Seaweed and sea witch

 

I have often worked with the wonderful photographer Laurence Winram over the last decade. I wish if anything we had started working together years ago. 

In lockdown, we started dreaming of a new project and I decided I would like to work with the Kelp that washes up on the shores of Fife. To this end, I gathered many bags of kelp. This is an ex-coal mining area and the beach is full of sea-coal and coal sand. I hung a line full to wash in the rain and neglected another sack due to lack of space.

It was a wet, rainy week, but on the one dry day, the line kelp crisped to a crumble and was no use. The kelp in the sack went to slime and all was given to the grateful worms of the compost heap.

So balancing weather and kelp collection, Laurence and I fixed a date. The day after what was to have been the worst ever recorded storms in Fife. Laurence, traveling through from south of Edinburgh, could not navigate the torn roads and landslides, so we had to cancel. 

But I had the bags of seaweed and the hessian dresses . . . so we managed to rearrange for the day after.

It dawned, an inauspicious mirk of sea mist called 'haar' here. However, everything came together beautifully. 

Laurence is still working on the photos taken during a four-hour shoot, we used driftwood which was on the beach and pushed the seaweed through the hessian of the dress. 

Every day now, I am on the beach at some point walking our dog, and always for years and years, I have gathered sack fulls of litter. I don't do communal litter picks, I go out and I gather as a way of repaying for the joy of the walk and the natural treasures that I gather. 

Weirdly Laurence sent his pictures through after a particularly harrowing morning walk, which resulted in this poem. I have always written poetry since being a young child, dyslexia seems to help. For years I have not been focusing on my words, parenting and lecturing have taken time and energy elsewhere. But when I am particularly angry or moved words come without invitation.

"I step out, bags in pocket, dog attached.

As I step, my sleep soft face hardens like a crab shell . . . crabbit.

bottles, bottles

cans, cans

mask 

gloves

Iron Bru 

MONSTER

wrappers from sweets

wrappers from crisps

The ubiquitous candy stripe 

straw.

The deflated celebration

helium balloon,

and fatbergs

A rat, cocksure bounds from rock to rock 

another lies pealed in the sand 

A rainbow of tampon dispensers wink 

from the tangles of seaweed.

The fridge that has haunted my walks for four days 

lies still beached. 

I have requested help to remove it, 

none came.

Today I drag it, singlehanded (dog in other)

I look deranged,

I know.

So now it lies recumbent on the prom.

bottle, can, straw, glove,

nappy, balloon, lighter,

POLYSTYRENE

I claw you from the sand, coal grits cling  

My dog pisses up a traffic cone 

and I carry it dripping to the bin."

(cra·bit) Dialect, chiefly Scot -adj. 1. ill-tempered, grumpy, curt, disagreeable; in a bad mood [esp. in the morning]

Prints of the photograph are available from Laurence Winram.