a blue(berry) birthday

How many birthday celebrations can you remember?  Looking back over my many(!) birthdays, there are only a relatively few that I can actually remember.  There was my 5^th, when my mom took Sara and me to Deering Oaks in Portland, where she rented a rowboat for a wee row around the pond and somehow got under the fountain and we all got wet:  very fun and memorable!   There was my 17^th when Sara organized a surprise party for me at our home – and invited boys (!) from my class and we all had a great time: quite a highlight for a shy person.   There was my 22^nd when I was going to school in Detroit and my boyfriend took me on the back of his motorcycle for a picnic on Belle Isle, in the middle of the river.  Both my 29^th and 59^th were spent with Bruce in France, and featured dinner at special restaurants.  For my 60^th, Bruce and I set out for an unknown destination (to me):  intriguing and mysterious.  It had all been planned in advance and ended up in Montreal, where we saw a Cirque du Soleil performance.  There are a few others that stick in my memory - the big round-number ones with special parties.  This one in England will join those other birthdays that I am sure to remember. 

Our host, Robin, who is a native of this area, had offered to take us to a few special places around Dartmoor.   Since we had arrived a week earlier and had come straight to the farm from the train station, we hadn’t seen anything of the area.  So we were interested in our first stop, the small village of Lustleigh, not far down the road.  The road to Lustleigh was a paved lane, really, just big enough for one car and bordered on both sides by high hedgerows that obscured vision of the fields and landscape beyond them.  It was a bit like driving through a green, leafy maze.   Along the way, we would catch glimpses of beautiful old stone homes that must have been at least a century or two old.  CHARMING! 

                       Robin and  Woofer Lisa in the village of Lustleigh

Lustleigh itself is old and charming, too, with thatched roof buildings clustered around a stone church.  There is the requisite pub, which we found, complete with a massive stone fireplace and low beamed ceiling.  Ahh, the atmosphere!  Being that it was before noon and just the start of our day, we opted for interesting sparkling organic fruit juices, produced locally.  Robin ordered an elderberry flower drink, for example.  It was a pretty busy place on a Saturday.  We chatted with the owner, a friend of Robin, and discussed the merits of blueberry juice drinks.  

                                           the thatched roof pub in Lustleigh, Devon

Our first real destination was Buckfast Abbey, a centuries old abbey which, like many others, had been ordered torn down by Henry VIII when he was rejecting Catholicism.   Reconstruction was not completed until 1938.  The stained glass windows were remarkably beautiful, done in an old method with chunky pieces of glass which reflect the sunlight more fully, creating brighter colors. 

                                               Buckfast Abbey

The second part of our outing was a tour of the moor.   This is an area made famous by Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca and more recently as the setting for the movie War Horse.  It is high and rather barren looking, with grass that is kept short by the grazing of sheep, cattle, and wild Dartmoor ponies.  Most of this area is part of a National Park.  Princetown, a town in the moor, is so named because it falls within the area that is traditionally owned by the Prince of Wales, currently Prince Charles.  He, in turn, rents out the land to farmers who pay him rent to keep him in beer and skittles.  The residents of this area are quite fond of Prince Charles, actually, because he is a good landowner who cares about the land and the way in which it is tended.

                                                        wild Dartmoor ponies

On this day, the wind was blowing hard on the moor, so we opted for a more sheltered area for our picnic lunch, beside the gently flowing Dart River.  Mossy rocks were scattered over the riverbed, and we settled there to eat the sandwiches that we had prepared before leaving North Harton Farm.  Upriver just a bit, a couple of guys were fishing on this spring day.  And before we left, a hardy mom and her 8 year old son, in bathing suits, came to the water’s edge, looking like they might take a dip in the chilly water.

                                      perfect spot for a picnic

Back in the car, we headed off in the direction of Princetown, riding through more wide open spaces of high moor land.  Princetown is the location of the infamous Dartmoor Prison, dark and forbidding.  The story goes that escapees have been known to come back, knocking on the door and asking to be re-admitted, such is the harshness of the moor in winter. 

                                                 infamous Dartmoor prison

Dartmoor Museum explained the history of the moor, the farming, tin mining, even the presence of an American army base and hospital during WW II, and a display describing the filming of Spielberg’s War Horse.

                                              the moor

Back at North Harton Blueberry Farm, Wei-Wei had been doing a lot of cooking and preparation.  The birthday festivities included balloons, fun animal masks, delicious homemade sushi, and a birthday cake.   We ended the day by watching War Horse and seeing the area that we had just visited.

I felt very celebrated and was so appreciative of the kindness of Robin and Wei-Wei.  Except for the fact that most of my loved ones were far away, it had been a delightful way to usher in a new year!   

country folks

Ahh, the pastoral life.  What an idyllic time we are having on this blueberry farm near Dartmoor National Park, not too far from Plymouth!  I think that I must be a country girl at heart.  Of course,  who wouldn't love staying in a 16th century thatched roof cottage in the month of May, with lilacs and bluebells in blossom, a baby lamb named after a dead singer (Whitney) and two wild Dartmoor ponies, as well as lots of blueberry bushes, fascinating hosts and bright young woofers. It also doesn't hurt that the weather has been warm and sunny.  WWOOFers is an acronym standing for Willing Workers On Organic Farms.  It's a worldwide group that places volunteers on organic farms, where they work in exchange for room and board.

                                                The old, old home where we are living for 2 weeks

Sharing the work on the farm are two lovely young German students, Marlen and Lisa (the woofers), along with Alex, a 26 year old British university grad with an interest in sustainability, who is a paid employee.  Our hosts are Robin and Wei-Wei, a delightful couple who have been trying to make a success of growing organic blueberries for 7 years now.  This was a new venture for them, so they are learning all the time, tackling the problems that emerge, one after another, in the natural world, while also dealing with state rules and reg's and the hard realities of our market economy.   They are interested and interesting, and we've had some great chats already about the nature of a healthy society and a just world - nothing heavy :)!  Robin loves music of all kinds which he has available on his i-pad.  So we all eat lunch outdoors in the sun, listening to American rock music or current British or German hits or jazz, while solving the world's problems over the delicious food that Wei-Wei has prepared.  We have to pinch ourselves once a day or so to believe that we are living here (for 2 weeks).

                                                    Fellow woofers, Liza and Marlen

                                                          Lunch break outside

                                                 Wei Wei getting ready to feed Whitney


The farm has 18 acres planted in several different varieties of blueberries.  At this point, one of the tasks in the blueberry fields consists of weeding between the bushes, which Maline, Liza, and Alex are doing.  Having arrived only on Sunday, Bruce and I have just finished our third day of work.  We seem to have found our niche in the "kitchen garden", where veggies are being grown for the larger group of woofers expected later in the season.  We've been working in the potting shed, where it's warm and humid (which we love after our chilly weeks up north), as well as in the garden, potting and transplanting lettuce, beans, peas, and tomatoes.  I've been thinning out the raspberry patch, while Bruce plants jerusalem artichokes.  Today we both worked on setting traps to eradicate voles, small underground varmints which are eating the roots of the blueberry bushes.  Every day is different.  Thankfully, Robin is easy-going about the work, which I guess you have to be if you are relying on amateurs.  He is eager for our ideas and seems to appreciate suggestions that we make. He hasn't asked us to milk the cow or kill a chicken.  So, after 3 days of woofing, we are loving it!

Upstairs/Downstairs

Darlington, England, is where we have landed now.  It's located in the northeast, between Newcastle and York.  Not a really big city, but like so many, there are lots of old, charming buildings - and a young English guy whom we met in Laos!  After staying in the same guest house in Luang Prabang, he invited us to visit and stay with him here in England.  Gary is a bachelor pilot, living alone with his two cats and a tankful of fish - and often his girlfriend, Jane.  His home is actually outside Darlington, in a wee settlement called Middleton One Row.  Such an ancient and plainspoken name, as it indeed consists of one row of houses, stretched along a small street with fields behind and in front. While Gary flies off to the continent on day trips for his job or goes sailing up north, we are happily house sitting and taking care of the creatures, gardening in his tiny, overgrown front yard, doing small repairs to the house -  and cooking for us all.  We are having a grand time.  Just think of us as aging housekeepers, a bit like Upstairs/Downstairs!

Gary's 200 year old row house is the white one in the middle with his Land Rover in front.

                                 The cheery pastoral scene from our bedroom window

And, of course, it's not all work, by any means!  Last week Gary took us on some adventures on his days off.  First was a trip to the medieval city of Durham.  It must be hard for residents of this area to believe, but we had never heard of Durham University, third in rank behind Cambridge and Oxford.  Or of Durham Cathedral, a massive, ancient, and beautiful church where worship has taken place every day for 1000 years!!  We were in awe of the cathedral.  When we overheard the boys choir rehearsing for the evensong service, we decided to stay and attend it.  The service was lovely, if very sparsely attended (maybe 10 people).   In the timeless tradition, prayers and hymns, sung by the choir, lifted up and through the high, high spaces of the cathedral.   I was reminded of our recordings of the Vienna Boys Choir.  A cozy dinner in the riverbank Cafe Rouge warmed us up, and then we took the train back to Darlington in the cold rain.

                    The impressive Durham Cathedral - and impressive Bruce & Gary! 

The next day Gary took Bruce up for a spin in his 2-seater airplane.  It was a brighter day, but blustery.  I stayed behind on the airstrip in the grassy field, said a prayer for their safety, and watched the skies.  They had a great outing, flying over Gary's home and then to Durham for a peek at the cathedral from above!

                                   Bruce and Gary taking off for a spin in Gary's plane

We lucked out with a beautiful, sunny day over the weekend.  Because they are so rare, they are especially appreciated!  While Gary worked, Jane took us to the sweet, seaside towns of Whitby and Saltburn.  We passed through the charming (that adjective will get a work-out here in England) towns of Stokesley and Great Ayton and then past Roseberry Topping (no, not something to eat but a distinctive pointy hill).  Captain Cook, the famous explorer, had grown up in these parts, and there were monuments to him in several places.  Whitby is known for its abbey ruins and its fish 'n chips, which we indulged in.  Lots of folks were out enjoying the day, including a Gothic wedding party.  The church here provided inspiration for Bram Stoker's Dracula.

                                           Whitby harbor with the church on the hill 

                                                         The funicular at Saltburn

Today we took the train to the city of York.  We HAD heard of York Minster, the big cathedral in the medieval city.  But again, we were unprepared for the grandeur of the structure, one of the largest and most renowned in all of Europe.  And, again, we decided to stay for the evensong service, which is not very long and promised to be even more lovely than the one in Durham.  This time, the service was crowded with people, mostly tourists, it seemed.  As we learned, Britain has a tradition of choral music in its great cathedrals, and there are often choral schools for children, connected to the cathedrals.  Although this choir included adults, it was mostly made up of children, some as young as 7 or 8 - and many girls!  Their music filled the worship space with a reverent and sacred lightness that was inspiring.

                                                                   York Minster

We've read that this is the coldest spring on record.  With all of this rain and cold, damp weather, Bruce and I are becoming aficionados of tea rooms.  For the third time in a couple of weeks, we found a charming tea room tucked away on a second floor, serving lunch (or cakes & tea) to little old folks like us.  And we have managed to find a pub which serves either tea & scones or Guinness - and, most importantly, it has a fire in the fireplace! (We're missing our wood stove.)  

                      Jane, Bruce, and Gary walking to a resto in the village - in the rain!

Taking a shower in these chilly climes is an act of faith.  To strip down to one's nakedness goes against all reason.  There is that moment, shivering while waiting for the water to turn hot, that one despairs just a bit.  Luckily, we've not been disappointed once.  But, there's always the off chance that THIS will be the time that the water is cold.  So, that's about the level of risk-taking that I am doing these days :) !

We are really enjoying this area.  It's very pastoral and pretty, especially in all its green, spring splendor. And it's ancient, with historical underpinnings that we are only vaguely aware of, in our American-oriented mind-set, but would love to learn more about.  And then, there is the much more recent rich musical heritage from the 60's and 70's, matching our own hey-day.  We keep running into references to the Beatles and others.  All around us is news of the Queen's Diamond Jubilee, celebrating her 60 years on the throne, due to take place in early June.  And, of course, London is gearing up for the Olympics.  It's fun to read about these events, close up.

                             Storefront highlighting Queen Elizabeth's Diamond Jubilee

Our next stop will be southern England, in the Dartmoor region, where we have plans to help out on a blueberry farm for a couple of weeks, until early June.  Then it's off to Madrid on June 5 for a few days to visit our friend, Andrea.  For those of you who are wondering, we'll be flying back to Maine on August 8, in time for Dan Fink's wedding on August 11.  Not sure yet about the weeks between Madrid and August 8.  It's a work in progress. Stay tuned!  

stirling, dundee, and glasgow

Rewind to Scotland: -   there's more to tell!  In the last few days before we went to Belfast, Northern Ireland, we visited 3 Scottish cities which we really enjoyed:  Stirling, Dundee, and Glasgow.

Stirling is an ancient capital of Scotland, located just west of Edinburgh.  Stirling Castle is where some of the Scottish royalty were crowned, including Mary, Queen of Scots.   In order for us to see this beautiful and historic city, Dori and Dan graciously agreed to re-visit Stirling, where they had been just a couple of weeks previously.  As we approached the city, after our long drive from the Isle of Skye, down along Loch Lomond (singing the familiar song along the way), Stirling Castle sat on a high promontory.  What amazes me here and in other cities is the abrupt transition from green pastures to city.  No urban sprawl, just tidy countryside devoted to pastures and cultivation and then clean city streets.  It's all so organized and practical.  Of course, that means that folks like us don't have their 2 acres of land surrounding their home!

                                                     the Forth Guest House, Stirling

We all stayed in a pretty B & B for our one night in Stirling, walked around a bit that evening, had a nice meal at an Italian resto, and then got to sleep after our trip.  The next day was Sunday.   Bruce and I attended services in the Church of the Holy Rude, where Queen Mary had worshiped and where her infant son, King James VI, had been named King in 1567.  We didn't know this at the time, only that it was a beautiful medieval church.  There was a very small congregation that day, but a contingent of aging veterans of the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders, an infantry regiment, were honored with front row seats.  After services we chatted with a couple of folks who introduced themselves to us over tea and cookies.  One was a delightful 87 year old, Olive, who told us about attending church in her younger years when the sanctuary would be packed with worshipers. I guess that many churches are struggling with  attendance, even famous historical ones.  Olive had been a docent at the church and pointed out the highlights to us, including the exact spot where King James had been crowned king.

                                          Church of the Holy Rude, Stirling, Scotland

                                             inscribed in the floor of the sanctuary

                Bruce and Olive, sweet friend to newcomers at Church of the Holy Rude

We followed up with a tour of nearby Stirling Castle, an Historic Scotland property which has been restored and is now a fascinating, dynamic destination, with staff portraying early castle residents.  I learned about the tapestries that are being reproduced by hand, using highly skilled weavers employing techniques from the 14th century.  One of the completed designs is identical to the famous unicorn in a fenced enclosure, the original of which is now in the Cloisters in NYC.  I've added that to my bucket list.

                                           Recreated unicorn tapestry in Stirling Castle

We met Dori and Dan in the late afternoon and headed east to Dundee, northeast of Edinburgh, on the Firth of Forth ( a large bay emptying into the North Sea).   Erik and Elizabeth live there and had invited us to stay for 2 nights in their flat in a restored jute mill.  It's the city where my Uncle Lloyd, a member of the Canadian forces in WWII, met his wife, my Aunt Jean (is that right, Peggy & Fran?)  It's a very hard-working city, dominated in the past by the jute industry - and also, apparently, the Dundee marmalade business and newspapers, resulting in the moniker, the city of "Jute, Jam, and Journalism".  Bruce toured the ship Discovery, built in Dundee and used by Capt. Scott to explore Antarctica.  We both toured a jute museum, which explained the process of jute being shipped from India, where it was grown, to Scotland, where it was processed into lots of materials, including fabric for the American wagons carrying pioneers west!  Eventually, the manufacturing was moved to India, where it still exists today.  Of course, this was devastating for Dundee, leaving 60 or more jute factories idle.  However, the city seems to have recovered and is the location for universities and bio-medical firms and free museums, Michelin Tire, and National Cash Register.  One of the city's current industries is the creation of computer games!  On our last evening together, Dori and Dan treated us all to a delightful meal together, followed by a farewell sip of Talisker's Scotch for each of us from the pretty Isle of Skye quaich.  It had been a wonderful 2 weeks with these four Scots lovers!

                           Erik & Elizabeth's apartment complex, a converted jute mill

                                The Discovery, Capt. Scott's ship used to explore Antarctica

The third Scottish city that we visited that week was Glasgow.  By this time, we were on our own.  Dori and Dan had flown back to Canada, and we had turned in our silver chariot.  We traveled  by train.  Glasgow was a city that I was eager to see, as it seemed to have a distinctly different history and feel from Edinburgh, more of a proud working person's place with deep union roots from the shipbuilding industry.  We booked a hotel for 2 nights and explored Glasgow for one full day in between.

The city is full of imposing impressive architecture, but, like Belfast, which it resembles in some ways, it also has many modern steel and glass buildings slipped in among them - and lots of churches.  I was especially interested in the architecture of Charles Rennie Mackintosh, a Glaswegian Arts & Crafts designer from the early 1900's.  That first evening, as we walked around, I spotted the art college which he had designed.  The next day, we had lunch at the Willow Tea Rooms which he had also designed.  Dan had highly recommended the People's Museum, where we saw a flat similar to the one that Erik and Elizabeth had lived in during their early years of marriage in Glasgow, when Erik was beginning his career as an industrial pastor.  Bruce and I both enjoyed that museum, with its displays of Glasgow life from the not-too-distant past, including a model backyard bomb shelter which families had used during WWII.

Though Glasgow's history is that of industry and hard work and poverty and poor, overcrowded housing, it  has a vitality and contemporary artiness and style, not to mention socialist leanings, that are appealing.

                                Willow Tea Room, looking out through the art deco windows

All in all, we saw a lot of Scotland during our 2+ weeks there, from cities to highlands and islands.  It's a beautiful land, stark and majestic, as well as pastoral, mystical, and alluring.  There is still a lot left to explore!  Another time :).







  

Belfast, Northern Ireland

Belfast Northern Ireland has changed a lot in the 12 years since Bruce and I were here last.  We have strong ties to Belfast ever since our family hosted an 11 year old boy, Joe, through the Maine Irish Children's Program (MICP) in the summer of 1986.   MICP was an ecumenical effort to contribute to the peace process in this war-torn country by bringing Catholic and Protestant children to Maine for a few weeks and placing them in homes of the opposite faith.  Following that summer, Bruce and I both became involved with running the Maine side of the program, resulting in Bruce traveling to Belfast in 1989.

Bruce's first trip here was an eye-opener.  It took place during the height of the "troubles", as the 30 year period of bloody violence is so benignly referred to.  The city center had been surrounded by barricades in those days.  Army tanks and soldiers were everywhere.  The Catholic and Protestant sides of town were clearly divided, and it was dangerous to trespass on the side that you didn't belong to.

After many years of work towards peace, the Easter Accords were worked out in 1998, led by our own Sen. George Mitchell.  Despite the agreements, when I visited Ireland on vacation with Bruce two years later, in July, 2000 - marching season - the Protestant Orange Order was still provocatively  parading through Catholic neighborhoods, waving their flags of hatred.  Catholics were still burning piles of tires in the streets in response.  We were steered clear of certain towns.  Belfast was a "work in process".

Fast forward to 2012.  Belfast is now a bustling city of glassy, modern buildings tucked among the grand Victorian stone matriarchs.  There is a buzz about the new Titanic Museum, erected in time for the 100th anniversary of the construction of the ship here in Belfast.  It was impossible to get into the museum this weekend as the tickets were sold out.  Tourists are filling up the city, not just from England and Germany and other parts of Europe, but more significantly, from the Republic of Ireland, as well.  Nary a soldier or piece of barbed wire is to be seen.

                             Titanic Museum, looking like both a ship and an iceberg!

                                                        Belfast street scene

 It is exhilarating to see the progress that has been made and to feel that the city is pretty normal now. We stayed with friends, John and Jane Herron, whom we had met through work in the reconciliation effort.  During our visit this week, we went to the symphony together, ate at a nice restaurant, attended their church, shared a meal with their friends, toured City Hall - all very ordinary activities - now.  John, was taken aback by the relaxed approach to security at City Hall.  But such is the current atmosphere of civility.

                                   The foyer of Belfast's beautiful and ornate city hall

Lest we think that all is rosy, however, our young tour guide, on a bus tour of the city, shared his opinion that there is a great deal of work yet to be done.  He noted that the "peace wall" separating the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods remains standing and, in fact, has been added to, as recently as two years ago.  Most children still attend segregated schools, according to him.  The military murals on outside walls are looking fresh - perhaps because people like us pay money to tour the area and are very curious about these remnants of the troubles.  Real peace and respect between the two sides is still a work in progress.  And, after such a long period of strife, it seems reasonable that it will take a long time to heal the wounds completely.

One of the highlights of our short stay in Belfast was meeting with Joe, now a 37 year old man.  We had been in touch on facebook so had caught up on his life.  But it was wonderful to share time with him in person and to see the same personable 11 year old peeking through those older eyes.  He lives in the neighborhood where he grew up, near his siblings and extended family, and loves the Belfast that he has always known.  And we thought it was great city, too!

                                            Bruce, Joe, and Linda

Whisky, War, and Weather

Being in Scotland we had to try the whisky – or Scotch as we would say.   There are a number of distilleries around, but they are often small and remote or not well advertised.   Linda and I decided to visit the nearby Talisker distillery which is the only Scotch producer on the Isle of Skye.   Not being a whisky aficionado, I really don’t know one brand from another so it was time to learn more.

On a cool, cloudy, windy day (aren’t they all) we set off in our silver Benz to learn more about the process of making whisky and see some countryside.   Talisker is located in the small town of Carbost  on the western side of Skye – about 20 miles from our cottage in Uig.  We arrived at the neat whitewashed compound about 12:30 and went upstairs to the visitors center which was warm and cozy but a bit crowded with people.   We were able to get tickets to the 1:30 tour and were offered a “wee dram” of the Talisker 10 year old whisky – it was love at first sip.   I have little experience with Scotch but this was a very nice drink – smooth, mellow, with a smoky deep flavor.   We sipped our dram while reading the posters about the history of the distillery and the process of making whisky.   Promptly at 1:30, we began our tour of the small production area, smelling the yeast fermenting the barley and watching the still man mix the various portions for the final product.   We were intrigued by the explanation of how each distillery has a slightly different process and different water source, which gives each brand a different and distinctive character or flavor.   The tour ended in the gift shop where we bought a small bottle of the 10 year old Scotch to enjoy in the cottage.  We will now look for Talisker when we get home to Maine but not sure if we will be able to afford it.

                                          Our wee dram of Talisker 

There are constant reminders here in Scotland of the toll of war.    The history of this area is marked with gory tales of great upheaval and conflict among the various tribes, clans, and kings – think Braveheart and Rob Roy.  Reminders of these conflicts are seen in the many castles on display  throughout Scotland, as well as tales of the great – and not so great - conflicts between the clans who fought each other and England over religion, land and wealth.

 

                                                          Rob Roy's grave

Of more recent vintage, we are reminded of the terrible toll of 20^th century wars in Scotland.   It seems that every small town square and church yard has a monument with the names of its dead during “the Great War” and World War II.  It is sobering to see a monument in a small town engraved with 60 names and realize that this was an entire generation of young men.   It is understandable that the section of names of men killed in World War II is so small, as there were so few men alive at that point. 

Weather is a topic of constant conversation here on Skye and, indeed, the entire country.   We were prepared for colder weather when we arrived from India, having packed jackets and extra clothing in anticipation of lower temps than in Asia and India.   We felt “at home” with temps in the 40’s and 50’s, but the wind was something else altogether.   I bought a nice wool sweater at a local thrift shop and Linda acquired some gloves, socks and a hat.   These were sufficient for Edinburgh but the trip northwest to Iona and Skye tested our love of cool weather.   We encountered snow during our first night out, and Dan and I retreated to a cozy pub for a Guinness by the coal fire.   Thankfully, the hotel was well heated, and the beds had large duvets which were appreciated.

                         View from our guest house the first morning outside of Edinburgh

The weather here is constantly changing with intermittent sun, snow, hail, rain, and clouds - but it’s never warm.  This changing weather gives us some glorious sun sets, and the light is ever changing which makes for strikingly beautiful pictures.  We are enjoying the weather and have seen remarkably little rain thus far, but there are moments when we long for our woodstove in Maine.

Skye - Finally!

It's all about the light on the Isle of Skye!  The ever-shifting clouds and sun and shadows on the hills and over the water.  And the clear air.  Very cold, clear air for much of our week there.  What a starkly beautiful landscape.  It makes your heart ache.  

In the words of a traveler to Waternish peninsula:

…and I set down in my journal

That we are entered into this enchanted world

Where land and sea and sky conspire

To steal your heart and take your breath away.

 For me, this trip completed the one that Dori and I had begun 43 years ago when we tried to hitchhike to Skye from Edinburgh - but ran out of rides and time and had to turn back.   This time we had husbands with us and traveled in comfort in the cushy Mercedes.  When we arrived, we stayed in a picture-perfect little white cottage looking out on the sea.

                                                       Our cottage in Uig, Isle of Skye

The cottage where Dori, Dan, Elizabeth, Erik, Bruce, and I stayed - a small home, really - sat on the side of a steep hill facing the harbor and village of Uig, located on the northwest coast of Skye.  Several times a day we could watch a big car ferry swing into position at the pier and load vehicles for the voyage to the outer Hebrides islands of Lewis, Harris, and the Uists.  The sun set on the hill behind the village and gave us unending varieties of colors and light.  We spent the week looking at this scene, exploring the island, chatting, and cooking evening meals, which was a treat for us after not having cooking facilities for several months.

                                      Ferry to the Outer Hebrides arriving in Uig harbor

                                      Sunset over Uig

Our first full day in Skye was a Sunday.  Dori and I, plus Elizabeth and Erik, attended a service in the small white Church of Scotland, just down the road.   It was a very small gathering of older parishioners.  Erik compared it to a Noah's Ark group, as it included 2 fellows in kilts, 2 ministers (himself being one), 2 North Americans (Dori and I), two old ladies dressed in tweed suits, hats and gloves, and 2 Mercedes parked outside.  The sermon was progressive and well done.  As is typical, apparently, in old Scottish services, there was no organ.  Instead music was provided by the congregation, led in singing by a chanter, in this case a tall gentleman with a wonderful voice.  The whole service was simple and beautiful.  

                                                 Church of Scotland in Uig

                          The tall chanter and the kilt-wearing church elder

That afternoon we toured the wild north end of Skye.  The weather was variable - imagine that!- with typical light rain showers mixed with clouds and sun.  Dan was on the hunt for geo-caches, hidden messages tucked away in all manner of off-beat places.  He found one under some rocks behind a lonely red phone booth beside a sheep pasture.  We all walked on rocky trails, the wind whipping our jackets and scarves, past quietly foraging sheep, to get close to castle ruins perched on a promontory high above the sea.  We visited a graveyard where the legendary Flora MacDonald, heroine to Bonnie Prince Charlie, was buried under a huge Celtic cross.  The tea room where we later warmed ourselves couldn't have been more aptly named:  the Warm and Cozy Tea Room.  Hot tea and delicious baked treats were the perfect antidote to our chilly outing. 

                                  Dan's remote geo-cache site behind the red phone booth

                                                 Warm and Cozy (and pretty!) Tea Room

Early in the week, on a beautiful sunny day, we toured Dunvegan Castle, ancestral home of the MacLeod clan.  Since our grandmother, Christy, was a MacLeod, Dori and I were especially interested in this site.  The 700 year old castle is lived in as a home, even now, and was much more comfortable than I would have imagined a medieval dwelling to be.  Of course, it has its own dungeon where one of the chiefs had left his wife to starve to death, a less than cozy touch!  I loved the walled garden, a pretty, warm, peaceful area, and expected to see Peter Rabbit pop out of a watering can at any moment.  

                                          Dunvegan Castle, seat of the MacLeod Clan

                                  Blue poppy in the Dunvegan gardens

Near the castle is a tall, flat-topped mountain where another MacLeod chief, long ago, put on a massive feast for visiting nobles under a starry sky.  As the story goes, all manner of game and seafood had been prepared, and hundreds of clansmen had encircled the "table" with torches, lighting the meal. The whole experience had rivaled the most opulent feasts of the wealthy castle dwellers in the lowlands.  This story and others were offered by Dori, our own personal Scots history expert, whose deep knowledge and love of all things Scottish meant that she could pull out a story or tidbit of knowledge, anytime, at just the right moment.

                                      Christy MacLeod Frost's  grand-daughters

The next day's destination, for Bruce and me, was the Talisker Whiskey Distillery, just down the bay from Dunvegan.  We are pretty unschooled in hard liquor and were curious about this particular drink since it's so … Scottish!  The tour began with a wee dram of 10 year old Scotch.  My immediate impression of the taste was smoke, with an ever so slight hint of mackerel.  It was strong and certainly warming - but very smooth.  (I think that Bruce has an expensive new vice.)  The talk of "noses" and the aging process in oak casks stored in the cellar reminded me of wine.  We learned that a single malt whiskey means that the ingredients come from only one distillery, using the mash from one type of barley.  We ended our tour in the shop, of course, where we bought a small bottle.   At the cottage, Elizabeth and Erik presented us with a Skye pottery quaich, a traditional Highland cup used to sip whiskey communally among new friends.  A perfect gift for sharing our Talisker with our new friends!

                                                            Talisker Distillery

That evening Dori and Dan introduced me to the fabled "fairy glen".  They had been making quiet references to it for a couple of days.  So after dinner, we set out in the car. (Since Bruce and I are brave enough to drive on the left side of the road, we're the designated drivers!  It's actually pretty fun.) The fairy glen, although high in the hills, is sheltered by green velvety, knobby-shaped mounds.  A wee pond reflected the evening light, and a bench overlooking the pond let us know that we weren’t the only humans to view this magical scene.  A mama sheep and her baby – Dan said the lamb must be only a day or so old – quietly nibbled grass near a crooked tree.  Dori spotted a hole in the side of a hill big enough for a fairy family.

                      Momma and baby having evening snacks in the fairy glen

Overlooking the whole area was a tall promontory of rock, beckoning us to climb it, of course.  Up we went, Dori and I, while Dan geo-cached further down.  The trail wound around and up, revealing a protected area with stones set in lots of familiar shapes on the grass:  spirals and human forms and waves.  Reaching the tip of the promontory required us to cross a short space that reminded me of a very mini version of the knife edge on Katahdin (not that I’ve ever climbed K.).  The wind threatened to blow us off either side, both of which dropped rather precariously.  We hunkered down and scooted across. 

Our next little challenge was squeezing through a narrow passage of rock higher than our heads.  We were rewarded by a look-out from which we could see Uig harbor and soft high hills all around, the sun still coloring the sky.  But it was very windy so we didn’t linger long. 

We met Dan and 3 sheep on the way down.  Dusk lasts a long time in this northern latitude but it was getting a bit dark, adding another dimension to the timeless ambiance.  I felt privileged to have shared the experience of hovering between this world and another.  

                                                 The enchanted fairy glen

Wednesday was rainy, and our pace was a bit slower.  We read and wrote and planned and chatted.  It seemed like a good day to do something close to the cottage and indoors.  A visit to the Museum of Island Life on the very end of the island was just the thing, so we thought.  It certainly gave us a taste of the harsh life in the old days, complete with a cold rainy wind blowing a gale.  We nearly froze as we hurried among the unheated old stone crofts, each featuring a different aspect of life.  They were fascinating, made all the more so by the knowledge that our own family would have lived in similar conditions.  I was interested in the weaving tradition and had hoped to see some weaving taking place, but the old fellow on the desk was genuinely sad to tell us that there was no weaving being done in Skye any longer.  We would have to go to Harris and Lewis to see weaving.  He also bemoaned the decline of the Gaelic language, though Erik tells us that Scotland is now an officially bi-lingual nation with both English and Gaelic being used.  We saw lots of instances of this on signage. 

           Stone croft with thatch roof and rocks to suspended to hold it in place

The warming up that day took place at a wee pub at the Ferry Inn in Uig.  Tea and Guinness with friends – true Scottish pleasures! 

That evening the MacLeans and Webbs, after “tea”, i.e. supper, set out to find some traditional music.  We had been told by a church lady in zebra-patterned shoes that we could find it in a pub in the little village of Edinbane, about 15 miles away.  The pub is owned by a 30-something, fiddle-playing woman.  She and her fellow musicians, a banjolin player and a fiddle/penny whistle player, slowly filled the tidy pub with an appreciative audience and lively music.  A cute young couple with their well-behaved dog joined the group, and doggy happily barked his applause with the rest of us.  At one end of the room a blazing fire in a big stone fireplace added just the right touch.  It was wonderful to hear live fiddle music in this, the land where so much of our fiddling tradition has its roots.  Bruce recognized a few of the tunes from his Fiddlicious repertoire.  I drove the Merc under starry skies along smooth dark roads back to the cottage. 

                                The colorful town of Portree

                        Haggis, neeps (turnip), and tatties: pretty tasty!

Having had our required shopping outing – and my first taste of haggis (surprisingly good, rather like meatloaf)– in Portree on Thursday, Dori & Dan and Bruce & I decided to finish our week in Skye with a climb on the Old Man of Storr on Friday.  It is another rocky “monolith”, rising 170 feet along the coast facing the island of Raasay and the mainland.  We packed a picnic and joined about 20 carsful of other climbers, grateful to be there early in the season before the crowds get really big.  I must say that I’m not sure where all those folks went, because we saw only the occasional hiker.  As we climbed, the damp air took the form of a substance between snow and hail (snail?).  We considered turning back but waited a few minutes in the shelter of a wooded area, and it disappeared.  Farther along, a fellow with CP, using the type of crutches that begin at the elbow, was making his way slowly down the trail, alone. We decided that we had no excuse to not make the climb. Just outside the woods, we stood to eat our sandwiches, looking up at the treeless, rocky path, dotted with a few hikers high up. 

It was a steep climb and gave the heart and lungs a good work-out.  As we ascended, more and more of the magnificent landscape came into view:  woods, fields, other high hills, and then the sea and bays and inlets and islands and beyond it all the mainland.  Above us rose the solitary rocky spike of the Old Man.  Behind him stood a clump of dramatic rocky pillars.  Dan was off on a lower side trail, looking for a cache.  Dori lagged behind, capturing it all digitally and drinking in the beauty and mystery.  Bruce was ahead, worrying about the clouds and impending weather.  I, too, took photos and tried to stash this memory in a place where I could retrieve it easily – and then scooted down, behind Bruce.  

                               Old Man of Storr is the tiny spike on the horizon.  

I could go on, retelling the moments of this lovely week, but my time and energy, as well as yours, I’m sure, dear readers, is rapidly fading.    

So, these are the highlights of our week in Skye.  It was a gift to spend it with passionate, fascinating, and generous kindred spirits.  And a memorable week it was, filled with things so quintessentially Scottish:  fairies and fiddle music, kilts and castles, whiskey, haggis, tea and Guinness, ancient standing stones, Celtic crosses honoring dead heroes, echoes of ancestors, wild windswept hikes – and light, always the light, shifting amid the mist and clouds, opening glimpses of heaven.