It was historically common in Nothern Europe, the British Isles, Iceland, and Greenland to both build houses out of peat block, and then heat them by burning peat logs. The latter is, of course, still quite common, but we’ve come a long way in terms of building materials and ventilation. As mere fuel, I find the smell of burning peat is incredibly pleasant. I also love the smell of rain-soaked peat bogs.
But when I toured a village of recreated medieval cottages made entirely of peat bricks, and fueled by peat fires, I found the smell to be overwhelming. The mixture of the peat smoke with the freshness of the peat walls left the air so heavily perfumed that at first I couldn’t even breathe inside the cottages, and had to step out several times to clear my lungs. It was like a thick incense that clouded my mind, and I tried to imagine what it would be like to live an entire Winter in a cottage like this.
The result is the next entry into my series of pseudo-Medieval poems. The first three can be found here, here, and here. Please do not repost any of these poems without a direct link back to this website.
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The Smell of the Peat, by M. Joelle
Under the thatched roof
The smell of the peat
Hangs thick in the air
Both smoky and sweet.
We curl up inside
As we wait for the Spring.
This room is our kingdom,
And the hearth is our king.
We serve it, it keeps us
In warm food and heat
We owe our whole lives
To the smell of the peat.
We collect it all summer
And dry it out through the fall.
Some is fuel for the hearth,
Some is built into our walls.
So we keep our king happy
And we keep the hearth neat
And we reverently worship
The smell of the peat.
