Author: Lesley

The weather has turned and we’re getting blustery, wet days this week. The skies are grey and the clouds scud past quickly in the brisk winds. The rain comes down in short, sharp downfalls every few minutes.

The cats poke their noses tentatively out of the open door and reverse back into the room, preferring to stay warm and dry.

I’ve been cooking a lot in this weather. Yesterday I roasted a red kuri squash with garlic, paprika and smoked salt. It was the taste of autumn.

I’ve been baking pear frangipane tarts to celebrate a bag full of pears kindly given to us by a neighbouring crofter from his orchard.

This is definitely the weather for pies.

Golden-crusted, flaky pastry topped pies filled with the mouth watering savouriness of beef, onions and gravy.

Pork and apple pies with fresh sage and the sharp sweetness of bramleys.

Chicken pies filled with chicken and vegetables and a creamy, mustard- scented sauce.

Roasted butternut squash pies filled with caramelised red onions, garlic and spinach.

I could go on but I’m making myself hungry now. Suffice to say I shall be baking pies this week.

It’s been a rainy Sunday. The cats have joined us today having a day of rest and have largely been slumped over chairs or cushions, comatose. It’s all peaceful now but it doesn’t bode well for a quiet night!

We lit the Woodburner this morning to give the house a bit of cheer on such a dreich day. I love the faint smell of woodsmoke in the air on these early burnings. It heralds the start of autumn proper.

I’ve also been baking again. I said that I’d take a cake round to a neighbour to celebrate her birthday today, so I made a slightly slumped lemon verbena cake with lemon cream cheese icing.

I only noticed its slope after I’d assembled the layers…too late unfortunately to take it apart.

It reminded me of the cakes I used to make in the caravan that always came out of the mini oven with a distinctive lean to the left…and a few years of this have shown me how to mask the slope in photographs, so here it doesn’t look too bad, but in the flesh it does look worse.

We also got our first bit of artwork up on the wall this week, a fact worth celebrating.

It was a canvas in the downstairs bathroom, not the room I’d envisioned starting with, but needs must when there’s a desperate need for colour in an otherwise sombre room.

Hoping that you’re all having a peaceful and restful day, wherever you are.

I’ve been buying bath fripperies in preparation for the big bath unveiling that will happen this week.

We’re making good progress now, and the toilet and washbasin are plumbed in alongside the bath. We need another evening to make sure that the sealant has set fully, apparently, then we’ll be all go for bath testing tomorrow!

In preparation I’ve bought some of my old favourites, aromatherapy bath products from Neals Yard. A few of their signature blue glass containers have already arrived and are lined up waiting patiently.

I used to buy from their Covent Garden store when I lived in London and I still have a great nostalgia for their blue bottles and strong herbal scents. There are many new young pretenders on the bath scene now, but as far as I’m concerned nothing matches Neals Yard Remedies. Organic, all-natural products, good ethics as a company, and they smell fantastic.

Having waited so long for this first bath in our new home I’m determined to enjoy it. Seaweed and arnica, lavender, citrus and geranium.

Isn’t it strange that when I was growing up, bath salts were considered very old fashioned and something that only your grandmother would use! We young pretty things favoured bath foams and exotic bath concoctions filled with unpronounceable ingredients that have now been discovered to be extremely undesirable.

And yet bath salts are still around – repackaged and re-marketed with new essential oil blends and fragrances to seem new and organic and funky. But essentially the same as they’ve always been. I bought some Neals Yard lavender bath salts for the sheer nostalgia of the smell, and I’m happy to report that I don’t feel at all ancient.

Or at least no more than normal.

Over a year ago we bought a bath. In fact, we’d been planning for this bath since designing the house in 2019 – it’s been over four years!

https://stonecroftskye.com/2019/07/18/the-bath-chronicles/

It’s been sitting rather sadly in a tarpaulin-covered crate by the side of the house since purchase a year ago weathering the storms, waiting for it’s moment.

I had deliberately parked all dreams of long, luxurious soaks with aromatherapy oils because it would only have led to frustration. Especially after days of digging or bending when both of us ached and nothing would have been better than a long, hot soak.

I had no idea of when it would be installed. I put my wish list of bath mats, soap dishes and other such fripperies to one side and focused on other, more important things.

At last the moment of realising the dream arrived this week. Husband has been working on the downstairs bathroom and announced it was time to move it into place.

The bath is a modern slipper bath made of composite stone resin weighing 120kg. We knew we’d need extra hands to move it.

Luckily a strong friend was available and between the two of them they managed to wheel the bath around the front of the house on a trolley, lift it into the house and manoeuvre it into place.

And here she sits, still with some plumbing bits to finalise but resplendent in her plain silky matt loveliness awaiting the completion of the rest of the bathroom.

We could have gone with metallic copper, vibrant colours or embellishments, but I just wanted a plain white bath in the hope that it would stand the test of time. It had to be solid, hence the stone resin construction. The dimensions had to be right to fit the small space we had but still accommodate us both comfortably. I wanted a rounded rim for comfort getting in and out rather than the sharper edges of the very contemporary designs.

A slipper bath may not be everyone’s choice, but it fits our needs perfectly.

Suddenly the bathroom accessories (fripperies) search is back on the agenda! Nice bottles for bath oil, and who knew that decent bath mats were so difficult to find? 😊

Sleep gradually recedes, the light from the morning skies seeping into my consciousness.

It’s quiet. The faint whirring of the bedroom fan, the sound of soft rain on the window. All is peaceful.

I’m gradually aware of a warm, soft body next to me, and it’s not my husband. Freya has wriggled into the gap between us and is wedged in by my pillow, right next to my face, all big eyes and whiskers. She is pleased with herself.

She starts to purr as she becomes aware of my waking, and I feel a rough little tongue rasping the tip of my nose. I am being licked awake. It’s not an especially pleasant sensation. It’s followed by her sitting up and patting my face gently with her paws, then when no response is elicited, nudging me more pointedly with her nose.

I know that she wants up and feeding, but it’s only 5am and so I resist. I close my eyes and pretend to go back to sleep, slowing my breathing and relaxing back under the covers. This infuriates her. A trill of annoyance, and I know that claws will make an appearance soon.

Fergus scrambles up the bed and manoeuvres his way across the quilt through the tangle of limbs. He starts washing Freya, pinning her down with his paws and vigorously licking her ears. She’s not impressed, and soon this has descended into a full scale cat fight, limbs flailing, ears bitten, back paws kicking out, writhing and scrapping like ferrets in a bag.

It’s only 5am. They’re unceremoniously ejected from the bed, only to continue on the floor. Realising that sleep will not have a chance to return I pad out to the bathroom. But no peace will be found here, dear reader.

Freya senses the chance for her favourite early morning game and as soon as the bathroom door opens a crack as I exit, she streaks in and heads straight for the open panelling on the wall. It’s not finished yet, so we try to keep the cats out of this room.

Straight into the cavity behind the toilet cistern she goes, purring with satisfaction that she’s eluded me. She will only emerge triumphantly after a good few minutes, to be snatched up and taken out onto the landing, still purring in pleasure at her success. This game is repeated every time one of us goes to the bathroom.

By this time I’m fully awake and going back to sleep seems impossible.

I may as well get up.

I spoke too soon with my “end of summer” post. Who knew that Mother Nature had one more fierce blast of heat up her skirts..

I know that there’s a tendency to blame any extreme weather these days on climate change, but I’ve never come across 28°C this far north before.

It just shouldn’t be this hot.

Looking at the weather forecast we have one more day of this and then it’s predicted to return to our more normal 14°C, with showers. Much more like September weather. It can’t come soon enough for me.

The last few days have been ridiculously hot. It saps our energy and makes us lethargic and uncomfortable. Everything is thrown wide open hoping for some cooling breeze but it’s still and shimmeringly breathless out there.

The cats have been stretched out on the cool tiles of the boot room trying to avoid the worst of the heat. Not even the energy for a purr when I go to rub their ears.

Thank goodness we didn’t throw away the fans from London before we moved here. Longer term we’ll either have external shutters or blinds to help control the heat, but for now we have neither so these have been a lifesaver.

The polycrub is sitting at 41°C with the door and window fully open. I popped my head around the open door this morning, thought better of it, and am leaving the watering until much later this evening once it’s cooled.

My poor winter seedlings, blasted in the fury of an unseasonal heatwave.

We are with cat.

Cats, in the plural to be precise.

They’re growing up rapidly – they’re definitely no longer kittens.

I’ve just realised that just all of the pictures I have of them are whilst they’re asleep! That’s the only time I can usually catch them..

These last few mornings have been especially beautiful.

As I pull open the sliding doors to the house so that I can let the cats out first thing, a rush of cool air hits me, and I’m faced with this.

What a stunning start to the day. The mist and low cloud inversions in the sound slowly burning off in the morning sun.

Breakfast – hot coffee and homemade bread. The sound of the birds and the heat of the morning sun.

Freya taking the opportunity with our distraction to leap up onto the kitchen worktop and sit in the sink, one of her favourite games. She is rapidly removed.

Fergus being very chatty this morning with his own little vocabulary, vying for our attention and ear rubs, squeaking and chirruping like a bird.

There are worse ways to start a day.

It feels like the end of summer.

The nights are drawing in and the skies are dark by nine pm now. There’s a nip in the air, and mist and cloud inversions cling to the mountains on many of our mornings.

The glowing intensity of the rowan berries growing in our hedgerows always makes me smile. We’re surrounded by wild, self-seeded rowan trees, heavy with fruit, which always seem to me such courageous things, growing as they do in the most wild and inhospitable of places.

They’re supposed to be protection against fairies and witches in local folklore, and to this day there are people on the island that refuse to cut them down. The remembrance of the old ways is still strong.

I don’t think that the sisterhood would mind if I took some of the berries to make rowan jelly, though. I haven’t tried making it yet, but I must.

The brambles are in full profusion now, and every few days I wander down the lane to pick a bagful for the freezer, leaving plenty for the birds.

Rain is never far away here on the island. I get great pleasure from watching the rain through the open door to the croft, the scent of the green, wet grass in the air, the coolness and stillness of everything, the dampness seeming to hold its breath.

We created an extra, unexpected joy when we built the house. Our galvanised steel guttering gurgles and sings as the rain drains into the downpipes from the roof, a magical sound that I love. Rain can be a healing, nurturing thing.

It’s the small things that stitched together make up contentment.