Hiraeth

Hiraeth Hair & Perfume Oil Spicy autumn leaves & bracken underfoot, wild roses & rose hips, & freshly tilled fields in the evening sun Pronounced heer-ayth, hiraeth is one of those words that is difficult to translate, but those who have it, know it instantly. I think of it as the legacy of the first generation, that bone-deep sense of longing for a homeland that we, as children of ex-pats & immigrants, have never truly known. We grow up with pictures & stories & traditions carried over from our families' homes, a blood strong but strangely filtered connection stretching over oceans & continents. We never truly belong to that home, or to this one, forever feeling gently unmoored. Hiraeth, the scent, is what my homeland smells like: the woods & fields of western England in early autumn, when the leaves have started to turn & fall, the ferns have gone dry & brown under my wellied feet, & the hedgerows are bursting with fat rose hips. The farmers are turning over the fields, & the air is rich with the smell of decomposing plant life & fresh earth. The sun is sliding low along the hills, turning the long grass blazing orange before dusk creeps up from the hollows, & I know I have just enough light to make it down the track & back to the house. Hiraeth is one of the most intensely personal blends I've ever made; it makes me deeply happy & indescribably sad at the same time, & I am honored to share it with you...