Tag Archives: Stories of Places

Himalyan Rock Crystal Salt and English Bay

If possible, I shower, but with my roving life I have to adapt to the circumstances of my location.

Currently I bath – in the turret of a castle overlooking the South Downs; which does make up a bit for having no shower I must admit.

As autumn is an the advent we have beautiful balmy days but the garden is losing its summer brightness. Some roses are still blooming and the Michaelmas daisies are flowering. After Michaelmas you must not pick brambles. The old wives tale is that the devil spit on their leaves. The modern version of this tale is that there may be micotoxins on the fruit due to a fungus that grows on the plants later in the season. Same story, different words.

Just yesterday I saw butterflies on the Michaelmas daisies. The gardener thought they were Red Emporors, but then was uncertain because they had orange and no red. But then the type seems like the Emperor, and there is another variety, but that is called the Peacock Emperor, which has green in it, he is sure. Must be Red Emperor then. Odd, his face says.

Also there is Lavender and Sage and lots of Melissa (which was handy for my cold, it has good anti-bacterial and anti-viral properties, apparently effective against fever blisters).

Timeless and without much regard for the seasons a magnificent Cedar stands against the light. This morning I am touch typing so that I would not have to take my eyes off the beautiful expanse in front of me.

Did you know that Cedars have biorhythms, like us? Apparently when it is overcast, they sleep in! What sensible trees.

But back to business, the bathwater is already running. A pinch from a gift of Himalayan Rock Crystal Salt is already dissolving in the warm water. The towel rail is moved conveniently close to the bath. The gown is handy. All is ready

But I forgot something. A wanted Bay for my bath. Well there is nothing for it; I have to run down into the garden to collect a twig. Down the stairs and through the lounge out the kitchen door, over the bridge that leads past the fountain, squeeze past the roses to go down to the hedge of Bay.

I wonder if the Lady of the Castle knows of the old belief that Bay protects against witchcraft.

Does she know that Bay put under the running water of your bath will relieve sore muscles?

Just the one twig and crush it to let the essence out.

Whenever I feel bad for another living thing, as I do when crushing plants to get their essence out, I think of the Bushmen (San) of Africa. One of the few peoples on earth who didn’t destroy their habitat.

Realising that they have to eat and that this implies eating another living thing, they overcome this problem, not by refraining from nourishing themselves, but by giving thanks to the animal who gave its life so that they can eat. And when they leave a camp site, they give thanks for the place that gave them a home for a time.

Perhaps that is what it is to walk in grace.

So I lay back in the bath and think of the Himalayan Mountains where these crystals were formed who knows how long ago. Out of the rocks of a mountain formed when the earth collided.

The subtle scent of the Bay just enough to revive and connect to ages past.

Tomorrow I think I will put some Rose petals in the bath…