Trail trees are trees that have been shaped by human intention rather than environment or disease, and they have been used for centuries to mark the way through the woods across the Americas.
A network of pre-Columbian roads and trails denoted by these trees, most often oak and maple, have been well documented across First Nation territories. Their uses varied between nation and specificity of the region but may have included pointing out a fresh water source
off a main route, minerals or other resources that may have been important to Native Americans for medicinal and ceremonial purposes, or designated areas of significant importance such as council circles and gathering points.
Their distinctive shape, usually bent at around 8ft from the ground, meant they could be visible from long distances and even in snowy or flooded conditions. They would also provide the perfect vantage point for the hunting of elk and moose.
Distinctively bent trees have long been noted throughout the Temperate Deciduous Forest of eastern North America and have been documented in the Great Lakes Region by scientists and historians since the early 1800s.
However skeptics have trouble believing marker trees were made by humans, and even amongst believers the number of true marker trees is contested.
After the horrors following the Indian Removal Act in 1830 many of the oldest examples have sadly been lost, though extant trees are protected as historically significant cultural artefacts.
The trail marker tree in White County, Indiana, for example, one of two enormous white oak trail marker trees in the county, is estimated to be over 350 years old.
This gravestone has been on my mind for some time, its inscription so perplexing and sinister: ‘Nameless - Be sure your sin will find you out.’ It stands at an angle in a tiny Wolds village churchyard not far from my Mum’s, and recently I went to find it.
Though the cemetery at St Andrew’s in Irby-upon-Humber is small, the ‘sinner’s grave’ is difficult to spot. Somewhat sunken, it stands not much more than a foot tall and the epitaph is losing its battle with moss. The wording is taken from the book of Numbers (32:23) in which
Moses restates the principle that misdeeds cannot be hidden from God.
Up close the tragedy becomes obvious: this is a child’s grave.
Easter, Passover and the vernal equinox; these spring festivals are not far away and I’ve been reading about The Three Hares Project, which since 2000 has been documenting a distinctive emblem seen across cultures and down the ages.
Its origins, meaning and sheer breadth of reach are as fascinating as they are mysterious.
The project was set up by three researchers: art historian Sue Andrew, cultural environmentalist Dr Tom Greeves, and film-maker and photographer Chris Chapman, as a non-profit aiming to record and research all known occurrences of the three hares motif.
Lighten the dry Jan blues by visiting the Jarramplas Festival, which takes place in Piornal, in the Spanish region of Extremadura every year on 19-20th January. As well as being a sight to behold it is also BYOT (bring your own turnip).
The focus of events is the costumed ‘cattle rustler’ named el Jarrampla, who wears a cloak of multicoloured rags and is adorned with a great horned mask. This villain, played by a lucky volunteer, runs around the 1,200-strong town banging a little drum while local people
throw turnips at him in an attempt to expel his general bad vibes for another year. Two tonnes of turnips if you want the specifics. Next day’s bruises must be about as colourful as the costume.
Earliest man established the sea to be in mysterious commune with the heavens and beyond our power to influence. Leonardo da Vinci thought that the tides to be the breathing motions of a large beast and tried to calculate the size of such a creature’s lungs.
Human imagination populated the world’s oceans with monstrum marinum.
Some, like the mermaid, are familiar and knowable, while others remain inscrutable and of impossible scale, like the legendary Scylla and Charybdis, the six-headed serpent and the great undersea colossus whose maw formed a whirlpool that could devour a ship whole.
Whether they heal, harbour ghosts or commune with the gods, The Bleeding Tree looks at the trees in our world and in the folklore we create to describe it. I became fascinated with trees that ‘bleed’ whether physical, like the red sap of the El Drago Milenario...
or ‘dragon tree,’ to the more figurative, those that bleed in sorrow, sacrifice or accusation.
Indeed trees can bleed in evidence of crime, as recorded in one of the great New England folk legends collected by the renowned folklorist Charles M. Skinner. Skinner reports on the origin of the Micah Rood apple variety, or ‘Bloody Heart Apple’,
The matter of matter; body disposal is not the only option when there are so many preservation methods for those inclined to live fast and leave a pretty corpse.
One Catholic tradition sought to preserve the physical state for as long as possible. These are the ‘incorruptibles,’ like Bernadette Soubirous, a miller’s daughter from Lourdes whose body has lain unravaged by time in a grotto since her death in 1879.
Catholicism has a strong tradition of reliquary; many pilgrimage traditions were created around body parts and bone fragments of dead saints.