A week of Grandmothering

I’ve been busy since we got back from holiday. My two youngest grandchildren came to stay, and I had them all to myself. We didn’t do anything special or extraordinary, we just hung out, as they say. But it was so good to spend this time with them - that’s all you need to do, I guess. it was quite chaotic at times, relentless, even, but I loved every minute. Here are a few snapshots of our week.

All pretty normal, really - the kind of things I loved to do when I went to stay with my Grandmother. I indulged myself as much as the children - and that’s one of the secret joys of being a grand parent.

And now they have gone home - back to school beckons, and the house is quiet once more. It was a lovely week.

Summer Holiday Postcards

We’ve been away to the mainland for a couple of weeks holiday. It was such a lovely chilled time, staying with family, catching up with friends and doing a bit of sight seeing. It was very restful and I really felt as if I spent proper time with everyone.

I’ve already shared most of my pictures on my instagram account grid, or saved in the #summerweetspot highlight, but I kept a few for here.

Nowadays, I prefer visiting cities, when I’m on holiday. I love the buzz and vibrancy of an urban environment - a complete contrast from where we live. I hadn’t been to Glasgow for a long while, and we enjoyed strolling around the Merchant City area. There was a street food festival on at the time too, so a perfect day in the city.

We had a trip to St Andrews too - I worked out that I hadn’t been there for almost 20 years - far too long! It was delightful walking around, admiring the ancient university buildings, enjoying an excellent lunch and visiting the best bookshop I’ve been in for a while. I’m now trying to persuade James to study there when the time comes.

I also really wanted to see The Kelpies - and they didn’t disappoint. We arrived one evening, after the visitor centre had closed, so we could’t get inside. That didn’t matter, though. I was happy just to stand and gaze up in awe.

Then we spent a couple of days in Edinburgh, again - just wandering around. it’s always very busy at this time of year, but there are some quiet spots to be found, off the beaten track. This is Dean Village, one of my favourite parts of Edinburgh. (I may even have a Rightmove Property email alert for here…)

A visit to The Georgian House in Charlotte Square was also on my list. I can’t imagine why I haven’t been here before, but it was amazing. Such a fascinating story and the guides were so lovely and interesting.

I thoroughly enjoyed it and would definitely recommend a visit if you are in the city. I think the Georgian proportions and symmetry appeal to me, and the understated elegance of the decor - very inspiring.

And there may have been more book shopping… There were certainly plenty of good times, sunny days, coffee shops and eating out,. Lazy mornings, long conversations and reminiscences - perhaps even a few “cocktails of an evening” …

But all good things come to an end, and now we are home - trying to hold on to those last few precious weeks of summer. Hope you are having a good season xxx

July Garden

I thought I would take you on a tour of the garden this morning. The sun is just coming out after a light shower so everything looks lush and green, and the newly mown grass smells amazing.

I’ve made a couple of improvements this year, one of which was to have the stone wall rebuilt. Part of it was bowing out alarmingly, and other parts were very tumble down. I’m so pleased with the work, and the care with which the builder placed each stone.

After the wall was finished, I cleared this bed, which had become a bit of a dumping ground and was full of weeds. It’s a tricky space to plant, being in dappled shade most of the day, and quite dry because of the trees. I envisage it as a spring garden - there are already daffodils planted, so I’ll add a lot more bulbs for next year. I’ve planted a few things - lupins ,roses,bergenia, hostas, moved a holly bush from the front and chucked a few packets of annual seeds around to give some colour while things assert themselves. I also put in lots of dahlias, but they’ve been a bit slow to get going. There’s still loads of couch grass, constantly poking up, so I’m pulling out handfuls every day. I guess it’s going to be trial and error for a few years with this bed - but gardening is a process and I’m looking forward to seeing what emerges.

Round the corner, though, the beds I made where the chickens used to live are becoming what I hoped they would be - a wild tangle of pinks, lilacs and purples. My main focus here is scented plants - roses, lavender, carnations and geraniums which now find themselvesjostling for space with verbena, grasses and lupins. I am definitely not a minimalist gardener.

i love this space - every morning I go out to see the roses, which are fabulous this year, but right now, these daisies are jumping out like eager puppies as I pass.

As you can see, my gardening style is quite - well, let’s just say “relaxed”. I have a bit of a clear out in early spring which is when I do my main weeding, and before I plant anything new. Otherwise, its at the stage where i just leave it to do it’s thing. I pull out anything obvious that I don’t want to seed, and I deadhead the roses, but that’s about it. It seems to work.

I’ve adored fuschia since ever I can remember - those incredible flowers, like ballerinas en-pointe. I never cease to marvel at them.

I’ve got a few things growing in pots too. Herbs, more lavender (you can never have too much) and scented lilies, which have yet to flower. The original photo I was going to use here was quite blurry, so I’m using this one instead, which shows pots of rose scented geranium and sweet peas, and the glow of a patch of yellow loosestrife behind the trees.

Did I mention lavender?

The polycrub is producing well and we’ve been harvesting every day. There was a fantastic crop of broad beans and early peas; we’ve just finished the broccoli and are impatiently waiting on the next sowing to be ready. Still, there’s kale, beetroot and courgettes to tide us over until then. And tomatoes, of course. I’m delighted with these because they are grown from seed I saved from last year’s crop - and they taste delicious.

Sweet Marie de Bois strawberries - the taste of summer, and they do so well undercover. We get a small crop in mid June and a second flush later. I’ve tucked some salad leaves in the back here too.

And, hopefully, a taste of things to come - carrot seedlings poking through, chard, beets and Brussels sprouts growing nicely.

So, we’ve come to the end of my garden tour for July 2019. I hope you enjoyed it. Always a work in progress, as a gardening should be. Continuity and change, that’s the way it goes xx

Edges

We went to St. Kilda on Saturday. It sounds almost normal when you say it like that - as if perhaps we went out to lunch. But lying 75 miles west into the Atlantic (from the Isle of Lewis) - this was no ordinary day out. Indeed, the sea journey is often arduous, and for that reason, it is not recommended for children under 12.

We have both wanted to go for some time, and so, finally, the required age having been reached, we set off on what felt like a kind of pilgrimage.

Its so easy to romanticise this far flung scattering of islands and sea stacks - and the story of the St. Kildans and their precarious lives, out there “on the edge of the world”. Although, I’ve come to realise that terms like “remote” and “edge of the world” are incredibly subjective. Remote from where? Edge of what? Surely West is always East of somewhere else?

Nevertheless, it’s a fascinating tale. For four thousand years, people lived on Hirta, the largest of the islands. They grew crops, kept sheep and cattle, and harvested the sea birds and eggs. This way of life more or less continued until the 19th century when summer tourist boats began to visit the island. This led to the islanders becoming more reliant on income from the visitors, as well as the goods brought by the boats. As a consequence, their traditional way of life was abandoned in favour of tourism. The problem with this was that the boats could only call in the summer months, and so life during the rest of the year became extremely difficult, without the supplies they had come to rely on. The visitors brought infectious diseases with them too, and this led to a rise in mortality among the local population. This fact, and increasing rates of emigration exacerbated the situation. A sad but familiar tale of many indigenous populations.

In 1930, things reached a critical point and life there had become untenable. The remaining villagers asked the government to be evacuated to the mainland. This request was granted and at the end of August that year, the 36 remaining souls left their homes for the last time .

The archipelago is now owned by the National Trust for Scotland, and has double world heritage status, for culture and natural environment. Today, there are wardens in residence, as well as a seasonal archaeological team. There is also an Ministry of Defence radar base there.

Anyway, after that rather dry introduction, and a very bumpy voyage, we finally chugged into the relative calm of Village bay, on Hirta. The building here is known as the Feather Store, and was used, as it’s name suggests, to store feathers, harvested from the gannets and fulmars, which the islanders used to pay rent to their landlord.

Heading up from the shore, into the village, we noticed that the hillside was covered in stone beehive structures, which are know as cleits (pl: cleitan). There are over 1000 of these on Hirta, and remains of cleitan on the other islands and sea stacks. They were used as storage spaces for everything the islanders needed to store, as well as shelter for sheep and probably islanders too, and have been in use from neolithic times until the evacuation in 1930.

If something works….

The village itself is strung out, like a necklace, across the bay. Some of the houses have been restored and are in use as accommodation for the summer volunteers. One has been converted into a small and very interesting museum.

The native Soay sheep are wild and unmanaged, and seemed totally unfazed by our interest in them. They’ve seen it all before, a thousand times.

Further on up The Street, as it’s known, the houses are falling into ruin. In every fireplace is a small plaque bearing the name of the last inhabitant and the date they left. Evocacative names - Macdonald, Macqueen, Ferguson - names that can be found on our own family tree. Although we don’t know of any direct relation, we felt connected to these folk. We visited each hearth in turn, and wondered about the families who had lived there.

A pilgrimage indeed.

The awe-inspiring sea cliffs are the highest in the British Isles and a haven for seabirds. After our time on Hirta, we took a tour round the sea stacks and the uninhabited island of Boreray.

There were just so many birds - gannets and guillemots nesting on the edges; puffins flying back and forth to their burrows. The sight and sound of the sheer amount of birds was just incredible. Puffins darted around like swarms of flies, gannets sat on their precarious nests, clucking like hens, and the guillemots stood huddled together, balancing on the ledge, looking for all the world like penguins on the Antarctic ice.

We gazed up at the wonder of it all, and the skipper had to remind us to close our mouths…

And the colours! Just stunning. I think that was what struck me the most about Boreray. Those deep, deep greens shot through with red, silver and gold. It felt majestic - sacred even.

Then there was the magnificence of the sea-stacks. Stac Lee, pictured here, rearing precipitously up out of the ocean bed, 50 metres deep at this point. Time and again, words fail me in trying to describe this place.

And finally, reluctantly, we turned for home. I thought about those last St. Kildans, standing at the back of HMS Harebell, as it steamed them towards their new lives on the mainland, sobbing and waving goodbye, as their home faded into the distance for ever.

I felt privileged to have had this day.

( there are more photographs and videos of our day on my instagram story highlights and grid if you care to visit)

Just my type

I’ve been doing some mild decluttering in the loft. Nothing major, just going through the odd box or bin bag. It’s mostly old paperwork: bank statements, utility bills, empty envelopes (?) and bags of clothes that hadn’t made it to the charity shop. I’m just going to work away gradually as I feel like it, and hopefully I’ll have a much more usable space up there by the end of the year.

On one of my recent attic forays, I came across my mother’s old manual typewriter, tucked under the eaves, snug in it’s carrying case. Well, that was work stopped for the day, I can tell you. I brought it down, and cleaned it up. Surprisingly the ribbon wasn’t too dry, so I spent a merry couple of hours bashing away.

James was intrigued. “Where’s the return key?” he puzzled, struggling to press firmly enough to make a mark. “This is hard work!”

We had a bit of fun with it for a few days, leaving typed messages for each other, but I don’t think he’s going to abandon his laptop for the analogue life anytime soon. I’m really enjoying it though, and it now has pride of place on my desk as I ponder ways to integrate it into the way we live now.

It brought back so many memories: of my mother, of school, college, first job applications, and also, reminders of the “act” of typing.

I’m obviously a bit rusty - there are quite a few spelling mistakes and I definitely don’t think this would pass muster in Mrs Duncan’s class, but hopefully you get the jist. ( I’ve just noticed I misspelled turquoise - that sticky Q key caught me out!). And I remembered that to make an exclamation mark you had to use the apostrophe key then backspace and type a full stop! We must have been a lot less excitable in those days, lol!

Seven Days in Summer

I love going in the sea, but freshwater swimming is something I’ve wanted to try for a long time. I’ve always been hesitant though, as I’ve never been sure which lochs were safe. Recently, a neighbour’s daughter started up a wild swimming tour business, and as soon as I heard that I booked a session with her. She said she knew exactly the place, and so on Monday we headed up a track onto the moor to a little lochan and had an amazing swim. I loved being in that water - so clear and soft and safe. And now I know where the rocky areas and deep spots are, I’ll definitely be back

We went out for lunch with friends to a newly built restaurant overlooking one of the stunning island beaches. Good food, great company and an amazing view from the panoramic window. It’s definitely becoming a new favourite place to go.

Another beach trip - this time to Mangerstadh on the south west of the island. A steep walk down a winding path through the machair to this sandy beach, with towering cliffs and sea stacks, and you feel the full force of the Atlantic. It’s a wee bit out of the way for us, but always worth the trip.

We’re still enjoying the light summer evenings - this was taken around 10.30 pm on the croft. So many different grasses and colours now there’s no livestock grazing there.

Of course we have to make time for Wimbledon - fitting in a bit of crochet too. Come on Andy and Serena! And we’re smitten with Coco too - isn’t she wonderful?

I’m harvesting everyday from the garden and polycrub now. Today’s pickings included vegetables for Sunday dinner, elderflowers for dessert. Delicious.

A catch up of all that’s been happening in my week. I’ve been busy - a few meetings and some community volunteering, but there has still been time to enjoy these summer days and - oh - those roses!. Hope your week has been a good one xxx

Summer 2019: plans and intentions

The holidays have started for us now, and I want to make the most of our short island summer. I’ve been thinking about what I want to do over the next couple of months, writing lists, creating vision boards - you know the sort of thing.

There’s nothing very complicated, or too expensive on the itinerary, although a fair few items do depend on good weather, which is never guaranteed. Still - I think there’s enough to be getting on with there, and I hope to share my progress in the weeks ahead.

But to be able embrace these long lazy days - I need to have my house in order. I’ve realised, (very belatedly) that I work best from lists. If I write out a to-do list first thing in the morning then I am more likely to achieve at least a few of the tasks, whereas if I don’t have a plan, then I am prone to faffing and frittering the day away. It’s taken more than half a century for me to understand this about myself, but, what is life if not a journey of self-discovery?

Now don’t get me wrong - faffing and frittering are perfectly fine activities to take part in - my favourite things, in fact. But it’s those heart sinking moments, for example, trudging wearily home after a full day at the beach, to the chaos of an untidy kitchen, or taking a book and an iced tea out to the deck chair in the garden, and tripping over the massive laundry mountain waiting to be put away. I’m not good at these things at the best of times, but it seems harder in the relentlessness of Summer.

So, with a view to fully relaxing into my summer plans - I intend to be much more organised and to avoid letting all the chores slide. Not in a rigid, regimented way - I've no desire to be a drudge and miss everything. Neither do I want to be systematically ticking off each activity as it is completed - “ ate strawberries - check”. No - what I am aiming for is a kind of organised spontaneity, if that makes sense.

It’s all about balance, really - finding that sweet spot. If you happen to find it - do let me know. Then we can all take some time to smell the roses. I’ve got the wine chilling, I'm so organised…

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May Morning Meditations

A gentle rain had fallen early this morning. The grass and leaves were sparkling with fresh raindrops, when I wandered out. There was a softness in the air that definitely spoke of Spring. Then, a sudden remembering - May Day already! This year is racing along and I feel as if I have missed April completely. How did that happen?

Mind you, when I think about it, I have managed to do quite a lot over the last month. I’ve planted over 300 trees (with help), the garden is well underway, I had family home for a visit, and we managed a few days away to the mainland. It was a good month - so much achieved.

Maybe what I mean is that I haven’t been particularly present lately - always finding myself two steps ahead of where I should be. It’s a habit I’ve picked up since John died - contantly switched on - what do I need to do now and next and after that? I’ve no time to be sitting around not achieving stuff - life is too short.

But I’ve realised that I’m looking at presence in the wrong way. It’s more about meeting the day and embracing what comes from it. Some days are busier than others; some days require more focus; some days involve future planning and decision making and some days are quieter. I guess the trick is to accept the day for what it is and enter with joy and contemplation - to really be in that day instead of being in tomorrow or next weekend. I’ll try and remember these thoughts and move mindfully into May.

These Days

November should be a slow month. The month in between. Yes I know there’s a bit of a celebration at the end for some countries, but here it can sometimes be - kind of in the way of the next big thing.

I’ve always liked this time, though - this pause between. The month of remembrance and birthdays (James’s and mine), before the real countdown starts. I think this may be a legacy from childhood, when I counted on the anticipated birthday postal orders to kick start my Christmas shopping in December.

But this year it’s seemed non stop. With family, school and community commitments, a couple of bouts of winter bugs in the house, keeping the home running and fitting in everything else, I have felt really conscious of being on my own - constantly on call.

It’s just that time of the year, I guess. The daylight is considerably shorter these days and so there’s much more to pack in before its time to light the fire and draw the curtains for the night. This week we have been enjoying some beautiful weather - still and calm, with that impossibly clear light that we get here. The days of pink skies, as we merge seamlessly from sunrise to sunset. I love to watch that play out on my horizon. The slow but inevitable movement of the sun along the edge of the world has always fascinated me, and taking a few moments to notice at each end of the day fills me with wonder. When I wake up, with another full list of tasks, or before fixing the evening meal, with so many jobs left undone, its good to stand for a minute or so and watch the world turn. It keeps me grounded.

I’m running a series on my Instagram stories, - the view from my back deck at 8 am. Already the sunrise is later than this, but I’m hoping to observe the subtle changes in the light as the weeks go on. You are welcome to join me every morning and see what the view is like today.

November Kitchen

I cook from scratch most days. It’s tempting now it there are only the two of us in the house, to slip into a twenty minutes at two hundred degrees type of cooking - and there is a fair amount of that.  But more often than not, I can be found, pottering in my kitchen, listening to an audio-book, chopping veg, a pot of something simmering on the stove. Nothing elaborate - just good, simple, nourishing, food.

When I was a teenager, I was given the Reader’s Digest Cookery Year book for Christmas - a month by month seasonal recipe book. It’s been one of the most influential books in my life and has informed my attitude towards food - growing , cooking and eating, ever since.

November usually involves a lot of tomatoes, as the last ones are harvested before the plants are cleared away. I had just enough from my very last picking to make about a litre of passata. I cut the fruits in half, sprinkle over a couple of chopped garlic cloves, drizzle with olive oil, season, and roast until they are soft and squashy.

Then it’s a case of pushing the pulp through a sieve and we have the most delicious fresh and extremely versatile tomato sauce. We both adore this, and we’ve been enjoying it in many different dishes over the past few months. It’s great at pepping up chicken fillets or pork chops for a midweek meal, drizzled on fish tacos, and it makes a tasty soup base.

But pasta pomodoro is the clear winner in this house. Just as it comes - maybe with a dash of chilli flakes, if I remember at the time. A perfect way to say goodbye to the tomatoes of 2018.

We still have plenty of beetroot to harvest, though. I grew three different colours this year, and the pink candy striped one has done best. Happily there are enough of the purple and golden beets to give a wee bit of contrast. I’m happy to eat these roasted and dressed simply with a vinaigrette dressing - orange is nice. A few peppery leaves work well too, if you have them

I’m also making a lot of soups and risottos using the leeks, carrots and turnips that are growing, and the kale and chard provide us with greens - steamed until tender and served with butter.

Desserts are a Sunday treat (although I have been known to sneak a cornetto from the freezer now and then). Usually it’s a crumble or a rice pudding, but I rang the changes slightly, with this scrumptious Pear Streusel Cake - easy recipe from Delia online. The pears had been languishing in the fruit bowl, and were, quite frankly, past their best. Still, I managed to salvage enough to make this and it worked out just fine. Perfect with some thick Greek yogurt on the side.

And then there were the birthday doughnuts. A special request - might have been inspired by the bake-off? Anyway, I had never made them before and now I have. Yes they are pretty misshapen - okay - very misshapen, but they were such fun to make and they tasted fantastic. Plain, simple sugar ring doughnuts (recipe from tesco online). Could even be a new November tradition!

Thoughts on Twelve

So, now he is twelve; my youngest of four. Clever, witty, handsome - slightly patronising in that way teens can be towards their silly bumbling parents, but he is the most wonderful company, and I love that I get to spend this time with him.

It’s been a hard few years - for both of us. This was the third birthday card signed “love from Mum” and it pierces my heart every time. Yet, as each year passes it becomes - not easier, but just the way it is. An ever evolving state of normality.

He has coped incredibly with these difficult years and we’ve emerged as a pretty strong team. I am aware that there are many challenges ahead - high school, teenage years, exams etc, and I’m bound to get things wrong. But I’m also confident that we will work through them. If I’ve learned anything about this boy in the last few years, it is to trust him to recognise what he needs - what’s best for him. He is the most self-assured person I know - and secure in his own sense of self. I hope he can hold on to that as he grows older, and I’ll do my best to make sure he does.

This weekend was a low key celebration - just the two of us. Some new tech, cards, facetime and phone calls from family. Later there was a wonky stack of freshly made doughnuts for a cake. Next week - a cinema trip with friends then out for dinner. He’s having a happy birthday.

Twelve years, twelve candles; they’ve come in the blink of an eye. I see the young man in him beginning to appear more and more these days, and I’m looking forward to meeting him. It’s one of those bittersweet parenting paradoxes - looking wistfully backwards while feeling excited about the future. But I’m just trying to hold on to the present - it’s enough for today.

November Garden

I live on an island off the North West coast of Scotland. It is often wet and windy with temperatures on average a couple of degrees cooler than the rest of the country. Because of our maritime climate, we don’t see much in the way of heavy snow or frost; instead we get gales - a lot of those! But there can be the most glorious sunshine and clearest blue skies - enough to keep me happy, anyway.

There’s no doubt about it, though, growing anything here can be a challenge. A couple of years ago, I renovated the garden to make it easier to manage. One of the things I invested in was a polycrub, for growing fruit and vegetables. I’ve mentioned it a lot on my Instagram feed, but I don’t think I ever explained what it is - basically a rigid poly tunnel, made from polycarbonate and recycled feeding tubes from the fish farming industry. They were developed in Shetland (ask them about winter gales!) and are built to withstand very high wind speeds.

It is, quite simply, the best investment I have made. I can grow anything in there - its definitely the way to go here. It feels so sturdy and secure, the space is amazing and it just makes growing our own food so much easier and satisfying, while being undercover means that there is always something to harvest.

Right now, the fruiting vegetables are coming to and end, and the salads and leafy greens are coming into their own. There are still carrots, beets, turnips and leeks too. The tomatoes have been magnificent this year - so juicy and sweet. We’re still picking the odd one or two, but they are really over for this year. We’ll miss them. I grow a lot of greens and its great to nip out and pull a few leaves fresh for dinner. I often find I am craving for green stuff as the winter wears on. There wont be much new growth now until after the New Year, when the days begin to lengthen again, but there’s enough to keep us going.

I’ve planted garlic in one of the raised beds outside. The variety I’m trying this year is Vallelado, which I bought from a seller on ebay. It’s actually a really good place to get plants and seeds from. Many small growers and nurseries sell from there, and I’ve always been really happy with the quality.

The flower beds, which were ablaze with blooms in the summer, are shrinking back down to bare branches and blackened foliage, but there are still pops of colour to enjoy. Sedum Autumn Joy is so well named, and this one has been absolutely stunning this year. I moved it from another part of the garden, where it was being completely overshadowed by another plant, and it is certainly repaying me for the favour

Well, that’s my November 2018 garden tour - I hope you enjoyed it. Its my aim to do this on a monthly basis, and chart my progress as I go through the year. It’s where I started when I first had a blog, and so now I’ve come full circle! xx

Hello...

I’ve had a few false starts, trying to get back to blogging - casting off into beautifully calm water, then being forced back by a sudden storm. But now - yes - now, I think I’m ready to set off towards blogland once again.

You see, I had a blog for many years - The Barefoot Crofter. It was a minor success, in that people liked it and left appreciative comments. It started off as a garden progress blog, evolved into home and family, and then documented our move into crofting and island life.

But then, everything changed.

My husband became ill and died within the space of a year. I wrote about this part of our journey too - right to the inevitable end and beyond into those first few months of widowhood. It was incredibly helpful to do this.

In those early months, the blog became a touchstone for me as I thrashed around in the turmoil of grief. Being able to write about the garden, or seasonal recipes was hugely comforting. But soon enough I felt the need to withdraw my energy from it - to focus inwards as I attempted to come to terms with what had happened, and who I even was.

I’m not sure I’m any closer to resolving these issues, three and a half years on, but I’m a lot more comfortable just sitting with the questions.

I thought I was ready to blog again a couple of years ago, and tried to reinstate The Barefoot Crofter. It was no use. Maybe it was too soon, but I just couldn’t reintegrate the widowed me with the woman who wrote that blog. I couldn’t make the connection.

But I miss writing.

Although I haven’t actually stopped. I’ve been keeping some very intense journals since my bereavement. Really personal - deep and dark. Incredibly useful and I cannot imagine how I would have coped without them, But definitely not bloggable.

I think I mean that I miss writing on a given subject that someone, other than me might read.

And so, here I am.

In a new space, with a new name. I’m not sure what will emerge here. I still like the same sort of things as I always did. The same, but different, I guess. Let’s see what happens.