Sunday 24th October 2021

It was quite a wild night, but the morning was bright and sunny. Still windy and showery on and off. Rainbow weather.

I went out to take instagram photographs of the pumpkins I have grown - as we do nowadays.

I noticed the gate had blown open in the gale. I also noticed the neighbour's white cow in my other neighbour's garden

As I walked back up the drive, I saw deep hoof prints in my own grass. There was a large cow pat in the middle of the lawn, already covered with brown flies.

I’ll move it to the compost bin tomorrow- this being Sunday.

Later I went down to the bottom field for a walk, and to see the trees and pond. It all looked fine, although not a lot of autumn colour showing. Some pondweed growing round the edges, and the marshy banks felt more solid.

(I'm trying out this daily journal format to see how I like it, and if I'll use the blog more.)

Daffodil Days

We are knee deep in daffodils here. As the rest of the Northern Hemisphere moves on to the pink and lilac hues of the later season, we are still firmly ensconced in the bright yellow mantle of early Spring.

Daffodils are a symbol of hope and renewal - one of the first splashes of colour to appear in the garden, reminding us that life is reawakening after the Winter rest.

They were my husband’s favourite flower. He always claimed that the most important times of his life seemed to happen when the daffodils were in bloom. Career changes, passing his driving test, falling in love, getting married, moving home - all these life events were played out against a golden backdrop

When he was diagnosed with cancer, we thought he would have maybe two or three years left with us. That first autumn, I planted bulbs all over the garden, in places he would see from the window, and he talked about how many more daffodil seasons he would see. It became almost a touchstone for him.

In the end, he only saw one more daffodill time. As the little clumps of yellow, planted in hope, just a few short months earlier, began to punctuate the flower beds, I supplemented them with supermarket bunches for the house.

I found a pretty crystal vase in the charity shop, and I remember his delight when I first placed it, filled with those shop blooms, on the table by his chair. Just a simple thing, but it brought a moment of joy and light into those dark times.

Six daffodil seasons have rolled around since then, and many more bulbs have been planted around the garden and on the verge outside the gate. I even have a cutting bed, specifically for the house, although there are many wind casualties that find their way inside too. I think it’s fair to say I am now self-sufficient in daffodils.

And as I go around, gathering extravagant armfuls to fill vases around the house, I feel privileged to enjoy such an abundance of beauty. If, as Wordsworth wrote:

One daffodil is worth a thousand pleasures…

then I am rich indeed.

The Romans apparently planted daffodils in remembrance of loved ones, and it’s easy to see why. Their cheerful resilience is the epitome of hope emerging from the dark. A signal that life continues and expands. But still, that first bouquet of the year is always placed in that crystal vase; I see the beauty and simplicity - and I remember John.

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Spring Stories

Spring always seems to be a slow process here. It begins with the return of the light, just after the New Year. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, but within a couple of weeks, the days are undeniably longer. Soon, we are hurtling towards the Equinox and beyond, and the living room fire is unlit more often than not.

Yet the weather takes it’s time. Oh yes there are those beautiful days - days where I can smell the new growth, and feel the promise of the seasons to come in the sun on my face. But there are many more, at this time of year, when the Spring feels as far away as November. Gusting winds, gales, hail showers and seemingly endless rain.

It feels as if nothing will ever grow again, but of course it does. Even as I peer out of the salt sprayed windows and the wintry croft, I know that the bulbs are pushing up, and the frogspawn is appearing in the ponds.

And when I dash outside, between the showers, I can find the drumstick primroses in their familiar spot and check on the tadpoles’ development. I can harvest the wild garlic and young nettle tops to make a Spring pesto, and rescue the daffodils flattened by the wind.

The pesto is simple enough to make. I gathered colander full of wild garlic leaves, spring nettle tops, parsley and chives. Or whatever you can find. (If you don't have much, or any wild garlic, add a couple of cloves of garlic.)
2- 3 good tablespoons of toasted pine nuts.
3 tablespoons pecorino or parmesan type cheese.
Olive oil - 2-4 tablespoons, depending on the consistency you want.
Salt
Blanch the nettles quickly and rinse the other greens. I give them a good couple of whirls in the salad spinner.
Toast the pine nuts
Grind them coarsely with in a mortar and pestle.
Add the grated cheese and greens.
(I usually blast the green stuff in the food processor, then add the pulp to the mortar but you can do this all in the blender if you prefer)
Add salt to taste.
Mix in the olive oil.

I used some of it to make this Spring pesto sourdough (recipe here). It is very delicious and this is the second year I’ve made it- I think that counts as a seasonal tradition, don’t you?

Incidentally, I’ve managed to keep my original lockdown starter going for over a year now. It’s been touch and go a couple of times, but it’s still hanging on in there. Much like the rest of us in these strangest of days.

Croft Notes

The township stands on a high headland, bordered on three sides by the long curving fingers of the sea loch. The croft itself is just under four and a half acres. It comprises of two narrow fields running West/East - the top field being fairly level, and the second sloping down towards the big communal drain that runs along the bottom fence.The ground is decent, although there is a boggy area near the bottom. There are the remains of the original blackhouse in the second field, and evidence of runrigs can be seen running down the slope from the dwelling.The top field is quite exposed, with the prevailing wind coming over from the South West, - almost directly from the Atlantic, while the bottom field has slightly more protection due to it’s sloping nature.

The land has not been cultivated for many years, but has been used for grazing livestock. Readers of my old blog may remember our sheep and cattle adventures, and the previous crofter ran sheep here for decades.

Since I took over the land, I planted a shelter belt of about 400 native trees down the south boundary fence of the top field. Eighteen months on, they have taken well, with very few losses, More recently I planted a much larger area of woodland at the bottom of the croft, in the marshy area - mostly alder, birch and willow. I also had a large pond dug, to help with the drainage issues there. It’s still early days, but most of the trees are looking good. I’ve lost maybe about a dozen to what I think is wind damage, exacerbated by the hard plastic of the vole guards that were placed over the saplings. Some of them seem to be growing back from the bottom, but others have not. I’t’s definitely a work in progress.

In the top field, up near the road, I’ve had a large 12 x 4 metre polycrub built. This is an amazing space and will make a huge impact on what I can grow here.My plan is to grow mainly fruit and tomatoes here, with room for a few extras. I already have a 6 mtr one at the side of the house, so I know how invaluable such a structure is in this climate. This smaller crub will be mainly for year round greens, salads and herbs, and sweetcorn in the summer. I’m also planning to have some raised beds put in at the side of the new crub, and take advantage of the shelter by planting fruit trees in the lee side. A potting shed is also in the works, so all in all that should give me a really good productive area. I’m not discounting a wee croft gate stand for the excess.

The grass has not been grazed for a couple of seasons, but will be cut, hopefully at the end of August. I was reluctant to have it done earlier, because I know there are nesting birds, as well as at least one corncrake. Once this is done, I am hoping to manage part of the land as a wildflower meadow, and another part as habitat for ground nesting birds. And more trees - oh and maybe another pond - and… well who knows what else? it seems every time I go out there the ideas flow.

Its taken me five years to work out what I want to do with this land - or maybe (and more likely) for this land to work out what it wants to do with me. I hope I’m worthy. Watch this space.

Dectectorists

One of the TV programmes that was streamed on BBC during lockdown was Dectectorists. A gentle comedy about the lives of two men whose hobby is metal detecting. It’s very low key, subtle stuff. Not laugh out loud, in your face type of funny, but understated and beautifully observed. It’s about looking for gold, and finding it in unexpected places. I watched all three series over the course of a couple of weeks. I loved it. The theme tune haunts me still.

And now a lovely book has been published - Landscapes of Detectorists. This is a real academic book, but it’s very readable. It contains four short geographical interpretations of the programme, with additional essays by the writer/lead actor, and the producer. It’s a genuinely informative book and exactly the kind of non- fiction writing that I like. (I might have more to say on that in a future post.)

Apart from making me want to rush off and buy a metal detector and get out there, both the book and the series have made me look at my own landscape in a different way. The idea, in one of the essays about the land being a palimpsest is just so wonderful. I know it’s an obvious one, but we don’t always notice what’s on our own doorstep. I live in this amazing ancient landscape - the layers of story written by the successive generations of people that have lived here for at least 5,000 years is there to be seen - if I take the time to look for it.

Anyway....

What’s been happening with you? Such a weird time. I’ve been ok, mostly - my normal life turned out to be pretty similar to lockdown life, so there hasn’t been much of a difference. School at home was more challenging, but we managed to get into a rhythm which worked for both of us.

So - here we are. Not really had much to say, to be honest. Just the usual things happening - working in the garden, knitting, reading, pottering around. I’ve been doing more work on the croft. I planted lots of trees down at the bottom field. I’m hopeful most of them will take, although it is a bit wet down there - I had a pond dug to try and help with the drainage, so we’ll see how that works. A pond is never a bad idea though.

I’m taking a break from social media right now, but I felt I wanted to dip a toe back in here - see how it is - whether my voice is still there or not. I do have things I want to say, but I’m not sure where I want to say them. I have a feeling that this might be the place. I’m a bit out of practice and it all feels a bit stilted, but - we’ll see…

Anyway -I’ve got lots of ideas and plans, and there will be some busy times ahead. Hopefully I’ll manage to share some of them here.

My November Kitchen

The main event in my November kitchen is the always the boy’s birthday cake. This year (his 13th - can you believe it?) he requested an orange cake. I think that’s pretty orange …

Most of my food inspiration lately has been influenced by our recent trip to Rome. It’s all very simple stuff - pastas, bruschetta, antipasti - just a few ingredients, but oh so delicious. There’s been more warming dishes too, stews, curries and soups, as befits the season.

I absolutely adored the potato and mozzarella pizza from the cafe near our holiday apartment, and what can I say about the pistachio gelato? Di-vine!

We had the most incredible time on holiday. In many ways it was overwhelming - so much to see and take in. I was going to do a separate post, but I honestly didn’t know where to start. There are quite a few images on my Instagram feed and highlights, if you want to take a look.

Back home and back into the kitchen - not mine this time. Although J is no longer at the local school, I’m still involved in their Eco-committee. We held a soup and pudding lunch for the community using the produce the children had gown. That is an extremely impressive array of homegrown soups on that stove - tomato, leek and potato, butternut squash and parsnip. With a fabulous selection of desserts, provided by parents, it was a very successful and enjoyable event.

But I have been back in my own kitchen too - I like to cook from scratch as much as I can, and there’s not much I enjoy more than pottering around a cosy kitchen, Radio 4 on in the background, making good things to eat.

Buon Appetito xx

Potterings

We’ve had a couple of those crisp, mellow autumn days this week. Today was perfect - one of those days when I stepped out with a coffee and began just pootling about, pulling a couple of weeds here and there, deadheading the odd dahlia, and before I knew it, the washing was dry, light was fading and hours had passed.

I just love days like that

Summer Reflections

Summer has gone in the blink of an eye, and here we are, already into September. I feel ready to move into the new season now. The weather has changed, school is back and I’m feeling that turn inwards. But, before I do, I’d like to have a look back - a reflection on how my summer turned out.

You may recall a post at the beginning of July, where I laid out my plans and intentions for the Summer - my Summer Manifesto, if you will. I revisited this list yesterday and was pleasantly surprised to see how many of my hopes had been realised. Some have been documented already here: our St. Kilda trip, swimming, reading, beach days and our mainland trip. I’ve been outside as much as possible, early morning wandering, garden pottering, sipping wine by the outdoor fire, and a fair amount of just sitting around enjoying the sights and sounds of summer. Not everything has been documented, but that’s as it should be. I do feel I’ve taken advantage of the sunny days. Yes - there were a few, although thankfully we escaped the crazy heatwave that occurred on the mainland.

There were a couple of things on the list that didn’t get ticked off. Not an issue, because - it wasn’t actually a tick list. Still, we never got away on a ramble, I didn’t take any naps, and no raspberries have been planted. I can live with that. We did a lot of city walking on holiday, I discovered that winter is the best time to plant raspberry canes, and napping just didn’t happen.

I did manage to press some of the garden flowers, though. I’m quite pleased with how they turned out, and I think I might use them to make bookmarks. I completed a couple of craft projects, over the summer, which I hope to share in a future post.

And that’s been the Summer of 2019. A low-key, gentle and nourishing break - exactly what we needed before the boy started High School. We were able to spend precious time with family, just relaxing into our time together.

And as we slip into the Fall, I feel the excitement of new starts and possibilities, bolstered by the energy of the summer sun. I have a few plans for the coming months - more house, garden and croft work, and a holiday too. Thank you Summer - you’ve been wonderful, but now I think I’m ready to celebrate Autumn.

Summer of books

One of the things on my Summer Intentions list was to read summery fiction. I managed to read around a dozen books over the last couple of months. I enjoyed most of them, in the main, although there was one where I didn’t get past page 75.

Now that we are in the last week of August, I think it’s time for a little review.

A Month in the Country, J.L Carr was one of my early summer reads. I loved this book. A really short read - a novella - set in the long hot summer of 1920 and is an autobiographical story about the authors’s time spent renovating a mural in a country church. It’s written as a reflection on the events of that time, soon after WW1. The language is almost poetic - it’s a beautiful and evocative book, and had me yearning for that time and place. And, any book that involves cake - well…

“ I remember the cake too, seedcake, first rate. Now that’s something you’d be lucky to find in London, then or now”

What can I say? Summer reading wouldn’t be complete without a visit to Miss Read and her quintessential tales of English village life.

Rose Cottage, by Mary Stewart was a pleasant enough read. It was a light romantic novel, set in the summertime - a comfortable story with a bit of a mystery going on. I read it while sitting under the trees in the garden on a beautiful sunny day - perfect summer reading.

I read Ian McEwan’s Atonement over a stormy weekend. It’s not what you would call a light summer book, but the first part is set on a hot summer day in 1935. It was a superb novel - rich and atmospheric. A story in three parts. about the consequences of a lie, set against the backdrop of the second world war. I was gripped by it and needed to keep reading. I found the middle part about the journey to Dunkirk, and the descriptions of life as a nurse in London at that time completely fascinating. The feelings from this book stayed with me for a long while.

I’d forgotten I’d read this until I was looking back in my photos for this post. I picked it up in a charity shop at the beginning of the year, but seeing it was set in the Summer of 2003, I put it on my seasonal pile. I enjoyed it - I like Ali Smith’s writing - quick and smart and funny. This one was too, although quite cliched in places. A familiar story of a strangers turning up and disrupting the lives of an already dysfunctional family, and the consequences of that. Good fun.

This was a holiday purchase from an amazing bookshop in St. Andrews. I had never come across this author before, and have to admit I chose the book for the title and cover, more than anything. But what a revelation it was. Such clever, witty and understated writing. There isn’t much of a plot - a wealthy 40 something widow has married a man 10 years her junior who is rather feckless and workshy, then an old family friend returns to the village. The story really examines the various relationships of the well drawn characters. It’s surprisingly racy for it’s time (late 50s?) and there is an unexpected ending that left my mouth agape. It was one of my favourite books - a perfect read.

I loved Elizabeth and her German Garden - written by the author of Enchanted April, and published, anonymously, in 1898. This was a joyous and authentic celebration of her love of nature and her, often hapless attempts to recreate her vision. I laughed so much, reading this short book - she is wickedly funny, and there are many acerbic observations on some of her acquaintances and the social situation of her time and position. Her love for her children - The Babies as she calls them, and her rather less affectionate relationship with “The Man of Wrath,” as she refers to her husband, is sharply drawn.

Yes, she lives a very privileged and selfish life, and some of the passages certainly made me wince - it’s definitely a book of its time, but through it, I could detect a deep sense of frustration at the constraints she felt as part of the minor aristocracy at the turn of the 19th Century.

This book - bought purely because the title fit into my Summer reading theme, was a bit of a curates egg, to be honest. I realise now that I read it in the wrong way, and should have been dipping into it as summer progressed. Instead I read it all at once - well over several days. It is a collection of nature writing, edited by Melissa Harrison - some older work, but quite a lot of it was “new nature writing” and I struggle with that particular genre at times. I find it often to be very formulaic and perhaps more about the author’s clever “writing” about the nature, or landscape or whatever, than about nature itself. I much preferred the older works - the Gilbert Whites, and W. H Hudsons than anything from this century. But that’s just me…

I ended up just ploughing through it to get to the end, which wasn’t the way to read it.

The Go-Between by L.P Hartley was my favourite book of the summer. It haunts me still. From that famous, poignant opening line:

“The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.”

right to the very end, I was hooked.

Set in the summer of 1900, it’s a quiet drama - almost gentle, gradually building to the inevitable climax, as the heatwave intensifies day by day. The writing is brilliant and beautiful, perfectly evoking the life of the English upper class in the decade before the Great War.

It’s the tale of a 12 year old boy, narrated by his older self, who goes to spend a summer with a school friend, and finds himself being caught up in a situation he is too young to cope with. Its a story of exploitation and loss of innocence, and the consequences of that in his later life.

I’ve somehow managed to never see any of the many film and TV adaptations of this novel, so I can’t comment on those. The book is truly magnificent though - I’ll read it again.

There was another book that I tried to read - a highly rated novel, written in 2016, but set at the beginning of WW2. I just couldn’t get to grips with it. I wont name it, because book reviews are highly subjective, but I found it contrived and wondered if the author should have been writing a screenplay instead of prose. Anyway, I struggled on for 75 pages before I had to throw in the towel. Normally I keep going with a book I’m not enjoying, more out of a sense of duty to the author, but I’m afraid I couldn’t with this one. Maybe another time.

And now to my current read. I’ve just started Jane Austen’s Emma - inspired in part by our visit to The Georgian House, but also because her writing is so enjoyable.This is more my kind of thing - sharp witty observations in a delightful setting - and a perfect August afternoon to read it.

So - that’s been my summer reading this year. Common themes have been, summer - obviously - war, class and society, and older rather than modern fiction. It’s been very interesting to look back on for this post, and I think its fair to say that, regardless of the weather, it’s been a great summer of books here - what about you?

Seven Days

It’s been a really busy week since my grandchildren went home. it always feels a bit flat after family have been staying. and it takes a couple of days to return to normal. Whatever that is. Anyway, here is a quick rundown of the last seven days.

We seem to be nearing the back end of Summer now. John always used to say when the rowan berries turned red, Autumn had arrived. I always disagreed with that, though. I prefer to hold on until September before finally turning in the flip flops.

And Summer is still here - the flowers are blooming and I am happily filling vases and jugs with tiny posies to place around the house. These scented lilies look perfect in the milk jug from my Mother’s wedding china.

I was involved in organising a community showcase event, this week, and it was such a fantastic evening. What an amazing array of local produce and creative work was on display, and some delicious food too.

Mind you, there have been some signs of a seasonal shift this week, as a boy had his first day at High School. It all went well, and he's glad to be there. It kind of loomed over the holidays a bit.

One of my neighbours makes the most delicious sourdough bread, and was demonstrating this at our event. He was kind enoug, afterwards, to give me a bowl of starter dough and so we enjoyed some delicious home baked bread. I baked it in a cast iron pot and I was really pleased at how it turned out.

A simple summer breakfast of a handful of strawberries, rinsed with the hose, as I was watering the polycrub, one morning, and the remnants added straight to the compost heap.

And these darker nights mean that we suddenly notice the moon once more - and what a beauty it was.

Wishing you all a peaceful seven days ahead. xx

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.