Se ierþling writ

Ælc wintra, ælc whit-tægl deor bidaþ hornfeallung. Ac þis deor oferdyde his þearfe.

Þis somer brohte drugað. Shenandoah flod is niþer. Fela sindon gesewenlic, þa under wæter gewunelice sindon. Her sindon fela ealde irenas: nægelas, hæpsan, loces, weodhocas…
Æne dæg, hunta bæd me leaf asecian guþ-lafas Westlanda Ingefeohta in flode. Ic hopige, þæt he ne sohte her. Eall is ofergeong!

Hu seo þrag gewat!

This summer we’re in a drought. The river is low, so many things are visible that usually lie beneath the water. There’s a lot of hardware here. Nails, screws, locks, hasps, unidentifiable tools… One day a few years back, a relic-hunter stopped by and asked if he could use his metal detector in the creek to find Civil War relics. I hope he didn’t look here — I don’t think metal detectors can filter by century.

“Se yrðling lufað þone æcer þe æfter þornum 7 bremelum genihtsume wæstmas agifð” – Ælfric

(This is from the homily for the fourth Sunday after Pentecost. Today is only the second Sunday, which may be why the harvest isn’t so abundant.)

Æftersona cymaþ ærste hrím, ac min swetpiper-wyrtas agiefaþ næfre!

Corn dryað. On winde, mann mæg hit hieran, ær he hit locað.

Iacobus-burh wyrt, hit hér hatte. On Englaland, hit hatte “Þorn-æppel”. (Þæppel?) Hit is atorbærende.

Twegen mære weardas mines æceres. Her is micel mycgwyrt, þe hereðrymas mycgas hattað me eglan.

In þissum somere of mín wyrtgeard hæbbe ic ccx punda win-wæstma earnode.

Beanas sindon ripe todæg. Micel ðercung 7 windung; lytel hærfest. Þis somer næs ne noh hat. Ac hit is god mete, cumað winter.

Eala! Ic hæbbe ane wyrt on min æcere, þa þe naman on englisc hað!

Se hyrnednebbas sindon ðeofas, ond the sædas corna acwinað.