly sacrifice:
in their bridge there was a weakness.
Almost lost was all their peace:
Efnissien came to the feast.

He broke the weak foundation of their work,
but they were not without hope.
To repair the sick bridge
Brân paid reparation.
Without worries, over the wave
the married pair went to Ireland.
But there persisted, because of that discord,
deep unseen cracks [in the bridge].

Who was it began the rumor
about the payment of the colts?
Who was it compelled the belief
that it was necessary to punish an innocent woman?
He it was who with this lie
broke the realm of Ireland.
But there is blame for the foolish king
because of his mistaken judgment.

Every day a hateful butcher punished
Branwen with a nasty ear-box.
Salt tears on her thin cheek
fell warmly without wailing.
All the ports of the land were closed;
there was no escape from her sorrow.
Under the water, without cry, without wave,
the bridge collapsed soundlessly.

After a time, a message came
to Brân about her slavery.
To the far blue west
he looked, and a blood price
was in his thinking – floods of blood
would pay for his blood relative’s pain.
There was no bridge now – to cross the sea
he would have to be the first-goer,
and walk through the great depths
pulling his heavy-laden boats.

The Irish saw his head
with vengeance on his brow.
Everyone ran with the word
to their king on his chair.
He told them to break down
the bridge over the great-flowing river.
They would be very safe
although they were in bad faith.

How to tell the dark tale
of Ireland and her fate?
When Brân’s army came to the brink
there was no hope for common folk.
Fire, sword, great death,
a huge red disaster.
Only seven men came back
from their blood-flowing battling.

Sad Ireland set out
on her ancient woeful journey:
five women to fill a land;
ages of brother-killing.
Branwen saw what would be;
this sea she could not bridge.
Her strong heart broke in two,
her spirit became a starling.

With living red blood as an offering
a bridge is raised, not stone on heavy stone.
“He who would be head, let him be a bridge,” said
the old giant; he was blameless.
Brân became a bridge gladly;
Only his head came home.

-GRG