Thursday 24th August 2023

School is back. The first full week of 6 o’clock alarms is almost done. It’s a more intense year for the boy this time. Important exams, decision to make, that sort of thing. How did we get here already?

We’re in that time of in-between seasons. Chillier mornings giving way to warmer days and muggy nights. Summer still holding on, but its grasp is loosening. I was working in the big polycrub this morning, and the bees were very busy - definitely a sign of the seasonal shift.

I haven’t really been inspired by the garden much this year. I’ve felt quite overwhelmed by it all, to be honest. Mind you, I have been very involved in a sizeable community project, which took up a lot of time in May and June. Then my visitors arrived and the holidays began, so I’m not being too hard on myself about it. Now that things have quietened down, I have felt a bit more motivated to get out there.

It’s not been a total loss - there are tomatoes and chillies ripening, vegetables and fruit are being harvested, flowers have bloomed and vases have been filled. I’m already planning for next season, as far as anyone can. Winter crops and biennials have been sown, bulbs have been ordered, and I have a to-do list I want to tackle over the autumn.

That’s about it right now. Life returning to its term-time rhythm. I’ve been reading a lot over the summer, and I’m planning a bookish post soon.

Today, in the potting shed, I finished listening to The Great Gatsby, perfectly narrated by Jake Gyllenhaal on Audible. It was a masterpiece.

I was sowing a tray of lupin seeds as the words of that closing passage drew the novel to an end, and I wept.

Sunday 21st May 2023

I’ve been very busy lately - not really getting a minute, to be honest. Committee and board meetings, getting the garden ready, chivvying the boy along during his study leave and exams, and a wee building project happening, on top of the myriad of everyday things that need attention. It’s easy to get overwhelmed when you are on you own.

But then, a bout of covid brought a halt to all the busy-ness, as it does. Just me, fortunately. The boy, having finished his exams was able to fend for himself, and so we waved to each other at a distance. He has just started getting over long-covid, and neither of us want to go there again.

So, a week off - all commitments dropped, except to myself. Rest, fluids, more rest, more fluids, a few pages of reading, a few rows of knitting and more trash TV than I have watched for a long time. I stayed away from Church today, just in case, but I definitely feel as if I am on the mend.

This morning was warm and sunny. Everything here is still so very green, with just a few pops of colour here and there, but you can sense that summer is straining at the leash. I took my coffee out to the patio and read the May chapter in Ronald Blythe’s last collection of meditations on his life, faith and community. His writing is simply wonderful - I can’t say anymore about it than that. The entries for each day are short, but I was led down so many rabbit holes, as he invariably mentions a person or event sends me to the search engine on my phone to explore further.

He quoted a line from a poem which had me looking up the Amercian poet, Robert Lowell. The name seemed so familiar that I fancied there might be a book of his poems in the house. I popped back in to check and soon emerged, triumphantly with the slim volume - and another coffee. Interesting man and life, but not very happy, by the sounds of things. His poems feel quite bleak, as post war poetry can be.

Blythe describes watching a tv interview with writer Muriel Spark , aired not long after her death. I remember watching it too. I felt a connection with him - as I did when he remembered his grandmother being horrified when he brought a bunch of lilac blossoms into the house. My mother had the same superstition, and I feel consternation when I see all those jars full of lilac flowers on instagram kitchen tables and window sills

Further on, I downloaded an image of John Constable’s painting of The Ascension, currently hanging in St Mary’s Church, Dedham, Suffolk, and listened, on Spotify to the Choir of Kings College Cambridge sing Hubert Parry’s anthem, I Was Glad. The latter is having a bit of a moment, after featuring in King Charles’s Coronation, but it has always been a favourite Psalm of mine.

The lushness of Blythe’s prose stayed with me most of the day. It is so nourishing. Quite enabling too, as later on, inspired by his description of watching the cow parsley flowers wave in the breeze outside his kitchen window as he did his washing up, I ordered a jumbo packet of seeds from ebay.

So, anyway, that’s where I’ve been, and where I am. I never mean to stay away for so long, but - life, and all that. Priorities - priorities.

Wednesday 11th January 2023

No school today as teachers were on strike, but the boy was still working at home, because there are prelim exams next week.

It was nice not to have to set an early alarm, and I slept in until 9 am! That kind of upset my routine somewhat, but I pottered around and did get some tidying up and laundry done.

When I went to make dinner, however, I discovered that the steaks I had taken out the freezer was actually boiling beef, so we ended up with a frittata type of thing instead.

Meetings are starting back up again, and I had my first one yesterday. Fortunately it was on zoom, as it was a pretty stormy evening, and I didn’t want to move far from the fireside. I also typed up the minutes for one of my other committees, which meets at the end of the month. I am usually rushing at the last moment to do this, so it felt good to get that out of the way.

I’ve started reading Tristram Shandy, and I’m struggling with it. I know it’s a notoriously odd book, and I am finding it really quite funny. The trouble is I have to wade through an awful lot of text to get there. I’ll give it a bit longer.

Sunday 1st January 2023

An unusually snowy start to the New Year, for us. The world has turned into a winter wonderland - all pale blue and white, flushed with pink, and the air sharp and pure.

We’ve had a quiet time, as is the norm. Travel during December and January is notoriously unreliable, so we opted to stay at home. Exams are on the horizon too.

I haven’t really much to say today, other than Happy New Year to anyone reading. I really just wanted to drop in and type up some sort of post. It’s a few months since I have written anything. I normally use the app on my phone to do this, but it hasn’t been working properly - the app, not the phone - and to haul out the laptop is sometimes too much hassle at the end of the day..

But, I do enjoy blogging - documenting the ordinary stuff that I get up to, so I’m going to try and make more of an effort, and post at least once a week. It will be the usual things - what I did, cooked, read, kind of thing. Did I get the laundry hung out or not? Have the brassica seeds sprouted? You know - cliffhangers like that.

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.

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

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.