SAMPHIRE LOVERS CLUB

𝔖𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔥𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔶

On the first Monday of August many of the fen folk would pack up their tools, leave the graft behind, and gather the family for a pilgrimage of sorts to the marshes. The whole affair, mind you, was more than just a chore—it was an event. Picnics were packed, laughter filled the air, and the local brass band would strike up a tune. Their music wasn’t just for merriment, though; they played to ‘ran-tan’ the bad weather away, a kind of sonic warding off of the rain clouds.

The scene would be something to behold: horses and carts ready to haul back the bounty, the salty, green samphire, which they’d collect in massive amounts. They’d bring it home and preserve it through pickling, giving them a taste of the marshes all year round. You see, samphire—often called the poor man’s asparagus—wasn’t just food. It was a connection to their heritage, their land, and each other.

Have you tried it?

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