The spurtle and the case of amalgamation

By Conrad Beaubien

I have long been a fan of porridge, especially at this time of year. Often a large bowl of it can sustain me for a day, considering I add fruit and maple syrup to sweeten. In this case I’m talking old school, nothing ‘instant’ here with real deal steel cut oats, you know like the ones that delivered John McCann an award back in 1876 at the International Exhibition in Philadelphia. The McCann outfit based in County Kildare in Ireland still proudly displays the award icon on their cans of ‘finest oatmeal’ to this day. I figure it might have a little bit to do with competition with the British Royal warrant, you know the little crest we see on things like Tabasco or HP sauce, wellington boots, marmalade and booze. As far as the latter goes, I don’t know what the taste-test parties for gin or champagne are like for the royals, but I’ll be sure to remind them that they missed out on Maple in the County when they breezed through here in their Land Rovers—or were they Rolls Royces that were kicking up dust running a shortcut along Gomorrah Road? By the way, as far as I can tell the County fridge magnets are slowly descending the list to soon receive the royal blessing, but I better get back on track before I really wander off into the ethers.

You see, the Irish were certainly not unique in promoting oats as a wellness food. Store shelves today are lined with oatcakes and such from Scotland and other places. Let’s see, have I forgotten anything here? Oh yes, the reference to steel cut. Also called pinhead oats, it’s about a milling process that chops up the groats—the inner kernel with the inedible hull removed. This apparently conserves the benefits of oats allowing to preserve every part of the grain while cooked in a slow food kinda way. I like to bring the oats to a boil at night and turn off the stove so the oatmeal is set to go by morning. They say that the amount of potassium in the product is supposed to be good brain food, but my neighbours have adopted a seeing-is-believing approach. They just need to be patient, that’s all. So here’s where I get around to the spurtle part that I mention in the title of this piece.

The spurtle is a Scottish- invented kitchen tool made out of wood. For gardeners out there, picture a tulip bulb planter that you jab into the earth to create a pocket into which to bury each bulb. In former days young folks would quickly recognize the thing as being like a wooden top where one pulled a string wrapped around a dowel-like stem, spinning it into a dance. I imagine by now there must be an app on the market that shows you what is does without ever having the fun of the actual doing. Like a tennis tournament on radio. Okay, here I go again off topic, but actually here’s also where we get to open door number three to connect the spurtle and oatmeal.

The spurtle is a fifteenth century thing and works for stirring all sorts of stews and soups and of course porridge because the rod-like shape prevents congealing and lumps in the mix. I also find it handy to get into the corners of the pot. Since the spurtle is more or less a humble contraption yet to be heralded by royalty, the Scots took the time to finish the top of the gadget into the shape of a thistle just to make sure everyone got it when it came down to knowing where it originated from. In Spurtle Stirring 101classes, I learned that going clockwise with the right hand is as highly recommended as the fashionable way to throw the ball in lawn bowling.

When you get right into the enterprise, you may as well go full tilt and join the Internet trend of singing sea shanties by way of voicing the old songs that were sung in unison when sailors were at the perilous mercy of the sea while heaving and pulling on the lines to haul in or let out the ‘sheets’. They are much like work-songs, which helped as a balm in different times and cultures as men, women and children laboured under pain of hard work, loneliness and adversity. This is apparently what has given rise to the trend these days.

I’m for sure not under the misfortune that has been historically prominent through the ages, but I have to admit that a hardy song or two adds a comforting rhythm to the stirring of oatmeal. Sure, if the cat takes off and the birds at the feeders beyond the kitchen window are spooked they’ll come back I know. They always do when I’m done the last chorus.

So as I gather my thoughts this morning I begin to relate stirring and song and heritage into the seemingly far reaching idea of the effects of urban amalgamation on culture. Some might say it’s a bit of a stretch to go there, but when I think about how, when communities were smaller and more separate it was easier to define specific traits—social, geographic, history—that were either shared in common or were catalysts for coming together. The concept of amalgamation is nowhere unique in the world, but when it was embraced in the province of Ontario in 1998 it began to splinter the characteristics of what makes a place unique. As for purported benefits of efficiencies and cost savings, most of those factors are yet to be determined. I refer to amalgamation as the big box store of urban planning. In my view, while perhaps a farfetched comparison, amalgamation had the effect of watering down the porridge that comprises community. I mean the very word amalgam was first used at the same time the spurtle was hatched in the 15th century, meaning “a mixture of mercury and another metal.” We all know how that turned out.

It’s not boundaries or politics, bean-counting or rules that will hold a place together; it is culture that is the heartbeat of a place. The central draw within a community— the post office, schools, town hall, the town square and meeting places—offer opportunities for gathering. In the past, transportation hubs such as harbours or railway stations helped define a place.

So by now I’ve set the table with porridge and peaches and almonds and fresh cream at the ready. The cat came back and the birds have re-gathered at least until I break out unto the next song. I have scribbled ‘culture vs. shopping’ on the kitchen chalkboard as a personal statement of the day as a consideration of how our lives can be further enriched as we emerge from the present era. By the way, I’ve started delving into Lake Shanties to contribute to our personal and collective songbook. We already have 99.3 FM as our County version of Tik Tok without pictures. I expect the rest of the world will want to join in when they hear us.

The journey of Walking with Thunder is documented at walkingwiththunder.com.