Of Hills and Heather

The morning commute....

2012-03-08T09:25:00.000-08:00

It has been far too long since my last blog. Don't misunderstand, I've meant to write, but I have been so incredibly busy with Ailleas Designs that I've had time to do little else but work on the business. But how could it be seen as work when it is such a pleasure and such a joy taking the jewellery on the road. Now the photography is coming on the road, too! I am pleased to report that Chris had several sales at the Aultbea market and we are looking forward to many successes for Chris Mawson Photography.

We went to the first Friday in the month market at Aultbea last week and it was a lovely, lovely day. How many people can claim a commute that looks like this.

We left our place at 6:30 am as the sun was rising. This is the view across the Cromarty Firth east toward Cromarty.

After the turn at Braemore Junction, we headed west as the sun rose higher in the sky. As we approached Little Loch Broom, the hills were bathed in a beautiful morning light. The view was spectacular.

Spring is most definitely in the air. The herd of feral goats that live along Little Loch Broom have welcomed the arrival of this year's spring kids. I love these little guys. Unlike their parents, they are fearless and were more than happy to pose for the camera.

Of course, the trip back was equally beautiful. While the skies were not as bright and blue as they had been for the morning commute - the view toward Loch Maree from above was still quite magnificent.

But the sun peeked out of the clouds to illuminate the sides of the hills.

I've said it before, I will say it again. I am lucky - I am damned lucky. There isn't a moment that I don't delight in my surroundings. I will never take them or my situation for granted. This is where my heart is most happy.

I had an email from my cousin last week and she said she was amazed with how much Chris and I were accomplishing in such a short period of time. To that I replied, "What is amazing is what can be accomplished when you are exactly where you are supposed to be."

Another trip west...

2012-02-05T10:41:00.000-08:00

Sunrise over Little Loch Broom

This past Friday, we attended the first of the monthly fairs at Aulbea - just eight miles from Gairloch (our weekly trips to Gairloch will start on 27 February and will mark Chris' first venture into the market world as a stallholder). It was a very good day for business (lots of foundation laid for future sales and an incredibly ringing endorsement from the organisation that runs the fairs - my picture taken with my jewellery for the newsletter!). It was an even more wonderful day for the scenery we enjoyed to and from the fair. You may be aware that the UK has experienced a bit of deep freeze these past few days. Indeed, the temperature when we left our home at 6:20am was -7 degrees Celsius. As we traveled first south and then west the temperature came down more and more until we reached the coldest along the road between Garve and Braemore Junction where it plummeted to -11. Even the streams were frozen solid and some of the lochs were rimmed with ice with only small areas of water in the centre. But it was just so lovely watching the light of the sunrise play on the hills and lochs.

Icicles along the roadside

As we turned down the road to Aultbea from Braemore Junction, we passed miles of lovely sparkling icicles hanging from the large rocks beside the road. The sky, as is always the case with this sort of weather, was a clear as it could be. We were treated to a lovely show of colour over the hills as we reached the outer end of Little Loch Broom, and Chris captured this image looking back to where we had been.

We arrived at Aultbea about a half hour early (so know that we can sleep a little later when the next fair comes) and sat in the car beside the little harbour, where Loch Ewe wraps around the little peninsula that serves as the land for many houses. Chris sipped his coffee as we watched shore birds glide in, wondering if there were as surprised as we were to find the shoreline frozen solid. (Loch Ewe is a salt-water loch coming in from the Atlantic between The Isle of Skye and the Scottish mainland - this body of water is called The Minch.) We saw some cars arrive, driving toward the village hall and made our way up the road to find our table and get things set up. It was a lovely market, with many new friends and even newer friends amongst the other stallholders. I had a sale (it was not a brilliant market for sales - but it was incredibly good as far as getting "the brand" out there) and a great deal of fun visiting with the various people who came to my stall. But the rule of thumb for markets is that if the bakers still have loaves unsold, it hasn't been a very good market for sales - but they are always good for meeting like-minded people.

Looking towards the north west

Little "cavern" of ice

The market ended at 2;30 (having started at 10) and we packed up for a drive home that should have taken no more than one to one and three-quarter hours. It took us nearly three. It took that long because with every bend in the road the views before us become more and more beautiful. From a hill just outside Aultbea, we were treated to a view across the water toward the north. The play of light on the water was amazing and the bank of clouds over us was low, but just beyond the light shone through to give the view such incredible depth. We traveled along, capturing the view of the house on the hill at Second Coast with the snow-covered hills beyond. Beside the road, as we traveled along the shores of Little Loch Broom, feral goats, wild descendants of once-domestic goats, and their kids were seen on the hills and traveling along the side of the road. Waterfalls and a tiny "cavern" of ice and water enchanted us.

Moon over an
abandoned house

As we drove on, now on the road that would take us to Braemore, the sunset and moonrise coincided with beautiful effect and an abandoned house along the road where Chris had captured a lovely sunset before served as the perfect focus for a twilight photograph. The temperature, having reached a "high" of about 1 plummeted once more toward double digits. Chris returned from the picture-taking feeling as if his very core were frozen.

The thought that we will be making this trip on a weekly basis come the end of February and a twice-weekly basis once a month come March is just too good to be true. We are hoping that as we meet more people from this area the day may come when we will find a lovely place to live where these views will be part of everyday. Now, wouldn't that be something!

To the beautiful west and back again...

2012-01-30T09:54:00.000-08:00

I am sorry it has been so long since my last post (not counting theIrresistibly Sweet Blog post). We have not done very much traveling. Add tothat the new pains meds my doctor prescribed. Within 24 hours they had turnedme into the walking dead. Forgetful…yes! Lethargic…yes! More painfree…no! So,without doctor’s consent or consultation, I have forthwith removed myself fromsaid zombie-producing drug and hope to be my old self again. And, we have beenon the road again with beautiful photos from Chris’ talented eye to accompanythe words.

Back in December, we met a delightful woman at the Christmas GairlochMarket. A photographer with a free and easy approach to life, she piqued Chris’curiosity and seeing her sell well at the market made him more determined toget back to taking more photographs and getting his website moving again. (Itis down for maintenance right now as we have some adjusting of prices andsizing to do. It will be back up and running again very soon and I encourageyou to check it out. You will find a link to the right of this blog.)

This past Thursday, Chris and I (lethargic and addle-brained) took a tripto Gairloch to meet up with Lizzii (the woman from the market) and to listen toher advice on selling photography. We went by way of Garve, taking the turn towards Achnasheen and the road that takes us beside Loch Maree once more. It was lovely – lots of snow on the hilltops and whispy clouds in the sky. It looked much different than last time – I suppose that is the magic of the Highlands; every day the light hits just a little differently and the hills take on new shapes and you notice furrows and hillocks you hadn’t noticed before. We met at The Sheiling (translation: shepherd's hut) and enjoyed coffee while reclining on huge leather sofas in a room with floor to ceiling windows looking out to the sea. Lizzii shared her philosophy about her art with us. Her attitude is amazing…and contagious. We soenjoyed our time with her, as much as we enjoyed the trip there and back.

The Torridon Hills from
Loch Tollaidh

Upon leaving Gairloch, we decided to follow the northern route, towardUllapool, for our journey back. We had not driven this road for over five yearsand we looked at it differently now. We had a greater appreciation for thebeauty of the place – knowing that it is, for all intents and purposes, at ourback door. For now. We really do want to move to this part of Scotland butknow, as things have happened before, that the time and place will make itselfknown to us when it is time to make a final move to the place we will neverwant to leave.

Sunset near Fain

Our trip out of Gairloch took us to the road to Poolewe and throughareas of barren land and lochs and amazing views of the snow-covered hills inthe distance. We drove the narrow road that took us alongside Loch Tollaidh and were rendered almost breathless with the view of the Torridon hills. We passed by Gruinard Bay and stopped to breathe in the clean, cold air. We continued along, detouringquickly into Aultbea so we could see where the market is held (extra sweatersand scarves will be needed) and then back again onto the road that would leadus to Little Loch Broom, up to Braemore Station and on the road back to ourhome in the mill.

Snowfall at Loch Glascanoch

The hills, the light and the sudden appearance of snow – each and every vista was new and breathtaking. No matter how long we live here (and we will until it is timeto scatter ashes in the hills), I don’t think we will ever look at the sceneryand find ourselves complacent. How could you ever be complacent about seeing somuch unspoiled scenery? I feel as if I can be anywhere in time when I look atthese landscapes, for there is little evidence that man even exists.

The forecasts for the week ahead look good and I feel sure that a tripto Skye or the far northwest corner will be in our plans for the time ahead. Ilong to go up the road to Kinlochbervie and Oldshoremore. To cross the bridgeat Kylesku and perhaps follow the coastal road that runs along the northern tipof Scotland. I want to see the sea from the Waternish peninsula on Skye, the fields of Highland cattle and the twinkling of the sea - to return to these places and to know that we will not be nor willever be disappointed.

Our spring will include a return to the States for two weeks at the endof March, beginning of April. The homesickness we felt for Scotland whileliving in the States was far greater than what we will feel this spring, but we will be homesick. Never has a place beckoned me so…never has a place sofelt like home.

Gosh, I'm irresistible!

2012-01-25T09:26:00.000-08:00

A wonderful writer, who writes an equally wonderful blog, has passed on the Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award! I don't think I've won an award since my school days and I thank Deborah Barker, she of Living Between the Lines, for this lovely honour. I am embarrassed it comes after many weeks of non-blogging. Truth is, the weather has not been fabulous for road trips or photographs. I am quite sure the blogs I have written that are not about the Hills and Heather of my blog's title would be of far less interest than those that talk about the beautiful world in which I live. But, in a way, I am glad the award has spurned me to write. I have been so busy with the administration of my little business (Ailleas Designs), I have had little time to do anything else. Indeed, the business is quickly taking up even more time as the new year of markets and fairs is already underway. I shall be participating in no fewer than four a month starting next month. Thank goodness my wonderful Chris is there to help with the physical part of the job. My strength lies in chatting with customers and fellow stallholders.

So, the rules of having received an irresistibly sweet blog award are as follows:

Thank and link to the person who nominated you.
Share 7 random facts about yourself.
Pass the Award on to some of your own deserving blog friends
Contact those friends and let them know.

I have thanked and linked to Deborah (wouldn't even need to be told to do that - she is a wonderful writer and everyone, I mean everyone, should visit her blog and be enchanted by her writing). Now I have to share seven random facts about myself that you may not have known. This may be harder to do - I'm pretty much a "what you see is what you get" kinda gal. but I shall see what I come up with.

ONE

Just as Deborah shared in her blog her own irresistible charms, I shall start with mine. If there is a person who has, shall we say, social challenges (doesn't bathe, drinks too much, lives in a different reality, etc.) they do seem to single me out in the crowd. I'd like to think it's my friendly face, but it probably more my dumb luck.

TWO

Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron in
"An American in Paris"

I love to watch dancing. When I was younger, I danced all the time. I watched movie musicals over and over again so I could learn the moves. I adored dancing and have been told that I was actually quite good at it. I credit Gene Kelly. When I was little, I was quite an energetic child and my mother found my energy exhausting (my sister and I are only 20 months apart and I still can't imagine the challenges that posed). I never sat still. So, my mother introduced me to musicals. I don't know if it was her hope that I would see dancing and decide to channel by energies that way, but that is what happened. I must have been five or six when I saw "Singing in the Rain" on TV for the first time. I fell in love with the dancing (I also fell in love with Gene Kelly - what a wonderful, smiling charming persona he emanated). After that, I would take all my excess energy and put it to use dancing for hours to my parents' records of classical or modern music or one of their many original Broadway cast albums. And I kept on dancing well into my twenties. When I decided to lose weight my freshman year in college, I would put on a leotard, grab my dinky little portable record-player, grab my "That's Entertainment" soundtrack and walk across campus to what was called the Mirror Room. A large empty room with mirrors making up two opposing walls, it was a room used for dancing and fencing. I would put on the album (side four was my favourite) and I would dance - for an hour or two, I would dance my feet off. I loved to dance to Judy Garland's rendition of "Get Happy" or "Gotta Dance" from "Singing in the Rain." It was wonderful and so liberating - I loved dancing so much and I feel very sad at times that the arthritis that has all but destroyed my right knee and makes my left knee and hips very painful has deprived me of the ability to dance. To this day, my all-time favourite movie is "An American in Paris."

THREE

I want to learn to play the bodhrain (the Irish drum played with a wooden tipper). I have always tapped along to music and I feel sure this would be a way of allowing me to play along. You see, while I was blessed with an incredible sense of rhythm, I was not blessed with a voice that is pleasant to listen to when attempting to sing. In fact, my voice is awful and I often find myself straying far from the melody intended. Yes, a bodhrain will suit me nicely. Just have to find the right one.

FOUR

Stray animals always come to me. Years ago when I was living in rural Virginia, several dogs showed up at my house. None were owned, all had been abandoned and they all came to my house. My mother thinks there was a sign, visible only to homeless animals, that said "This Way for Food and Love" and an arrow pointing to my house. I am unapologetically guilty of anthropomorphising.

FIVE

Gardner McKay

I am an incurable romantic and have had crushes on handsome "movie stars" from a young age. The first crush I can remember was on Gardner McKay from "Adventures in Paradise." He played a sailor in Tahiti - his character's name was Adam Troy (what an early sixties name for a dreamy leading man). My great teenie bopper crush was on Sajid Khan who starred in the short-lived TV show "Maya" and was the first American teen idol who was Indian and Muslim (what would Homeland Security think of that now). He used to show up on the Saturday morning variety show "Happening" in the late 60s and then disappeared. I had his album - he couldn't sing, but in those days teen idols released albums whether they could sing or not. As an adult, I am very much charmed by Sir Patrick Stewart and Ian McShane. While my greatest knowledge of Patrick Stewart came from "Star Trek: The Next Generation", I had the privilege of seeing him on stage at Stratford-upon-Avon playing a very sexy Oberon in "A Midsummer Night's Dream". I developed a huge crush on Ian McShane when I started watching "Lovejoy" on A&E back in the States. Love those bedroom eyes. But I am very lucky - as I am now married to my biggest crush of all - my husband, Chris.

SIX

My sister has written of my father's sense of wonder. I think I inherited that from him. No matter how many times I see them, I still get very excited when I see an animal in its own habitat, or a shooting star or a full moon. I am also, like my father, a ridiculous softie who is moved to tears by lines in a movie, lyrics of song, the soft skin of a newborn baby or the sight of a humpback whale breaching (amongst others). Of all of my father's gifts, it is this sense of wonderment that I hold most dear.

SEVEN

Yummy!

I love artichokes. Of all the vegetables on the planet, I would do nearly anything to have an artichoke. Unfortunately, they are not widely abundant in the UK. Once, years ago when I was living in Devon, I came across three artichokes at the green grocers. They had been ordered in specially for some sort of event. There were three left over. I took them to pay for them. The green grocer was apologetic when he told me they were £1 each. (Little did he know I would have paid £5 each if he had asked.) I took them home, steamed them, melted some butter with lemon juice and my daughter and I sat there eating them with the look of addicts who had just had a fix.

So, there you are - my seven random facts. Possibly boring, but I hope somewhat amusing. Now, I have to pass on this award to other blogs. Trouble is, I don't know that many bloggers besides Deborah and my sister (to whom Deborah has passed the award, so I can't do that). But I will pass it on to the incomparable C.J. Schlottman, whose "The Red Sweater" is not only charming and beautifully written, but gives you links to her poetry (stunning) and newest blog about internet dating. I hope you will enjoy what she has written. I always do. I am also sharing this award with Bonnie Morrison, a talented actor who was a graduate of Mary Baldwin College, both undergrad and grad. She is an amazing young woman and I love her writing style. So, check out her blog 52 Plays in 52 Weeks. Most of the other blogs I know are related to marketing for transactional websites, so I will leave them as I wouldn't be able to stop if I started naming them.

First Journey of the New Year

2012-01-01T11:34:00.000-08:00

Happy 2012! Chris and I saw in the new year with a glass of Taliskers and wishes that the happiness we have felt over the last three months will continue into 2012 and beyond. Moving to the highlands has proved to be everything we could have wished for. A fabulous landlord and his wife, who are fast becoming favourite friends, and next-door neighbours who are just lovely. Who could ask for anything more? This first month of January sees us running a sale on my jewellery website, attending two markets at the end of the month, and giving Chris' photography business a big push after a year of so of allowing it to sit on the back burner - but no more. An order that came in Christmas Eve was a huge wake-up that we need to do more marketing of his work.

That being said, Chris is still happy to snap photos for me to use on the blog, and today I share some more photographs of our beautiful corner of the world. Having languished at home for several days, without a moment outside, we decided to take ourselves on a drive today and to go farther north on the A9 than we have previously. So, we headed up and made the decision to drive until the sunlight began to fade (this time of year, the sun sets around 4pm). Past the familiar sights of Dornoch and up to Golspie and Brora, we headed farther north with Dunbeath as our destination before turning around and coming back again.

North of Lothmore, looking to the North Sea

Our drive took us through three different counties - Ross & Cromarty (where we live) and then Sutherland and Caithness. Neither of us had been to Caithness before and we found it to be quite lovely. The elevation appeared to climb as we wound our way along the curving and climbing road. To the right, the North Sea, with white caps and waves crashing onto the shore, looked almost deep violet in the winter light. The hills were a mixture of green and the rust of bracken and heather. Ruined croft houses dotted the landscapes, as did the wooly sheep and Highland cattle. This first photograph is looking toward the sea from just north of Lothmore. We aren't sure what the building in the distance is and we weren't able to get any closer. There were many look-outs built in this area during WWII and it may be that this is the purpose of this building.

The ridge of Scaraben

As we drove along, we found ourselves closer to the sea, but to our left, the hills rose and rose sharply. Shortly after we entered Caithness, the barrier that closes the road when the snow is too deep appeared, pushed off to the side as the snow from earlier storms had melted. Despite the fact that they were not any taller than the hills around Moffat, where we lived in the south of Scotland, the snow and barren condition of the land nearby made them appeared far taller and foreboding. This is the ridge of Scaraben - with the Cadha a t'Sagairt (the Pass of the Priest) running between the two summits. We were driving along the road in Caithness, but this "hill" is actually located in Sutherland. While there wasn't time today, we are hopeful to get back as there is a narrow road that travels up to the hills. What a lovely hill and all the more lovely with the white of the snow along the ridge, like a backbone for the land.

The road down and into Berriesdale

There are few roads that frighten me. Having twice endured the drive of the Bealach na ba on the west coast (once as a driver, the other as a passenger), I didn't think any road could make me a bit uneasy. But the A9 between Berriesdale and Dunbeath had some fairly twisty, high bits that appeared to drop straight into the sea. On our way back (with our car now on the side nearest the drop), I had to ask Chris to drive a bit more slowly. We descended the hills until we were once again in the flatter land of Sutherland, heading toward Ross & Cromarty and home. Loch Fleet, just north of Dornoch, was swollen and the freshwater lagoon that sits just inland of the loch was full to brimming. We stopped to read about the area and hope to return sometime when we can enjoy the views and, hopefully, see some of the wildlife that are abundant in the area - ospreys and otters amongst them.

The tide, which had been out on our outward part of the journey, leaving the sands and ancients tree stumps of the Dornoch Firth exposed, had come in again and as we drove over the bridge connecting Sutherland to Ross & Cromarty, we were reminded once more of the incredible beauty this area has to offer. While our hearts are in the west, for now, we will enjoy our time in the softer and gentler east. But we both feel that need to see the west coast again and are already planning our next car journey. Skye, Plockton, the Kyle of Lochalsh and Gairloch will soon be our destinations for a day or weekend's trip. We are so very, very lucky and blessed to be here.

The last entry of the year...

2011-12-21T13:54:00.000-08:00

This shall be my last blog of 2011. My goodness, what a year it has been! It has seen us go from flu-ridden and then homeless to happily settled in the Highlands in a lovely home with a couple of cats, a business that is doing fairly well for less than a year "out there" and being sincerely happy. So many blessings this year and we are so grateful for all of them.

Tomorrow we head down to Edinburgh to meet my stepson and his girlfriend who are there for a quick pre-Christmas holiday. It will be wonderful seeing Olly again and I can't wait to meet Natalie. We have made lunch reservations at The Hard Rock Cafe, so looking forward to that. I must admit I've not been to one before, so this will be a first time.

Our travels will take us through the Cairngorms, but, as time will not be a our friend, we won't be able to stop and get photos along the way. However, we are planning some road trips over the next couple of weeks - our Christmas presents to ourselves, and I will report all once we have seen in the New Year. We may even venture into Tain for Hogmanay and raise a dram to 2012. We are so excited about the year to come. Ailleas Designs will go from strength to strength, I am sure, and we are going to start working on Chris' photography business as well. Watch out world, here we come.

In the meantime, may I take this opportunity to thank you all for my reading my little blogs and letting me know how much you enjoy them. It is so lovely to hear. I just write what is in my heart.

So, until 2012 then, Nollaig Chridheil agus Bliadhna Mhath Ur! I don't think I need to translate that...

Finding our way...

2011-12-12T12:54:00.000-08:00

This past weekend found us traveling for a Christmas fair in Gairloch on Scotland’s west coast. The weather was wintry, but not so wintry as to impede our trip. We did, however, take it slowly. But what a breathtaking and stunning drive it was.

As we left the civilisation of Dingwall and Strathpeffer, we entered the area where houses are few and far between. Arriving just east of Garve, the snow started to fall with great purpose. The road was rising higher and higher through hills and winding through the countryside of woods and lochans and falls. As we traveled alongside Loch Garve, the road began to disappear under a layer of white. We slowed our progress and, looking at the evergreens frosted with snow, started to feel very, very Christmassy.

The sun trying to peek through over Loch a' Chorsig

The snowfall was heavier still as we reached the turnoff to the A832. The tops of the hills were covered in white now and from time to time, I would see the figure of a deer on the hills beside the road - a lovely doe at one point, a majestic stag at the next, with his antlers seeming far too big for his head to bear. It was only mid-afternoon, but the snowfall gave the area that ethereal feeling of an indeterminate time of day. As we approached the roundabout at Achnasheen the blizzard seemed to lift a little. As we headed down Glen Docherty, we glimpsed the sun trying to appear through the clouds over the hills bordering Loch a’ Chrosig.

Loch Maree and Slioch

The pass required slow and steady driving, with the snow beginning to lift as we reached Kinlochewe and the shores of Loch Maree. Such glorious landscapes. Loch Maree is the last freshwater loch in Scotland unaffected by any industry, farm fishing, forestry, etc. It was the home of the 7^th century Irish monk, St Maelrubha, who came to “Christianise” the area. His monastery was at Applecross, some 40 or so miles away, but as Loch Maree was a centre of paganism, he felt his direction was clear. Loch Maree, therefore, has great significance for both Christians and pagans. St Maelrubha’s followers would come see him at the small island on the loch that became his home and where you can still see the ruins of his cell. Those who were sick would immerse themselves in the water three times in hopes of being cured of their maladies. It was no wonder, looking at the loch and the hills beyond – notably Slioch, which means “spear” and rises at the other side of the loch – why this had been, and still is, a sacred and spiritual site. We loved it so very much – with the snow falling softly and no sign of anyone in the area, it was a place that felt peaceful and very spiritual indeed. The bare trees, with gnarled branches reaching upward, seemed to become living spirits in this place. I believe they are and need only be in a place like this to feel their presence. John Whittier, the poet, must have felt this as well, as after a visit to the Loch, he wrote, “And whoso bathes therein his brow/With care or madness burning/Feels once again his healthful thought/And sense of peace returning.”

We continued along Loch Maree until we reached more wooded areas and then found ourselves once more beside a loch – Loch Bad an Sgalaid. Behind it we saw the high hills, covered with snow and appearing as Christmas pudding iced with sugar. Our travels took us north now, as we traveled along the River Kerry and the great gorge through which the river travels. We looked ahead to find ourselves now traveling along the sea with the hills of Skye’s most northern tip visible across the water. The snow-covered hills of Torridon were behind us and we were left speechless by the natural beauty around us.

We followed the directions to our B&B, a modern eco-house run by a charming couple – Isabell and Graeme. The house was amazing – so similar to the “dream house” I have had in my mind for probably 20 years. We were so warmly welcomed. We drove back to the village for dinner and, after dinner, as we drove back, we had to stop for the cattle that suddenly appeared in the middle of the narrow road – the biggest among them had a horn span that must have been nearly three feet. We are used to seeing sheep in the road at any given time of day, but this was a first. Needless to say, for the remainder of the drive we were very vigilant.

Our evening concluded by joining Isabell and Graeme and chatting until nearly midnight before going off to our room to sleep until 7am. Up to shower, dress and have a delicious breakfast before heading to the community hall for the Christmas fair. What a wonderful time we had! We recognised one couple from other fairs we have attended and will attend with them once more this coming Saturday at Inverness. We are enjoying this artisan’s life. Our neighbouring table was occupied by a wonderful lady called Lizzii who became a dear friend by the fair’s end. We will see her again in the spring when the fairs recommence as we hope to attend twice a month.

The fair was a successful one, but so much more valuable than my takings were the experience, the new friends and the sense of wonder we felt in such a beautiful place. We look so forward to returning in March.

Snow-covered hills beyond Loch Bad an Sgalaid

Our trip back home on Saturday afternoon was as magical. Snow had fallen overnight, making the hills look even lovelier. We stopped along the way to enjoy the scenery - although the temperature was often below freezing, it still was worth a short delay in our trip home. The deer were plentiful - lovely does in heavy winter coats, their breath visible in the cold air. Where water had gathered in low-lying areas, frozen ponds appeared and I felt all that was missing from the scene were children with their ice skates, bundled up against the cold. We saw a man on the side of the road cutting down his perfect and natural Christmas tree, possibly as had his ancestors for generations. On the long stretch of road between Achnasheen and Garve the few deer we had spotted on our way up seemed to have multiplied many times over. The snow made the deer, in their dark coats, stand out even more and there were possibly three or four separate herds grazing in the fields. The snow was falling once again as we approached Milton, arriving home to find the snow deeper than when we had left, but we were so filled with joy from our time in Gairloch, it did nothing but add to our feeling of great happiness.

Winter Wonderland

2011-12-07T04:00:00.000-08:00

Sunrise Monday morning

We've had four days of intermittent snow now, and I don't mind. We have plenty of tinned goods to make several batches of chili and when Chris gets to the store next, we will do the same with ingredients for curry and some stews. Warm, stick to your ribs, winter comfort food (with minimal preparation).

When we ventured out on Monday, we found the scenery enchanting, as if someone had gone along with a sieve and sprinkled icing sugar on the trees and fields. The sheep (looking less white against the pure whiteness of the snow) were keeping warm in their wooly coats and the birds of prey that live in the area were seen congregating on power cables and bales of hay, puffed out and trying to keep in the warm. It will be on my to-do list for the next time we are out to get a bird feeder for the garden. I am already aware of the birds in the front garden looking for food - made doubly aware by the chattering of the cats as they peer out the front window.

Today the postman arrived with the hardback copy of Rosamunde Pilcher's book "Winter Solstice." I have read this book half a dozen times, but knew that I couldn't spend my first snowy winter in the highlands without it. It is the book equivalent of a cup of hot chocolate or a warm bowl of porridge. I look forward to opening it this evening and starting the tale of Elfrida and friends once again.

The old mill wheel

We are supposed to go to the west coast this weekend for the last of the Christmas fairs. I do hope the weather will allow us to do so. We are booked into a B&B the night before the fair and it sounds lovely. The blurb for Solas B&B reads, "Modern ecohouse by the sea in the crofting community of Big Sand by Gairloch...amazing views across Loch Gairloch to the Torridon mountains and out to Skye." Sigh. I do hope the weather behaves itself. It sounds so lovely. Solas is Scottish Gaelic for "comfort", "contentment" or "joy." Sounds good to me.

Other than sitting and looking out at the beautiful snow-covered scenery, I am, as always, working on my business. I relaunched the website (yet again) last week - new host, new design. I am thinking a great deal about how I am going to promote the business next year and where I am going to place the emphasis. I have some ideas and will have to cultivate them before I have a definitive vision, but I'm getting there.

So, from the snow-covered mill in the highlands of Scotland, beannach leibh (byon-uhchk layv), or blessings to you, until next week.

Joyful Season

2011-11-28T10:53:00.000-08:00

I have now participated in three fairs in the Highlands. One was held in the primary school of a village on the Black Isle, one in a castle east of Inverness, the last in a cosy, very Scottish hotel on the road to the Isle of Skye. I loved them all. The people I met, both traders and customers, were delightful. The warmth, the camaraderie, the generous and welcoming heart and soul that seems to permeate this part of the world - how we enjoyed it. Chris had the best time visiting other stalls and chatting with people, while I manned the table, ready to tell folks the story of Ailleas Designs and share my creations. From each event, I came away a richer person. Not in terms of sales, but in terms of finding so many like-minded people. There was snow, Father Christmas, and smiles all round - just as it should be this time of year.

While I have not a shred of scientific data to back this, I feel that perhaps the welcoming hospitality of Virginia and much of the south is a trait inherited from our Scottish ancestors. What I experience here is so much like the sense of community I felt when I was growing up in Virginia in the 1960s. Such sharing and fellowship. I feel so much joy in seeing so many smiles and acts of kindness.

At the fair this past Saturday, held at Ledgowan Lodge Hotel, it was both a surprise and pleasure to discover that the gentleman at the table next to us was more than just a neighbour at the event, but a neighbour here in Milton, as well. Mark and his wife Elaine (who wasn't with him on Saturday) live around the corner from the mill and we hope we will get to see Mark again and meet Elaine. More wonderful than that, though, is the affirmation Mark gave me about my feelings living here in the Highlands. I told him the way I feel here, the immense joy I feel, the emotional reaction I so often have to places in Scotland. He informed me that we all have what are called genetic markers. Some people feel them more strongly than others. These are the same sort of markers than cause animals to migrate, sometimes over thousands of miles and against incredible odds, to be in the one place they know they ought to and have to be. I told Mark that my first visit to Glencoe brought sobs from the very depth of my soul and that I was overwhelmed with a need to lie down on the ground there. His eyes twinkled as he told me that this was a marker that I had tuned into. For no doubt, when I discovered from a distant cousin, that two of my ancestors had escaped the massacre in 1692, this marker must have somehow told me that my ancestors may have laid down and feigned death in order to escape, first to Ireland and then to Boston. This may be why my uncle loved Ireland so and has written to me that he wants to come visit, "an old man coming home." I hope he does. For I am without doubt that he will feel the same agonisingly joyful waves of familiarity and home that I do. Even as I write the words here, my eyes fill with tears. I love it here, but more than that, I belong here.

What should not surprise me is that everyone I speak to who lives here but is not from here has felt the same pull I feel. One customer on Saturday was a woman who lives in Switzerland but is originally from Germany. We spoke about our love for Scotland and the sense of needing desperately to be here. I, of course, can trace my heritage back to Scotland without any real difficulty. This woman was unaware of her possible genetic connection. But she comes from Hamburg, a port that has always been a port. Who can say that her ancestors didn't once sail from Hamburg across the sea to Scotland and settle here? Germanic and Scandinavian tribes filled much of the present-day UK hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years ago. It may be that the Scottish homing instinct was passed down to her from some distant ancestor who came over the water to the land of heather and hills.

After many busy days, Chris and I are having a week of rest. A final Christmas fair will take us to Gairloch on the western coast, just north of the Ledgowan Lodge Hotel in Achnasheen. An early start means we will spend the night before at a B&B. We have booked into the Solas B&B; the description is lovely - with views toward Skye and Torridon. We are so looking forward to it. We loved the Ledgowan Lodge Hotel so much, we are going to take advantage of their mid-week break prices and stay there sometime before the 22nd. Our Christmas present to ourselves.

I am looking forward to our first Christmas in the Highlands. I've been informed we can expect snow. I shall have to buy some mulled wine for the day, snuggle up with Chris and watch some Christmas movies. It is going to be wonderful.

Mist and Sunshine...

2011-11-16T17:36:00.000-08:00

It is after midnight; in fact, it is after 1am. I'm not really sleepy yet. Maybe I'm just nervous - tomorrow is my first Christmas Fair and I am hoping the jewellery loving crowd is there. I've been working hard to get to this point in my career. So, maybe it's just nerves. Or maybe it is the quietness and the time I can reflect on a wonderful day. A day, sadly, unaccompanied by photos. The title of this blog tells you why. Chris was unable to get any decent shots today because of the extraordinary weather.

We had a late start to the day. Chris has been feeling a bit under the weather and when he was still asleep well past 9am, I let him sleep. Bless him, he works so hard taking care of our home and me. He deserved a lie-in, something he rarely gives himself. But today he had one and was better for it.

So, at just past noon, we hit the road. Chris had discovered that there was an abbey nearby, founded in the mid-13th century. So, with a general idea of where it was, we took off. There was a heavy mist as far as we could see. I love mist and fog, something very ethereal about it. Possibly one of the contributing factors to my love for this country.

We drove along the main road until we saw the turn-off for Fearne. The mist had disappeared (or so we thought) and we found ourselves traveling down a narrow tree-lined road, the autumn sunshine sparkling off golden and russet leaves, some heavy still with the dew of the mist that had rolled on. I took out our scruffy and well-loved atlas and found that just beyond the turn-off for the abbey was another road that would lead us to Loch Eye and then along another road that would take us to Portmahomock (doesn't that sound like a town in New England with a name from the native Americans?). As we turned onto the road, we noticed the mist was with us once more, but it almost formed an arc, like a rainbow, and, like a rainbow, no matter how much farther we traveled, it always stayed ahead of us. To see the sheep grazing with a mist on top of them, but only reaching a little way above them, was incredible. We drove down the road, stopping at one point to watch a large bird of prey (we believe it was a juvenile eagle) and enjoying the afternoon of peacefully gazing at the passing countryside. Loch Eye finally appeared to our left, but there didn't appear to be a road to get to it, so we passed it, with the mist making the bare trees appear in silhouette. We reached an intersection and turned toward the road that would bring us to the end of this small peninsula.

Farms and wide expanses of land surrounded us. To the left, we could see a small inlet of the Dornoch Firth, with little beaches that boasted waves with white crests. It was simply lovely. It reminded me, a bit, of my childhood summers on Cape Cod. That same sense of great space with little evidence of mankind (if JFK did nothing else, at least he made most of the Cape national seashore). We looked at the views and the golden fields and the grazing sheep and were once more filled with great happiness that this is all in our backyard.

As we continued along the narrow road, we could see the harbour village of Portmahomock. The waterfront formed a small crescent and cottages and pebble-dashed houses standing beside the narrow main street. We drove as far as we could. The Dornoch Firth in front of us, the hills of the northwest across the water, and still a bit of mist in the air.

From Portmahomack, we took the road north until we reached Tarbet Ness lighthouse. Tall and thin with red stripes, it stands where the North Sea divides itself into the Dornoch and Moray Firths. There wasn't a soul around and as we made our way just a few feet up the little drive (Chris walking, me hobbling), we saw that the lane was lined in gorse and that small birds and rabbits, with their fur thickening in preparation for the coming winter, made their homes among the gnarled stems. The sky was so blue, the air so still. So very peaceful and beautiful. We stood quietly, breathing in deeply the cold air and enjoying the silence, save for the birds twittering and the rabbit scampering about. We knew the day would be closing in soon, the sun is setting just the other side of 4pm now, and so we reluctantly walked/hobbled back to the car.

We traveled in the only direction we could, south again with our goal of reaching Fearne Abbey, some seven or so miles away. What we saw as we traveled south amazed us. The mist hadn't lifted, we had simply driven out of it. In front of us, we saw the mist, appearing more like low-lying clouds, hugging the contours of the land. In some parts, it was as if we were looking down out of an airplane window, or perhaps looking forward from a very high altitude. But we weren't; we were most assuredly on solid ground, but the clouds lying on the surface of the fields and hills remained close. Chris attempted a photograph, but above the low clouds, the November afternoon sun was bright and made it difficult to get a decent photograph. You shall have to take my word for it. It was, truly, amazing. Everything that stood between us and the mist was silhouetted by the sun. The bell in the distant church tower was clearly outlined, as were the bare trees and farm silos.

We traveled to Fearne, now entering the mist, and drove to the abbey. While founded in the 13th century, most of it was rebuilt in the 18th century. But there was still a feel of great antiquity to it. It is a church that is used every Sunday, despite some areas off the main building missing their roofs and a churchyard with ancient stone slabs covered with bright green moss. Chris went off to explore the churchyard, while I hobbled back to sit in the car. The radio was playing classical music and I looked as before me the sun was lying low behind the perfect branches of a bare tree. It was so lovely, so peaceful. But the mist was cold and we needed to run some errands, but I know that we will go back there soon. Chris loves photographing old abbeys and churches and he looked so happy when he returned to the car.

So that was our day of mist and sunshine, sea and fields, sheep and eagles. In other words, another day in our beautiful home in Scotland.

The best of feelings...

2011-11-07T06:37:00.000-08:00

I'm afraid I have no travels to share with you this week. The past five days have been spent being full-time Mum and Nana. We put my daughter and granddaughter on a train home a couple of hours ago and, while I am appreciating the quiet and getting the house back to "normal", I am missing their presence already.

When my daughter was very little, I remember picking her up at the sitter's one late afternoon after work. She wasn't more than 6 or 7 months old, but on this particular day, she did something she had never done before. When the sitter answered the door, she was holding Caroline, who was looking in the opposite direction. I softly said her name, she turned around, saw me, gave me the biggest toothless grin and leaned toward me with a hand outstretched. I never thought I would ever feel that same overwhelming wave of love again. But I have. On several occasions over the weekend, Catherine would run to me, put her arms around my knees and utter those beautiful words, "My Nana." Joy, love, warmth...there are no words to describe the feeling of those little arms squeezing and the huge smile on her face. She is my dearest joy, plain and simple.

As she is two, the huge grins and loving cuddles can often turn to stamping feet and pouts. I have done with her what I did with her mother. I ignore the tantrums and when the lower lip sticks out, I tell her to put it back. It becomes a game and she smiles and then laughs and the tantrum is over. As I said to my daughter, with toddlers, you choose your battles. If it isn't life-threatening or dangerous in any way, you just laugh it off.

Catherine apparently likes "the water." During our trips out, we are almost always going to drive by or over the water. "Mummy, ook! Water!" This is followed by, "Nana, ook! Water!" The ritual is not complete until she has finished with "Abba, ook! Water!" Then we are all very sure we have looked at the water, acknowledged the same to Catherine and the trip can continue.

Perhaps the funniest part of the visit was Catherine's insistence that she "find" our cats. She calls both of them by one of the names, "Fluff." Catherine would catch sight of one of the cats (who was, no doubt, thinking that they have appeared at just the wrong time) and would run down the hall. As quickly, she would return again and grab a hand of a willing participant with the words, "Quick! I find Fluff." Caroline or Chris would follow along (since I can't be "quick") and find the cat looking less than pleased and letting out a little hiss here and there. I have a feeling these cats have never been around small children. Needless to say, the cats spent most of the five days on our bed and hoping that Catherine would leave them alone. I think they would have been happier if Catherine had left them undiscovered.

Thanks to my granddaughter, I am now familiar with "Dora the Explorer" and the movie "Tangled." I know that a chameleon in the film "Tangled" is referred to as "frog" and that bouncing is what you do, even if you are, in fact, jumping.

It has been a wonderful five days, and we look forward to many more visits. But, for now, I am going to allow the cats to chill and Chris and I will reclaim our home as our own. Until next time and until I once again feel the warmth of those little arms around my knees, I can just remember what it's like to be so unconditionally loved by a very sweet little girl.

Lovely sojourns…

2011-10-28T14:34:00.000-07:00

A friend from the States came to visit this past week and it was so enjoyable having her here. Not only was her company most welcomed, but it gave us an excuse to show her some of the incredible sights here on our Highlands doorstep.

Light on the hills
at Assynt

We were lucky to have the weather cooperate beyond what had been forecast. Our first trip was up to Lochinver. What a joy to see the twin peaks of Suiliven rise out of the landscape before us. The hills were flooded with diffused sunlight and the variation in the heights of the hills gave them such dimension. We stopped in Inchnadamph so that Chris and Salle could get some photos of the hills. I love the way the light hits the hill behind and not the one in front. As we watched the hills, we heard strange bellowing sounds. It is the rutting season, and no doubt these were the sounds of lonely stags trying to entice does to join them.

We traveled on to Lochinver and had a lovely lunch at the Lochinver Larder. Sounds much less appetising than it is. The food and atmosphere were terrific and we enjoyed speaking with our waiter, who has always lived in Lochinver. He told us of the morning his then 7-year old son came running into the bedroom shouting that Suilven was on fire. Apparently the morning light was hitting the “hill” in such a way that it was bathed in purple and red light. How I would love to see that. I am sorry I have no photograph of Suilven, but despite the sunshine, there were no good views of it as the sky at the top was quite hazy.

Tree island on Assynt

We drove back along Loch Assynt and Chris captured this image of one of the tree islands on the upper end of the loch. Here the loch spreads out across the landscape, with the hills of Sutherland offering the perfect backdrop. Just as the loch itself seems larger here than at the lower end, so the tree islands are larger and taller. This one is far larger than the one that was photographed before. While many of Scotland's lochs feature these tree islands, for some reason, the islands here on Loch Assynt touch me more than any others. They are so filled with a sense of earthly spirituality and ancient wisdom.

Sunset

We continued down from Loch Assynt, along the road to Ullapool just as the sun was setting. Chris captured this incredible image from along the A82. It is here that the views are so incredible, with the munros in the distance. To the south is lovely Ardmair Bay. Chris has THE photograph of Ardmair Bay on his website. It was too dark now to even try to get a photograph. But, as my friend said, it was a picture that will live in our minds' eyes always. To Ullapool and back to Inverness and home. I was so excited, because I knew that we would be visiting Skye the next day.

Eilean Donan at low tide

We awoke to grey skies, with occasional patches of blue, but were happy to see the skies clearing as we traveled west. We first headed south to Eilean Donan Castle. This iconic castle that stands on its own little island was not standing alone – for the tide was out and the vegetation that usually sits beneath the waters was visible – with golds and browns that complemented the colours of the trees. Eliean Donan may be one of the most photographed castles in Scotland and we watched as cars pulled into the parking lot, the occupants getting out to capture and image and move on. Chris came back from taking pictures chuckling at a phone conversation he heard while walking back to the car. An elderly gentleman, no doubt from Yorkshire, was on the phone muttering, "This isn't a castle. You call this a castle? Pshaw, this isn't a castle." Made me laugh. If ever there was a castle, Eilean Donan is it. (He also complained of a poor mobile signal because of all the "bloody" hills. You're in the highlands, sir, what do you expect?)

The ruined church on
the road to Elgol

We left Eilean Donan and, as we approached the Skye Bridge, we could see the sun hitting the sides of the Cuillens. We headed to Portree first, to have lunch at the Aros Centre. Then we took the road south again until we reached Broadford and the road to Elgol. How I had missed this drive. The old church, standing in ruins, where sheep often graze amongst the headstones was our first stop on the road. Such a peaceful place – I have dreamed of being here for the past three years and here we were again. Nothing had changed, but it was as if I were seeing it with new eyes. I think I just appreciate it so much more having been away. As I watched the sheep grazing on the hills across from the ruined church, a hooded crow touched down on the top of a farm gate just feet from our car. Of course, by the time Chris returned from photographing this gnarled tree growing by and into the church walls, the crow had flown away. One day I will get a photograph of one to post here. I love to watch them. Their plummage of black and pewter is enchanting.

The Black Cuillens across
Loch Scavaig

We drove the long, single-track road slowly, taking in the sights, until we reached Elgol and the peerless view it offers of the Black Cuillens across Loch Scavaig. The autumn sky was pink in places and the sun was starting its decline, so we made the journey back along the narrow road and took the turn down to the south so as to drive by the Five Sisters of Kintail. We could see the peaks this time, and the setting sun would hit in patches here and there. In the fading light of dusk, we caught sight of several stags grazing in the fields that appear beside the road, with small lochs, or lochans, appearing dark and deep. The darkness fell quite quickly and we made our way home, having had a lovely day of sharing our favourite places.

On Wednesday, we took our friend to Glasgow so that she could see Glencoe and Rannoch Moor. She was impressed by Ossian’s Cave and all the other glories of this melancholy place. I told her the story of the massacre and the Campbells and MacDonalds. Once more the weather complemented the landscapes, with just plumes of clouds at the top of the hills. It was, as always, so very beautiful.

I don’t think I will ever grow bored with this beautiful country. Each trip out and about is such a joy for me. I love this country more and more each day and it was with great happiness that we told our friend that our ashes would be scattered in the Lost Valley of Glencoe and that we would live out the rest of our days in this country that touches our souls.

Musings on an October afternoon...

2011-10-21T09:16:00.000-07:00

The one comment I hear more than any other, since we moved here, is that I should be hailed as some sort of positive example because I did what I had to do to get us to where we wanted to be. Don’t think so. I’m just a dreamer who knows that dreams only come true if you make them come true.

This afternoon we had a drive out. Not a huge drive – we had some things that needed to be mailed and we needed to get some stuff from the grocery store. As I sat in the car waiting for Chris to come back, I had the radio tuned to BBC Scotland. I sat there, listening to the voices, looking at the sky full of autumn afternoon sunlight, taking in the colours of the leaves and the white clouds mixed with grey and all I do could was smile. Sometimes, because being here feels so right, so natural, I find myself slipping into that mindset of everything becoming just part of everyday life. And that is what I must never allow myself to do. Being here is a blessing, finding the way to get here was and is a blessing, living the life we dreamed of is a blessing.

I sat there and reflected on our present, but also thought about my past. I am a great believer that everything that happens to us happens for a reason – either to teach us something we need to know or to place us one step closer to where we should be. I look back and see that even the worst negatives ended up leading to something positive. My first very unfortunate marriage gave me my daughter, my disastrous second (I blush that I’ve been married three times, I really do) brought me to the UK, a brief relationship after that marriage introduced the adult me to Scotland. The single life that followed allowed me to discover the great joy of learning to love myself, thereby giving me the self-confidence that allowed me to follow my heart to find Chris, who is the greatest love I’ve ever known. My increasingly crippling arthritis gave me the option of semi-retirement after so many years of hard work. My 23 months back in the States gave me a wonderful new friend and a change of view with which I could look and see and know that it is here in Scotland that I need to be. And along the story that is my life, there have been great wells of sadness along with the peaks of delight. But it has been a road that has brought me here – the place where I find the greatest joy and where I feel a sense of belonging that I never felt before.

This afternoon, after the post office and grocery store, we took the short drive to Bonar Bridge – up by way of the northeastern shore of the Dornoch Firth and back by way of the southwestern shore. The light on the hills was amazing and in the far distance we could see very high hills with a touch of white snow at the top. There is such a sense of open space here. The hills that are covered with trees are wearing their autumn colours; the hills that are covered with bracken and heather have that deep rusty bronze colour. They take my breath away. I think they always will. And then, driving back, I noticed great flashes of white in one of the little inlets of the firth. With trees between the road and the water, I had to wait until there was a clearing. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw that these numerous lumps of pristine white were swans. A flock of wild hooper swans had come in to settle in this area for the winter. Throughout the winter, they will be here until they go back to Iceland and areas farther north in the spring. It was magical to see so many in one place. (Of course, Chris didn’t have his camera – he really needs to remember to take it out every time we leave the house – there is never any way to tell what the day may bring!)

We have a friend coming from the States on Sunday evening, staying with us until Wednesday. We are saving our petrol for her visit. Our plans are to visit Skye for a day (yes!) and then, the next day, take her to Ullapool and north to Lochinver and Assynt. I can’t wait to show her these beautiful places. I am quite sure they will enchant her as they have enchanted us. I long to see Suilven’s majestic silhouette against the wide highland skies, the munros that populate the northwest and the beautiful hills and waters of Skye. It will probably be our last trip to these places until after the first of the year. If we get the weather predicted, we may find it hard to get to these out of the way places. Our two occasions for travel will be those for Christmas fairs so I can show my jewellery. But our little adventures may have to stop for the season. We shall see. But no matter the weather, I sleep at night with a smile on my face because I know that outside my front door is the land I have longed to inhabit for a long time. Longer, I think, than even I have known. My soul is happy here, at peace, where it should be.

An Incredible Journey...

2011-10-11T13:47:00.000-07:00

Today we decided to take another drive. The day, while starting out damp and overcast, had turned into one of those gorgeous autumn days of blue skies and soft sunlight. While there were, and always are, grey skies in one direction or the other, it felt as if the afternoon might be best spent in the car, exploring more of the beautiful country around us. We had already been to Bonar Bridge, following the route south of the Dornock Firth, but we had not yet traveled the road north of the firth. So, that, we decided, would be today’s route of exploration.

As we left the dappled sunlight of our driveway and made our way out to the main road and then to the A9, we could look around us and see that rain was falling here and there. Little cloudbursts were everywhere. A moment in the rain and then we would emerge back into the autumn sunshine. We crossed the Dornock Firth and took the road leading to Bonar Bridge, to find what sights might be found on the way.

There were very few places to stop along the way, and there was little reason to stop. The road was narrow, sometimes an ancient stone wall would appear beside us, only to return back to ferns growing golden in the cooler temperatures. It was very bucolic along this road – farms and old farms houses, rolled bales of hay and sheep and cows in fields, pleasantly munching away the time. As we rounded one corner at Spinningdale, I could see just the other side of the roadside and down a gentle grade was a ruin of some kind; research once I returned home revealed that the ruins are those of an old mill. The ruins were very tall, ancient grey stone upon ancient grey stone, with a tumbled down pile here and there. Once we got to the first left turn, we drove down a narrow lane, only to find a sign that said all access to this particular site was through private land. Alas, there would be no photograph to accompany my words. But, we drove on. As we drove, I consulted our very worn atlas and discovered an unnamed and unnumbered road that rose up from Bonar Bridge and would take us on a circular route, depositing us back at Loch Fleet. And so, when we arrived at Bonar Bridge, we took the turn. What a fortuitous decision it was. What isolated and barren beauty awaited us.

Loch an Lagain

The drive took us by old farms and fields of sheep and cows and then suddenly opened up into moorlands. The colour of the vast openness was one of deep golden yellows and bronze-like browns – the colours of old grass and heather no longer in bloom. The sky was so blue, but the constant drizzles made for rainbows – so bright and colourful. We climbed higher and higher until we leveled off, only to find a beautiful loch within view. This was Loch an Lagain. You can see the deep blueness of the water and the brown and gold of the hill behind it. The loch is fed by the River Evelix, a river we pass over when driving from Dornoch back to Tain. It was bitterly cold, but the sun was shining brightly and the only sounds were those of the wind and water.

Rainbow on Loch Buidhe

We continued on, spying another rainbow before us. As we turned yet another bend in the narrow road, we came to the next loch – Loch Buidhe. The wind was whipping up the water into waves and, again, the air was bitterly cold. The rainbow ahead began to lose its colour, but as Chris stepped out of the car to capture this scene, it brightened up again, as if putting on its best colours for the photographer. The rain was spitting down here and there and the road, while paved, was damp. The road is so little traveled upon that the centre of the road is clump after clump of grass. In other words, just the sort of road we enjoy traveling. The rainbow, now having been caught by the camera, continued to shimmer, as if beckoning us further and further along the road. As we traveled on, a river wound its way along the road with us – the Abhainn an t’Sratha Charnaig. I’ve looked up the words and all I can get is Abhainn is river, an is the, t’sratha is wide. Charnaig doesn’t appear to have a translation. Name or not, it was so wild and wonderful – deep blue almost black water, winding and curling around the landscape.

Brae Cottage

As we moved along, with the Abhainn an t’Sratha Charnaig and several sheep as traveling companions, we came upon an isolated little cottage. It appeared to be uninhabited, but I am unsure of this. It may serve as a bothy for walkers. While there were no signs, research revealed that is called Brae Cottage – brae meaning steep bank or hillside. As you can see from this beautiful image Chris captured, while its human occupants may or may not exist, it is certainly not without the four-footed, wooly inhabitants. I was so glad Chris captured the sheep in the photograph.

Abhainn an t'Sratha Charnaig

Still the rainbow beckoned us forward, and soon we saw the hill, appropriately named “The Mound”, that sits on the banks of Loch Fleet. We were nearing the end of our drive. But we would continue to enjoy the babbling of Abhainn an t’Sratha Charnaig for several miles still. The river ran deeper and deeper into the earth as the road rose higher and higher, until the river was at the bottom of a deep gorge beside the road. Ancient trees, some moss covered and all reaching amongst themselves like the gnarled fingers of an ancient sage, grew wildly on the banks of the river. There was such a strong sense of the earth’s spirit here. I feel such a connection to the earth in these places – as if my very existence is just like that of a small insect in the great scheme of things. These old trees stood long before I existed and will stand long after I am gone. How many generations have these trees witnessed, walking and driving through this incredibly unspoilt wilderness?

We drove on and began to notice the widening of the road and the occasional house here and there and then, before we knew it, we were at the side of the A9, ready to turn back to the bridge over the Dornock and back home again. But what a stunning landscape we had seen – what an incredibly wild and uplifting environment we had become part of, even if just for a moment in time. This is why I love Scotland and why I love the Highlands so much – because they put everything into perspective for me. It is here that I can appreciate and understand how little significance there is to my life or anyone else’s when you look at the big picture. We are guests in this world – we are visitors who must regard and revere the beauty that has nothing at all to do with us. The beauty we cannot create and should not destroy.

Ancient moss-covered branches over the Abhainn an t'Sratha Charnaig

Another Friday, another road*

2011-10-08T08:19:00.000-07:00

Friday was a fairly nice day – soft sunlight sparkling through the clouds (and the occasional rainfall). We thought it might be nice to get out on the road and head in yet another direction. Chris wanted to head southwest of Inverness, to drool over some camera lens at a shop called Ffordes just outside Beauly and I knew that on the first floor of the small building is a café and gallery. So, we got on the road about 1ish and headed south.

We passed by the span of beach where the seals usually congregate and we were not disappointed to see a large group on the beach. Unfortunately, they congregate too far from a parking area so we weren’t able to get any photos. We also saw several herons on the beach – beautiful birds standing on long thin legs above the gathered seaweed, stone and driftwood. (Chris has since been informed by the salesman at Ffordes that there is a place from which the seals are very visible and photograph-able, so we will try that another time). We looked at the hills and saw that the tallest were wearing a layer of snow on their peaks. Winter is coming and this early snowfall on the hills was both predicted and expected.

We continued on our way, through Dingwall, Maryburgh and Muir of Ord. The areas are very green and leafy – lots of trees lining the roads and some remarkable old Victorian buildings scattered among the new builds that have popped up as Inverness has grown. We soon found ourselves on that familiar stretch of tree-lined road and saw the houses of Beauly ahead. Ffordes is located on the other side of Beauly, towards Cannick, and so we slowly drove through the town, admiring, as always, the quaint buildings and the large centre called House of Beauly. While we didn’t stop there this time, we have in the past and it is wonderful place full of little shops that offer everything from kilts to whisky glasses. While somewhat aimed at the tourist, it is high-end merchandise and very nice.

As we drove out of Beauly, we soon came to the old church that houses Ffordes and the gallery/café. Called the Kirk, it is a charming place and we have been there many times before for Chris’ fix of what I laughingly refer to as “camera porn.” He went upstairs and I settled into a comfortable sofa downstairs after attempting to walk around and see the offerings in the gallery. Chris appeared, eyes glazed with that look of having seen lovely camera bits and pieces, and we had a cream tea and a chat with the waitress.

We returned to our car to check the maps and decided to continue south to Cannick. This route took us along a beautiful narrow road, canopied by ancient trees. While some of the trees are wearing their autumn colours, many remain green as the weather has been completely unpredictable and the leaves are not changing as much as might be expected by this time of year. A river running by the road bubbled over stones from time to time, creating that gentle sound, so audible in the quiet stillness of the countryside. When we arrived at Cannick, we took the high road back to Beauly – climbing higher and higher until we could see the hills of the Great Glen in the distance. The sun was beginning its afternoon descent and the colour of the sky and the light on the hills were stunning.

Our trip ended with the necessary stop at the grocery store and petrol station and then home again. (I apologise for the lack of photographs, but Chris discovered that he had not reset his camera after a photo shoot of my jewellery. But I promise more photographs next week.)

So, another Friday of exploring our surroundings, discovering new places, reacquainting ourselves with places we know. When I spoke to my dear mother-in-law this morning, she was relieved when I said that this would probably be it as far as addresses go. No more wandering from place to place. We have found our home.

*With apologies to Cole Porter – now I have that song “Another Opening, Another Show” from "Kiss Me Kate" stuck in my head!

A Friday outing...

2011-10-01T15:10:00.000-07:00

Moss-covered walls in the woods

On Friday afternoon, we decided to take advantage of the relatively fine weather (some sun and little rain) and go for a drive north. (A friend commented, "How much farther north can you go?" Answer: 90 miles to John O' Groats.) So we got on the A9, after checking out the local petrol station, and headed north. We crossed the bridge at the Dornoch Firth (lovely view normally, but a bit bland on Friday) and headed up towards the town of Golspie. That was going to be the point at which we would turn around, but I found a lovely little backroad circuit we could drive that would put us back on the A9 just about 5 miles or so north of Golspie. The drive from the Dornoch Firth to Golspie was lovely - leafy and green, for the most part, but with some of the trees beginning to show their autumn colours. Once we were beyond Dornoch, Loch Fleet appeared to the east. It is lovely tidal loch with active estuaries during low tide - we often see seals or herons in the muddy flats left behind by the receding sea. (And I promise we will get a photo of the seals on one of our next ventures out.) As we approached Golspie, we saw the usual mix of stone buldings and Victorian architecture. A huge building on the west side of the A9 was signposted as a Highland Council office - we were no longer in our country of Ross-shire or Ross and Cromarty and had now passed into Sutherland.

The woods and green fields opened to a wide glen

As we passed through the northern part of Golspie, I saw a sign that directed us to "Backies" - this would be the road we would take us around the back of the A9 for what appeared on the map as about 9 miles. The first part of the road was bordered by trees - thick green, aged. The road was lined by a moss-covered stone wall. There is something about woods that moves me. I feel that trees are living, breathing spirits and no one convince me otherwise. Chris stopped the car to get some photographs and I enjoyed sitting in the car with the window open so I could hear the sounds of the woods - the birds, the insects, the breeze rustling through the trees. The leaves, some falling to the ground, made that lovely autumnal sound of dying leaves caught up on the breeze. And there was that wonderful smell of leaves, lying in the road, colourful and crisp. When Chris returned, we went forward to see a fairly green and wooded area, dotted here and there by cottages. But as we progressed, the road opened up to more hilly landscapes, covered with bracken and heather. The sheep were grazing in the fields as the sky, cloudy and deep, began to send down gentle drops of rain. Chris was able to get this lovely shot as we entered the barren area. Slowly, we drove along the single-track road, wary of sheep and other cars. It seemed as if we were driving forever. The turbines of wind farm appeared to our right and as we rounded a bend in the road, we were greeted with the vision of a small loch just catching the sun as it set lower in the early evening sky. The water of the little stream leading to the loch seemed to be liquid sunlight and tender green reeds peeked through the surface of the loch. The loch was called Farlory and the area has many hut circles and mounds from the ancient peoples who lived there. The gentle drizzle continued, but could not affect our delight at the landscapes before us. Driving farther still, we came to a bend in the road where our view looking north west was stunning. A line of trees in autumnal dress opened up to a glen that reached forever - hills upon hills rising up from the centre and the sun showing low in the sky. There were no sounds and no people to be seen. Just this beautiful, very Scottish scene.

Liquid sunshine at Loch Farlory

Still we drove on, thinking the map to be misleading or the roads to have changed since the map was published. Soon, beside the road, the River Brora appeared, snaking through the countryside, through glens and along hillsides, opening up into wide areas of even terrain, with stream-smoothed stones on the banks. The River Brora gave way to Loch Brora and we saw many anglers on its banks and in small canoes in the midst of the loch bordered on one side by a high hill with a rockface. The light was so beautiful, but we saw that the time was marching on and we didn't want to be in such unfamiliar surroundings if the night fell. Onward to Brora and back onto the A9 for the return journey home. From Brora to Golspie, our route took us along the coast of the North Sea, hazy and blue grey. As we approached Golspie once more, we saw the spires and turrets of Dunrobin Castle on the sea's banks. Once more the land became more agricultural - fields of hay and sheep and cows. Back across the Dornoch Firth and down the road to Tain and then home. As Chris said, this may be our new "recharge" route - the drive we like to take when it is time to get away from people and buildings and just commune with the wild and barren countryside. It was magical and I know we will drive this way again and again.

Beautiful glen looking north on the final leg of our journey

A long-awaited journey...

2011-09-24T10:59:00.000-07:00

Salmon jumping at the Falls of Shinn

Yesterday, despite the somewhat cloudy skies, we decided to take a drive north. Not far – we only intended to go to the Falls of Shinn (about 25 miles north). Unfortunately, my knees prevented me from seeing the falls themselves, but I could hear them and share in the fun with Chris’ photographs. It was so lovely seeing him appear from the walkway (when I get myself a wheelchair, I will be able to see them, as it is disabled accessible). He had that wonderful grin I haven’t seen in such a long time. As he walked toward the car, I could see the smile get wider and wider. He told me how the falls were amazing in and of themselves, but it just happened that we were there when the salmon were jumping! I’m not sure if you can make out the lone determined salmon on this photograph (just up and slightly left of the centre of the photograph), but Chris was in awe of the whole process. He said that several of them would jump the falls, only to be washed down again where they were try once again and again and until they succeeded. Isn’t nature fantastic? We shall be going back again and it will be on the list of places to take any guests (along with the trips to whisky distilleries, of course). We are so blessed to be an area of such unspoiled beauty and as our trip continued, we realised that we are such a short distance from all the places we love.

From the Falls of Shinn, we decided to head northwest. This would take us back to our beloved Assynt. This was the place I dreamed of seeing again - a place that touches me nearly as deeply as Glencoe. There is such beauty there - with the loch and the wild landscapes that surround it. To get there, we traveled along a road we had not traveled on before (and those roads we have not driven are few and far between). We traveled on a single track road for most of the journey, watching the Shinn, Casslley, and the Oykel rivers meander through the landscapes, keeping pace with the car. The heavily wooded area slowly gave way to more barren landscapes. A small lochan would appear through the mist from time to time and I would use it to chart our place on the map.

We finally made it to the intersection at Elphin – Assynt was so close now. The sign gave us the option of following straight to Lochinver or to the left and Ullapool. How many times we have come to stop at this intersection, deciding which way to travel. The rain and mist had become much worse, but nothing could dampen our spirits as we made our way west. The old hotel at Inchnadamph, at the base of a hill and surrounded by moors and fields on which we have often seen deer, appeared and we knew we were close. Then, as we rounded a small curve in the road, there was Castle Ardvreck before us, looking grey and mysterious, standing alone, because the high mountains bordering the loch couldn’t be seen for the mist. I could do nothing more than just look and be grateful that we were here again. There was a time that I feared our memories of Castle Ardvreck and the loch and the highlands would have to be a dream or memory. But we made it back. We are here and it is more than wonderful. We stopped the car and I opened my window. The rain came in but I wanted to see Ardvreck without the droplets that appeared on the car window. I took a deep breath and felt the pure air fill my lungs. Grateful, just so very, very grateful.

Tree island in Loch Assynt

The weather meant it was not a day for capturing Ardvreck in a photograph - the grey and mist would not capture the magic of the castle. Instead, I asked Chris to please take a photograph of one of Loch Assynt’s several tree islands. With the mist and rain, they looked more lonely than usual and we stopped to capture the image. My heart was just so full of happiness. It was all as we had left it and it was such a very welcome sight. These tree islands are so magical. I can't wait until a bright winter day to make the journey and capture them as we have before. The trunks of the trees go white in the winter, with knarled branches, like crooked fingers, reaching out and up.

Stac Pollaidh through the mist

With the weather becoming more misty and grey, we decided to return home by traveling first to Ullapool and then the road to Inverness – two lanes for most of the journey. We returned to that familiar junction and started our way south though some of the most spectacular landscapes in the area. As the mist and fog thickened and the mist gave way to steady rain, the magnificence of the area was not at its best. The sense of overwhelming space was not there, crowded, as it was, by the mist. But it was still so lovely to see. We stopped along the way to just take it in. Stac Pollaidh could just be scene through the mist, her peak being the only one not obscured by the fog. We looked south to see one of the island ferries making its way to Ullapool. We drove the winding road down to Ardmair Bay - a lovely spot in any weather. A short stop to gaze at the bay with its islands before us and the hills behind us and we moved on once more, toward the town of Ullapool, hugging the natural port on Loch Broom. It was quiet with few people out and about - a far cry from Ullapool in summer - with crowds of tourists and campers. But even in this quiet state, it was so good to see.

We headed out of Ullapool, up and up through thick woods and countryside dotted with cottages and farms. The hills were tall beside us and before us. Plentiful falls cascaded down the hills and the fertile green gave way to the barren land, decorated only with lochans and tufts of purple blooming heather. At one point, we passed a parking area to the left and Chris immediately recognised the caravans there as belonging to some friends of ours. Thank goodness no one was behind us, as Chris made a sudden stop and then backed the car the 100 or so feet until we got to the parking area. How wonderful to see our friends again. They live such a wonderful life – so very free and at one with nature. He is a Scotsman and proud of his country and the life he and his wife have made for themselves. He is a blogger and film-maker. You can read about his adventures at http://theblackbuscompany.blogspot.com. We hope to hook up with them again very soon. (We also saw another friend this past week. Andy, Mel and Carrie all became our friends through a wonderful forum here in the UK – it’s so nice when virtual friends become real friends!)

The wild countryside soon gave way to civilisation and our final leg home included a stop at the grocery store to lay in some food for the coming week.

It’s good here – it’s very good. I can never think of ever wanting to live anywhere else, ever. We’re home. Alba ghu braich!

Buileach sonas (Scottish Gaelic for “absolute contentment”)…

2011-09-21T03:18:00.000-07:00

I am not sure even how to start this blog. We are in our new home and it is wonderful. (The only thing missing is a cat, but we will be adding a feline member to the family by mid-October.) I am still pinching myself that this is all real. The apartment is perfect, the setting is perfect, I seriously haven’t found one thing to complain about. It is exactly where we should be.

The trip up here proved that where there’s a will, there’s a way. Despite my having to hold an empty stew pot the whole way, everything else somehow found a place. The car was not in imminent danger of scraping the road, but it was close. We drove up, taking our time and enjoying the scenery through the Cairngorms, and arrived in Inverness in the afternoon and stopped for a late lunch around 4pm. We then made our way to the apartment, where we met our landlord and got the keys from him; he gave us the tour and a briefing on all the little idiosyncrasies of the place. Chris unpacked a bit and we made our way to the B&B at Dornoch. Having been greeted by our hosts, we went to our room and had a lovely, relaxing evening watching the television and eating leftover pizza from lunch in preparation for our official move-in day. Thursday we got up at 8:30 and had our lovely full Scottish breakfast at the B&B (I love haggis – I just don’t think about what it is). We drove here, opened the door, Chris unpacked and we started on the relatively simple task of putting stuff away.

The place is perfect for us. The living room, with the opening to the kitchen and the dining area sitting beneath the opening, is wonderful. One of the things we bought for the new place was an Ikea lamp I fell in love with years ago. It is a large floor lamp that arcs over with a large paper lantern shade. It is now sitting in the corner, with the light above the dining table. It looks perfect. Our little study/studio is darling. Our landlord had a bookshelf for us and it is in the study now, holding the boxes of my completed pieces. I have a little desk (the landlord gave us all the furniture, with the exception of two pieces he would like back). Our casement windows are deep (more than one foot) with the eight separate lights in each half of the window. I went into the study to make some jewellery and opened the window. So peaceful – just the sounds of the birds in the woods opposite. I will get Chris to take some photos to include in next week’s blog.

Saturday morning a lady from Gairloch came over to see my jewellery and picked out a beautiful pendant for her daughter’s 40^th birthday. She was so kind and very encouraging. She is going to email me information about the craft fairs they do where she lives (basically the other side of this area – we are in what is called Easter Ross and she is in Wester Ross). There are going to be so many opportunities for Chris and me to make a real living with our arts.

Saturday afternoon, we did a 21-mile drive north of here. How wonderful to see road signs leading to our favourite places. And the area here is lovely, too. We are on the Cromarty Firth and as we drive south, through Invergordon, even the industry on the firth looks nice. The skies here are so huge and blue. We’ve seen a rainbow nearly every day since we’ve been here. Magical.

On Sunday morning, our bed was delivered. We had been sleeping in the guest room, which was quite comfy, but we were anxious to get our bed and it was worth the wait. We slept it in it that night and discovered that the room was actually too dark. We have a small light from a charger now and that seems adequate to give the room enough light so we don’t feel disoriented if we get up during the night.

We’ve now registered with the doctors and will be going into town to speak with someone at the council office about some forms we need to fill in. But the bottom line, we are just so happy to be here. To be home, because it most certainly is. We feel that we are where we should be. Peaceful, quiet, inspiring with everything we could ever hope for or need (other than all our children moving to the immediate area, of course).

It is hard to put how I feel into words. It truly is. I just feel that after 55 years and nearly thirty addresses in the course of my adult years, I am finally where I should be. I am still in somewhat of daze, just trying to take it all in. We are meeting lovely people and feeling very welcomed. It is going to be good here. It is going to be the home we have sought for so long. Happiness and, as the title says, buileach sonas.

Tomorrow...

2011-09-13T02:45:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow we pack the car (hopefully everything will fit in), lock up this place and head north. We have been dreaming this dream for so long, it is almost as if everything is in this ethereal haze right now. I still can’t believe it is happening. Tomorrow we get on the road and open the first page to the next chapter of our lives. The signs are good. On Saturday I will be welcoming our first visitor to our new place – a woman who contacted me about my jewellery and would like to see it in “real life” before purchasing for a very special occasion. Note to self: unpack the jewellery before Saturday.

So, anticipating that the next week will be busy, I thought it best to write this week’s blog today. Chris is at an appointment right now, but will make his way back after stopping at one of the hardware superstores to buy an hexagonal key set. Our only furniture consists of two Ikea bedside tables which require an allen key in order to take them apart so we can fit them (and everything else) in the back of the car. Once he is back here, we are hoping our tenancy support officer is able to stop by to say goodbye to us. She’s been lovely – so helpful and she even commissioned me to make a bangle for her daughter. I think that was providing support above and beyond the call of duty. We are grateful to her for all her help and support over the last three months. She made what could have been such a demoralising situation less so. Along with her colleagues in the housing department of the local council, our situation since May has been one of little trouble or worry.

Tonight we take Caroline, Andy and Catherine to dinner to say farewell. As I wrote in my last blog, I am going to miss them so much. But we will see them frequently as I am sure they will come see us as often as they can. The guestroom will be ready for them and for anyone else who would care to visit.

The next week will be all about settling in, stocking up cupboards and the fridge, getting to know our new home and the local environs. Our first trip to the far northwest? I predict it happens before we have been in the new place 10 days – possibly even well before that. I can’t imagine we will be able to stay away when it is right there – within an hour’s drive. The skies are that lovely autumnal blue now and the light is soft and golden. The photographs that will come from our drives will be amazing. I am looking forward to stopping at that viewpoint on the B869 that allows us to the see the munros across the horizon. I can't wait to see Suilven and Stac Pollaidh, to visit Ullapool and Torridon, to see the sheep on the hills, dwarfed by the magnitude of the surrounding landscapes, to feel once again so closely connected with the earth and the elements. As I said to a friend, if this is a dream, please just let me keep on sleeping.

So, my dear ones, wish us luck as we pack up tomorrow (I really am quite nervous about the size of our combined belongings in comparison to the size of the back of the car) and get on the road that leads to our realising a goal we set for ourselves five years ago.

Until next week, a h-uile la sona dhuibh ‘s gun la idir dona dhuibh! (May all your days be happy days.)

Living the dream - one week to go

2011-09-07T08:03:00.000-07:00

The run-up to the dream has not been without detours. Last week Chris had three teeth extracted. He was sent home without antibiotics to take (they put some topical antibiotics on the sockets) and this resulted in two out of the three becoming infected. A trip to the emergency dentist on Saturday resulted in the infection continuing (still no antibiotics), but a trip to our own dentist on Monday resulted in a prescription for antibiotics and the resulting improvement of Chris’ oral health. It has been a real roller coaster for both of us. Happily, he is on the mend and we are moving forward with our preparations for the move.

The extra bedroom – which used to feature Disney princess bed linens for Catherine – is now the storage room and we are hoping the volume of items in there equals the available volume in the back of our car. Fortunately, the Honda Jazz has a very sizeable hatch/boot and, with the backseats down, we should be all right. As I’ve said before, we are experts at moving!

The bed is now scheduled to be delivered on the 18^th (Sunday). As there is a small double bed in the apartment already, we will make do until our new superking bed arrives. We have purchased the other items necessary with the exception of some small kitchen appliances and a freezer, but those will be picked up once we are in the apartment.

So, our schedule until we move is now just a short list of tasks. We must finish packing, have our doctor here provide us with repeats on our prescriptions to hold us until we secure at doctor up north, and then say our goodbyes. We are taking Caroline, Andy, and Catherine to dinner the night before we leave. We have discovered a fairly good Mexican restaurant in nearby Dunfermline, so we will say our goodbyes over enchiladas and bottles of Corona.

Catherine asleep on her
comfy Nana

Yesterday, we took care of Catherine for the last time. She hadn’t had a nap prior to coming to us, so we fed her some lunch and watched some DVDs of her favourite cartoons (Peppa Pig and Ben & Holly’s Magic Kingdom). There was some fussing as tiredness set in and she fell asleep with her head on Chris’ shoulder as he stood with her in his arms, gently rocking her. He then transferred her to me, where she continued to sleep for about a half hour. It was heaven. It was a lovely day - we picked up Caroline from the bus at Leven and brought her back here and we fed both of them supper since Andy was working late. Catherine wanted to play games, including her version of Hide 'n Seek, which includes her covering her eyes (with fingers splayed to defeat the purpose of covering her eyes) and counting. Her counting is so funny; she says, "One...two....four...chicken." We are sure "chicken" is actually "six", but it sounds like chicken and Caroline, Chris and I were nearly breathless with laughter. The more we laughed, the more she laughed. It was priceless. I shall miss both my girls so much, but at least we are all in the same country and a visit to or from them involves a reasonably short trip of only about 240 miles roundtrip. We hope visits will be frequent and happy.

Today, we are getting last bits and bobs (still need a set of pillowcases) and tomorrow I have my hair cut. Women who read this blog will understand it when I say that finding the perfect hairdresser once we are settled is imperative! Before we know it , the weekend will be here – our last weekend in Buckhaven. Elated may be the correct word to use.

So, think of us as we finish our packing and praying that it all fits; smile for us as we prepare for the journey we have dreamed of; and feel the bittersweet goodbye we will have when saying “see you later” to Caroline, Andy and precious Catherine.

The moment we have dreamed of is so close now. We can reach out and touch it if we try. The brass ring is within our grasp and in one week’s time we will be on the road north to our new home. A home we have dreamed of and wished for since we first knew that we would be together and marry not only each other but our dreams of life in the Highlands. Business opportunities are already making themselves known and we are sure that this is the move of a lifetime.

My blog will be short and sweet next Wednesday, as I will not have time to write more than a paragraph. But stand by for the blog on 21 September – for surely that will be one full of joy and fulfilled hopes and dreams.

Living the dream - two weeks to go

2011-08-31T06:22:00.000-07:00

We find ourselves at that strange limbo place regarding our move to the highlands. We have packed all we can (fortunately, we don't have that much to pack), have arranged for the telephone and broadband to be in place on the day, have ordered our bed to be delivered on the day, have picked up most of the new bed linens, lamps from Ikea, dishes and cutlery from Asda. We have moved so frequently that we are quite the pros at this. No one moves as well as we do. But, they say practice makes perfect and we've had lots of practice.

My sister, mother, and most of my friends have filled in complete address books with my changes of address. From the time I left home after college until this move to the highlands, the number of times my address has changed numbers an astonishing 27! When I think back, I am quite sure each move was because I was in search of my home. Even moving back to my hometown of Staunton didn't fill some empty space within me that was looking for home. The cottage in Moffat (Scotland) came close. But the dream was always someplace up north, someplace that would have character and a sense of cosiness. Our new place has all the things we have searched for. I have let my family and friends know that they can write the address down in pen. I think this move will be the last.

We are so looking forward to settling into our new place. The view from the living room looks out on our small garden, where I will put a bird feeder, and beyond to the ancient trees that have stood there for hundreds of years. Chris will have the forest path nearby. I can see us now, on winter evenings, snuggled up in our living room or in our little office - each of us working away at the art we love so much. I sense that our creativity will grow. We will be happy there...

I am not sure there will be much else to post until we have made the move. After that, I am sure the posts will be frequent and accompanied by photographs of our new surroundings. We can't wait. And so we will find ways to keep ourselves occupied over the next two weeks. Chris has surgery tomorrow to remove some impacted wisdom teeth and one tooth that is irreparably damaged. That will take us through the weekend and then the next to last week here.

We have always found something about our last home that we have missed. That will not be case this time. We have not felt "at home" since returning to the UK. We enjoyed our time with my daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter, but it wasn't our home. It was a place to stop and live for a while. It was a place to be so that we could grow close to our granddaughter and establish our relationship with her. For that I am so grateful. But I am even more grateful that life has handed us this lovely gift. Our dream of life in the highlands will become our reality. Lovely how it works out...

Counting down the days...

2011-08-19T14:41:00.000-07:00

It was in August 2004 that I visited Scotland for the first time as an adult. I fell in love with the place. Around every corner and with every new view of its varied landscapes, I would feel my heart beat faster and my whole body would tingle. This is, I assure you, quite literal. I learned to have tissues around me the whole time, ready to catch my cascading tears as my heart and soul were lifted by my surroundings. Two years later, with Chris, I returned. We made our way up to the far northwest corner and were transported to another place and another time. Just as I had, Chris reacted with extreme emotion. There is just something about the place.

Now, we find ourselves in the enviable position of making our home not far from this sort of scenery. For practical reasons, we would never be able to live in the remote areas of the northwest. Some very lucky people do, but, because of health concerns, we simply can’t afford to be that far away from a hospital. We will be close to the main hospital of the highlands in Inverness. However, having to compromise does not take away from the sheer joy we feel in being so close.

When we visit the northwest now, it will a far shorter drive. We will leave our home and within 5 miles find the turn off to Bonar Bridge and beyond. The A836 will lead to the A837 at Ledmore. There we will have the option of traveling south to Ullapool or north to Assynt. I can’t imagine having anything more wonderful than these options so close to home.

Ullapool stands on Loch Broom, a sea loch that leads out to The Minch and the Outer Hebrides. Ullapool has a lovely harbour where it isn’t unusual to spot little grey heads popping up from time to time – the grey seals are very common in the seas around the west, and I suppose east, coast of Scotland. The road that leads from Ullapool north winds around the coast initially, including a lovely pass along Ardmair Bay, before it comes inland again. The views are breath-taking, offering views of many of the Munros (“hills” measuring over 3000 ft). Suilven and Stac Pollaidh are two of the more recognisable. There are parts of this road where you are entirely unaware of man being part of the landscape at all. Desolate yet beautiful, this is a lovely part of the highlands.

Castle Ardvreck
on Loch Assynt

Were you to turn toward Assynt, you would be greeted by stunning “hills”, lochs and ancient ruins. One of our favourite spots along this road is Castle Ardvreck on Loch Assynt. I adore this spot, and on gloomy days it is at its best. Sunrises and sunsets here are equally jaw-dropping. The loch boasts lovely little tree islands, forlorn with tall, thin trees, it is an incomparable sight. Should you continue on the road more traveled, you will find yourself in the small harbour of Lochinver. Perhaps the greatest vista is looking south from Lochinver, where the double peaks of Suilven dominate the horizon. This is an area of such unspoiled beauty, it is truly hard to even begin to write how it feels to be there, the sensations, the emotions, the incredibly spiritual sense that the area evokes. I can't wait to go back.

Suilven from the
outlook on the B869

But, if at Loch Assynt, you choose the A894, you enter even more surreal landscapes - miles and miles of peaks in the distance, hillsides of heather, herds of deer, and very little evidence of mankind. And if, from the A894, you choose to go off on the B869 (a single-track road), you will be treated to wonderful views as you find yourself going up and down and winding around. There is a point where you can pull off to see six of the Munros across the horizon.

There are so many more roads to travel, and we have travelled and will travel them all. From the road that leads to Kinlochbervie on to Oldshoremore or the road that leads east to Durness, we are anxious to reacquaint ourselves with these places we grew to adore. I know our love for them will not have diminished in the time we were away, but will have grown more dear in their absence. The knowledge that these drives will be available to us without having to think of B&Bs in which to stay or the time that it will take to get there is more wonderful than we can imagine.

There is one thing of which I am sure – that this blog is going to get better as we are able to travel once more to Scotland’s true highlands of the northwest. The photos will be updated and there will be so many more to share with you. And don’t doubt for one moment that we are not aware of the blessing we have been given.

Twenty-nine days and counting…

Back where we belong. Part II

2011-08-12T11:18:00.000-07:00

The view to Loch Snizort

We awakened to a morning that was still without bright sunshine, but the clouds had lifted and our views were clearer. From the bedroom window, we enjoyed a view across Loch Snizort to the hills beyond. It is an area of little population and so you can look for miles without seeing more than a dozen houses. We dressed and went to the breakfast room where we were greeted by Peter, husband of Marina, the owners of the B&B. Sitting at one of the tables were the occupants of one of the other two rooms. They were two gentlemen and we guessed from their appearance that they may possibly be bikers, traveling by car (perhaps having outgrown their bikes). They hailed from Corby, in Northamptonshire. They had been traveling through Scotland and were heading back south and would break their journey before the trip home today. They were friendly and chatty. Soon, we were joined by a nice young couple from Italy. They were in extremely good spirits and told us of their trip so far and what they hoped to see before they would return to Italy in a week’s time.

My daughter has always been a bit embarrassed by my “never met a stranger” attitude, but I do love to meet and chat with people when traveling, and B&Bs are the best for meeting fellow travelers. You often find out something you didn’t know about an area, while imparting your knowledge. It was lovely and Peter and Marina put the music of a local group, Runrigg, on the CD player for us to listen to as we ate.

We checked out, having complimented our hosts, and headed to Portree. An appointment was yet to be confirmed, so we availed ourselves of the somewhat early hours and visited one of our favourite shops – Skye Batiks. We bought a celtic wall hanging for ourselves and a cute little cuddly toy representation of the despised midge for Catherine and returned to see if our appointment would be kept. With an affirmation, we made our way north to Staffin and having done what we needed to do, we stopped at Skyelight Candles to visit our old friend, Kevin, who runs the place with his partner Nick. It was good to see them again and we left with some scented tealights and a smile.

View of mainland from Skye

Our trip back down the island to the bridge was lovely. I adore the view from this road across to the mainland. The hills of Scotland’s true highlands. In this photograph, you can see the "hills" of the Applecross Peninsula. (For a hair-raising drive, we recommend the Bealach Na Ba - or Pass of the Cattle. This is the highest road in Scotland and includes several hairpin turns - all on a single-track road!) One can get lost in trying to truly appreciate the scale of things up here. As many times as we have been, we still find ourselves noticing some sheep on a hillside and suddenly appreciating how huge the hill is.

The Old Man of Storr

One of the treats of the road from Staffin to Portree is the Old Man of Storr. The old man is an upright stone pillar at the top of one of the many hills on Skye. Behind him stands a great face of stone. Beside him is a much smaller upright. Legend is that long before history was written, the Old Man of Storr and his wife were fleeing from a giant. As they came to the hillside, they turned around and the giant turned them to stone. And there they stand today. I hope they never fall. The profile of the hill can be seen from miles away. I’ve included a photo Chris took. The small dots of white in the lower left-hand corner are sheep. Their presence gives you a sense of how enormous the stones are.

From Skye, we traveled the road up the Wester Ross Coastal Trail to Lochcarron and then beyond to the junction at Achnasheen. It is there that I will be attending a Christmas Craft Fair at Ledgowan Lodge Hotel. An imposing building the colour of brownish red clay, it stands in a grove of trees all by itself. We look forward to the fair and to returning to this area of Scotland’s northwest.

As we arrived in Dornoch, where we spent Thursday night, we were impressed with the charm of the town. We followed the signs to the Royal Dornoch Golf Hotel (remember, the national game of Scotland), and settled in for an afternoon tea, complete with warm scones and cream and strawberry jam. It was sublime. We then traveled the additional seven or so miles to our B&B of the night – The Strathview B&B outside Dornoch at the road to Thurso and John ‘o Groats. We settled in and prepared ourselves for the very important appointment we had a 7pm.

At 5:30 we left the B&B and traveled the 15 or so miles to the small village of Milton near Kildary. Milton, which was called Milntown until the early 1970s, was an 18th-century centre for the milling of oats and later flax. The area has a rich history with a nearby castle and aristocratic house. We arrived early, so we were able to explore the surrounding areas. It is located within a short distance of Tain, the home of the Glenmorangie whisky distillery. We drove to Invergordon and then made our way back to Milton, arriving around 6:45. The gentleman we were meeting was already there, so we made our way into the place we were visiting to see what was what.

And this is the news:

Our new home

As of 15 September, Chris and I will be moving into a wonderful 3-bedroom ground floor apartment in a converted 18^th century mill. It is perfect for us - with room for an office and a guestroom. It is lovely and we feel so lucky to have found it. It has a terrific quirky feel to it and we look forward to making it our own. The bathroom was adapted and comes complete with disabled shower. The property faces a wood that contains a Forest Trust path that leads to the Balnagown River. Not only all of that, but our new landlord has even allowed us to acquire a feline friend to make our home complete.

We ARE back where we belong. Ullapool and the far northwest are about 60 miles away, Skye is easily reachable in a couple of hours. We already feel the creative juices flowing. It will provide us with so much. Dornoch (which is only 15 miles from the apartment) holds weekly craft fairs and I have been informed that there is a great big empty hole where jewellery should be! Chris will have the beauty of Scotland within an hour’s drive.

So, the lesson from this wise old woman: Never, ever give up on your dream. Follow it and make it real. As a very insightful woman once said to me, turn your dreams into goals, because goals are a dream with a deadline.

Martha

Back where we belong? Part I

2011-08-10T15:49:00.000-07:00

Today we headed northwest. Through the rain and fog and mist, we followed the familiar roads. The grey skies did not spoil our drive. If anything, they enhanced it. The great thing about Scotland is that it looks wonderful, no matter the weather. For us, we think that those parts of the country that touch us most look wonderful in rain and mist and fog. The wisps of low-lying cloud curl around the peaks and settle into the glens. As we drove through Glencoe, we were incredibly choked up by the vision before us. Magical, mystical...and while the mist hid the tops of the hills, it highlighted the rough landscape, not softening it, but making it more dimensional, as each bump and peak, waterfall and valley was accentuated by the veil of cloud. It was lovely and peaceful.

The peaks of Glencoe
shrouded in mist.

But this is summer, and we have never traveled these roads at this time of year. We have avoided them because of tourists and midges, but our need to travel north is an important one and one which I hope I can reveal by Sunday. As we sat in our car, with the drizzle outside and tour busses crowding onto the small carpark overlooking Glencoe, we watched, almost with resentment, as tourist after tourist piled out slowly, assembling at the edge overlooking the glen. We felt as if their presence somehow cheapened this sacred place, the way one might feel when crowds of tourists enter an ancient abbey or cathedral and speak loudly and laugh and play about. For me, Glencoe is my church, my cathedral.

We drove on, heading to the Isle of Skye, driving behind camper vans and people carriers with European tags. We did feel a bit sorry for them. This weather is not what one would wish for a holiday. For those who were camping, we can only salute their resolve.

As we passed through the Five Sister of Kintail, we were unable to see their peaks, but we saw the water cascading down the sides, forming waterfall after waterfall. We once tried to count the waterfalls while traveling this road in similar drizzle. The waterfalls are so many, you lose your count. Once again, wisps of white cloud and drizzling fog swirled in and out of the hills. Rivers which had been low and quiet were suddenly full and strong, coursing over rocks and fallen trees.

Soon, the beautiful silhouette of Eilean Donan came into view. Eilean Donan, the iconic castle that sits on its own little peninsula, jutting out into Loch Duich. The fading light prevented a photograph, but the picture in our minds will be added to all the others we have of this incomparable place. We continued until we saw the Skye Bridge in the distance. It all seemed so strange. We had not made this trip since 2007, but it was as if we were here yesterday. We crossed the bridge, arriving on Skye, where English is the second language on the signs, beneath the Scottish Gaelic. We made our way along the road that would lead us to our B&B. Familiar places, like old friends, appeared and disappeared as we made our way north towards the island’s capital, Portree. We continued until we reached our B&B in Kensaleyre, overlooking Loch Snizort. Of all the names of all the lochs in Scotland, this is our favourite.

Tonight, as we returned to our B&B after dinner in Portree, in the distance, to the northwest, the clouds lying low on the sea seemed to glow. We realised that, despite the late hour (just after 10pm) and the overcast weather, the clouds were glowing with the last light of the day. Despite it being August, the daylight still lasts until late in the evening. I wish that sight could have been photographed – but it was simply too dark.

Tomorrow morning we have some errands to run and then we will make our way back onto the mainland and up to the area just northwest of Inverness. We hope to find what we have been looking for.

Stay tuned…

Our Sunday drive and the legend of heather...

2011-08-01T03:40:00.000-07:00

Back to what this blog is really about…the beauty that is Scotland.

Yesterday, Chris and I had one of our Sunday drives. Now, please understand that, for us, a Sunday drive must not measure fewer than a couple of hundred miles. Yes, we are gas guzzlers. (Apparently, however, our car is not. The Honda was averaging 53mpg yesterday – British gallons.) I’ve always said that we only abuse one substance, and that substance is petrol. So, our drive…

We traveled north (where else) until we reached Pitlochry. Pitlochry, for those unfamiliar with Scotland, is a lovely artsy town in Perth and Kinross. It has one main street, on which you can find all manner of shops. It has a very respected theatre and is considered a bit of a cultural Mecca. As I am not in the position of being able to casually walk around, Pitlochry was a pit stop (couldn’t resist) and we stopped at the always crowded Co-Op, where Chris picked up some nibbles for our “linner”. You see, we didn’t leave the house until after 2. Of course, it would make sense to leave earlier in the day, but we are night owls – serious night owls. We rarely get to bed before 2am, so an early start, unless we are well prepared beforehand, rarely happens. So, having left at 2, we arrived in Pitlochry around 4ish. We discussed Pitlochry as an alternative place to seek domicile, but decided that it would probably be a very expensive place to live, albeit a perfect town for our artistic pursuits.

Looking west along Loch Tummel

We traveled west from Pitlochry. On the way, we passed the picturesque Loch Tummel. The photograph was taken from the place we stopped to eat the aforementioned “linner.” Stunning play of greys and greens, trees and loch. It was lovely. This was a road we had not yet traveled, so it was all new to us. We left the picnic area after about ½ hour and continued west. The landscape became less leafy and green and the hills rose higher beside us. The roads were literally lined with willowherb and meadowsweet, mixed in amongst the tall shoots of Queen Anne’s Lace. The farther west we went, the more the road narrowed, until its width barely accommodated two cars. Loch Rannoch came into view and with it the camp sites set up on its shores. We both envied and pitied these campers. The thought of being out in that natural beauty is enviable. However, providing the midges with their own little picnic is not. We traveled on, climbing now as the road meandered alongside the loch. The landscape now began to resemble the landscapes we know in the area. Hills covered with only the tuffs of rusted green – the foliage of the heather, just beginning to open its tiny purple flowers. The grey sky began to weep and, as we entered more and more desolate landscapes, we watched as the sheep grazed on barren hills and hares could be seen running in the undergrowth. Finally, we came to Rannoch Station, a remote train station at the end of a dead end road. The rain was falling quite heavily now and we sat, looking out of the car windows at the landscape before us. Grey skies over barren hills, the ground broken by gurgling streams and small lochans. In other words, heaven. There were few people at Rannoch Station. A small chaffinch, who appeared to like to have his photograph taken, took his position on a large boulder beside the car. We opened the car windows ever so slightly to enjoy the sounds of nature and the rain.

We drove away from Rannoch Station and chose a new route for our leisurely drive home. We turned at Tummel Bridge toward Aberfeldry. The barren landscape around Rannoch gave way to leafy green lanes, with what I like to call “tree tunnels.” We slowed for the animals crossing the road – rabbits and one lone elusive red squirrel. The trees began to diminish once more and as we made our way from Aberfeldy to Dunkeld along another largely deserted road, the barren fields and hills became more and more dotted with purple as the time of blooming heather draws near.

I love heather. I love the way the foliage sits in deep clumps upon the hillsides. In the winter, spring and early summer, the foliage is like rusty deep green tufts, appearing soft but actually quite tough, with woody stems. In the late summer and early autumn, the heather blooms and fills the hills with colour and sweet perfume.

Years ago, I read the legend of heather and was as enchanted by the story as I am by the flower.

When the world was young, God looked upon the barren hillsides and hoped that he could find a tree or flower to grow upon them. He turned first to the mighty oak and asked if it might crown the hillsides with its strength and canopies of green. But the oak responded that he could not grow on such rocky soil, that he needed good soil in which to place his roots. Sadly, God turned from the oak.

Next, God turned to the honeysuckle. What would be more lovely on the hillsides than the pretty flower and sweet perfume of the honeysuckle. But the honeysuckle refused, explaining that she must have a fence or wall upon which to climb and the hills did not provide a place for her to thrive.

Saddened by the refusal of the honeysuckle, God turned next to the rose. Surely the rose would agree to cover the hills with her colourful blooms. But the rose sadly told God that she could not live in such conditions. Surely the rain and wind would destroy her delicate petals.

In the silence that came after the three refusals, God heard a small voice speaking to him. It was the heather. “I will be proud to serve you and to decorate the hills so that your creation is no longer barren and without colour.”

And so it came to pass that the barren hillsides became the home to the humble heather. And from that day forward, God blessed the heather with the strength of the oak, the perfume of the honeysuckle and the beauty of the rose.

Until next time, sith agus sunnd (peace and happiness).

We love what we know (topographically speaking)…

2011-07-22T14:39:00.000-07:00

I love Scotland, but I am not so in love with Fife. Fife is where we live now and it’s okay. But I don’t get excited when I see the landscapes here. I’m sure there are those who are charmed by its lovely little harbours along the Forth, the fields of golden wheat and barley, the almost Scandinavian style of architecture. But I don’t see its charm, and I think I know why.

A million years ago, when I was just a teenager, I went away to boarding school. I was 14 at the time and really looking forward to being away from home. The school – St. Margaret’s School in Tappahannock, Virginia - was beautiful, sitting on the banks of the Rappahannock River, white buildings – some old, some new – lining the water with old trees dotting the grounds. But something was missing. I didn’t know what it was, but there was something about that place that I didn’t like. Sometime during my second year there, I figured it out.

You see, I was raised in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, at the foot of Afton Mountain, a peak of the Blue Ridge. From the moment you walked outside the house, there it was, rising before you. In the spring, the mountainside would be dotted with the pink and white of dogwoods, the magenta of the redbud. In the fall, the mountains seemed to catch fire – blazing with yellow, golds, reds. It was beautiful and I loved it then and love it now. But Tappahannock, despite its beautiful river and old trees, was situated in a flat area of Virginia. There were no mountains or hills nearby. I felt exposed. Somehow, growing up in the shadow of that mountain, with the Blue Ridge on one side of the Valley and the Allegheny on the other, I felt protected.

Now, when I see the hills of the Highlands or, as we drive through England, the hills of Cumbria, Yorkshire, and Lancashire, I feel more at home, protected, embraced. I imagine that is what I love so about the Highlands. But along with the majestic peaks of the Highlands, there are rugged coasts, where villages lie between mountain and water. Nothing could be more beautiful.

So, while I understand the pride of the natives of Fife (which is the Kingdom of Fife because it was an area the English did not take over), I can’t love it. It’s too flat. Its few hills don’t protect and embrace. Instead, they stand alone and small. Give me the hills of the northwest.

Thoughts and reflections...

2011-07-14T11:56:00.000-07:00

I’m at a very strange place now with my jewellery business. I believe in myself and in what I do, completely and utterly. I also understand that in this climate, buying luxury items like jewellery comes far down on the list unless you are one of the lucky ones who hasn’t felt the pinch of the worldwide recession. I just need some more sales to bolster my self-confidence. I’ve sold one beautiful pendant this week, but it was to someone I know. As I’ve said before, I will know I’m successful when I receive an order from someone I don’t already know.

I do have to chuckle though – who, in their right mind, would start up a jewellery business in this world economy? I know I’m an optimist, but even that may be taking my sensibilities at bit far. That being said, I am charging far less for items than most I know. Not because I don’t believe in the quality or the design; I charge less because I know what it is to hurt in the old pocketbook. It’s not a nice time in the world right now. But the optimist in me tells me that things will get better. Trump may be leaving Scotland, the Murdochs are in deep do-do. Maybe the little guy, the nice guy, the good guy can finish first. I will never stop believing that.

For me, here and now, things aren’t as bad as they could be. On Monday, around 3:30pm, I turned to Chris and asked if we could go for a drive. Three and a half hours later, we were parked at the carpark that sits across from the Three Sisters of Glencoe eating sandwiches for our supper. With all of Scotland to choose from, that is where we ended up. Just as we will when we die, as it happens. We are like moths to a flame with that place. Its beauty never ceases to amaze and overwhelm.

Our trip north is still in the works. We hope to get up to the northwest in September. Perhaps my first craft fair on September 3 can finance it. And then, in late November, another trip north to a Christmas Fair in Achnasheen. Achnasheen is a tiny village on the road between Inverness and Ullapool, joining there with the road that leads to Skye. It is a beautiful area and I hope we are treated to some of the sights of the season while we are there. I remember, years ago, driving that long road from Inverness to Ullapool in late autumn. We drove by a huge open area at the base of the hills and there, in the morning mist, was a herd of stags. Their breath turned white in the cold air. Unfortunately, Chris’ camera was not handy at that moment – what a glorious photograph that would have made. Maybe, just maybe, we will see that lovely sight once more.

We travel to Sussex next week to help my stepdaughter, Lucy, move. Our children seem to be doing a lot of that lately. Caroline (my daughter) and her family moved a couple of weeks ago. Now it is Lucy’s turn. But we can neither complain nor poke fun – for Chris and I move more than most. Is it the artists in us that keep us going from place to place? I don’t know. But I do know that I never want to stop visiting new places and meeting new people. Until I am completely immobile, I will go where I can. I never want to get bored of this life. As Auntie Mame says, “Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death.” I want that banquet, that life. I don’t want to get to the end and look back at time spent dreaming but never achieving.

That brings me to back to where this all started. My business. I dream of success – not a great deal of it, mind you. I want just enough to know that my creations are appreciated; just enough so that I can continue to create when the muse visits and not so I can keep up with endless orders and demand. I want to be happy and make others happy. I don’t think that is too much to ask, nor do I think it is a naïve and silly wish. It is my wish. And only I have the power to make it come true. Living here, in a country I love so very much, I am quite sure I can make my wish come true.

Another part of this country's beauty

2011-07-05T18:34:00.000-07:00

Beauty can be described many ways. I suppose, at this point in our lives, one of my definitions for beauty must be the beauty of kindness, given one to another. And so I have found that beauty here in Scotland as well. This is a country with a social conscience and I am glad of it.

At the end of May, Chris and I became, technically, "homeless." The house we shared with my daughter and her family proved too expensive since Chris and I had not secured employment (we have since been informed that this area is one of the top ten for unemployment in the UK) and my son-in-law had lost his job. The burden of being financially responsible for four adults and one little girl was proving too much for my daughter and so we decided that the house would have to be given up and that Chris and I would be "homeless" and Caroline, Andy and Catherine would move to a smaller accommodation they could afford. (I am happy to report that Andy has since found a part-time job with great prospects.)

We didn't know what to expect. Certainly, we were in a predicament we had never been in before, nor ever dreamed of experiencing. We contacted the people on the council and met with a housing officer and found comfort and assistance there. When we arrived at one of the council offices to sign papers after being moved into a B&B, our embarrassment and "shame" must have been obvious. "Don't worry," said the nice man behind the counter, "we are dealing with doctors, nurses, lawyers and business leaders. This economy has left so many people without work. They are losing their homes and, like you, never dreamed of being in this situation. But we will take care of you." And they have, with respect and kindness and understanding.

We have moved from the B&B and are now quite happily settled in a small flat in the firth-side village of Buckhaven. Like so much of this area, it is depressed with lots of boarded up buildings, but it is our home for now. I say "for now" because this is part two of three. Our next accommodation, which will be offered in about a year, will be an unfurnished flat, rented out through the council so that the costs are reduced. We will have to buy our own furniture, but Chris and I are pros at that. We have bought and sold two homes' worth of new furniture in the last five years. I am sure we will be able to find someone who, like us, has to sell their belongings because of the circumstances they find themselves in. And we will appreciate it.

To be in this situation at our point in life is a bit daunting. In addition to our homelessness, I am now "officially" disabled, and so have yet another government body assisting me. Like the local council, they are doing it kindly, respectfully and with great understanding. I am enrolled in a pain clinic and receiving physiotherapy. As my mobility has been severely affected by the arthritis, I have been given a mobility allowance that I was able to turn into a car through a government program called Motability. Chris and I are now the proud lease-holders of a new Honda Jazz (the Fit in the US). The freedom of being mobile again has lifted our spirits and now trips to the store or the doctors or dentists can be done without fear of high taxi fares. Not only that, but we will be able to go up to the Highlands in the autumn for some very much needed R&R. I have been able to register myself as self-employed, which gives me a sense of pride that I am earning some money. Chris will be taking up his camera again very soon and capturing more photographs of this beautiful country.

We are lucky to be where we are at this point in our lives. There are places where we would have been left to our own devices to try to get through this crisis. Here, we are part of the family of man to which we all belong and for whom we all bear some responsibility to be sure that no one is suffering or without a roof over their heads or food on their tables.

It's a shame Chris doesn't photograph people. There are some beautiful souls here whose kindness and passion for helping others would be lovely to capture. We are lucky; we are so very, very lucky.

Keeping promises...

2011-06-15T04:05:00.000-07:00

Chris and I take a taxi down to the Harbour Master’s House in Dysart several times a week. A small café there has proved one of the only spots in Dysart where we can pick up the internet. Sometimes the café is bustling and sometimes we find ourselves the only customers. It’s a lovely place, with windows that overlook the harbor, little colourful fishing boats bobbing on the surface of the water. We enjoy our time there…a welcome break from the one room we currently occupy.

As constant as the day is the couple who arrives every afternoon around 2. I sense their love is likewise constant. They are quite elderly and it appears that she has suffered a stroke. He pushes her wheelchair into the café and goes to “their” table – a small round table in the middle of the café. It is only after he has her settled that his own frailty becomes apparent. His gait is somewhere between a shuffle and a limp. They are dressed immaculately. He is always dressed in trousers, shirt and sweater. She is always in woolen skirt and blouse with a cardigan in a soft pastel. Her hair is perfectly styled – and I suspect it is styled by his loving hands. He always orders the same thing – two lattés, served in elegant tall glasses. He tastes them both, to see which one is cooler. He adds her sugars (two packets), stirs the coffee and places a napkin on her chest. And so they sit, sipping their coffee, but it is he who lifts the glass to her lips. The conversation is chatty and casual, albeit one-sided. Her stroke has left her without a voice, but I have no doubt he hears her still as he converses with her, smiling and looking at her with love. She looks at him too, but it is with a great sadness. I sense that she wishes so deeply that she could speak to him. I would imagine she would like to tell him that she is so grateful to him for staying with her “in sickness and in health.”

He looks like a Harry; she looks like a Margaret. I imagine them as young people, both actively involved in the war effort as Britain courageously stood up to the German Luftwaffe. Perhaps he was in the Royal Navy; perhaps she was in the WRNs – the women’s Royal Navy. Or maybe they were married by the time the war came. Perhaps as he served, she raised their children in a small Scottish village, waiting for her husband to come home. Like my darling in-laws, they are of that generation of admirable British strength and reserve. Their obvious love touches me so much when they come to the café. He takes good care of her and loves her dearly.

Chris and I sometimes find ourselves in rehearsal for that stage in life. My arthritis now requires an electric sitting trolley in the grocery store and, when the pain is overwhelming, Chris must often run errands for me or bring me a drink or a sandwich. And just as “Margaret””looks lovingly and gratefully at “Harry”, I hope Chris can see the love and gratitude in my eyes. Until my voice is stilled, I tell him as often as I can. Til death us do part.

It's all relative...

2011-06-02T05:36:00.000-07:00

During one of the few moments we are able to access the internet at this particular point in time (hence the lateness of this blog), Chris scans his “gadgets.” “Look,” he says, “it’s over 90 degrees back in Staunton.” (We lived in Staunton, Virginia for a year before returning to the UK.) He says it with great longing. I can only sigh and feel relief that I’m not there. I don’t like heat. More than that, I don’t like humid heat, which is what the mid-Atlantic of the United States is known for. Summers back home were exhausting. The heat and humidity would drain one of energy and a long-term heat wave would bring on feelings of impending madness. I remember, years ago, when my daughter and I were living in a lovely little arts and crafts house in Staunton, having to share my bedroom during the summer. There was no central air, so we became roommates for three months. Despite her tiny frame, I was always amazed at how much room she could take up in my queen-sized bed (this is equivalent to a UK king-sized bed). We would barricade ourselves against the heat, huddled next to the tiny window unit that cooled that tiny fraction of the large house.

When I first moved to the UK, I enquired as to summer highs. When I was told that 80-85 degrees Fahrenheit was about the limit, I was thrilled. I would enjoy the warmth without the humidity – and I did. The third summer after my move, we went to the Greek island of Zakynthos for a two-week holiday. It was the midst of July and I was convinced that I would wilt away in the Greek sunshine. I had never experienced dry heat before, but was surprised and relieved to discover that the dry heat of Zakynthos was lovely after a damp and cold British winter. Heat was not a bad thing, after all. At least not that sort of heat.

Fast forward to our return to the States, and I found myself once again bemoaning the oppressive heat of the Virginia summers. Even Chris, who was thrilled with the heat, would find it a bit overwhelming when the hot days seemed to feed into each other. His moments on the little outside area of our apartment, which we had set up with a little bistro set, diminished as the summer sun beat down and heated the bricks and cement. But he has forgotten that now and misses the summer heat. Not me…I will never miss that kind of heat.

What we know and what we are used to regarding heat, weather-wise, is interesting. I remember, years ago when I was still living in Virginia, working for a woman whose English fiancé came to visit in early spring. While we “natives” were still in heavy cardigans or light-weight coats, I remember him walking about in shorts and t-shirts. To him, the spring “heat” was welcome and warm. For this rest of us, used to summers of sweltering heat, it was still cool, sometimes even cold. But for him, used to British springs of cold and rain, it was a tropical paradise.

It is now June in Scotland. I am in long sleeves and a wrap. But I stand alone. Around me, folks are walking around in short sleeves and sandals. By American standards, it is cool. By Scottish standards, it is warm. It’s all relative to what we have known, what we have grown up with. Summers that see the temperatures rarely top 85 degrees Fahrenheit are so welcome to me. I love summers of blue skies and white fluffy clouds, as opposed to white cloudless skies with the sun beating down mercilessly. Given my choice, I will choose British summers every time.

Chris misses the heat. I suppose he could always go to a sauna. After all, it’s the closest he’s going to get to a Virginia summer over here.

Cast your fate to the wind…or the council…

2011-05-24T05:50:00.000-07:00

Just to show that my life is not one big happy smile, we are going through a bit of a rough patch. Because of my health and the current state of employment, I can’t get a job. My husband is likewise unable to work (both health issues and the lack of jobs). Fortunately, Scotland is a very supportive country and we will not be left without. My daughter’s hours are being cut at work and my son-in-law recently lost his job when the restaurant in which he was working had to declare bankruptcy. So, we are all a bit adrift right now. But, not to worry. The council to the rescue. Chris and I have met with the housing people on the council and, as of Thursday, we most probably will be housed in a B&B until we are found a more permanent place to live.

I refuse to be upset or angered by what has happened. The economy around the world is making it hard for people to find jobs and make enough to pay the bills – as utilities rise and rise without a thought to how it is impacting on users. Banks and utilities and super-companies post profits and give out bonuses. The rest of us – well, we just have to keep on keeping on. For those of us over 50, it is difficult to find work. I even had one job enquiry end with the recruiter telling me that they were looking for younger people. That is against the law, of course, and I reported it and received a telephone call from the head of this particular agency. Prior to my diagnosis of severe osteoarthritis in my knees and hips, I would have gone forward to be considered for the job that agency was advertising. But my health issues and increasing immobility would make that impossible. I wrote to the gentleman and told him what had occurred and that I could not pursue the opportunity. He was very kind in his response and wished me well.

The UK has a wonderful safety net for people like us. The national insurance payments we have made over the years and the taxes we pay help us now that we need it most. We will be provided with a nice to place to live and assistance in paying our living expenses. I am currently applying for a living allowance for people like me who have health issues and are unable to get around easily. If awarded the top tier for my mobility issues, I will receive a payment that can be used to lease a car through a programme called Motobility. We will be all right.

My business, which is the best option for me and something I enjoy very much, is puttering along nicely. I have over 300 subscribers to my monthly newsletter and my website is receiving hits from places as diverse as New Zealand and Brazil.

I am an optimist. Always have been and always will be. I believe that if we believe the best will come to pass, it will. Sometimes there are bumps along the way, but we will arrive at a place and time when it all makes sense.

The wind is howling today, the sea is churning and the sky is grey. But every once in a while, a beautiful rainbow appears – a harbinger of better days to come.

I thought it was spring!

2011-05-17T13:45:00.000-07:00

Well, I really thought spring had come, but weather over the recent couple of days has not been very spring-like. My poor arthritic knees and wrists have certainly felt the change in the weather! But, not to fear, the spring, to be followed shortly by summer, will arrive.

For those of you not familiar with summer in Scotland, allow me to enlighten you. First, our days are very long. In fact, I am writing this at 9:16 at night and it is still very light outside. Remember, we are pretty far north. For this part of Scotland, the longest day, June 21, the sun will rise around 4am and not set until nearly 11. Farther north, the sunrise and sunset is earlier and later by a half hour. I remember, years ago, traveling to a small village called Lochinver in the north of the Scotland. It was early June and the room never did get dark the entire night. This is why so many people in Scotland use black-out curtains in their bedrooms. No, it is not a remnant of the days of the blitz. They are used so the sun doesn't awaken you long before you need to get up. Of course, unless you have sound-proof curtains, nothing will keep the dawn chorus quiet.

Speaking of early morning quiet, three years ago, when Chris and I were living in Moffat in Dumfries &Galloway here in Scotland, our cottage backed onto a stream. On the other side of the stream was a small field kept for sheep. When the spring lambs were born, they and their mothers spent much of their time in that field. Apparently, a lamb's cry can be heard and recognised by its mother. There were several mornings when I was awakened long before intended to the lamb equivalent of "Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom?" As adorable as the those tiny fuzzy things are, I did not appreciate their cries causing my comfortable sleep to be disturbed (and yes, we had black-out curtains).

The second harbinger of the summer is the Scottish midge. The midge is a small flying insect that could give the mosquito a run for its money. Fortunately, it doesn't appear that any diseases are carried by these flying pests, but their bites are something to deal with. Chris and I were once visiting the Kintyre Peninsula, staying in a lovely village called Tayviallich. We heard that there was a vantage point, not far out of town, for seeing the most incredible sunsets. Armed with directions given to us by our wonderful B&B hosts, we made our way to the little beach. Sure enough, the sun was setting and the sky was the most glorious red I've ever seen. Chris and I got out of the car and walked toward the shore. Within seconds, I felt a bite. As I am apparently delicious to all flying nibblers, Chris suggested I go back to the car. I got in, closed the windows, and watched as Chris set up his tripod and camera. I became aware that, between taking shots and giving me thumbs up, Chris was flailing his arms and hands around like a man possessed. By the time the last shot was taken and he got back to the car, I could see the bites appearing on his arms and face. By bedtime, we could see that he was covered with bites. But every artist knows that he must suffer for his creations, and the photograph Chris got was an incredible one.

But along with the long days and the midges come beautiful blue skies and blooming flowers and light dancing off the surface of the firths and lochs. Just as everywhere else in the world, people spend more time outdoors, visiting tea or beer gardens, going to historic properties, and, for those of us who live here, trying to avoid the crush of tourists. For there is one other harbinger of the spring and summer here in Scotland - the motorcyclists who descend en masse from Europe to enjoy the breath-taking rides on the single-lane roads of the Highlands. Many are following the Whisky Trail, visiting the distilleries and buying a bottle to take home to keep them warm during the winter.

Our summer will be here soon and with it all that it brings. I love looking out my window at nearly 10pm and still seeing across the Forth, spotting the lighthouses down the coast and across the way. Summer will pass quickly enough and we will trade our long days for short ones. But I don't care if the day be long or short, as long I spend it here.

Rainbows and giggles and surprising inheritances...

2011-05-10T01:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, as I sat on my bed working on my latest piece of jewellery, I looked out the window at the most vivid rainbow I've ever seen. The brightness of the colours was breathtaking. Chris went to the window and commented that we were so close to that pot of gold. I wish we were...but in many ways we have found that pot of gold.

Despite some very serious health and housing issues, we are where we want to be. Not exactly in the spot, but at least on the side of the Atlantic that makes us happy. People often comment about how wet the UK is, and Scotland in particular. But you don't get rainbows without rain. And we get lots of rainbows.

No matter how old I get, I still ooh and ahh when I see one. One of nature's most wonderful shows - her own necklace or bracelet of shimmering colours. Arcing above the water or over the hills, it is a wonder to behold. I shall never lose the child in me when it comes to rainbows. Rainbows never cease to bring a smile and a lifting of the spirits.

Our house is full of smiles and lifted spirits these days. Catherine is at that age where we understand more and more of what she says. She is exploring her world and finding delight around every corner. Her giggles fill the house with happiness. Her latest thing is to take some of my beads and hide them behind her head. When I tell her she has to give them back, she puts her hands out, only to slowly reveal that the beads have disappeared, declaring "All gone!" "Oh no," I say, "where are Nana's beads?" Then she dissolves into giggles as I find them behind her.

One thing that never ceases to amaze me, as I watch my granddaughter, are the similarities I see in her to other family members. She can pull a pout that reminds me of my father, and her habit of pulling fuzz out of an old stuffed animal so she can rub it gently across her lips and beneath her nose is just like my sister, who, as a very little girl, used to pull the fuzz off her blanket so she could softly tickle her nose as she fell asleep. Which gene carries that?

Years and years ago, I told my aunt that I couldn't stand to have my feet under covers that were tucked in. I always either had to have my feet outside the covers or had to pull the covers out from under the mattress so I could move my feet around. I remember the look of delight and surprise on her face. "That's so strange," she said, "your grandfather was just like that."

It is the inherited parts of ourselves, body and spirit, that intrigue me so much. Is it my ancestors' genes that made me realise that I had to live in Scotland? I think my Scottish genes just thought it was time to come home. I had to come home so I could look at the rainbows and find my little pot of gold.

Just taking care of business...

2011-05-03T07:45:00.000-07:00

Like so many other over 50s here in the UK, employment is proving rather difficult to find. Not only am I 55, but my arthritis makes it hard for me to get around. So, with a dwindling job market and competition with younger and more specially trained competitors, I am fairly sure of the path I must make for myself - self-employment appears to be the way forward. Fortunately, back during our stay in the States, I started making jewellery - sterling silver and copper earrings and bracelets, using gemstones and glass beads. I have now forsaken the glass beads and I am concentrating on using only gemstones. The decision, I hope, will be the right one.

Carnelian pendant with
sterling silver wirework

This past week has been a very busy one. While I did make time for myself in order to watch the Royal Wedding (romantic that I am), I have spent most of the last week rewriting and redesigning my website and working with Chris to rephotograph my creations. It has been a labour of love. I have always enjoyed doing artwork of any kind (in fact, I recently decided to take up knitting - drawn in by seeing the most beautiful yarns in colours and combinations that make my heart happy). When I was younger, I did quite a lot of work in charcoal and acrylics. But I also did limited work in clay. I imagine, had a kiln been readily accessible, I would have done more. I enjoyed working with the clay and creating three-dimensional art. So, when I returned to the State following my father's death and found an employment environment much like the one I face now, I decided to give jewellery making a try. I have grown in my skills and designs and feel quite sure that my art is worth the appreciation and custom of others. I had some success with it while I was in the States - selling mostly to friends over here in the UK. Since I've been back, however, my creativity and inspiration has kicked up into overdrive. When I launched my site back in March, I had some sales - which did nothing but inspire me more. I was asked to do several commissions as well. Happy times! Since then, I have designed more and better pieces and I felt these deserved better presentation. So, on 1 May, the website went into hibernation as I reconfigured it. On 2 May, it went live again and I am thrilled to say that I have had five sales since then. Not bad - but not good enough to be a profitable business.

I am learning about marketing, about how to get my name and creations "out there." Time will tell if I am successful or not. But, for the first time in a very long time, I believe in my ability to make a business for myself that is mine and mine alone. I will keep on creating beautiful jewellery and hope that, working through various channels, my business will find its way to lots of people who will appreciate what I do.

My "slogan" is "More than jewellery - affordable art you can wear." And it is art. Each piece is made in the moment - there are no patterns, no pre-conceived ideas. I sit down with wire and stones and let them lead me. When I have finished each design, I am often amazed at how it has come together. For me, these are little sculptures of wire and stone, each one unique.

So, if you would like to see my art, please visit my site at www.ailleasdesigns.com (there is a link in the About Me area to the right). I would welcome you on my list of newsletter subscribers as well. Each month you will receive a newsletter and a special code that will give you substantial savings.

Excuse the advertisement. Now, I promise a non-business related blog for next week. Oh, and for the record, I thought the new Duchess of Cambridge looked gloriously elegant and the Duke so handsome. What a treat for this tired old world to see a love story come to the breathtaking moment of flowers and promises. I make no excuses - I am a Royalist and a Royalist I shall remain. I can't imagine a world without the monarchy of Great Britain.

Hail Thee, Festival Day

2011-04-24T04:13:00.000-07:00

For my Christian friends, today is Easter, a holy day that I always felt should be more celebrated than Christmas. As a very wise priest once said to me, the birth of Christ was the beginning, but only with his death and resurrection was the promise of eternal life and joy fulfilled. This year, Easter is just one week before the pagan festival of Beltane. Both Beltane and Easter celebrate life and, as I look out on a beautiful sunny day, it is a sense of renewal and new life that envelopes me and gives me joy.

I was telling a dear friend that last year, while still in the States, my husband and I found ourselves in WalMart just before Easter. Along with the rabbits and chicks and eggs, we stumbled across chocolate crosses. No matter your religious views, I can't imagine anyone would not find this offensive. As my friend said, "What next, a Jesus on the cross made out of Smarties (M&Ms)?" What next indeed? The commercialism of Easter has taken away from what it truly symbolises - life! Life coming from apparent death; life vanquishing the darkness. That, to quote Jurassic Park, "Life finds a way."

It was not until I made a point of learning more about Celtic paganism and paganism in general that I discovered the "cross over" that happens during the major festivals in both Christianity and paganism. The symbology of holidays make more sense now. But whether Christian or pagan, spring is a time of celebration. We all made it through the winter and flowers bloom and trees put on their coats of green. One of my favourite passages from the Bible comes from St. Matthew and the Sermon on the Mount (or what I like to call "How to be a Good Person 101"). Here is my favourite passage, 6:28-30:

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?

And so, I look out at the unfurling leaves of the trees and the blooming flowers in the garden and planters and feel quite sure that, no matter what, everything is going to be all right. And it will be. For whatever our beliefs are, our deity will not let any harm come to us as long we believe. As long as we believe in the continuity of life, the natural laws and apparent miracles that bring us flowers and green grass in the spring, we will be part of that circle of life.

Hall thee, festival day...

The sun in the morning and the moon at night...

2011-04-17T13:44:00.000-07:00

We have been treated to a beautiful day here in Fife. The sun was out and the sky was that beautiful Paul Newman eyes blue. The light off the water sparkled and we could hear people out and about all day. These days make me think of how it must appear in the woods when the bears first emerge from their dens. Eyes adjusting to light, tired bodies lapping up sunshine as if it were water to someone who has been without a drink. My son-in-law took advantage of the day and spent a great deal of time tending to the garden, which appears to have been forgotten by other tenants. Slowly but surely the top of the hedge that separates our deck from the hill beneath looked a little less scraggly. The view deserved a tidy place from which to see it. After lunch, we went to the front of the house where we have a large paved area for a car (if we had one). The gate can be closed, thus rendering the place safe for a vivacious 20-month old. Catherine had earlier discovered the joys of writing on herself with a Crayola felt tip marker so she went out to play in top, nappy, and neon pink legs! It was interesting watching her walk along the joins in the paving, as if following some sort of maze. Her attention was dedicated. We weren't sure if it was the difference in the colour of the joins or the feeling of warm, soft compound that she liked. My son-in-law was cleaning out the garage and, as he discovered some of Catherine's treasures, he would put them out into the paved area. So books and ribbons and balls appeared, all to her great delight. It is such fun watching her play, reminding me that there are simply joys in life that we must not forget to enjoy.

We had the window wide open all day, letting in the clean air. Birds sang and children played and it was a good day. Little did we know that the evening sky would be as kind and generous. Just as night fell, we looked across the Forth to see a huge full moon rising over the water. The sparkling of the sunlight was replaced by the sparking of the moonlight. So very beautiful and peaceful.

I love the transitional seasons - an abundance of colour and perfume in both. With spring come the flowers and the trees once again donning their coats of green. It is as if we are all waking up from a very long sleep. I welcome the spring and summer. I won't pretend that I will miss the harsh, hot and humid summers of Virginia. Truth be told, I hated them. They were oppressive and, at the very least, uncomfortable. I much prefer the summers here - mild by American standards. The days are ridiculously long, but there is a certain energy that is derived from so many hours of sunlight. I am designing and creating more jewellery now - and part of that I put down to the sense of renewal that the season brings.

Springtime in Scotland...

2011-04-09T11:50:00.000-07:00

I think spring has well and truly arrived. Today, we had the great fun of meeting an old school friend of Chris’ at the Royal Botanic Gardens. Such lovely gardens and free to the public, which is always a plus. We met Andy at the Gateway Café and had an exquisite lunch and then took ourselves outside into the welcome sunshine. My worsening arthritis meant that I had to use a wheelchair (also free), so I imagine Chris will be feeling the pain tomorrow from pushing my chair. Bless him, he is such a wonderful husband.

The gardens were truly beautiful. Well laid out, without feeling too planned or formal. The variation in trees and plants was amazing. There were even redwoods reaching for the blue springtime sky. A feeling of Virginia greeted us in one corner of the gardens – azaleas just on the brink of blooming and white trilliums opening up their petals. With each turn in the path, we were greeted by more colours and intoxicating perfumes. Around us we caught glimpses of young lovers, walking hand in hand, and families with young children – shoes off and feeling the softness of the spring grass. The sunshine was warm on our faces and we took deep breathes to fill our lungs with the sweet, warm air.

This is what I love about most cities in the UK and specifically about Edinburgh. Despite the fact that it is a large city, the buildings – most of them of neo-classical design – don’t overwhelm. There is a patch of green in most places and I know, from our time here before the trip back to the States, that just miles out of the city centre there are fields and hills that are green and untouched. Amazing.

As our train pulled into Waverly Station this morning, I was reminded of why I love Edinburgh so much. The train pulls in just below the castle – dark and imposing on the hill on which it seems to have appeared out of the dark rock. Nearer to the station, the Scott Memorial, still blackened from the days of coal fires, reaches to the sky with its ornate spires. Everywhere you look there is a buzz of activity and around every corner there are quirky little shops and storefronts. I am not a city person, but Edinburgh is a city I love. Now that the weather is nicer, perhaps Chris and I can get to town more often. I am limited, of course, by my lack of mobility, but I would love to spend more time there. With museums free and the use of wheelchairs available, I am sure we can find ways to fill sunny Saturdays.

The daffodils are blooming, the trees are flowering, and the sun is shining. You can’t ask for much more now, can you?

Looking out on the Forth...and into the future

2011-03-31T02:29:00.000-07:00

I am sitting at the dining room table now, awaiting a package that will allow me to get started on six commissions I have for custom sterling silver jewellery. It is a grey and misty day. I can’t see the opposite shore across the Forth. It is as if we are the edge of the world. I love it.

It is chilly today, too. I am wrapped up in my favourite Scottish wool shawl – black, decorated with coffee-coloured designs of celtic knotwork. It keeps me warm and cosy. I have my iTunes playing Capercaillie. For those of you not familiar, I highly recommend you give them a listen. Capercaillie is a group of Scottish musicians with vocals by the incomparable Karen Matheson. One reviewer said, “One of the most beautiful voices in traditional Scottish song, if not the best, surely belongs to Karen Matheson. Whether singing in Gaelic or English her velvet tones lend an ethereal quality and atmosphere to Scottish love ballads and haunting Highland tunes.” I am listening to their CD “Beautiful Wasteland.” I never tire of hearing it. I just wish I could understand the lyrics of those songs sung in Scottish Gaelic. On my list of things to accomplish – learn Scottish Gaelic.

I have another goal – a musical one. Anyone who knows me would be more than welcome to groan at that statement. I am not known for my musicality – other than my passion for listening to beautiful music. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. I am thankful that when Caroline was tiny either her lack of knowledge or unconditional love for me kept her from putting her hands over her ears when I attempted a bedtime lullaby. No, my goal has nothing to do with singing. Instead, it is something I think I could do quite well. I always tap out rhythms when music is playing and I love the sound of the bodhran - the handheld celtic drum played with a wooden tipper. So, at some point, when I can afford it, I am going to buy a bodhran. As our goal is to move north at some point, I would love to be able to go to a ceilidh and play along. I have visions of Chris and me spending our golden years in the familiar and friendly setting of an inn or pub somewhere in the Highlands, me and my bodhran playing along and ending our evening with a dram of single malt whisky to send us home and off to bed.

I have been very lucky – in my lifetime I have somehow been blessed in realising my goals. Not that I haven’t had sadness and tragedy. I have had those as well. But I hope my dreams of life in the northwest is one we can realise. My heart aches to be up north – where the mountains rise from the water and the land is dotted with sheep and ancient stones. To that end, I’ve made some enquiries about housing up north. A recent diagnosis of severe arthritis in my knees means I will be eligible for an allowance. If I can get that, and make a small success of my jewellery business, we can do it. We don’t need much – just a little, cosy place. All we require is a little home with two bedrooms so that our children and grandchildren can visit and that can serve as a place of creativity when we are alone. We can make it happen...we will make it happen.

The mist is beginning to lift and I see the high pointed hill that crowns the opposite shore. Because I am the optimist I am, I shall believe that the mist rising as I wrote of realising my goals is a sign. I will believe that soon the view shall be of a northern sea loch and not the Forth. I shall believe and realise that dream and we will live out our lives in the unequalled beauty of Scotland’s northwest.

Now, I wonder when my package will arrive...

Loving Where I Am

2011-03-21T17:16:00.000-07:00

I have realised that if I only write after we have been out and about, the blogs would be very few and far between - for now. Our greatest wish is to move north - up to the part of Scotland's highlands that boast more sheep than people, more hills than houses. We will be going up in the autumn for a visit. Tax refunds and an annuity will help finance the trip. Chris needs to get some new shots of the area for his website and we need to refresh ourselves once more in the land that speaks to our souls.

When we returned to Scotland in November, our first excursion, indeed planned and booked before we even landed in the UK, was to Glencoe. Our trip to that haunting place included a drive along Loch Lubnaig in Stirlingshire. We have always traveled to Glencoe along this route, with a stop along the way at Balquhidder. Balquhidder is a tiny village and boasts an ancient kirk (church) where one can view the final resting place of Rob Roy MacGregor. It has always been a special place for me - not just because Rob Roy was a hero of Scotland, but because I am blessed to be a MacGregor on my father's side. Another attraction in Balquhidder is The Wee Mindin' Shop. It is a sweet little gift shop owned by a husband and wife who have always been friendly and welcoming. On this particular trip, we stopped at the shop to pick up some whisky fudge (so delicious). We were both amazed and touched that the owner remembered us. He had remembered that, on our last visit, we told him we were going back to the States. On this occasion, we told him we were back for good and that we couldn't stay away. "Scotland has a way of getting into your soul," he said. We nodded.

But I digress. Before Balquhidder, the route takes us along the loch - a beautiful small loch with trees that go right down to the shore. It isn't a rare sight to see cows grazing at the water's edge. It is a peaceful place and on calm days the mirror-like waters reflect the pine-covered hills that surround the loch. We parked the car and I slowly walked down to the shore. I reached down into the clear water and scooped a handful and splashed my face with it. I felt as if I were "baptising" myself - refreshing my soul with the pure water of Lubnaig. The water mixed with tears.

As we drove on, the hills became higher, some of them snow-capped. The familiar sights were so welcoming and, instead of feeling as if we were back, there was a part of us that felt we had never been away. The road is so familiar, I sometimes think we could drive it with our eyes closed. We continued on our well-loved route and soon came to Tyndrum, location of the famous Green Wellie. Touristy? Yes, but great fun and it boasts one of the most comprehensive selections of whisky. We stopped and bought my granddaughter a stuffed highland cow, beers for my son-in-law, chocolates for my step-grandson, and fudge for my daughter. From there, Glencoe beckoned and we drove along the road that would bring us first to Rannoch Moor.

We spent 23 months dreaming of this and now it was a reality. We climbed the hill past the Bridge of Orchy and saw Rannoch Moor spread out before us. Rannoch Moor is magical - dotted with small lochans, tiny hills of peat and the occasional rowan tree. Road works were in progress, but it didn't detract from the the emotions of our return. We drove on in silence. And then the iconic Buchaille Etive Mor rose before us. We were so close now. As we passed the great hill, Glencoe appeared before us, her high hills reaching up on either side as we made our way through. We stopped at a parking area facing the Three Sisters. We looked up and we cried. Cried with such great joy that we were back where we wanted to be. It was if a great weight had been lifted from our shoulders. We were home, well and truly home.

We spent the night at a B&B in Ballachulish that is owned by some lovely friends. We sat up late chatting and sipping some very fine whisky. It was so warm and wonderful.

This is how I feel here - warm, welcomed, at home, happy. The old saying "grow where you are planted" isn't always true. It depends on where your roots are. And sometimes your roots aren't where you expect them to be. For me, the love I feel for living is here. My roots, though they may date back many generations, are here.

Before we returned, before we knew we were coming back, I would often listen to Dougie Maclean's song "Caledonia" and feel such a longing.

"O but let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia you're calling me
And now I'm going home
If I should become a stranger
You know that would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything
I've ever had."

In the beginning....

2011-03-10T04:41:00.000-08:00

For as long as I can remember, I have had a deep love affair with the UK. While I don’t recall what started it, I would imagine it had to do with the books that were read to me as a little girl. My mother read us “Winnie-the-Pooh”, “Peter Pan,” “A Little Princess” – all set in the UK. And when I was old enough to read for myself, I devoured “Jane Eyre” and “Wuthering Heights.” Older still, I read anything and everything I could get my hands on – as long as it was set in the UK. Of course, my love for all things British took a huge step forward in 1964 – the day after my 8^th birthday, The Beatles appeared on Ed Sullivan. Suddenly, London was the centre of the earth (but it always had been for me). A once-in-a-lifetime trip the UK (and most of western Europe) followed in the summer of 1967.

I was only 11 years old when we came to the UK that summer. But for some reason, one that I will never understand, I felt at home. Even at that young age, I had this sense of belonging. My skin fit me better, I was happier. The UK was where I wanted to be, where I needed to be, where I had to be in order to find peace. After that trip, I used to joke that the stork who delivered me must have had very poor eyesight, for surely the tag that gave my destination said “York” not “New York”. Yes, I know, not a good joke, but I truly always felt that my being American and not British was a huge mistake.

When I entered college at the age of 18, the years had done nothing to dispel my love for the UK. Quite the contrary. My love of the UK resulted in my putting together my own major - British literature, history, and theatre, it was grouped together under the title of British Studies. The best aspect of my major was that it completely justified spending a year studying in the UK. In the early autumn of 1976, I boarded a flight at Dulles and flew to Heathrow to begin a year of study in Bath. Bath – that glorious city with its Georgian architecture, houses built of honey-coloured stone, the Abbey with its towers reaching to the sky, and the ancient Roman Baths – that was my home for a year and it was where I felt more alive than I had in a very long time. My year included trips to the reputed foundations of Camelot, the theatre at Stratford-upon –Avon, an evening dining in a Welsh castle. It was magical and I ate it up – every drop and every morsel. At the end of that glorious year, I boarded the plane home again and suffered from acute homesickness for 23 years.

I moved, finally and at last, to the UK in 2000. I first settled in the West Country in England. It was lovely and I made many friends and enjoyed evenings in the pub. But in 2004, I traveled to Scotland. That was it – that was the moment I truly found my soul’s home.

That first trip to Scotland can only be described as wet. Not the weather, mind you, but the constant state of my cheeks. With every turn in the road, a more beautiful landscape was there to be seen. From the soft, green hills of the south to the barren, starkness o f the north; from the unequalled landscapes of the islands to the charm of the small villages. I felt a pull on my heart. My first trip through Rannoch Moor and Glencoe found me sobbing with a sense of relief. I couldn’t then and can’t now explain it. But it happens every time. I wrote this after my first trip to Glencoe:

I beseech you to lay me down among the purple heather

That I might hear the heartbeat of the earth

That I might hear her laugh and sigh and breathe and cry

For if I cannot hear her in this place

Then she must no longer exist.

And so it is that I live in Scotland now. Not yet settled where I want to be, but here nonetheless. My husband is equally in love with this country (he is English) and, whenever possible, we rent a car and go out and about to see the places that fill us with so much joy. Since we returned to Scotland in November 2010, we have had an overnight at Ballchulish, near Glencoe, and a weekend in Grantown-on-Spey. Both visits were made extra special by spending time with very dear friends. Glencoe still makes me cry and I look at the Lost Valley (Coire Gabhai), high above and nestled between Beinn Fhada and Gear Aonach, two of the Three Sisters of Glencoe. It is here that my husband and I would like our ashes scattered. It is such a strangely mystical place. It was here that the Glencoe Massacre occurred in 1692, the royalist Campbells slaughtering the proud MacDonalds. It was little wonder that I experienced incredible chills when a distant cousin informed me that two of my ancestors escaped the slaughter, making their way first to Ireland and then to Boston in the “new world.”

The Cairngorms which lie just to the south of Grantown-on-Spey are lovely hills, rising, one after the other, snow-capped at this time of year. It is a beautiful part of the country with hidden treasures to be found – from the charming Lochandorb to the Well of Lecht and abandoned Lecht Mine on the nearby Glenlivet Estate. Softer than the northwest, but more dramatic than the softer south, it is an area we hope to return to again and again.

I shall write from time to time to share my thoughts with you. To give you a glimpse into this beautiful country.