Driftwood, floating under water

It was a beautiful day and after my trip to the docs for a blood test and flu jab we went for a walk along the beach. I wanted to collect some driftwood to make a wreath. There were quite a few bits and we collected some shells as well.
In the distance we spotted something that looked bright red. At first we thought it was a rucksack that someone had left behind but it turned out to be this marvellous piece of wood. I was sooo tempted to bring it home but it was rather heavy. It would have made a lovely 'Yule log' ,lol, time for another legend :)

The custom of burning a yule log is originally a Nordic tradition. Yule is the name given to the old Winter solstice festivals in Scandinavia and other parts of Northern Europe.

Traditionally a whole tree would be burnt for the whole of the twelve days of Christmas .The log would be lit from the remains of the previous years log and by someone with clean hands.
In France bits of log are burnet daily and if any was left it was placed under the bed to ward off lightning until the next Christmas.

Different logs are burnt throughout Europe. In England they burn Oak, Scotland Birch and in France Cherry which they also over in Wine so that it would smell even nicer.

In Somerset and Devon some people would burn a very large bunch of Ash twigs. This comes from the legend that the shepherds burnt bunches of twigs to keep Mary, Joseph and Jesus warm whilst in the stable.
Of course many of us will be diving into a chocolate yule log this Christmas. I remember making one at School many moons ago :)

Todays Yule lad is Bowl Licker. In the past wooden bowls with lids were used to eat from . These were sometimes stored under the bed or on the floor so this cheeky lad would hide under the bed and if anyone placed their bowl on the floor he would grab it and lick it clean !

Bowl Licker, the sixth one,
Was shockingly ill bred.
From underneath the bedsheets
he stuck his ugly head

And when the bowls were left
to be licked by dog or cat
he snatched them for himself
- he was sure good at that!

Poem by Jóhannes úr Kötlum