Life on the Wee Mad Road

In Memoriam II

2010-01-08T10:27:00.042-06:00

These too have passed .......

Arthur Bolster and Ian Macdonald - the "Old Boys" - had known each other since they were in school together and were still fast friends. Ian and his wife Joy had the cottage next door and helped us settle in and learn the practicalities of village life. Arthur and Evelyn lived further down the road in a lovely house by the sea. The six of us shared dinners by the fireside and evenings of happy conversation ranging from war reminiscences to politics and philosophy. They are warm memories now.

Aggie Ross - irrepressible and bubbly with her red hair and short skirts and warm hospitality. She was a national treasure for her work with the preservation of the Gaelic language and traditions. We would go over for tea and pancakes and she would patiently teach Jack to sing a few songs in Gaelic such as John Alec's favorite "Fear A Bhata" - which Jack learned to sing without his "dreadful American accent".

Sally Drake - our lovely dark-eyed neighbor, mother of our little kitchen visitor, owner of the cat-who-shall-remain-nameless, and later Coigach's district nurse. She was charming and funny, and was taken from us way, way, way too soon. We are so lucky to have known her and had her next door for the years we lived in the village.

Charmian Longstaff - laird of the Badentarbet Estate, artist, mountain climber, explorer and fisherwoman. We'd meet her striding along by the lochs in her fore-and-aft hat and tweeds or at the Anglican church services, which she hosted at the lodge. We enjoyed her company and admired her paintings and spent some fascinating evenings listening to her stories about the London Blitz ("I never felt so alive") and her explorations with her husband Tom in Nepal. She was a rare character indeed.

Stookie was young when we lived in the village - a somewhat troubled but very likeable lad. We spent many sunny days shearing sheep or sharing a dram at the Fuaran. We were very sad to hear that he had died so young after finally getting his life in order. May he rest in peace.

Ian Roll - fisherman, shepherd, tour guide and captain of the Hectoria, his wooden fishing /cum tour boat. His speech was slow and measured and he always had a hand-rolled cigarette dangling from his lips. He had a droll sense of humor but you'd have to listen carefully or you'd miss it.

Ian's wife Hectoria was post mistress and always had a cheery greeting and time for a natter. She knew us well enough to forward a call for Jack, which came in from Ullapool to the Post Office one Saturday afternoon, from an American friend visiting London to Jack's usual Saturday location in the Fuaran pub.

Their son still takes tourists out in the newer boat Hectoria to enjoy the view and wildlife among the Summer Isles - but I would miss Ian's slow drawl and the old wooden boat.

The first time I met Donnie Post (or Roll) he was delivering the mail to Castlehill and I thought him a most handsome chap! He also made a truly ugly stepsister in the village Pantomime during our first Christmas in Coigach.

His wife Hilary was Joan's niece. She sent us a lovely letter when Joan died telling us of Joan's last days. You can read it in the book if you like.

Kenny Campbell - beloved son of Anne Irish and Ian Campbell was just a young lad when we knew him in Achiltibuie. He had moved out of the village after completing his schooling to make his way in the world, and he was taken way too young - the victim of a devestating accident. Our hearts go out to his grieving parents and sisters.

There were others in that graveyard that we knew during our years in Coigach - some young, some who were old when we lived there. All of them were part of a community that was our world during what were the best years of our lives. They made that part of our journey rich with their love and warmth and friendship - and we will always be grateful for the privilege of having known them and for having been welcome in their world for those wonderful years.

In Memoriam I

2009-12-30T07:55:00.046-06:00

The hardest thing about our trip back to Coigach in the spring was going to the cemetery at Badenscallie and realizing how many of our dear friends were sleeping there. We had gotten the letters over the years tolling the loss of each one - but somehow it was seeing the stones and the names of so many of the people we knew and loved all there together that made it so terribly sad. A generation has passed and we realize how very lucky we are to have been there at that pivotal time. What a privilege it is to have known these wonderful people and count them as our friends.

Those of you who have read the book will recognize many of these people and perhaps chuckle when remembering a story or two where they played a part. I will start with Wilf Bell, owner of the flock of pet sheep (Fred of the Roman nose and dear Frieda the love-starved); owner of Seaview Cottage where we stayed on our first visit to Coigach and inspiration for our eventual move to Castlehill. Wilf and his wife, Wendy, helped us settle in during our first months in the village, shared our holidays, gave us time, tools and friendship all along the way. We shared many a laugh and many cups of tea and we all had a special love for Joan and Murdo. I could never thank them enough for their help and encouragement.

Murdo and Joan - our dearly beloved surrogate parents and owners of Castlehill. Their passing hit us particularly hard and we miss them and think of them often. Joan was a mother hen, making sure we were fed and happy and making us endless cups of tea and goodies, and making sure we behaved ourselves. Old Murdo - one of the Three Worthies - spent Saturday afternoons at the pub with Jack and a few good old friends swapping tales and doing justice to a pint and a dram or two - then back to a warm fire for tea and village gossip. May they rest in peace.

Alastair West - shepherd, crofter, and patient mentor to a neophyte shearer. He and Margaret shared their home, their work, their fireside, their family and their wisdom with two American incomers. The second of the Three Worthies, Alastair made us feel loved and welcome and gave Jack the chance to learn a new skill without making him feel like the fifth wheel on a wagon. And he was a mean hand with a pool cue. Alastair's children now have their houses clustered around the old homestead next to Achnahaird beach. They can look out their windows and see the ancestral view across the bay of the strange and beautiful mountains of Coigach. Long may they prosper.

The third of the Three Worthies, John Alec Campbell - crofter, shepherd, friend and father of Iain Campbell. A crusty old man and singer of gaelic songs, he had his home in a crofthouse down at the end of the road at Cul na Craig, and even in his eighties he was walking the hills after the sheep and keeping his hand at the shearing.

The three of them are together again now - hopefully still sharing the old stories and maybe a ghostly dram or two.

Donnie Darling - the self professed "Last of the local crofters in Polbain". I will always picture him standing in the pub, draped over the bar singing "North to Alaska" (at least the few lines he could remember). He and Jack shared many a sheepy adventure spending untold hours together at the shearing and dipping. He was irascible and funny, the subject of many good stories - and we remember him with great fondness.

Jim Muir - fisherman, story teller and repository of village memories. Many an afternoon was whiled away in the Muir kitchen or in Jim's shed while he told us delightful tales of past times and characters; and somehow what started out as a short walk to the store would stretch out into hours that passed too quickly, lost in the spell of his stories. He is badly missed by everyone who knew him.

To be continued..........

Some things are gone ......

2009-07-13T13:43:00.013-05:00

Sometimes it's hard to see things as they are now - and so it is with the Achnahaird fank. So many memories cling to it - so many good days spent in the warm summer sun working with good friends at the clipping. Warm fleeces leaving our hands soft from the lanolin, sheepy voices from the pens, dogs loafing around in the shade after the gathering, tea and sandwiches - and a dram or two to refresh us during intervals in the hard work.

Now only the memories and ghosts remain. The fank stands empty, the reeds have grown in to cover the green, and erosion has taken its toll. It was hard for Jack to see it this way - remembering old Alisdair patiently tutoring him in the art of the hand shears - remembering all the jokes and laughter and hard work. Those were the special times - Jack's favorites of all our many happy days in Coigach.

The Achnahaird beach below the fank is still beautiful with its view of sea and mountains. But now there is no campground there, so no one would even notice the burial of a certain rather ripe sheep in those sandy dunes (story in the book). There is hope for a new place to be chosen for a new camp site - but that hasn't happened yet this year and the locals are feeling the economic impact of the loss.

The huge rusty floats and large anchors still lie on Badentarbet beach. But the salmon nets that used to dry there in the sun are gone. The boats the village lads used to net the wild salmon that ran along the coast are no longer there and only old unused boats still lie inverted and rotting along the shore. The only salmon taken now are from the farm pens in the Tanera harbor.

Glad we were there when .......

Coigach as it was - and is

2009-07-10T11:22:00.000-05:00

When we lived in Coigach 25 years ago it was a different place. The mountains and islands remain unchanged, but the villages along the shore have had facelifts and now are all improved and well kept. B&B signs abound, gardens grace the front yards where green trees and bushes provide shelter from the wild sea wind, and houses that were once in ruin have been restored. The old wooden village hall is now a beautiful new facility with a proper kitchen, a large vaulted space for dances and other activities, rooms for meetings and a well-tended garden.

The Fuaran pub still sports its two palm trees - but is now gentrified and upgraded with a full menu of excellently prepared foods. The upstairs room is nicely furnished with booths and tables and the walls are tastefully decorated with prints and paintings. When we lived there, there was a limited menu of soup and sandwiches and it was all very casual. Now you have to make reservations for dinner. The dinner we had there was wonderful - especially the large scallops, succulent and tender and perfectly sauced.

The pool table now resides in the lower bar, competing with the dart board for limited space. The bar is still there but all the kitchy stuff - foreign bills & pennants etc. that used to cover the walls behind it are gone. It's nice - but sterile. The outside of the building has been completely redone and there is a very nice patio out in front for eating outside with a wonderful view of the sea. The pub is full of tourists because, other than the expensive hotel dining room, there is as of yet no cafe suitable for family dining.

The hotel in Achiltibuie is still operating - still expensive but offering the haute cuisine that has given it an international reputation since before we lived in the village. The bar is pretty much the same, but the patio where mothers and kiddies used to meet for a pint and a natter on Sunday afternoons has been enclosed with glass. This gives comfortable dining sheltered from the wind and with great sea views all around - but it's not got the same feeling. We indulged ourselves with a lunch of delicious dressed crab (large crabs simply called "edible crabs"). I have visions of cooking these beasties as my first experience with dealing with live seafood in Castlehill. They were often on our menu, both hot and cold and always yummy.

Sheep are still a common hazard on the roads and new lambs skipped in the crofts and dotted the hillsides. Jack went out with Iain a few times to check the field enclosures for possible lambing problems and was lucky to see the very newest of arrivals. But there are new animals to be found now - deer grazed below us in the croft below Tigh-Abbie and highland cattle turned their backs to the wind in a field along the road. There were shetland ponies and more cattle - it was fun to see the new additions.

The town of Ullapool has also changed - more and larger pubs and restaurants line the harbor and parking lots accomodate large touring busses. We were there on a holiday weekend and couldn't find a place to park anywhere near the harbor. The town was packed with tourists and there are more boats offering sightseeing and bird/seal/dolphin watching cruises. There was a large cruise boat anchored off the pier offloading tourists into rubber dinghies to deliver them to town. But the town still has the same white buildings along the waterfront and is a lovely town in a spectacular setting. It's still a thrill to come down the hill through the brilliant displays of rhododendrons lining the road approaching Loch Broom, and to see the white curve of the town laid out along the sheltered harbor full of bright fishing boats. It's a view I love.

Riding the Wee Mad Road

2009-07-03T11:24:00.029-05:00

For the first 6 days of our trip we'd had typical highland weather - windy, cold and intermittent rain - so on the first sunny morning we decided to drive the length of the Wee Mad Road - turning off the main highway to the town of Drumbeg and then along the coast through Lochinver and down to Achiltibuie. The road to Drumbeg is wild and beautiful and the Wee Mad Road is as we remember it -

except that the sign is gone and if you didn't know where it was you could easily miss it.

The day was perfect - cool with sun and dramatic clouds casting ever-changing shadows over the mountains. The road would disappear completely over the top of impossibly steep hills and on that very narrow road you'd have to take it on faith that you wouldn't reach the top at the same time someone else was coming the other way - and that the road would actually be there somewhere on the other side. The gorse in full bloom cast a golden glow all along the roadsides and the sea and mountain views were spectacular. I still get the old thrill - I love every turn and twist and never tire of the beauty of familiar scenes!

A few miles down the coast from Lochinver is Inverkirkaig, a small settlement where the Kirkaig River runs down to the sea. There is a charming book store and tea shop there and we stopped for tea and scones and to deliver some books to the owner, Alex Dickson. His wife, Agnes, was also there and we found that she is a Gaelic singer and used to sing with our friend Pete Taylor at the Ceilidh Place in Ullapool. They both were very gracious and Agnes was kind enough to give us a copy of her latest CD, Ceol, Mo Chridhe - she has a lovely voice and the recording is a treat. If you're ever lucky enough to be in this area, be sure to stop by to enjoy browsing through this delightful shop - I love their selection of books.

Then back to the welcoming view of the Summer Isles spread out in the sunshine - and at the end of the road - home.

Tigh-Abbie - way back then and now

2009-07-01T10:24:00.037-05:00

During our time in Coigach we had the privilege of staying in Tigh-Abbie, a lovely house resurected from the ruin that was John Alec Campbell's family home many years ago. Iain lovingly restored the house and made it into a beautifully furnished comfortable place where family can stay when visiting, or that can be rented out as self-catering accomodation (Google Tigh-Abbie for pictures and description).

John Alec was one of our favorite characters - a crusty old crofter who in his late seventies still worked at the sheep, and loved his pint. He was one of the "Three Worthies" pictured in our book - sharing a pint and a dram at the Fuaran, nattering away in Gaelic and telling old tales. All are gone now, those three old friends - and we miss them. How lucky we were to have been there at that time - to have known them then and to listen to their stories.

This is the house where John Alec was born in the early 1900's. By the time we lived there in the 80's it had fallen into a picturesque ruin that sat in the croft below Anne and Iain's house. At the time we left Coigach, Iain (a skilled mason and builder) was just beginning to plan its restoration so we had never seen the completed building.

Now Tigh-Abbie incorporates the old stone walls of the original house. Inside, the airy lounge holds copies of old family photos, bringing to mind the faces and history those walls have seen. The view from the large windows is the same beautiful view of islands and mountains enjoyed by generations of Campbells.

The house has every comfort - a beautiful kitchen with everything furnished that one could possibly need; a den with stereo system, TV, books and a fireplace to curl up by; two cozy bedrooms and a bath upstairs - and always the view.

We felt at home immediately - and Anne and Iain could not have been more giving and gracious. Thank you, thank you, thank you dear friends for making our stay a happy and comfortable one!

Castlehill - then and now

2009-06-24T10:40:00.030-05:00

Castlehill.

I loved it from the moment I walked in - it welcomed me - it was home. It was drafty in the westerly gales and subject to mildew. Sometimes it had sheep in its front garden. But it was cozy and warm and wonderful and had traditional highland charm. It held us close for three years and was filled with music, comradship, holiday celebrations and ceilidhs, teas with friends, dinners with neighbors, and presents from a beloved visiting cat.

Castlehill is still there today. It has been transformed into a beautifully appointed holiday home with under-floor heating, a well appointed kitchen with all the mod-cons, a lovely bath with heated towel racks, inviting bedrooms and a fabulous view from the new sun porch. You couldn't ask for a better place to relax, watch the sea and revel in the wonderful changing light on the islands and mountains across Loch Broom.

But gone are the bright red gates that marked our home even from out on the sea, and supported Old Glory on the 4th of July.

Now there is a proper drive going up to the house with an ordinary gate that says "House for Let".

The back of the house has been torn off and rebuilt and the house has a much more modern open plan. Everything has been improved for comfort and efficiency and is done very well. Gone is the clapboard kitchen with the diabolical sock-eating washing machine and the two tiny stacked refrigerators. The new kitchen is everything you could wish in modern conveniences.

Gone is the coal shed that I loved - the shed of sheep-lust fame. My seed wall no longer calls the birds to sing and swing in the rowan tree outside the kitchen window. Now there is a proper back entry to keep out bugs and slugs and things that go squish in the night.

The old steading has been cleaned up and landscaped - the jumble of artifacts from long ago no longer clutters the floor and crowds the spaces. Everything is neat and clean and well-ordered.

A graceful arch now leads from Drake's next door to Castlehill, where a wire-topped stone wall was once the only way to cross - a challenge to darling little boys climbing over to appear in our kitchen in their wellies - waiting for a natter and a drink with ice cubes.

Castlehill would be a wonderful place to spend a holiday.

But it is no longer our highland home.

Home again

2009-06-19T09:50:00.087-05:00

We're back from traveling the Wee Mad Road and I'm still trying to sort out my impressions. So I'll give you my thoughts on one thing at a time. First of all - friends!

We were welcomed with open arms by many dear friends that we haven't seen for years. It was a joy to see them again and meet their children and grandchildren. When you get together with old friends it's as if you've never been apart - and even though we all may have a few more gray hairs (or a few less) - the years fall away and it's like old times. It is still a joy and a pleasure to be together and to swap stories of days gone by and to catch up with recent happenings and future plans. To be with these people again was the most important reason for going back to Coigach - and it was lovely!

"Should auld aquaintance be forgot ......"

Our first stop was on the east coast at Portmahomack - home to Jimmy and Ruth Philp who brought wonderful music across with them to Castlehill and were the occasion for many a great ceilidh. Their children are grown now, with children of their own.

This was yesterday......

and today................................................

On to Coigach and the village of Polglass where Anne (Irish)and Iain Campbell were our gracious hosts - giving us the use of Iain's father's old homestead, Tigh Abbie (see complete description in future post). Anne and Iain have visited us several times in the US and it was great to see them again! I can't believe they're grandparents now - and it was fun to meet their grandchildren - the youngest of whom is the same age her mother was when we lived there.

One of our first calls was to the Summer Isles Hotel pub, where we met "Big Leslie" - happy, healthy and not at all changed from when we first met her some twenty years ago.

The five of us in good form........................

Our neighbor Peter Drake, whose beautiful boat, Sea Swallow, was the source of our many fantastic seafood meals, still lives next door to Castlehill. His children are grown and flown to other parts of the world. But he still fishes for lobster and he and his wife, Midge, run a busy B&B business - including the rentals of Castlehill - now a self-catering cottage. We had a delightful visit with them.

.....Then ............................and now.....

At Achnahaird we spent a lovely evening with Ali and Jane West and Aileen Muir, owner of the Polbain Gift Shop, who came up from Polbain for the visit. What a joy to remember old times and hear stories about old Alisdair and Margaret West and our favorite storyteller, Jim Muir - and to catch up with the latest village gossip.

.....Then - Ali with Alisdair

....................................Now with wife Jane.........

Back at Polglass we had a visit from Ken the Bread, world traveler and reconteur. It was wonderful to see him again - and as usual he regaled us with very funny stories of his past escapades and local goings-on. Ken had worked with Jim Muir at the salmon fishing during the time we were in Coigach - and he misses Jim a lot.

....In the kitchen at Tigh-Abbie

....At the salmon fishing with Jim Muir

Back to Achnahaird and a visit with Ann and Ali Beag. Ali plays a mean accordian - he used to be shy about playing but now writes tunes and has several CD's to his credit. He and Peter Drake play in a Ceilidh band for local dances and we have a CD of their music which we play along with our slide show at fiber fairs. Ali has a devastatingly sharp wit and he and Ann are delightful conversationalists.

While we were visiting, Ali had to nip off to the school where he was to speak Gaelic with a tinker who was giving a talk about a tinker's life to the children.

......Then

....................and now......

Down to visit Evelyn Bolster. We used to spend many happy evenings with Evelyn and her husband Arthur and our neighbors Joy and Ian relaxing by a cosy fire and solving the problems of the world. A good dinner and a fine dram or two filled us with the wisdom needed for the job.

Evelyn and I used to practise a few

tunes together and even played for a lady's tea once. Evelyn has kept it up and now plays with a local music group and is doing very well. I, on the other hand, have let my guitar languish unplayed for many years, and now only join the singers at our neighborhood music nights. Sic semper gloria.

Our next visit was with Annie Sinclair, who with her husband, Boysie, owned and ran the Achiltibuie store and petrol pump for all the years we lived in Coigach. She always had a lovely smile and made a trip to the store a pleasure. Now retired she lives a few houses down from the store and it was delightful to visit with her again.

Finally we got to spend time with our friends Kester and Diana Armstrong and their lovely twin daughters. They own the cottage down beyond the very end of the road at Culnacraig. We were so lucky that that they had chosen this very week to come up from their home in Hexham to Holiday in Coigach. We have known Kester and Diana from before the time they were married and were finishing their legal studies back in the 80's. Their friendship has been a treasure for all these years.

We spent our last evening in Coigach at the now spiffied-up Fuaran pub having a delicious dinner with Anne and Iain and the Armstrongs. We had a wonderful time - warm and funny and filled with memories and plans for the future and just plain fun.

We thank whatever gods may be for the joy of knowing all these wonderful people and the priviledge of calling them our friends.

As Burn's song has said ....

"seas between us braid ha'e roared sin auld lang syne ...."

So .." here's a hand my trusty frien' and gie's a hand o' thine

We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet for auld lang syne"....

The road goes ever on....

2009-05-14T14:34:00.003-05:00

We are set to fly off to Scotland next week. It will be the first trip back to the village since publishing the book and I'm really looking forward to seeing dear friends and our familiar mountains again. We'll drive the Wee Mad Road and take a lot of pictures (we've seen photos of Castlehill in its new guise - we'll share the ones we take).

We know things have changed even in the 5 or 6 years since we were last in Coigach. So many old friends have gone - and we will miss them terribly. But we'll be busy enjoying the friends who are still there - and are looking forward to seeing some special people who are coming up from the south to spend the week at their cottage down at the very end of the road. We've known Kestor and Diana since before they were married - seen them qualify for their professions at the University, marry and have children - and now their oldest is at Cambridge following his own star. Many of the children we knew when we lived in Coigach are married and have children of their own. When did we get so old?

But the hills and the sea and the islands are still the same - and I know our hearts will lift and rejoice while we're there - and that we will feel the same deep sorrow when we have to say good-bye.

I'll write again when we get home.

Fiber rocks!

2009-05-11T19:00:00.007-05:00

Well - it's spring in Minnesota. The trees are blooming and the streets are lined with clouds of red, pink and white blossoms. The lilacs are coming into full bloom and the smell is so headily sweet - it's a joy to be alive.

The Mother's Day weekend, however, was cold and blustery and we were out at Lake Elmo selling books at the Shepherd's Harvest Fiber Fair. Luckily our booth was inside - but even so it took a long time for cold fingers to function properly first thing in the morning. But it was a great weekend. We sold a lot of books and got to talk to some really interesting people so it was a lot of fun. Quite a few folks stopped by who had read the book and made us feel wonderful by their kind comments. And that is the best reward of all.

The Shepherd's Harvest takes place every year and is full of wonderful fiber arts, musicians (some of whom make lovely instruments), and sheep, llamas, goats and rabbits - anything that can be plucked or shorn for wool and fiber. There are sheep shearing demos, animal judging and sheep dog demonstrations. This year they had all types of herding dogs from shelties to old English sheep dogs (along with the usual border collies who are always wonderful to watch). And they have some neat classes - and luckily Eileen felt well enough to take a couple of them and do a bit of spinning and carding too. Every year we've been there the fair has grown and now there are four large buildings full of exhibitors - lots to see and do and eat - and entry is free.

Maybe we'll see you there next year!

Little boy lost - and found

2009-05-06T08:39:00.003-05:00

One night as we were sitting by the fire, the phone rang and a neighbor told us that a 2 year old boy was missing and feared wandering out in the bogs alone. She asked us to call other neighbors and meet at the Laird's cottage to form a search party. When we arrived at the house we found about 40 very concerned people gathered to begin the search.

The police had been called, and the Assynt Mountain Rescue Team along with the RAF (who had a helicopter) were at standby. The parents told us that the child had been put to bed upstairs, but when they went to check on him around 10:00 he was gone! The adults had been playing cards in the lounge - within sight of the outside door - but no one had heard anything or seen the boy leave the house. The frantic parents had searched the house from top to bottom and hadn't found him, so they called the police.

When the police arrived they organized people to go out to search the moor around the house. But I got to talking to our neighbor, Peter Drake, and we both felt sure that the child had to be in the house - it just didn't make sense that he could have left it unseen. So Peter and I and one of the policemen decided to make a thorough search - in cupboards, under beds, in drawers and suitcases - any space that might be possible for a little boy to creep into without being seen. We started at the top and were working our way through the second floor when Peter called out "Here he is!" And there inside a suitcase - a trunk really - was a sleepy, yawning, confused toddler. He'd been sound asleep through it all and his parents must have passed that way many times - but had never imagined that he could be sleeping in a suitcase!

All's well that ends well! So we had a cup of tea and walked back to Castlehill enjoying the warm, still, moonlit night and feeling that all was right with the world.

A fork in the road

2009-03-06T10:44:00.003-06:00

Sometimes life sneaks up behind you and gives you a good whack upside the head - and sends you off down a fork in the road that you'd rather not be on. Obviously I haven't written a post for a long time. This is because at the end of November - after my last post - my dear fiber-obsessed daughter was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer and all of a sudden nothing else seemed important. I've been busy going along for tests, surgeries and doctor appointments and will continue to share with her whatever is to come. The road ahead is shaded - destination unknown - but travel it we must. Eileen has a blog on blogspot called "Looking at the world through rose-colored cancer" if you wish to follow the journey. It's not a pleasure trip.

But back to happier paths and past meanderings.

Klondykers

2008-11-20T12:30:00.008-06:00

Summer was drawing to a close and autumn was coming on - the end of our first year in Coigach. Time again for the last dipping before the fall sheep sales in Dingwall. The young ewe lambs were taken back out to the islands and the government issue rams were ready to be brought into the parks to start the sheep cycle over again.

And it was time for the annual influx of the Klondykers - large factory ships from all over Europe who would come every year to anchor in Loch Broom and buy fish that they would process right there on the boats. Other large fishing boats would come into Loch Broom and the Minche to net and dredge and sell their catch to the factory ships. This could pose a problem for local fishermen who would sometimes have their prawn fleets dragged and damaged by the bigger boats. There were a lot of complaints about the dredgers because the locals thought they dug up and ruined the bottom - damage that could take years to repair itself. We could see the results of overfishing - population declines of herring and mackerel were obvious even in the short time we were there. And the advent of the EU with its regulations putting the Scottish fisheries at a disadvantage has made it even harder for local fisherman to make a go of it.

Russian and East German ships would lie at anchor for weeks but not let their men off the boats - just in case they'd decide not to come back. There was one East German captain that did come ashore, caught a bus to Inverness and then a ship to West Germany - his way to get across the wall. However, there was one Eastern European gang that was allowed to come into town - the Bulgarians evidently weren't unhappy with their lot and could be trusted to return to the boat. We were in the Ceilidh Place one night for dinner when about 10 Bulgarians decended on the place - all square, mustachioed, dressed in black leather and looking like trouble. But they sat and talked quietly like gentlemen - then went off to the stores to buy them out of coffee, nylons, and other stuff hard to get in the East.

From our front windows we could see the boats anchored in Loch Broom - they were all lit up at night and looked like a floating city. It was really quite pretty and made the scene festive while they were anchored there.

Music and friends

2008-11-12T10:49:00.009-06:00

Throughout the summer and for the rest of our stay in Scotland we were incredibly lucky to meet many wonderful musicians who became close friends and made our lives joyful. They came with their families and friends to stay with us and play in the pubs and village hall - and we stayed with them on their home ground and went to concerts and pub sessions and generally had a great time.

Wendy Stewart and Alan James came with harp, concertina, whistle and guitar. I'll always remember one particular morning sitting in the sun outside Castlehill listening to the two of them play and gazing out at the islands and the sea - and when the wind blew it would play its own fairy music on the harp strings. It was magical!

Jimmy and Ruth Philp would come with their kids from the east coast, sometimes alone and sometimes with friends who, along with Pete Taylor (our local musical phenomenon), had a band that played gigs together around the area. Each had their signature songs - called for over and over again on ceilidh nights. And as the whisky went around we would lapse into old gospel songs or just plain silly stuff. We made a wonderful tape called "The Last Castlehill Ceilidh" which has some great music recorded at our house - and some incredibly awful but very funny attempts - obviously recorded very late in the evening.

Dik Banovich, who sang Fats Waller-type songs and played a mean jazz guitar, came with his friend Tiny (who was way over 6 feet tall - must have been imposing in a kilt) - to visit us when they were in between busking forays on the Continent. We had a great trip with them to a music festival and highland games weekend on Skye. This was when we were introduced to the dreaded call by those well-oiled folks in any pub audience who always called out - ad nauseum - "Play 'Flower of Scotland'". Cringe. But Dick always handled it very well and patiently - and actually - I like the song.

And so they filled our home with music - flute, recorder, harp, squeezebox, bodhran, mandolin, guitar, pennywhistle, violin - and always singing. What could be better?

Click go the shears, boys...

2008-10-28T10:21:00.012-05:00

The best of the summer days were spent at the shearing. Jack was originally a Chicago boy, used to ethnic restaurants, concerts, theater, some of the best museums in the world - a city lad through and through. He'd never known the soft contours and sharp edges of something as foreign to his experience as a real sheep. But he fell in love with a pair of shears and the smell of warm wool and the company of men in touch with the earth. So he learned to clip a fleece with the hand blades - and over the course of the next 3 summers became a creditable shearer.

He apprenticed himself to Alisdair West, who was a model of patience and forbearance as Jack went through the first, sometimes disasterous, ascent of the learning curve. He was bloodied when his shears were driven into his arm by a poorly tied ewe, causing an emergency trip to the village nurse who kindly bound up his wounds. He was embarrassed when the ewe he was clipping escaped and went dancing over the hill trailing a veil of half-sheared fleece behind her. Once, while he was taking so long to clip one of those first sheep, one of the other men came over with a handful of grass which he gave to the ewe saying "I was afraid she was going to starve to death".

Jack could take it all in good humor. And he loved every minute of it.

As for me - I learned to roll fleeces which came off each animal in a sheep-shaped blanket of warm, lanolin enriched wool. I would fold and roll each fleece into a cylinder, twist the neck wool into a rope long enough to tie around it to make a neat package and place it with others by the wall or stuff it into a wool bag for collection by the Wool Board. It was hard work but those days in the sun with the sea and mountains as a backdrop, a cool breeze to keep the midges off, a welcome dram of whisky or a break for tea and sandwiches brought out by Alisdair's wife, Margaret, were wonderful. Those were days in our lives.

Up the republic

2008-10-27T14:20:00.006-05:00

Celebrating the 4th of July became a tradition at Castlehill. We would fly old glory from a staff made from an old oar that Jack found in the barn and attached to the gate posts at the bottom of the garden. Jack started the tradition in the 1st year we were in Polbain - and by the second and third year it was expected - and everyone would be at the Summer Isles Pub, waiting for the festivities to start. We would begin by buying 50 whiskeys - one for each state - and passing them around to all gathered. The first year it was a surprise and as the glasses filled, conversation dropped and all attention was riveted on the growing array of golden glasses. Then Jack would raise his glass and say "Who will drink a toast with me to freedom from English rule?", and there would be a cheer and all would drink.

The second year everyone in the village had heard about it and were there to partake. They would start singing "The Star Spangled Banner" or "America the Beautiful" when we came in the door - at least as many of the words as they could remember. We would then all repair to Castlehill for a real American 4th picnic supper - ham, potato salad, chocolate cake (chocolate imported from America) and dill pickles (found in Inverness at a specialty store). One year a friend came dressed in cowboy hat and boots with a star pinned to his shirt that said "Deputy" (he didn't know how to spell "Sheriff"). And the music would start, and the ceilidh would go on through the night. What fun!

Summer friends

2008-10-24T09:03:00.002-05:00

And so the spring wound into summer - and the light came back full throttle. In fact, it never really got dark. By midsummer you could read a newspaper at midnight, and the ceilidhs would start and end in sunlight. The rythm of life picked up and the B&B's were full of visitors - many of whom returned year after year and became familiar faces around the village. Neville and Mavis, who owned the Lord Nelson Inn down in northern England, made it known that we had usurped their favorite cottage (they'd rented Castlehill for their holidays for years). We were sorry - but not very. So we had them to lunch, became friends, and stopped to visit them at their pub one summer when we went south (we were delighted with its traditional cozy ambience).

We met people who owned croft houses in Coigach but only came up for their holidays - and we forged friendships that have lasted through all the years since we left - friends that we still meet when we can, and talk and write to between visits. Some have visited us here, and we have been made welcome in their homes, scattered now throughout the UK from north to south. We have shared their lives from when they were young and single, through marriage and growing families. They have made our lives infinitely richer.

Another island

2008-10-22T09:49:00.006-05:00

One fine warm day we took a picnic and went up the coast to see if we could get to the island of Handa - a bird sanctuary and breeding ground. We took a small boat from Tarbet and landed on a beautiful beach. There's a path that goes across the middle of the island where the great skuas nest on the open hilltops. Half the island is rimmed with cliffs and sea stacks hundreds of feet high. Sea pinks, many different kinds of seedum, and beautiful wild flowers in all colors cling to the cliff sides and cover the tops of the stacks. Puffins dig their burrows and build their nests on the stack tops - and I had never seen a real puffin. But I had heard about them all my life and wanted desperately to see one. When I was little I would often ask my mother to recite my favorite poem:

"There once was a puffin just the shape of a muffin,
and he lived on an Island in the bright blue sea.
He ate little fishes, which were most delicious,
and he had them for supper and he had them for tea.

This poor little puffin, he couldn't play nothin',
cause he hadn't anybody to play with at all.
So he sat on his island and he cried for a while,
And he felt very lonely and he felt very small.

Then along came the fishes, and they said if you wishes
you can have us for playmates instead of for tea.
Now they all play together in all kinds of weather,
And the puffin eats pancakes like you and like me."

I always wondered how they made the pancakes but the story was very satisfactory to a young animal lover.

Anyway, the island has huge, high cliffs where thousands of birds were nesting, flying and fishing. The skuas lived off the eggs and young birds - the divers, kittywakes, razor bills, guillemots, and gulls eat the many small fish swimming below. The water was so clear we could lie on the cliff edge and watch the guillemots playing games in the water below. They fly under water, chasing eachother, and sneaking up behind eachother to tweak a tail as they surface.

Every ledge, nook and cranny was packed with birds, some on eggs, some courting, some pairs grooming eachother. We found two broken eggs up where the skuas nest - one a greenish blue with brown spots, the other white with brown spots. The whole island was so beautiful - and we picnicked, hiked and sunned ourselves on the white sand beaches until the last boat back to the mainland took us away.

Of ceilidhs and books

2008-10-21T07:53:00.004-05:00

This has been a good week so we're still on a bit of a high. Saturday we went to the McCracken Ceilidh - a Scottish Club celebration of the life of George McCracken who for many many years taught and promoted Scottish ceilidh dancing in the Twin Cities. The dancing mantle has fallen on his son, Andy, and a tradition has developed of holding a typical ceilidh evening in his memory with dancing and amateur music, readings etc. This one was held at Kieran's Pub in Minneapolis and we ate shepherds pie, drank good ale, and as part of the program, Jack did a short reading from our book. It was a delightful evening.

On Sunday Jack and I gave a talk at the St. Paul Public Library downtown. In spite of the beautiful fall weather and a Vikings game, a fair number of people came - some of whom were friends we hadn't seen for many years. Liz and Paul had visited us when we were living in Coigach, and we had been in a cross-country ski club together for many years before that. The audience was very responsive, asked a lot of good questions and we had a lot of fun. As usual our dear daughter, Eileen (knotallthat.blogspot.com), came and helped out with the book signing afterwards - she has been a great help and supporter!

And then this morning we got another wonderful e-mail, this time from a reader in Australia who had been captured by Coigach as we had, and had spent at least a year there - something she hadn't planned on at the time. She had been a good friend and helper for Alasdair West (Jack's mentor during our Coigach years, and a beloved friend) and had stories to share. She had come across our book while visiting Coigach this summer and since every copy was sold out there, had to order it when she got home to Australia. It is such a day brightener and joy to hear from people who knew the folks we tell about in the book - and to have them say that yes - these are the people they knew and loved - and our stories brought them some tears and laughter. That's really why we wrote the book - to celebrate the lives and stories of a passing generation that was so very special and so worth remembering.

All that glistens......

2008-10-17T09:16:00.007-05:00

Our friend, Jim Muir, who lived just down the road from us in Polbain, kept us supplied with salt herring, salmon and stories. We would be walking down to the store and Jim would be working out in his shed - usually mending salmon nets since he had the rights to the wild salmon fishing around the coast. We would stop and say hello and before we knew it we would be in Jim's kitchen with a cup of tea, caught again in his web of Coigach lore.

He told a story about a ship that had been torpedoed off the coast during WWII, its cargo floating away on the tide. Some of that cargo was found by Murdo and Angus who were out fishing in the area some days later - a wooden crate bound with brass. The men were excited - they thought the contents must be valuable - and sure enough, when they pried the crate open it was full of money! Bundles of bills, consecutively numbered. Although they didn't recognize the bills, they thought they had made their fortune and took a sample to the bank in Ullapool. Unfortunately they were told that what they had was newly minted Nationalist Chinese currency - virtually worthless in Scotland. What they did with some of that money is a story told in our book - it did afford them some fun - but it was a fortune quickly found and lost. Sort of like our 401K's.

Life is good

2008-10-16T09:10:00.021-05:00

This is my favorite season. It is fleeting and beautiful and full of memories. Both of my parents died in autumn so the gorgeous display of color is tinged with some sadness and the feeling that the season - and life itself - passes all too quickly. But while it lasts we can "seize the day" and take off along the river to revel in what is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful drives in the country.

For the last two days we have enjoyed the best of what autumn has to offer and wound our way down the Mississippi from St. Paul to Wabasha. All the way the high bluffs are covered with flaming reds and yellows, and little farms nestle in hidden valleys. Hawks and eagles fly above the river - and in Wabasha at the National Eagle Center we were lucky enough to walk in just as the program was starting.

Here they nurse injured bald and golden eagles back to health and release them if they can - and the program was fascinating. Minnesota has the largest number of nesting eagles in the lower 48. In March the native population is joined by migrants and there are hundreds of these majestic birds gathered along the open water at Wabasha. We plan to go back at that time to see it.

Two of our favorite lunch places are also there - one is in the Wisconsin town just across the river at Nelson. The Cheese Factory has great ice cream, soup and sandwiches and - our favorite - bags of garlic cheese curds (squeek, yumm). The other is a charming old inn - the Anderson House in Wabasha. (Wabasha is where they filmed "Grumpy Old Men" by the way.) The rooms here are all decorated with different quilts and antique furniture - and come, if you choose, with a complimentary cat for comfort. For two days in a row I got to eat their lemon meringue pie - not too sweet or too sour - with a cloud of perfect meringue. It is to die for.

Life is good.

A perfect day

2008-10-13T14:18:00.007-05:00

Our friend Bill, whose family owned the cottage above Old Dornie Harbor, had a buddy up for the summer to help do some building and repairs, and the four of us often shared dinners, boat trips and long evenings solving the world's problems - along with a fair bit of silliness. Bill had a boat, which he took out among the islands to set lobster traps and do some fishing - and he would often share his bounty with us. Picture meals with platters heaped with fresh lobsters, prawns and crab - as much as you could want to fill the empty spaces. It was fantastic!

One of my most treasured memories is of a day we spent with Bill and Ian on the boat - a day as idylic as I will ever have. We started out in the morning packing a picnic - potato salad, home-baked bread, fresh raspberries, and wine. We set out for Bill's family island, Glas Leac Mor, stopping along the way to check Bill's lobster traps and catch a few nice fish for grilling. The sea was calm so we had no trouble landing and climbing the rocks to our picnic spot with our booty.

The day was warm but with a cool sea-breeze. The views back toward the peninsula and out at the islands and mountains across the loch were stunning - as always. We grilled the fish and spread out our picnic - a most sumptuous repast - the raspberries with double cream serving for dessert. We lazed around in the sun and hiked a bit to explore the island - then back with the evening sun glowing on the horizon and turning the islands to soft green velvet. Funny how clear it is after all these years - and how sweet to remember.

Escape to the north

2008-10-12T10:34:00.014-05:00

One of the great things about being retired is that you can jump into your car when you get up one morning and the sky is blue and the air is crisp and the leaves are glowing - and you can just go. Which is what we did last week. We packed up the bad dog and a change of clothes and high-tailed it up to the north shore of Lake Superior, stopping along the way to visit friends and do a little grouse hunting and a lot of leaf-peeping.

With all the uncertainty in the world right now, it's life affirming to see the trees blazing on the high rocky cliffs, the rivers tumbling down the rocks in falls and cascades to the great lake, and to hear the breakers beating on the rocky shore. Life is good.

We found a funky little lodge at Cascade River with faded tartan carpeting, a grand piano in the lounge, lots of "Up North" kitsch, and a comfy porch with a great view of the lake. And with helpful, friendly hosts - what more could one ask? I'm sure we'll be back.

The scent of remembrance

2008-10-07T11:25:00.006-05:00

Why is it that the sense of smell seems to bring on the most vivid visions of the past? I am making oatmeal bread - probably for the first time since we came back from Scotland. The yeasty smell of the rising dough brings me back to the kitchen in Castlehill and I remember....and I miss it.

I can see the view from my kitchen window - the old stone shed with the wall full of bright birds coming to the seed I'd put out for them - the rowan tree with its red berries - the fence between us and our neighbors croft (visions of little Christopher climbing over that fence, coming to visit and savor ice cubes). Remembering kneading bread at the table and watching Jack sprinting out of that shed with his pail of coal, pursued by an amorous, very determined ewe (if you want the full tale - it's on our website).

My kitchen today has all the mod cons - but I miss the white wainscoating, the wellies by the door, the old wooden cupboard with it's array of flowered crockery, the far view of mountain and sea - a room warm and cozy and smelling of fresh-baked bread and self-sufficiency. I do miss it.

Hi Ho, come to the fair

2008-09-23T15:05:00.017-05:00

This was the weekend of the North Country Fiber Fair in Watertown, SD. We packed up our books and display stuff and headed west on Friday, dropping our bad dog with our good friends on the way.

Autumn in southwestern MN is a feast for the eye. The soybean fields stretch to the horizon in shades of gold, russet, yellow and green. Here and there they form an undulating checkerboard with alternating fields of tall beige standing corn. Red barns and charming farm houses dot the rich prairieland looking prosperous and well tended. It's a peaceful scene of abundant harvest and it lifts the heart.

We had a great weekend in spite of the small turnout (vendors figured that the frightening economic outlook along with the high price of gas kept many customers and vendors at home). The venue was spotlessly clean and bright - easy to set up our display. And people seemed to enjoy the Scottish music we played along with our slideshow - even though we only thought to bring 2 CD's which cycled endlessly. Next time we'll bring at least half a dozen.

As usual, we loved talking to people and hearing their stories. There were several women who had lived in Norway in an area where they put sheep out on the islands as we did in Coigach. Many customers had been to Scotland and had loved it - several had started reading our book on Saturday and came to tell us how much they were enjoying it. That's always a day brightener.

Many knitters and weavers among the vendors and students keep a small flock of sheep or goats to supply their craft. Jack was delighted because he got to talk hand clipping with one of the best blade shearers in North America. Kevin Ford had come to give a 2 day class in blade shearing and he and Jack hit it off - had read many of the same books, knew the same essoteric song ("Shearing in a Bar") and it was the first chance Jack has had since Scotland to talk to someone who spoke hand clipping. He was a most happy fella.

I loved seeing all the different types of spinning wheels and varieties of yarn - and especially enjoyed the gal who was spinning directly from the rabbit. The organizers had set up a spinning circle so people could go and sit there in between classes or after supper and spin and talk - it was homey and relaxing. And all day they had delicious food cooked by the local guild members - all available for voluntary donations. We especially enjoyed the lamb stew and goat cheeses, along with veggies fresh from the garden.

Book sales went surprisingly well, and all too soon it was Sunday evening and we were packing up to head home. The trip back was even prettier with the the golden fields bathed in sunset light. We had spent a thoroughly enjoyable and relaxing weekend and were ready to face the contractors and torn-up house again. It's good to get away and remember that there is still beauty and bounty in the world.

2008-09-18T19:43:00.000-05:00

Of bugs and nicer things

2008-09-18T13:02:00.014-05:00

I have not written a post for a while. Some of this is because of family health problems (thankfully now resolved for the moment) and then there are the ants. We are having the tile in our bathroom replaced and when they tore the old stuff off - there were carpenter ants all over the wall behind the insulation. EEuuuuw - gross!! So needless to say the ant men (supply your own mental image here) are coming (I hope) today. So somehow I haven't felt like blogging.

But on the bright side, last night we did a reading at the Anodyne Coffee Cafe, and although we had a smallish crowd, we had an absolutely delightful time. This was mostly because we had a chance to talk to the people who were there and hear the stories of their own "wee mad road" adventures. One of the women had spent several years teaching in a remote Eskimo village in Alaska. Another had spent a year teaching for the Peace Corps in Mauritania, West Africa - quite a coincidence, as Jack had worked on a documentary there many years ago. I think we enjoyed hearing about their lives as much as they did about ours. I'd love to hear about your "special time" if you want to leave a note.

Tomorrow we leave for Watertown, South Dakota to sell books at the North Country Fiber Fair. We had so much fun at the Shepherd's Harvest here that we thought we'd try it again. They are offering a 2 day class on shearing sheep with the hand blades - a subject dear to Jack's heart, although he no longer practises that activity. We'll also be selling some skeins of beautiful hand-spun yarn for my daughter (http://www.knotallthat.blogger.com/). We'd love to see you there!

Good-bye to the Red Terror

2008-09-10T15:15:00.002-05:00

In mid-May poor Ho Chi Mini went to that big rustpile in the sky and we bought the only car we could afford that was comfortable for Jack to drive and might actually be ok to take onto the continent. We were planning to take a trip through France, Switzerland and Italy in the fall with J's mom and aunt so we needed a car that would hold 4 people and their luggage. Luckily for us the 2 ladies as well as their luggage were all diminutive!

Our new car (new used that is) was a DAF-cum Renault-cum Volvo. It had a Renault engine, a DAF transmission (continuous belt like a sewing machine - could run as fast backwards as forwards), and a Volvo body and seats. We actually bought it for the seats which could accomodate Jack's 6'2" frame easily, with plenty of headroom. He would sure miss the Mini's handling on our twisty roads though - this car would enforce sanity (unless he decided to drive it backwards - he does mirror-writing easily and might actually think it could be fun!).

The clock is alarming

2008-09-08T15:59:00.011-05:00

May 8th and the first call of the cuckoo. I had never heard the real bird call. When my beloved grandmother died she left me a small amount in her will so we decided to buy something that would remind us of her and her heritage. So when we went to her funeral in New Prague, MN, we went to our favorite wonderful Czech hotel where we fell in love with a beautiful old cuckoo clock - just the thing!

When I woke up that May morning in Scotland, my first thought was that I was back in America wakening to my old clock. But this was the real bird - and it was 5:00 in the morning. We'd gotten to bed after a great ceilidh at 2:00 a.m. I was wondering if the bird's clear call would get to be not all that delightful if it continued to wake us up at that ungodly hour (the sun was coming up about 4:00 and setting about 11:00 p.m.).

And the solstice wasn't until June.

Pretty young things

2008-09-05T09:28:00.007-05:00

With the birth of the lambs came the time of fostering off the orphans. Some were fostered onto mothers who had lost their lambs - and some were adopted by human "mothers" who warmed and bottle fed and nursed the little stuffed toy-like lambies until they became "pet sheep". These sheep usually lived a life of pampered leisure - at least until market time in September. That is how Wilf and Wendy acquired their little flock - which lived to see their "golden years" and I'm sure died of old age.

Our little 2 year old neighbor, Christopher, one of the more beautiful children I'd known (with his big dark eyes and blond hair) had three orphan lambs that year. One he named "Little Jack", after the big American next door, who was beginning to have what was to his father an unfortunate influence on Christopher's vocabulary.

Anyway, Christopher liked to visit us and would often come over the fence to sit in our kitchen and have a glass of lemonade or just water - with (wonder of wonders) ice cubes (no one there put ice in drinks - only us odd Americans). One warm sunny morning I came down to start breakfast and found little Christopher already in the kitchen - dressed only in his little wellie boots. I figured I'd better call his mom since to get home he'd have to crawl back over our rock and wire fence - and having negotiated it once without damage - I figured he'd better not tempt fate by trying it again.

Lambs

2008-09-03T14:03:00.005-05:00

It was May, and May brought the lambs. During the rest of the year the sheep ran wild on the hills but at lambing time the ewes were brought into fenced parks. Shepherds walked the parks every day looking out for mothers or babies in trouble. In our city-bred lives, Jack and I had never had any experience with livestock cycles of birth and growth - but we were curious, and anxious to do anything that fit into the life of the community. So we walked the parks with the shepherds and helped where we could in our clumsy way.

That May started out cold with driving wind and hail like shrapnel. With no barns or shelter available, everyone feared for the lives of the new lambs. One day we had gone into Inverness to look at used cars (Ho Chi Mini was dying) and while we were there we got a call from Wilf and Wendy asking us to pick up some lamb-macs - little plastic raincoats that come on a roll. When we got to the Vet's he was frantically trying to locate more because of a run on them on the West Coast. When he found out we were from Achiltibuie he asked if we would take the orders he'd gotten from three other crofters there.

Naturally when we got back, the sun came out and we had a string of beautiful sunny days. It's sort of like the old axiom - when you take your umbrella it never rains.

To make my garden grow

2008-08-28T09:40:00.008-05:00

Spring was coming, the daffodils were fading and I missed tending a flower garden. So I thought I'd put in a rock garden, figuring I wouldn't have to import any rocks - I'd just dig out the ones that were already in the ground. I was somewhat apprehensive about this because it would mean that Wilf and Wendy's sheep would have to be banned from the front yard and they would lose their traditional vacation spot. However, it would also mean that without the sheep we wouldn't have to keep shoveling off the path and I could hang clothes outside again.

So on the first of May, a beautiful sunny morning, I started removing the turf from my chosen spot. I'd taken off my jacket, sweater and cap - at which point it started to snow. The rest of the day was snow, hail and gales, alternating with short bursts of sun. But I got about half of the turf removed and started lifting rocks. No wonder there's so little in the way of agriculture in Coigach - it's all rock!

I piled the rocks into a semblance of a rising circle and during the next month gathered sea pinks from the islands, heather from the hills, and purchased a lovely foamy type of gorse for the crown. Neighbors gave me primroses and other plants from their gardens - they liked seeing the garden grow. And for the three years we lived in Castlehill it was a real pleasure for me to look out through the gales and rain at that rainbow of color - a promise that the sun would return again.

South to the border

2008-08-27T13:07:00.008-05:00

The spring moved into a nasty run of gales and rain and we began to yearn for sun and warm weather. So we decided to take a few days and go down to the Borders. Picking a route through the middle of the country we took the Cockbridge - Tomintoul road. Every morning, all winter, the weather forecasters would predict closings on that route due to snow and blizzard conditions. So curiosity got the better of us - and it was a high and imposing crossing even at this time of year. We passed Balmoral Castle, but Prince Charles was there fishing, so we couldn't go in.

Arriving at the eastern coast in the evening we found Dunnottar Castle perched on a high crag, cut off from the shore and reachable only by a narrow rock causeway. Its imposing battlements rose through a ghostly mist - all it needed was a drawbridge and Igor beckoning us into its dark hall. We loved it.

Then there was the folk festival in Edinburgh (Eric Bogle was our vote for best performance) and on to the ruined abbeys at Melrose & Jedburgh. The border country was lush and green, velvet hills dotted with sheep and new spring lambs. There were beautiful rivers and lots of big old trees for me to lie under while Jack fished trout in the Tweed. It was hard to leave that soft country and head back to the wet and windy north.

Spring has sprung

2008-08-25T14:37:00.009-05:00

I had a birthday this month and my sister, Mary, who lives in San Diago sent a beautiful flower arrangement. I liked it so much I decided to paint it . My other sister, Diane, took me out to lunch at a delightful restaurant, plying me with wine and good food. My daughter, Eileen, gave me water color paper and neat painting stuff to try - ergo the flower arrangement. Aren't I lucky?

But back to Scotland. March had come with its alternating days of gales, sleet and sun and the daffodils were breaking through the cold ground. There were banks of them along the small rill that ran down through our garden. We took walks up to Suilven starting in several different locations. The mountains were still covered with snow and the rivers in full spate. We ran across herds of red deer whose heads and necks had turned much darker than we'd seen them before. The trees were full of birds singing their spring songs, and it was good to be alive.

In the community a new phase of life was beginning with the run-up to the Easter holiday (a big thing in the UK). The tourists would soon be back in their numbers - something we had missed by moving in after the season was over. We really didn't know what to expect.

A night at the opera

2008-08-24T15:23:00.003-05:00

Jack's maniacal Italian electric typwriter (Benito) had struck again (for full story see book) so we were off to Glascow to strangle the repair guys. It actually turned out to be a great trip. The weather was beautiful down through wild Rannoch Moor and Glen Coe. The pipers are playing laments in memory of the the MacDonalds who, if they hadn't been slaughtered in their beds, were forced to hide in those cold, bleak mountains to escape from their murderous B&B guests.

The typewriter guys gave us a manual machine - abandoning all hope for electric model repair. Oh well - at least the manual didn't have its own agenda and only wrote what it was told, unlike the Olivetti which I guess had decided to exert its own literary criticism.

As long as we were in town we stayed over night for an excellent dinner and the Scottish National Opera production of Tosca at the ornate Edwardian-style opera house. We were able to get good seats and the singing, costumes and scenery were special enough to make it a memorable night out. Not as memorable, however, as the night we saw a production of the same opera staged years later by the Minnesota Opera Company in St. Paul. That night, at the end of a spectacularly fine performance in the title role, Tosca jumped from the parapet and the opera came to its inevitable tragic end. The audience, Jack and I included, jumped to its feet errupting into wild applause - waiting to give the well deserved curtain call ovations. But the curtain stayed stubbornly closed - the applause fading uncertainly - until we all left the theater in utter confusion. We found later that the soprano had missed the mattress behind the parapet which was to break her fall, and hit the hard floor breaking several ribs and other bones. Now that was a memorable performance!!

A Cat That Shall Remain Nameless

2008-08-21T09:39:00.007-05:00

Our next door neighbors harbored a cat. She was about 8 yrs. old when we moved in - solid muscle and beautifully dressed. Despite her age, she had never been given a name. Christopher, our neighbor's two year old son, called her At-nun because for some reason he couldn't pronounce the word "cat". So At-nun she became but she remained truly nameless.

For some reason At-nun adopted us and spent many hours every day visiting and bringing us gifts. Just about every morning we would open the back door and find the back ends of rabbits or mice that she had lined up neatly on the doorstep. She was very companionable but looked on us as equals and considered our attentions her rightful due. We never fed her - that she got at home. But she was a warm cuddle on a cold evening by the fire and a comforting presence when I was working around the house. We grew to love her and look forward to her arrival.

We had gone back to MN in our third winter to make some money and visit family, and when we got back in the spring At-nun looked very thin and had slowed down noticably. We worried about her and found out that she had some internal problem that could not be treated. One day we realized that she hadn't been around for a while and were discussing it at breakfast when At-nun came in, meowed and rubbed up against our legs - then went back out the door. The next day we found that she had gone off to a corner of the garden and died. We knew then that she had come to say good-by. We missed her.

Gone fishin'

2008-08-19T10:31:00.006-05:00

Driving in from Ullapool the one-lane road twists and turns along an intriguing river. We'd always wanted to explore it so one lovely morning in March we went out to walk the banks of the Owskeich River. The views of the mountains from there were beautiful and there is an amazing variety of terrain from slow pools to rapids between high rock cliffs. It all looked very trouty and Jack lusted after a beat on it - but we knew the Royal Hotel in Ullapool owned the banks and the price would be way too high. Unlike the US where there is lots of public land to hunt and fish, in the UK everything is privately owned and you have to pay for the privilege of taking game of any kind.

So he settled for getting permission to fish Loch na Beiste - a small loch a short way from our cottage. The laird, Mrs. Longstaff, who owned the fishing rights in Coigach, was a keen fly fisherwoman herself and could often be seen in her tweeds and fore-and-aft hat casting the banks of one of the local lochs. It probably wasn't as much fun as the river - but we did get a few nice trout to grace our breakfast or dinner table.

Almost spring

2008-08-15T12:06:00.010-05:00

The weather during February was glorious - even warm enough some days to explore and go on picnics. The jonquils, crocus, & snowdrops were coming into bloom. In Minnesota the snow would be up to our whatever, and it would still be bone chilling cold. But in Polbain there was a promise of Spring. We picnicked in the shadow of Ardvreck Castle in Loch Assynt, drove up the Wee Mad Road to Drumbeg and stopped in the pub (where the publican, MacKay, bought us a pint) and then gloried in the beauty of the drive home. The woods were full of spring flowers - like a Persian carpet.

Another day we drove up to Tain - a lovely old town made a Royal Burgh in 1066 - and then to Nigg where they were building a huge oil rig. That whole area was suffering from the closing of the smelter at Invergordon and the shops and pubs were worried about economic slowdown.

Jack was going out with our neighbor to work the prawn creels and we were having fantastic meals. They were catching quite a few spiny lobsters - little critters that were hard to clean and had no real commercial value. But sauteed in garlic butter or cooked in wine and cream they were delicious! I think we've been spoiled for life with the wonderful, fresh seafood we ate there in such abundance. Now we're about as far from the sea as you can get - and I still miss it!

Greeted by a doll

2008-08-13T09:45:00.013-05:00

The first time we came to Coigach we noticed an old boat sitting by the sign to Polbain with a rather dilapidated one-eyed doll propped up on a seat and waving to those entering the village. When we moved there two years later, there she was - still waving - but looking a little more respectable. Jim Muir, our friend and storyteller, said that he'd found her in the sea and sat her in his boat. And somehow she stayed there - waving bravely through the gales and rain - summer sun and winter snows. Another man in the village took on the job of changing her outfits with the change in seasons.

I wonder if she's waving still.

And why is it that I missed taking pictures of so many things and people that were part of our lives there?

And then there was Hogmanay

2008-08-12T12:38:00.003-05:00

We have nothing like it in the US. It is delightful and exhausting and terribly social - at least a week of non-stop visiting and ceilidhs and music. The tradition of "first-footing" - the first time you step over a neighbor's threshold in the New Year - means that everyone in the village goes off on rounds of visiting everyone else. You either are entertaining guests at home or are off driving around going to other peoples homes and they entertain you and anyone else that shows up. And that means offering a dram and a bite to eat. The old people who don't go out serve sherry and tea and goodies to those who come to visit - and no one is forgotten. The rest of the people around the penninsula drive about and drop in wherever there's a light on.

After the pub closes most people go off to someone's house for a night of partying - lots of singing and playing all kinds of instruments - and everyone brings a bottle or a six-pack. This can go on all night and after a week we could hardly move - we just weren't in condition yet!

It was during this first Hogmanay we had our first Castlehill ceilidh. We made popcorn for the first time - no one had ever tasted it except for the disgustingly sweet stuff they serve in movie theaters in the cities. People were leery of tasting it - then said it tasted sort of like styrofoam - then pollished off many batches - just to be polite! It was the start of a ceilidh tradition, for our house became a regular ceilidh house and many a night after the pub closed people would drift in and our home was always filled with music.

Our Merry First Christmas

2008-08-11T08:22:00.002-05:00

When we moved to the Highlands the last thing we thought of packing was Christmas ornaments, and there really was nothing available in our area. So I set about making my own out of paper and yarn and whatever. A friend sent me crocheted stars and some village friends brought us cookies pierced for hanging. And though our tree was the closest thing I've ever seen to Charlie Brown's poor pathetic specimen, by the time we finished hanging our decorations it was really quite festive. It was the first Christmas tree ever in Castlehill.

Jack's birthday is right before Christmas and Joanie made him one of her famous Clootie Dumplings - so rich and spicy and good. We went to the panto (see our book for details) and Jack played Father Christmas at the kiddie party - they seemed to enjoy it even if he had a funny accent. I think people were extra kind because they knew we'd be missing home and family. Joanie came in on Christmas eve laden down like Santa Claus with two bottles of wine, a chicken for the freezer, two etched glasses and beer mug that Aileen Muir (owner of the local gift shop) had made, and a little poem just for us. There was an especially beautiful star over Tanera that night.

On Christmas day we went down to Joan and Murdo's for a wee sherry and to bring them their gifts. Wilf and Wendy had us over for a beautiful turkey dinner and in the evening we went to Irish Ann's for a fantastic ceilidh - singing and dancing into the wee hours. We still missed our family - but the people in Coigach were so warm and welcoming that it made our first Christmas here one of the best ever!

Winter

2008-08-08T09:44:00.006-05:00

As winter drew on I decided that it had to be the most beautiful season of the year. The sun was low in the sky - getting light around 9:00 a.m. and setting around 3:30 (we were on the same latitude as Fairbanks and Novosibursk). The daylight hours were like one long sunrise-sunset with the colors changing from pink and gold to blue and gold and back again, reflecting on the silver sea and the snowy peaks across the loch. Just before Christmas we had a week of snowy weather - and with the sheep dotting the hillsides, the cottages with their smoking chimneys and our red gates at the bottom of the garden, it was like looking out at a beautiful Christmas card.

On one particularly lovely day we took a picnic and went up on the mast hill behind our house. The air was clearer than I'd ever seen it. We could see that the Isles of Lewis and Harris stretched across almost the whole horizon and displayed some spectacular cliff scenery. We saw islands that we didn't recognize at all, and to the south we could see Steor, Quinag and the Cuillins on Skye - unbelievable visability in all directions!

People in the village kept telling us that this was truly unusual winter weather - and if we stayed around long enough we'd find that out. Naive as we were we felt it couldn't possibly be worse than a Minnesota winter with its 30 below temps and piles of snow to shovel. Ha!

Countdown to the holidays

2008-08-07T07:40:00.006-05:00

So - we were approaching our first holiday season away from our families. For me at least it was the first time in 40 odd years I hadn't spent Thanksgiving and Christmas surrounded by family and friends - the first time in 22 years we hadn't given our traditional Christmas party. We had started our party tradition the 2nd year of our marriage and the same people were still coming - their one commonality being our party. They'd see each other once a year and catch up with the year's happenings - have a great time with each other - then it was "see you next year". So I was feeling a bit lonesome and homesick as the holiday season approached.

As it turned out - our Thanksgiving was quite an experience (see the whole crazy story in our book) - and I didn't have time to sulk! We then decided to go down to London for a few days in December to shop and enjoy the city lights and decorations (Christmas was not celebrated much in Coigach) and maybe see a show. We were lucky and got a special price (130 pounds for the two of us for train and 2 nights at the St. Irmin's in Westminster). As it turned out the day we left for London was the coldest and worst weather in 30 years. The water pipes had frozen on the train so there was no water or heat - but the compartment was comfy with lots of blankets so we slept well. The St. Ermin's is a beautiful hotel and decorated for Christmas it was a real pleasure. We shopped, had lunch with London friends, went to a carol concert at Royal Albert Hall, evensong at St. Paul's, saw the Great Japan exhibit and ate at a charming Czech restaurant.

But as much as we enjoyed the city life, we were glad to go back to Coigach. We arrived back and were met at the gate by 6 sheep and a cat - a most vociferous welcome. And spread across sky and sea - the most glorious sunset we'd ever seen. It was good to be home.

Laundry was definitely not us

2008-08-06T13:33:00.006-05:00

Castlehill was furnished with a washing machine - of sorts. It was the same kind my family had when I was a kid - my mother's pride and joy (it still worked after my sister plugged it right through the label with a 22 rifle slug - but that's another story). Ours in Castlehill was a mixed blessing. It would stop working - either in whole or in parts - for no discernible reason. One day it had given up the ghost (again) and we thought there might be something gumming up the works so we got a coat hanger to make a fishing device and from the spinner part removed several green, slimy socks - must have been years in the making. Some friends who had stopped in for tea took one look at what we were doing and beat a hasty retreat.

When the spinner didn't work we had to drag out an old hand-powered ringer we found in the old barn. Then - drying was the fun part. If it wasn't bucketing down rain, or blowing hard enough to snatch the clothes off the line and carry them off to the Black Isle, we could hang them out on lines strung beside the house. This was often complicated by the pet sheep we had visiting in our garden, whose digestive systems were working quite efficiently thank you. Dropping the edge of a sheet or a sock on the ground meant that we would have to face the *!#$% washing machine again. So mostly the wet laundry was hanging in strategic locations around the house - usually strung on a wooden rack blocking one source of heat or another. We lived in a miasma of wet wool - inside and out.

The Ceilidh Place

2008-08-05T07:48:00.007-05:00

As the autumn progressed there were more musicians and entertainers coming into the West Highlands - many of them sponsored by the Highlands and Islands Arts Board. Sometimes a band would come out to Coigach and play at the village hall, but more often they would go to what had become our favorite Ullapool haunt, the Ceilidh Place. It was a wonderful place for us - it had everything: hotel, pub, restaurant (where they played classical music tapes), bookstore and performance space. It was owned by Robert (of acting fame) and Jean Urqhart - lovely, friendly people who always made us feel welcome. The place was cozily traditional - and the food was the best. It was always a treat to go there.

We saw several plays at the Ceilidh Place, and musicians from the Scottish National Orchestra played there several times during the years that we lived in Coigach. It was the first time I became aware of the wonderful horn player, Barry Tuckwell. I feel privileged to have heard him play in such an intimate venue. They also had a folk club - a smaller space for local and traveling folk musicians to come and play together. It was altogether a haven for us - good restaurant food and entertainment being in rather short supply in that part of the country.

Now although Robert is no longer with us, his wife, Jean, is still the hostess and the Ceilidh Place is still going strong - and if you visit Ullapool be sure to drop in - you're bound to find something to please your fancy.

Murdo & the Fuaran

2008-08-02T09:09:00.004-05:00

Meanwhile we were getting to know our neighbors and spending many an evening at our local pub (the Fuaran which is in Altandhu - the next little village up the road) - playing darts, talking and singing. One night we met Donny Darling's brother who told us of his experiences in the war. He was captured during the blitzkrieg in France and spent two years in a German POW camp mining coal. He escaped to Poland and joined the resistance and fought with them until he was recaptured. Again he escaped and spent the rest of the war foraging in Russia. He owns a house in Polbain just a few doors down from us but now lives with his wife in England.

Old Murdo loved to go to the Fuaran - he would go every Saturday before he had his stroke. He always loves to hear our reports about who was there and what they said and who's doing what. Wilf and Wendy never go to the pub - we never have figured out why.

Murdo and Joanie were becoming dearer to us all the time. Joan gave us a photo of Murdo as a younger man that was on the front cover of "Ross Shire" magazine - so I decided to use it to do a painting of him with his beloved Tanera in the background. I framed it and gave it to them to put up in their lounge - then did another one for us to keep. I would have loved to have known Murdo then - although maybe we wouldn't have become so close or heard all the wonderful old stories if he had not always been there to visit with.

Surprise - gotcha!

2008-07-30T13:00:00.008-05:00

About 3 weeks after we had moved into Castlehill I was looking at my passport and found that mine said that I was to register with the police within 7 days of arrival. Failure to comply would be punished by 6 months in jail or a 200 pound fine. Eeeeek. We went into Ullapool and talked to Constable Wiley who said there wouldn't be a problem but they would need 2 passport-type pictures of ourselves which of course we didn't have. There being no photographer in Ullapool they had to find someone with a poloroid and have us come in the next week - an inconvenience but definitely better than 6 months in the pokey!

Another government presence in our lives took the form of periodic fly-overs by the RAF fighter training jets. The pilots were learning the ins and outs of GFR - ground following radar - and they would roar up over the hill behind our house at about 50 ft. off the deck - so close we could see the whites of their eyes. They had plenty of time to look around because they weren't using their hands to fly. The sound of it was quite a shock to the system - and those hummers are BIG at that height! Guess they used that area because it was sparsely populated - and what the heck, it's only highlanders.

Wildness still exists

2008-07-29T08:39:00.007-05:00

Stac Polly is one of the Coigach signature peaks and climbing it is the most famous of the Coigach hill walks. There is a car park at the bottom and there are almost always a few cars parked there while their occupants scramble up the steep path to Polly's rocky top.

One beautiful day Jack and I thought we'd nip over and do the climb. The air was warm and fresh with blue sky and fluffy white clouds. The climb is fairly steep but technically easy so even I had no real trouble reaching the top. One end of the mountain is fairly smooth - the other consists of a ridge of rock teeth and pinacles. Jack had done some rock climbing so he headed off to do the scramble over the ridge while I just sat in the sun and drank in the incredible view.

The whole of Coigach was spread out below like a map. It was possible to identify all the villages and each individual mountain and loch. It was amazing how much of the land was uninhabited - beautiful lochs and beaches without a road anywhere near them. The view was glorious and it was heartening to know that not every beautiful spot in the world had a chain hotel or McDonalds spoiling the wildness of it.

Creatures not so great

2008-07-27T19:40:00.005-05:00

The Egyptian plagues have nothing on Scotland when the weather's warm and the wind dies down. Then they come - the midges - in their clouds. They settle in your hair and chew on your neck - or any other exposed part - and they're tiny and composed completely of tooth. Minnesota mosquitoes are nasty - big and noisy and bloodthirsty. But at least they walk around and kick your hair follicles and announce their presence so you can squash them, making a satisfying splat of blood so you know revenge is yours. But midges are too small and numerous to swat. The only defense is a hasty retreat.

One night as we sat by the fire reading I caught movement from the corner of my eye and there was a huge beetle - more than an inch long sashaying across the carpet. Unfortunately for him he became an unwilling volunteer for immediate cremation. Going into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, I encountered a very large stripey slug reared up in the middle of the floor. It was about 6 inches long and was fast aquiring dragonesque proportions when I summoned my St. George - namely Jack - to come and rescue me - I was definitely in distress. I had noticed a silvery trail going across the rug the day before but hadn't realized what it was. Now I felt them lurking in every corner.

After Jack invited our guest outside, I stuffed plastic bags under the kitchen door. Later I learned from local experts that if you leave a line of salt along the threshold it tends to dampen their enthusiasm and keeps out bugs and slugs and things that go squish in the night.

Separated by a common language

2008-07-25T11:36:00.003-05:00

It took me a while to decipher the Scottish equivalents of American words. After living there for three years some became so ingrained that they still come to me as first choice - I still think bonnet, boot, windscreen and petrol instead of hood, trunk, windshield and gas. I still say "bloody awful". We still toast eachother with "slainte mhath" and "slainte mhor". But most other Scottish words and phrases have been left behind.

Joanie used to say "I have to go up to the store for some messages". I wondered for quite a while why people would leave messages at the store when they could call her on the phone. Turns out she meant she needed to get some groceries. I'm glad I never asked - I'd have seemed a real twit.

People would ask us for tea - and it would turn out to be a full-fledged roast beef and Yorkshire pudding Sunday dinner. A "fork supper" was one that didn't include a piece of meat that needed slicing. Casseroles or "hot dishes" were unknown. A "pudding" was the dessert course. Biscuits weren't baking powder buns but came in packages and were as close to cookies as one could get. Sweeties were any kind of candy. Tatties and neeps were potatoes and turnips (swedes as they were known there - the closest veg we have to them are rutabagas - but those aren't as good). Bangers are what purport to be sausages. Chips are french fries, crisps are potato chips all of which were flavored.

We would go to the surgery on Wed. afternoons if we needed to - not to have an operation but to wait in the village hall for a turn to see the doctor who was making his weekly rounds. If a guy was "pissed" he was more likely to pass out than to punch somebody out. "Knickers" would have looked funny on a golfer (at least in public). A jumper was a sweater - not a style of dress. Football was soccer.

And "God Save the Queen" stole its tune from "My Country 'Tis of Thee". (I can too say that - its my blog!!)

Creatures great and small

2008-07-23T13:36:00.010-05:00

It was obvious that we were going to spend a lot of time walking in the hills and along the road - so Jack decided it was time to get a walking stick/shepherds crook. He found a lovely one in the local shop, a crook carved of ram's horn ending in the shape of a Scottish thistle. Murdo had one by the same craftsman that had been carved to order in the likeness of his old dog. Jack is still using his staff - cut down to a more useful height now that he no longer works with sheep.

Our walks across the moors and hills brought us in contact with some of the local wildlife. We would kick up an occasional grouse or spot a herd of red deer with the stags posed proudly against the sky - looking just like the Hartford logo! Wild geese were migrating south, and the loch and sea beaches abounded with shore birds - shags, cormorants, oyster catchers, ringed plovers, curlews, sandpipers, rock pipits and always the ubiquitous gulls. We learned that buzzards there were not bald headed black scavengers but beautiful large hawks. Often we'd see hoodie crows - large gray crows with black heads - birds heartily hated by the locals. These gulls could kill new-born lambs or peck out the eyes of a sheep that was down.

Our seed wall brought coal and blue tits, chafinches, robins, and wrens, and sometimes walking along the road, a lark would rise high into the sky pouring out her amazing song - then come plummeting back to earth settling back on a fence post. I was so glad I'd bought a book on Birds of Britain because I was seeing many birds that were entirely new to me.

And then there were the seals - we would see them in a bay that we passed driving up the Wee Mad Road, or basking on the islands when we went out fishing or touring. One night walking back from having tea at Murdo's we heard them singing - a truly unearthly sound - sent shivers down our backs. Shades of the Kelpie's song!

But is it "art"

2008-07-21T21:53:00.008-05:00

Jack had his desk and typewriter set up in one of the downstairs sitting rooms and now it was time for me to set up a studio. I had chosen one of the upstairs bedrooms - slanted walls under the eaves and painted pink with bright red geraniums on the windowsills. I never had a studio before and it sounded daunting actually - but we had the room so why not call it that?

Over the years I had done a few oils and an acrylic painting or two - but never took any art classes so I really didn't know what I was doing. However, I had never let that stop me (I usually do one of something - quilt making, petit pointe etc. and then stop while I'm ahead). So this time it was water color. I had the paint and a book on technique that I'd bought in Edinburgh so I was ready.(?) I started out just playing with color and value, then did the Tanera painting in sepia. By this time I'd decided that what I really wanted to do was to draw people in the village doing things - working mostly. So I started to do sketches using photographs - and found that it was possible to draw people who were recognizable as themselves so it would be fun to hang the paintings in the cottage and see what the reaction would be. Definitely not art - but interesting as illustration. Besides I was having great fun doing something I'd always dreamed of doing.

I worked at the paintings and some pen and ink sketches off and on over the three years we spent in Coigach. The problem was that I never wanted to part with those pictures. I believe that even then, I was thinking just maybe, they could be used as book illustrations some day. Lucky thing - both because that's exactly what we've done so many years later - and because much of what I recorded then of the life in the village is now long gone. But the memories are still bright.

The heat is on (not)

2008-07-20T19:14:00.005-05:00

We got to Coigach and set up housekeeping in the autumn - a time of beauty and a time of impending cold. Heating in Castlehill was a whole new bag for us - accustomed as we were to central heating and thermostat control. There was no source of heat in the kitchen so we knew we would need to get a calor-gas heater. The nice thing about that was that heat was instantaneous as soon as it was turned on.

The other rooms had fireplaces as the sole source of heat. Some crofters in the village still cut peats for fuel but we burned a soft Polish coal (it was cheaper and more reliable to get the coal from Poland than to be subject to the strikes etc. that plagued the Scottish coal supply). It took a long time to warm the room, the walls being stone and 2 feet thick with no insulation. Warm sweaters (jumpers) were a must and Jack almost always wore a wool cap in the house. I usually sat on the hearth in the evening while we read or played music. Sometimes the best warmth came from a certain cat (large and solid and comfy) who lived next door but had adopted us early on.

In the bedroom we had a wee electric heater which we turned on about 1/2 hour before we went to bed - along with an electric underblanket to warm the bed and chase away the damp. When the electricity went out - an all too common occurance - we wore all our clothes to bed. And lay still to warm a spot to conserve heat.

The bathroom had neither heat nor electricity. The water heater had to be turned on in the kitchen for each use and had to be turned off again when no longer needed. If we ran the hot water at full bore it made the bathroom tolerable for long enough to wash - but there were no long soaking baths when the wind was up. Bathroom duties on winter mornings were accomplished at amazing speed.

Not what we were used to - but oddly enough we didn't mind!

On the beach

2008-07-17T08:38:00.007-05:00

There are two beaches of note in Coigach. One is at Achnahaird on the northern side of the peninsula, the other at Badentarbet on the south side. Achnahaird is a lovely half-moon of white sand curving around to cliffs on one side and a spattering of cottages on the other. Behind the sand is a great semi-circle machair - dunes and grass with little streams meandering down to join the sea. The mountains stand out in all their individuality viewed across the expanse of sea and sand. In the summer the sand is littered with tourists and caravans but for most of the year it is lovely and wild - most beautiful with a dusting of snow on the mountaintops. On the west side, above the beach, is the sheep fank - a series of stone enclosures with a little green in front of the pens where we spent many a sweaty but glorious day working with neighbors at the shearing.

Badentarbet beach stretches between the eastern end of Polbain and the western end of Achiltibuie. Here lie the remains of its fishing past - huge floats and anchors collect rust and form a picturesque centerpiece for artists and photographers. When we lived there, salmon nets stretched drying on the grass above the beach. At the Badentarbet pier "The Captain" ushered tourists aboard his lovely wooden fishing-cum-touring boat, Hectoria, heading for a day out among the islands to view seals and sea birds and the beauties of the rugged island shores. There would be a stop for a picnic on Tanera with time to clamber up through the heather to the high point of the island for a view of the Summer Isles stretched out below. Now it has changed as all things must -"The Captain" and the Hectoria are gone - and the salmon are grown in cages. But the islands still lie there in the changing light of clouds and sea and there is still a boat to get you out there.

Julia Child I'm not

2008-07-16T07:33:00.007-05:00

We began to meet our neighbors. Joy, who taught in the Achilitibuie school, and Ian, a retired Edinburgh solicitor, had the house just to our east. They had a lovely modern house called "Mullagrach" - named after the small island Ian owned just west of Isle Ristol. They also owned a beautiful, elegant labrador bitch named "Mac" who I thought was the most perfect example of her breed I'd ever seen. She had a sweet and elegant nature too.

Joy became my mentor in the art of bread baking (a necessity if one wanted anything but the wonder-bread type packaged white stuff). I had produced several examples of abstract sculpture using the "plain" flour I thought was closest to our "all purpose" flour in the States. Horrible! Joy invited me over for a bread making session in which she produced several fragrant, nutty loaves that smelled divine and looked a treat. And she used "strong" flour. So it was "strong" flour for bread and rolls, "plain" flour for "pudding" - "pudding" being anything dessertish like cake or pie - or sometimes actual pudding.

Speaking of pudding, I had tried to make my favorite custardy bread pudding in the usual way, baking it in a mold sitting in a shallow pan of water. In the States it took an hour or so to bake to a lovely crusty golden brown.
After 1 1/2 hours the current attempt was still liquid. Two hours. At 2 1/2 I began to worry. Wilf and Wendy were coming for supper and the "pudding" was still in drinkable state. When I asked Wendy what could possibly be wrong she went off into gales of laughter - thought the water bath technique was the daftest thing she'd ever heard. That was when I realized that the elements in my present oven were on the sides instead of on top and bottom as they are in American stoves. No wonder mothers here didn't bake cookies! After I took the poor pudding out of its bath it cooked up beautifully in no time.

Obviously I had a lot to learn.

Getting around

2008-07-14T16:09:00.013-05:00

Now's the time to add a map of the Coigach Peninsula - our little world. Polbain, our village, sits on the edge of a one-lane road that circles the peninsula, and branches off in several directions. One road leads to the village of Achiltibuie and then on to where a dear friend owns the very last house before the road ends. From there a tiny path, the old mail carrier track, leads off along the flank of Ben Mor Coigach and ultimately to Ullapool. One road goes off to dead-end at Reiff. And one road (the one going off the map at the upper right) branches in one direction to connect with the main motorway route to Ullapool - the other branch is the "Wee Mad Road", winding through spectacular scenery to Lochinver. All these roads are one lane with pull-outs every so often for passing.

Jack got to know these roads so well he could have driven them blindfolded. He loves to drive little twisty roads (we had belonged to a sports car club previously and had done quite well in rally competition). So when he got his hands on our little red Mini he was in hog heaven. The car became known affectionately as "Ho Chi Mini - the Red Terror".

Jack never had a problem driving on either side of the road - he can do mirror writing, and driving on what always seemed to me to be the wrong side of the road came easily to him. I am directionally challenged and never really got used to it - though I could happily drive on the one-laners because they didn't have a "side". But I was always nervous on the motorway or in town.

Whatever the roads - a car was a necessity, for distances were large and settlement sparse.

At home

2008-07-13T14:48:00.008-05:00

It seemed strange to us at first that we could leave our house in Minnesota without a backward glance. There was never a moment's regret - we never missed or even thought about it. We missed friends - we missed family - but not our house, even though we had loved it dearly while we lived there. We were learning that for us, home was any place we were together.

When I was packing to come to Scotland I slipped a few family photos, along with a favorite tiny Eskimo carving (from my gallery) and a little china gnome I'd gotten as a gift from my daughter, into our suitcases (the gnome had become a kitchen companion and talisman). When I set these few things up in Castlehill, all of a sudden it was home.

We found that it is possible to travel light through life - that it is those we love and friends we treasure that are the only truly important possessions.

Everything else is just stuff.

Elec-Centricity

2008-07-12T10:17:00.004-05:00

There is a chapter in our book called "Elec-Centricities" describing our misadventures with the impenetrable (literally) plethora of plugs and sockets and fuses etc. that comprised the electrical set-up in our cottage. The insanity of dealing with an unfamiliar system along with the unpredictable - often diabolical - habit the electricity had of disappearing altogether made life interesting.

The problem became all too evident a week after we moved in when the first real wind and rain blew in from the sea and we lost our electric connection for the first time. Of course it was at 5:00 p.m. - just in time for supper. Ok - now what? We called in our local expert (Wilf) who explained that there was no way to know when the power would come back on - so he came to the rescue as usual, and loaned us a lantern and a one-burner camp stove so that at least we could cook a simple meal and be able to see when it got dark. Luckily that night it came back on at 10:00 so that our little electric heater that chased the cold and damp from our bedroom could do its job before we went to bed. We would not always be so lucky - there were winter nights when we went to bed in all our clothes, heavy socks and wool hats and lay in one spot all night in order to preserve body heat.

But at that time we were relatively innocent and had not experienced the full virulence of true elec-centricity.

Castle Hill

2008-07-11T08:43:00.009-05:00

As we were finally getting the house in order we could get away once in a while and explore our surroundings. We climbed over the fence in our back yard and through the purple heather to the top of Castle Hill which rose right behind our house (thus the name of our cottage). Behind our hill was another higher one with a radio mast on it's summit. On top of our hill was a huge square rock that looked like a castle and provided a comfortable roost from which to view the glorious vista of sea and mountains. We could see the villages of Polbain and Achiltibuie and as far as Ullapool anchorage to the east. To the west were the islands of Lewis and Harris, with the tip of Skye to the south. In front lay the Summer Isles with Loch Broom and the distant Dundonell Mountains. When the wind was high the clouds raced over the landscape making it an ever-changing kaleidoscope. The wild geese were flying overhead, crying to each other - heading south from summer breeding grounds.

Lower down through the village was the path called The Peat Road which led up into the hills and provided beautiful views of the mountains. It led to an area where crofters had traditionally gone to cut peat for winter fires. There were still people in the village who cut, stacked and burned peat - but it was hard work and most had switched to coal to burn in fireplaces that were still the main source of heat in most homes - including Castlehill.

How could the heart not rejoice in such rich surroundings.

My kingdom for a cookie

2008-07-10T08:08:00.003-05:00

We had been settled in for a few weeks and it was time to get serious about food. I thought it would be nice to return some of the hospitality we'd been given since we arrived - so it would be nice to serve tea and cookies to guests. And what kind of cookies come immediately to mind to a midwestern American? Chocolate chip cookies of course! Every mother makes chocolate chip cookies - people in America when they're trying to sell a house will bake chocolate chip cookies just before prospective buyers come to look - just to make it smell like home.

I had already determined that the local shops didn't carry chocolate chips. So we went to the much larger store in Ullapool. No chocolate chips. We went over the mountains to Inverness - a fairly good sized city. Nope. No luck. What? How can one live without chocolate chip cookies? In fact, how do mothers survive without baking cookies at all - which is what I finally discovered was the case there. You could buy "biscuits" in packages in the stores - but that's not the same. They also had no unsweetened chocolate - milk and semi-sweet but no unsweetened. So my favorite recipe for devils food cake was impossible since there was no Crisco either (at that time an indispensible baking staple for me). I could see I'd have to ask for a care package to be sent from home.

I was crying the cookie deprivation blues.

Provender

2008-07-09T08:40:00.005-05:00

There was a fishman's van that came around the village every week selling everything from prawns to kippers. We bought kippers for our breakfast and Joan brought us prawns, which I had never cooked - in fact had never seen before. But I figured they'd be the same as shrimp so shouldn't be a problem.

Our new freezer was delivered and Wilf said he was going to order half a deer and would we like to do that too. It seemed really strange to be able to buy venison that way. In the states Jack would go hunting and we'd have venison that he'd shot and we'd butchered ourselves. Here the meat does not belong to the hunter, who has to pay for the priviledge of shooting a deer - so it can be butchered and sold. We ordered half a deer. We also ordered half a pig and half a lamb from the butcher in Lochinver - we figured that these, along with fish we'd caught, would do us for the winter.

I had little experience in cooking fish and seafood so I bought a fish cookbook at Inverkirkaig and found another book that looked really good and helpful - the first volume of Delia Smith's Cookery Course. Armed with these books I was now ready to produce fine cuisine - or so I thought.

Tea and tradition

2008-07-08T08:59:00.005-05:00

Murdo and Joan, the owners of Castlehill, had been some of the last people to leave Tanera when at the end there were not enough fisherman left on the island to man a boat. They lived in a small cottage close to the end of the village.

Even in the first few weeks we lived in Polbain we had started what became a tradition - going down every few days to have tea with Joan and Murdo and telling them all the happenings and mishaps of our days. Murdo had suffered a stroke several years before and hadn't the strength to get out and about any more, so he sat by the fire with his dog and I think it brightened his day to get news from outside. His mind was still sharp. He was well-read and listened to the news on the radio every day so he had opinions about everything. But what we most loved were the stories he wove about the old days living and working on Tanera and the early days in Polbain. Joan would bustle about supplying cups of tea and biscuits or sometimes a wee dram and it was lovely. They became like surrogate parents to us.

Tanera Mor

2008-07-07T08:28:00.006-05:00

The largest of the Summer Isles - the one lying right in front of our cottage - is named Tanera Mor (in Gaelic mor is large - beag is small - there is also a Tanera Beag). It is a beautiful island, one of the few with a source of fresh water. The island had been used as a harbor by norsemen in the 8th - 13th centuries and as a burial ground since medieval times. In the late 18th and during the 19th centuries there was a thriving herring fishery and packing industry on the island (the painting is a copy in sepia tones of a 1820 print by Daniell showing the pier and harbor). There were homes and a school as well as large numbers of boats coming and going from the pier unloading fish for processing. There was also an active but illicit whisky still operating there. When the herring schools moved away the fishery died out and in the early 1900's the last of the island families moved to the mainland.

In 1939 Fraser Darling bought Tanera Mor and attempted to make it a going farm - but in the end he had to admit defeat and sold the island. He recounts the story in his book "Island Farm" - a book that Wilf had in his library and we had read on our first trip to Coigach. Now the island boasts a post office where they print their own stamps, a salmon farm and a few houses for the few permanent residents and some rental chalets for tourists. Most of the other houses and buildings from earlier years have crumbled to dust - but the old pier still stands as a reminder of former glory (see photo).

The island now is a tourist destination and last year a group of artists held a two week workshop there. Even some luxury cruise ships land in the fine harbor for people to come ashore for a few hours to buy stamps and do some walking around the island. For us it was part of the beautiful and familiar view from our front garden. Lucky us.

The first weeks

2008-07-05T09:06:00.007-05:00

That week we met Donnie Post - a ruggedly handsome man who delivered the village mail in a bright red van and brought us news of the outside world. We had a coal delivery - soft Polish coal delivered into our little shed next to the kitchen at the side of the house. I grew to love that shed. It was sheltered by a lovely rowen tree and formed a handy platform for feeding birds. I loved the robins - very different from American robins. They are tiny, round, and have a very sweet song. The other common visitor is the chaffinch - not a bird we have at home either, but very pretty.

We had a washing machine of sorts in the kitchen with a spin dryer. It was the same machine my mother had when I was a teenager - we thought it was pretty fancy at the time. Unfortunately when we got there we found that the machine didn't work so we had to wash our clothes by hand. The iron did work though so that was good.

In between the work of getting our lives in order (?) we took some time to revel in the beauty of our surroundings - walking on the hills and exploring the beautiful beach at Achnahaird. Or just standing in our front garden looking over the sea, islands and mountains. (Enlarge the photo for the view from our front steps). To the west we could see the outlines of the Outer Hebrides - Lewis and Harris. To the south we could just make out the northern tip of Skye, and across Loch Broom were the snow-capped Dundonnels with the high peak of An Teallach looming over all. There were croft fields across the road running down to the sea where the Summer Isles lay in constantly changing light. We couldn't believe we were actually here to live with this beauty every day.

Settling in

2008-07-03T07:43:00.008-05:00

Those first weeks were taken up with unpacking and settling into the house. We scrubbed mildew off the walls and ceilings, cleaned and polished and dusted until it felt just right. We chose which of the three bedrooms upstairs was to be ours, which we'd use as a guest room and I chose one in the front looking over the sea and mountains for my studio. All the beds were too short for Jack but we switched mattresses until we found one that was at least marginal. Jack got materials from Wilf to make a desk for his typewriter in one of the front parlors - now his office.

We were terribly lucky because the weather all that time was sunny and warm and beautiful. We took some time off from our labors and walked in the hills and went fishing with Wilf in his boat Annabelle. Sometimes porpoises would come and play around the boat, riding the bow wave - I was thrilled. We caught mackerel (it was impossible NOT to catch mackerel) which we ate fresh from the sea with mustard sauce, whiting ("will you walk a little faster said the whiting to the snail..."), and crab which were delicious hot from the shell or in a salad. Jack started helping the neighbors work sheep - a process fraught with greenhorn mishaps (see our book for details).

Wilf and Wendy Bell were our mentors and helped us in every way to settle in and feel at home. Bless them.

Shopping is us

2008-07-01T09:04:00.006-05:00

So now we were heading toward our new life adventure - and as usual, our eyes teared up as we crossed the border into Scotland. I don't know why - it just affects us that way. I won't describe our homecoming - that's in our book - but it was wonderful to be back and know that we wouldn't have to leave again for a long time.

The myriad projects for setting up a new household in an old stone cottage kept us busy for the first few weeks. We went over the mountains to Ullapool and set up a bank account at the Royal Bank of Scotland. We drove up the Wee Mad Road to Lochinver to find wellies (high rubber boots) - a truly necessary item, to be kept by the door and stepped into every time we left the house. It wasn't easy finding boots to fit Jack's size 13 feet - but we went to the fisherman's store (Lochinver is a fishing port) and found just the right pairs. We drove our rented car across to the east coast and bought a used red Mini in Dingwall so we'd have transportation - a necessity since all real sources of provisions were over the hills and far away. We also stocked up on the best haggis in Scotland (a prize awarded every year) at the butcher shop in Dingwall.

We went grocery shopping in Inverness - the only super market available within a two hour drive. Here I learned that the old adage that says that Britain & America are two countries separated by a common language, is indeed true. I asked for eggplant and zucchini - and got only blank stares and regrets that they didn't carry anything like that and didn't even know what they were. (I found out later they are aubergines and marrows in Scotland - and they were available there.) The choices of sugars and flours were truly staggering and all I could do was guess, since none of them were familiar. There were items you couldn't get at all at that time - baking chocolate (unsweetened was unheard of), chocolate chips (no one baked cookies - any kind of cookies), pumpkin, corn, cranberries, popcorn, pickles as we know them (pickle there was closer to a chutney - a dark brown mix of veg and fruit & vinigar), real smoked ham, edible sausages, and any kind of good packaged bread (I would have to bake my own). Cooking was going to be a challenge for a while.

There was no freezer space in the two small refrigerators in our kitchen so we also bought a small freezer in Inverness. It could be delivered in a few weeks. So far, so good!

An Edinburgh interlude

2008-06-30T08:50:00.002-05:00

The next morning dawned warm and sunny and after a lovely breakfast delivered to our room on delicate blue and white china plates, we headed north again to Edinburgh. Luckily our favorite B&B had a room for us and we spent the next few days shopping and sight seeing. We bought a book of Robbie Burns songs and ballads, old volumes of poetry by Scott, a book on birds of Britain, water colors for me, music books, and typing paper for Jack.

We visited the National Gallery to see an exhibit of prints by Daumier, and spent time listening to some buskers in the park. It was great people watching. A little old lady danced by in her purple hat, a fastidious gentleman took out his handkerchief and smoothed it daintily on the step before sitting down to listen, people fed birds or just stood around enjoying the beautiful day and the music.

After saying good-bye to our hosts, who had by this time become friends, we packed up and took the final road to the north and home.

Where we go to D'isney land

2008-06-29T07:19:00.003-05:00

Leaving London - strung out, jet lagged, hungry - heading north and trying to stay awake. We had a hard time finding a hotel we liked and by the time we got to Lincoln, Jack was a basket case. We decided to take the next hotel or B&B we passed no matter what - and landed in the D'Isney Place. It was a charmer and when we got to our room there was tea and a basket of fruit, scented oils for the bath and warm, fluffy terrycloth robes for after. It was heaven.

After a short nap we walked around the town. The hotel is only a block from the minster and the cathedral is lovely, as is the rest of the town. We walked through ancient streets - steep, winding ways - each turning a delight to the eye. We liked it there better than York - quieter and much less commercial. We had supper in a little pub - then back for a last cup of tea and to bed. Ahhh....

Will they let us in?

2008-06-28T09:09:00.004-05:00

So there we were in Gatwick Airport at 7:00 a.m. asking for 12 month visas. We had been assured by the consulate in Chicago that we could just get them at the airport no problem. Seems that there was nobody for the passport people to ask about what obviously wasn't a common request, until the customs staff came in at 9:00. So they locked us up in a room with a whole lot of West Africans, none of whom spoke English.

Sometime after 9:00 we were released into the custody of an immigration officer who obviously was trying to prove we should be sent back to the States - a very rude and officious woman. Luckily we could prove that we had the funds to keep us for at least a year without having to take jobs from deserving Brits. She finally, after about an hour's hassle, gave us our visas and sent us on our way stressed out and exhausted. Later we found that we would have to register with the local police and fill out a form every year in order to renew the visa. As it turned out, once we were in, they just renewed it every year with no hassle at all.

Finally we got ourselves and all our luggage stuffed into a Ford Escort and started off to drive through the middle of London on what seemed to us the wrong side of the road. We had planned to stop in the city to visit an old friend but stressed, tired and hungry as we were by that time, survival seemed a bigger priority and we were glad enough to actually get through the city without having an accident or getting too lost. We were happy to find that magical highway sign that says "To The North" and really be on the road home.

Up, up and away

2008-06-27T14:16:00.006-05:00

Back from Colorado and now the countdown to departure began in earnest. We decided not to ship anything ahead. If we couldn't take it on the plane we wouldn't take it. I wanted to take my guitar - I figured I'd have long evenings by the fireside to practice. I had a set of stainless mixing bowls and measuring spoons that I couldn't live without, and several pots that filled a gap in the furnished kitchen equipment list. Clothes of course and medicines, cosmetics etc. that I figured I may not be able to find there. And Jack's folding fly rod that he'd gotten as a going away gift. And that's about it.

We had a wooden crate in which I packed my guitar, and arranged the kitchen stuff around it. I filled in the spaces and cushioned everything with wash cloths, towels and dishtowels and may even have gotten some clothes and shoes in there. We had 8 pieces of luggage in all - 2 duffle bags, 2 suitcases, a backpack, a suitbag, Jack's typewriter and the crate.

We managed to sell the car two days before we left - cut that too close for comfort.

It was hardest to say good-bye to the girls and my parents. My father all of a sudden had come up with some health problems and I knew we wouldn't be together again for a long time. We had a friend drive us to the airport and just leave us at the door - no long farewells. A very nice porter took our stuff and we were only charged for one extra piece of luggage - no weight overage charges. He got a good tip. And then we were on the plane and headed off - next stop Gatwick Airport and London.

Countdown to departure - phase II

2008-06-26T07:42:00.006-05:00

A trip to Tut's Tomb provided the gear we needed to go off to Colorado camping for the next month or so. Jack took his fly fishing equipment just in case he should want to tempt a wily trout. We started out and in South Dakota ran into what I'm convinced was a tornado. Luckily we were able to shelter under a concrete overpass - but even then the wind, coming from all directions in turn, threatened to capsize us.

It had come out of nowhere and was over in minutes leaving a bright blue sky. We emerged from our shelter and saw cars and trucks that had been tossed about and overturned. The scariest was a camper that had passed us shortly before with a little girl in the back who had waved at us as they passed. The camper was lying on its side and burning - I was shaking and horrified. We stopped for the night in a motel because both of us were too shaken to continue. We talked about fate - how one can get up in the morning, looking forward to the day, and suddenly be picked up and smashed by forces completely beyond one's control. It made us even more convinced that a person should do what he can in life while health and opportunity still exist.

The rest of the trip went beautifully - we drove through the high mountains, camped in meadows, ate trout for breakfast, walked through aspen woods, visited with friends and family, heard elk trumpeting in the high valleys, and best of all, spent four days in Mesa Verde. We had only expected to spend a day or so - but the mysticism of the place captured us completely and we clambered around through the cliff villages and gazed off accross the Mesa to the Four Corners and Ship Rock.

It was a lovely way to spend the time of waiting before returning to our friend's hospitality and the final preparation for departure to Scotland.

Countdown to departure - phase I

2008-06-25T08:13:00.005-05:00

We arrived hot and sweaty at our friends home, carrying what we figured we'd need for the next few weeks. They gave us a lovely welcome and a delicious dinner and let us settle into their basement apartment. We discovered that it was a walk-out and right outside the door was a patio and pool. Not too shabby!

We spent the next few weeks finishing up some work - and having friends over for pool picnics and impromptu musical interludes. In the evenings we'd have dinner with friends - spending as much time as possible with them before we left. After a few weeks recovering from our move, and visiting with my parents at their lake home for a while, we packed up and moved our stuff over to another friend's place to prepare for the next phase.

Good-bye to our house

2008-06-24T14:22:00.007-05:00

This was our house when we decided to move. Now the flowers and birds (including a pair of mallards) were gracing the yard and it was hard to think of leaving it all.

We packed like crazy for a month & moved most of the stuff we wanted to save to our storage room (now affectionately known as Tut's Tomb). Then we ran a 3 day garage sale. We'd been pretty ruthless in choosing what to sell. It was especially nice to see so many books go to new owners - fun to see people get really excited to have found what was to them a prize. What stuff we didn't sell we gave or threw away.

Then there were the cats. It was hard to say good-bye to them. We did shed some tears - but I knew they were going to a good home.

Finally we had the house closing and got the place clean and ready for the new owners. On a stormy, rainy, hot day we closed the door for the last time and drove away.

It seemed strange. I had expected to feel emotional about leaving a house where we had been happy and raised our kids. We'd even done the remodeling in the last year that had made the house just exactly the way I wanted it. But somehow I never looked back. My bags were packed and I was ready to go. It was exciting - a whole new chapter was there to be written - and I was anxious to see what would happen.

The last hurrah

2008-06-23T08:06:00.022-05:00

A whirlwind series of farewell parties, dinners and visits ensued. We decided we needed to throw a good-bye bash so we found a couple pipers and sent out invites.

Our backyard had been the site of many a viciously contested croquet game. Oft times we had played a game on into the night with headlamps - once we played right through a tornado warning only stopping when the ground became too wet to play. And we wanted to end the tradition with a bang.

The reason for the killer course was the hill that you see here in the middle of the yard. One of the goal posts was on the lower level, the other was at the top of the hill. There were two wickets in the middle of the hill - you had to go through one going up, the other coming down.

Our last game was hard-fought - people burying opponents balls so they'd dissappeared completely, balls being sent through the fence and out down the driveway to be lost in traffic, players standing through the whole game in the same spot because they couldn't get their ball through the up-hill wicket.

Meanwhile we ate and drank and Ann Marie danced the highland fling over crossed croquet mallets. A friend going back for his third piece of cake said "This is such a great gathering aren't you going to miss this?"

Yes.

The future will have to wait

2008-06-21T16:18:00.003-05:00

About a month before we left we got a call from a cemetery lot salesman. We figured we maybe should start thinking about that being that we were in our 40's. We were curious so we told him to come along and give us his information - which he did. He showed up wearing a dark suit and white plastic belt and shoes. Hmm. He spoke in very lugubrious tones, telling us all about the beautiful plots we could get, the great monuments we could erect - and on and on. We finally said we'd think about it.

After that he kept calling and finally we said he could come and give us a final pitch. I must say he tried hard - but it was hard to keep from laughing. In the end we said thanks but no thanks and sent him on his way. By that time he was very morose and grumpy - and his final shot as he went out the door was "and I don't like your cat either!"

Anyone want a cat? Take two!

2008-06-20T12:19:00.004-05:00

The next trick was to find a home for our 2 cats.

They would have to go together - they were too bonded to separate now, both of them being 6 or 7 years old. Unfortunately one was a very eccentric siamese who was a wonderful, loving family pet - but her way of winning friends and influencing people was definitely not appreciated by - well - anyone actually. She was a beautiful, sleek animal with big innocent blue eyes that could look into your soul. Her favorite trick was coming up to new people (before we could warn or intervene) and, getting up in their laps, gazing lovingly into their eyes, and as soon as they would raise a hand to pet her, she would hiss menacingly in their faces. This was not endearing. Several friends offered to get rid of her for us but I don't think their motives were innocent. Finally one of our dear (and as it turned out - long suffering) friends offered to take them - bless him forever. As it happened both cats lived into their 20's and were very happy and much loved.

Practicalities & possibilities

2008-06-19T08:52:00.002-05:00

So now to find a place to store the "stuff" we were keeping. Happily we found a large warehouse where we could rent a secure, dry 6x10 room for an indefinite period at very reasonable cost. We let our kids choose whatever they wanted to keep. We would hold a garage sale a week before we moved and whatever didn't sell would go to the Goodwill.

At that time we had considered the possibility of leaving Minnesota and starting again in a new place when we returned from whatever the future would bring. We both loved the sea and the Northwest Coast so that was a tempting prospect. Our plans were fluid and depending on our experiences in Scotland we would stay there for a year or two or, if we didn't like it as much as we expected to, we could live somewhere else in Europe for a while. The future was rife with possibilities. All of a sudden the world was open to us - all we needed was money. Ha!

Meanwhile we would have to sell our car - but we didn't want to sell it until just before we left since we wanted to travel a bit and needed it until then. We kept a bank account in Minneapolis for whatever income and expenses we'd have while we were gone. I had talked to the bank in Ullapool and there was no problem with opening an account there and we could deposit US dollars there with no problem. We could have a checking account and credit card from the Royal Bank so we were set there.

We found that we wouldn't need health insurance while in the UK because health care there is free even for non-citizens. We did keep a small catestrophic policy in force for US purposes. We were making progress!

The "stuff" must go

2008-06-16T09:15:00.016-05:00

Back home again to start another round of planning for our departure. It was the end of May and we'd sold our house! Jack still had script work to finish and at the gallery we had just mounted our second show of museum grade New Guinea art. I was doing research and writing the information sheets we always provided at our gallery at each showing. (This was a drawing I'd done in my journal of a mask in the exhibit). We couldn't leave the States until September and the people who bought our house needed to move in on July 1st. What to do in the two months we'd be homeless?

The two real estate agents came up with a brilliant solution that would allow us to hold a mortgage on the house - giving us income while we were gone and a balloon payment in 3 years. Our agent and friend offered to let us stay in the mother-in-law apartment he had in his house for the month of July. We thought we could get away and go camping for some weeks in August -then stay with friends or family until we had to leave.

Meanwhile we had a month to pack up or sell 20 years of accumulated"stuff".

The law of the "conservation of stuff" says that at some point we all must get rid of "stuff", which then is purchased by others who then must get rid of some of their "stuff", ensuring that when we returned there would still be plenty of "stuff" that we could start accumulating all over again. But meanwhile, whatever "stuff" we wanted to keep would have to go into storage for a few years so space was limited. Since we would have to pay for everything we stored, we got pretty ruthless about what we would get rid of. I started making lists - what we would keep (those things that were particularly precious and hard to replace) - what we would take with us (very little) - and what we would get rid of in one way or another (most of what now filled our house). Hard decisions - but liberating in a way!

Leaving London

2008-06-15T21:03:00.007-05:00

Back in London we got tickets to the play "Overheard" by Peter Ustinov, starring Ian Carmichael and Deborah Kerr. It was a delightful bit of fluff, and we enjoyed the theater itself almost as much. It was at the Royal Theater in Haymarket, built in 1821 - steep and elegant - full of mirrors, chandeliers, carved wood, brocade and gilt royal boxes - as a London theater ought to be.

The next day we went to Windsor Castle and caught Princess Margaret and her son and Princess Di coming out of St. George Chapel. After touring the castle apartments we stopped for a Devon tea - then back to London where we celebrated our last evening at a wonderful Hungarian resturant - complete with fantastic Gypsy violinists. The place was full of Hungarians singing along with the music. There was an older woman at the next table singing - a bit tearful and showing pictures of her old life in Hungary. The waiters were darling & we stayed until midnight. A suitable end to a delightful and successful trip.

We pause in York

2008-06-14T19:17:00.003-05:00

On the train from Edinburgh to York I sat with an 85 yr. old charmer named Mrs. Bishop from Berwick on Tweed. She was the epitome of the gentlewoman of spirit - full of stories of gardens and travels and eccentricities of the gentry and how she started doing watercolors at the age of 75. I'd love to have spent much more time with her.

In York we stayed at the Priory Hotel (1870), from which we could walk up the River Ouse to the castle and its wonderful museums. We explored the Shambles and crawled all over the York Minster - Roman ruins in the crypt were particularly interesting. We had tea in the courtyard of 15th century St. Williams College, then on again to London.

On the train we were regaled by the head of the British Engineering Dept. who owns an estate with one of England's finest trout streams running through his back garden. He tried hard to impress us wih his travels, high ranking job etc - we found it quite amusing.

Our London Hotel seemed very drab after the lovely places we'd been.

Where we pose as bell-ringers!

2008-06-14T11:18:00.008-05:00

Wilf and Wendy went all out to show us a good time. We took the Wee Mad Road up to Lochinver (if you go to our website and wait for the video to load, you can drive it too!). We went down the coast to Inverewe Gardens, one of the most beautiful gardens in the UK. It was built by Osgood Mackensie in the 1800's and contains trees, plants and flowers from all over the world.

Again, I hated to leave, but it was good to know I'd be back to stay for a long while. Nancy and I then took the train to Edinburgh and stayed at the Halcyon Hotel at the foot of Observatory Hill. During our 3 days there we toured the castle, ate lunch at the Deacon Brodie Tavern, went through Lady Stair's house, had tea at Clarinda's, went down the Royal Mile to Holyrood, toured the Georgian House on Charlotte Square and walked to Leith Water (charming and picturesque neat old house by the bridge). Every night we ate at the Doric Tavern which had great food for very reasonable prices.

We had tea in the formal rooms at the Roxburgh Hotel, visited Greyfriars Bobby, wandered around St. Mary's Cathedral and shopped in old book stores. While walking down Princes' Street to the gardens, we heard bells ringing changes, and since we had both just read "The Twelve Tailors" we decided to investigate. We found St. Cuthberts Church and noticed a button on the bell tower wall with a notice that said "If you are interested in ringing, press button". So we did. A window opened in the tower above us and someone leaned out and threw us a key. Interesting. We found that the key opened the door to the bell chamber so we climbed up into the tower where a group of ringers were practising changes for the Sunday service. We realized after we got up there that the sign was for trained ringers - which we were definitely not. But the people were lovely and let us sit and watch while they finished their practise and we had a wonderful time. The moral is - grab the chance when you can - it may never come again!

I find our new home

2008-06-12T09:41:00.005-05:00

The day after we arrived in Polbain, Wilf and Wendy took us to see the four houses that were possible rentals for us. Three of them didn't feel like home - but the last one we went to welcomed me like it was fated to be mine. Castlehill was an old crofting cottage - white, slate-roofed with a red gate framed by rowan trees (rumored to ward off witches). It took its name from the round hill rising right behind it. W&W's sheep were grazing in the yard - mowing the lawn.

The house was full of comfy furniture (except for the beds which were much shorter than Jack) and had a fully furnished kitchen. The only heat was from the fireplaces (coal or peat) so we'd have to get a calor gas heater for the kitchen. There was a small stove and two tiny refrigerators - no freezer space - so I knew that would be a problem. I made a list of favorite kitchen gadgets that I used all the time at home but were missing here. I would be sure to bring those with me.

The house belonged to Murdo and Joan - an older (70's) brother and sister, both unmarried who now shared a cottage down the road a piece. I loved them both the first time I met them and the price they wanted to rent Castlehill was well within our budget. I agreed to the terms without hesitation. I had found our home.

Coming to my Beloved Country

2008-06-11T09:18:00.016-05:00

The train trip from London to Inverness was comfortable but we got little sleep. It was a milk-train that stopped at every station along the way, waking us up at every stop. (Yawn). Our friends Wilf and Wendy picked us up at the Inverness station and drove us across the rather desolate Dirrie Mor and down through the lovely glen leading to Ullapool. You come down through trees and masses of blooming rhododendrons to the sea, where the white houses and shops of the town line the quey and trawlers ride at anchor along the shore. It is a beautiful sight.

Then over the mountains on a one-lane winding road to Coigach and the tiny village of Polbain (about 30 full-time residents). We stayed with Wilf and Wendy in their sea-side Seaview Cottage. Here we were introduced to their 6 pet sheep, and fed over the course of our stay on lamb, haggis, fish, and home-made wine.

Polbain's white-washed houses are strung out mostly along the upper (northern) side of a single-track road that circles the Coigach peninsula, on the far northwest coast of Scotland. The country is wild and open - mostly heather and gorse with very few trees except around the houses and gardens. On the south side of the road croft fields sweep down to the sea where the Summer Isles lie just off shore. Across the sea loch are the snow-capped Dundonnel mountains, and to the west across the sea you can make out the blue outline of the outer Hebrides.
The mountains behind the village are like the mountains of the moon - each standing seperately with it's own particular shape and personality. Stac Polly crouches like a lion, its top a spiky, rocky mane. Suillven is a sugar loaf. The Coigach mountains offer some of the best hill walking in Britain. This is not the soft green beauty of the Borders country or the pastural beauty of the Black Isle on the east coast of Scotland. It is wild, Heathcliff-on-the- moor-type beauty that fills my heart with joy.

On the road again

2008-06-08T19:24:00.004-05:00

So - Nancy and I flew to London and spent 2 days kicking around looking at the usual sights. There are some special things I've discovered over the years - one is evensong at St. Paul's every day at sunset. The boy's choir is wonderful - and if you sit in the front row in front of the altar, just before the service the deacon will come down and ask if you'd like to sit up in the choir stalls. It's a delightful experience.

One can take a boat from Westminster pier to the Tower of London or to Grenich and it's much more fun than the bus or underground. It was fun to come into the Tower by the water-gate - shades of QE1.

We went to Selfridges and they happened to have a large number of the life-size terra-cotta Chinese army tomb figures - both mounted and foot soldiers. They were amazing. After spending time in the British Museum we took an over-night sleeper to Inverness.

Another diversion

2008-06-07T12:41:00.005-05:00

"Diversion" is what they use in the UK instead of "detour". When driving in Scotland, we often sat in our car waiting in a line for a flagman to signal us through, wondering what the diversion would be - dancing girls would be nice.

Anyway. When we were younger Jack and I did a lot of backpacking and wilderness canoeing - loving the wild places, campfires and solitude. As we got older it got too hard to sleep on the ground and deal with wet gear etc. so we were sadly watching our camping days recede into the past. Then we found the egg. A little fiberglass camper made by U-Haul in the 1980's and only 13 feet long including hitch. We could tow it behind our van - didn't need a SUV or truck. And it has everything but a bathroom - heater, stove, closet, storage, dining table and a wonderfully cozy, comfy bed. It's airy - but eliminates wet gear and is always ready to go. We can park it in tent sites (it has a solar panel so we always have electricity).

That's what we take to the Black Hills.

Detour

2008-06-04T11:47:00.019-05:00

Again I digress - we've spent the last week camping in the Black Hills at our favorite US Forest campground at Bismark Lake. We visited all our favorite sites - but our favorite thing is to drive the Wildlife Loop in the late evening. This year was the very best for meeting the natives!

Spring must be the time for turkeys - it's the only time we've met them in the Black Hills. They were all over the place. Love in mind I think!

Mother love was also in evidence - hundreds of buffalo dotted the hills as they must have done in the distant past. The new calves romped and fed (at one point in the middle of the road stopping traffic for quite a while).

Antelope - very at home on the range - played everywhere. But this one just wanted to eat the pretty blue flowers. We saw a road sign once that said "Caution - antelope entering roadway at 55 mph." And they sure can move when they want to!

"Danger! Stranger!"
Sentinals raised the alarm while the babies rolled and wrestled and generally had a great time.

"I've always wanted a screened-in porch!"

What?

"Got Lunch?"

Ex-natives - mammoths, camels, lions & bears, Oh my!

"It gets mighty dry out here on the prairie!"

2008-06-04T11:46:00.001-05:00

What next?

2008-05-22T07:27:00.005-05:00

I haven't written anything here for a while - been preparing for and giving a very successful author's event at Garrison Kiellor's book store and two very fun and successful days at the Shepherd's Harvest in Lake Elmo. That is a great event for anyone interested in the fiber arts and the animals (sheep, lamas, rabbits etc.) that provide fiber for the beautiful yarns and crafts on display. My daughter went nuts and bought a carder - which allowed her to produce the yarn that brought the best price in the charity spinning event.

But back to our story. So I'm spending sleepless nights wondering what to do next. By summer we will be homeless - so we thought we'd better get someplace to lay our heads come fall. We wrote to our friends Wilf and Wendy in Coigach and they said they could think of a few places that might have a house available for a long let. Oh goody.

Jack had a film script he was working on and couldn't get away, so I found a friend who could go to Scotland with me to look for a house. We would fly to London, then take the train to York and on to Inverness. Wilf and Wendy would pick us up in Inverness and drive us over the mountains to Polbain (our small village in Coigach). Nancy had never been to Europe and was enthusiastic about our trip! I was both excited and apprehensive. Would any of the available houses make a good home for us?

Breaking the news

2008-05-08T11:41:00.005-05:00

We contacted a friend of ours who was now a real estate agent and told him to put the house on the market on April 1st. In the meantime we had to break the news to my employers (also dear friends) and our respective families. Jack's mother was delighted. "It's about time," she said. She'd had dreams like that herself. Had she disapproved, we wouldn't have changed our minds but we would have worried a lot more about the wisdom of what we were doing.

My parents looked at us as if we were crazy. They knew we'd done mad things in the past, but this was beyond the pale. They were products of the depression years and safety and security were important above all - and spending the equity in our house seemed like the ultimate folly. Our girls had some trepidation about being out there on their own, but they did their best to hide it and never were anything but supportive. In the end our whole family menage came through and did everything they could to help us make our dream a reality. I bless them all.

Our friends were excited, some envious, some completely flumoxed - what can we be thinking of? We knew we'd be missing each other - but at least it wasn't going to be a permanent move. We'd be back - and then - who could tell?

Eat the Dessert First

2008-04-28T11:32:00.003-05:00

When I was young, I had two uncles on my mothers side who had planned to take their big trip to Europe with their wives as soon as they retired. One of each couple died by the time they were 50. I vowed then that I wouldn't make the same mistake - I would eat the dessert first, and if I never got to the lima beans - well, so be it!

Jack and I had gone straight from school to parenthood, and we promised each other at that time that when the time came we would go and do something special, just the two of us. This was the time.

But how to finance our adventure? The only real asset we had was our house. We figured we had enough equity to allow us at least a year of freedom. We considered renting it out while we were gone, but we didn't really want to get into the landlord business. Besides, a rental agreement could also limit our ability to allow for serendipity - to stay, move, or come back earlier or later than we'd planned. So the first thing to do was to put the house up for sale.

Quick before we change our minds

2008-04-26T18:47:00.005-05:00

That decision changed our lives. We began to make plans right away before we came to our senses.

To skip ahead many years - Jack and I have just published a book describing two of the years we lived in the highlands, telling of the people we met and loved and the place that was magic to us (see my home page.) I won't repeat those stories here - only to say that we caught the changing of not only a generation, but an ancient way of life.

But back to our story. We had lived and raised our children in our cozy suburban house in the Twin Cities for the prior 12 years. I had lived my whole life in Minneapolis and this move would mean leaving family and lifelong friends for an unknown period of time. It would mean leaving both my job and Jack's customers and we would not be able to work in Scotland (if they think you have to work they won't let you in.) So what would we live on and how would we pass our time once we were there? How would we be accepted by the local people?

We knew we would be living in a tiny village on the sea - far away from the nearest real town. (We knew this because we had found the spot while on a vacation trip several years before.) Jack and I are both city people and knew that living in a small isolated community where everyone knew everyone else would be a completely new experience. But - tally-ho - nothing ventured and all that!

So here the road begins

2008-04-22T14:57:00.004-05:00

I was 43 years old - happily past the midlife crisis - but with 20+ years to go before retirement. The filling in the sandwich generation. My parents were old but not yet at the point of needing active assistance, and my girls had left home to seek their own path. I had post-partum depression. My resume had dropped the "mother" part. (Or so I naively thought at the time.)

I was working then at a wonderful gallery specializing in tribal arts, doing everything from research and advertising art to bookkeeping. It was my dream job. I got to work with delightful people and beautiful images, and boredom was never an issue. What more could one ask? Well - my husband, Jack, was a free-lance writer so health care and pension was an issue. I loved the work but could not really see myself doing it for another 20 years. So what to do? What if there was a better way of life out there and we would never know? Why not try something completely different?

Jack and I sat by the fire one night listening to the radio and dreaming of possibilities. I don't know what program we were listening to but someone was reading a poem to celebrate Valentines Day - Marlow's "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love"
"Come live with me and be my love
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills and fields
Woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks......."

Why not move to Scotland and live in a little cottage by the sea? Right! I started keeping a journal. And so it began.