Seaweed, cess pits and salty creatures
Hello m' perky porpoises, What did the sea know of the land? Through every crevice, every vein of man it had ran. Stored in his bone marrow, out through his bowels, down to the sewers and treatment plants. Who was listening, when the core was changing? Were the whales singing? L.B It is around this time of year that I start to get excited about piles of seaweed. It has been a long Cornish tradition to barrel it up from the beach, following a favouring gale. Who knows what other useful items can be found for the garden: driftwood, unusual pebbles, shells, a random welly, netting, interesting rusty pots, fisherman floats if one is especially lucky. The seaweed I collect from above the shore line and spread it flat across my garden beds. I used to rinse it in rainwater first, but now I just leave it to the winter weather. By spring, it has shriveled up to almost nothing, and can be satisfyingly crunched up in the hand. I am a believer in feeding the soil...
