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.

Thursday 15th September 2022

Well it's definitely Autumn now. The evenings are darker and it's much colder. I've been wearing wool socks and the heating is timed to come on for an hour before we get up - just to take the chill off.

I've been busy in the garden and polycrubs, getting my winter crops in, and harvesting the end of summer crops. Mostly beans, it has to be said. Runner beans and climbers. I'm freezing half as demi-sec beans and leaving the rest to dry completely. I have a great bed of carrots and onions, which I am just picking as I need them, for now, and some cabbage and broccoli in the other bed, as well as undercover.

I've planted out the polycrub up at the house with all sorts of stuff - mostly leafy greens, salads and brassicas, but there are carrots, beets and Christmas potatoes in there too.

I've still a couple of jobs to finish off, but I am very happy with all I've achieved. I'm glad I concentrated on the winter veg this year - it feels very satisfying.

The Queen died last week. I don't think I've written a blog post since then. I'm not a great fan of the royals - but it did make me think about my Mother's last days, so I was sad for the family. It will be interesting to see if and how attitudes change now she has gone.

Bake- off is back. Another lovely group of people in the tent, and the new series of All Creatures Great and Small started tonight. I recorded it to watch later in the week.

I'm almost finished the top I am knitting- just one sleeve to go. It's been a bit of a slog - now into the third month, but I'm excited to finish it now. I tried it on tonight, when I cast off the first sleeve and I am so pleased with how it looks.

That's really it for now. Usual housework and runs into town. Food shopping, gym, boxing and pizza tomorrow. I do like a Friday.

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.

RSS Block

Select a Blog Page to create an RSS feed link. Learn more

RSS

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.

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.

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)

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…

Blog RSS

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.

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!

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