Category: happiness

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Summer days and endless light

Sometimes the Scottish Highlands simply take your breath away.

Blue skies and an old hawthorn tree

After months of cold and rain, all of a sudden summer is here. Warm days, blue skies and intense sunsets. Memories of cold, wet winter days dissolve in the brilliant light.

We are only three weeks away from the midsummer solstice, and the light is incredible. It doesn’t really get dark at all. Sunset is around 10.30pm but the skies retain a half light until the dawn breaks again at about 4.30am with the return of pink skies.

The sunset just starting

The sunsets have been spectacular over the last few nights.

Sun dipping behind the back of the croft

These dry days also mean that daily life is easier. Drying clothes on racks in the house is difficult at the moment as there is plaster and building dust everywhere. The caravan often resembles a Chinese laundry.

But we’ve been able to line dry our clothes again now that the air temperatures are sitting at a very nice 18-22C. There’s something nostalgic for me about pegging out washing, and the scent of clean, wind-dried clothes is one that takes me right back to my childhood, and is a smell that I love.

Drying washing on the croft

We sat over lunch today out on the croft, listening to the birds squabbling in the hedgerows and watching the swallows swoop over the roof of the house, and laughed with the pleasure of it all.

View over Knoydart from the front of the house

We feel very lucky to be here.

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Spring contentment and progress

I can’t remember how long I’ve nursed the fantasy of potting up plants in a warm greenhouse whilst sipping a mug of tea. Maybe listening to an audio book, or a podcast.

I’m such a party animal. I’m not ashamed to say that the quiet life is definitely for me.

Potting up

This morning I took my mug of tea out to the polycrub. I sat there in the warmth, perched at the camping table surrounded by the smell of damp compost and the sound of skylarks rising over the moors above us, and felt content. I even managed to pot up a few trays of young seedlings.

This was my first taste of pottering about in this sheltered space, growing things without being blasted by the south westerlies, and it was wonderful.

We’re slowly wheelbarrowing loads of woodchip from our tonne bag on the other side of the croft to make a weed surpressant covering over the cardboard. It’s about half way there, and whereas the old me would be stressing that I can’t complete it more quickly, the new me just accepts that it’s slow but that it will eventually get done.

There are several trays of young seedlings that will need potting up into my canvas grow bags over the next few weeks. It will happen.

The house is progressing well.

We have plasterboarded out some of the roof space walls upstairs now, so I have a much better idea of the bedroom dimensions now that the eaves have been boarded out.

A friend suggested a clever hack for extra storage in the often somewhat wasted space in the eaves. Most people put a cupboard door in the eaves, but it’s still a bit inaccessible.

Drawer units either side of the headboard space

We’ve bought a couple of drawer units and are building the eaves around them. Once finished, this will be plastered and painted white, leaving the two drawer units embedded flush in the walls. Easy to access, one on either side of the bed, and useful space.

I think it’s going to work well.

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Sunset with polycrub

Day two of the installation draws to a close, and we are gifted a glorious sunset over the polycrub.

It glows like it was made of pink plastic, brushed by the very final rays of the sun sinking over the hillside at the back of the croft.

I know that I am going to love growing in here. I’ve started the planting plans already… of course!

Just glorious.

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The divine beast

I’ve always wanted a polycrub. As soon as I set eyes on this windswept, exposed croft I knew that it was our best chance of growing anything.

The polycrub

For those of you unfamiliar with this divine beast, a polycrub is a growing tunnel, like a polytunnel. The difference is that it is made from recycled fish farm piping and rigid polycarbonate sheeting, making it very strong.

It is designed and made on the Shetland Isles, where it was developed to cope with the exceptionally strong winds and stormy growing conditions there. It’s guaranteed for up to 120 mph winds, so it can withstand anything that the Isle of Skye climate can throw at it.

Recycled salmon farm piping

I love that it’s made from sustainable and recycled materials, and that it’s so strong. The first year of growing taught me that our biggest challenge on this exposed site was going to be the wind. We will plant shelter belts to help the raised beds, but this will provide much greater protection for a wide variety of crops.

Excitement has peaked this week with the arrival of the man and digger to level the site, and the delivery of the kit itself. The joiner will be here in two weeks time to construct it. We are installing it between the raised beds and the compost bins in the growing area of the croft.

Man & mini digger

As I write, a snow storm has just swept across the sound. It may be the last day of March but the challenging conditions continue, and my seedlings need protection. I can’t wait for the polycrub to be up and running.

Tomato babies

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Brochs and Beer

We definitely deserved a grand day out.

Husband was in dire need of a day off the house build, and I was starting to go a bit stir-crazy in the caravan after two days of being locked in to avoid the midges and clegs that had been swarming.

On Sunday we awoke to a sunny day so packed ourselves into the car with a waterbottle and a box of cakes from the children’s cake stall for refugees in the village (well done again, girls) and set off on our grand adventure.

Being a bit of a prehistory enthusiast I’d been reading about brochs for years but had never actually been to one, as they only occur in Scotland and the islands.

We decided that we’d drive to Glenelg to see the two brochs there whilst the weather was good and the daylight hours were still long.

Brochs are truly amazing structures. Built about 2000 years ago – give or take a bit as nobody is sure – these iron age constructions are huge, stone built conical towers.

They have double-skin walls housing integral stone staircases and there is some evidence of a central hearth and one or maybe two levels. No one is quite sure if or how often they were lived in. Looking at the effort involved in the construction it’s clear that they were prestigous, fortified buildings, maybe used as a defense against raids.

Dun Trodden (I kid you not, is that not a simply fabulous name) is one of the tallest and best preserved remaining brochs in Scotland and is located near Glenelg in a tranquil, green valley next to a shallow stream which trickles slowly down to the shore.

Directly across the lane from it we found a turf-roofed microbrewery nestled into the valley, and a taproom where a handful of fellow visitors were basking in the sun sipping their craft beers.

The taproom was called the Dun Inn (it’s getting better, isn’t it). 😊

What an idyllic setting. We must come back for another look once the summer is over, and maybe an explore of the second Broch. Maybe even a lunch at the famous Glenelg Inn just a few miles away.

An impromptu meal at the Indian restaurant once we’d crossed the bridge back over to the island topped off the days adventures nicely. Happily full of spicy food and naan bread, we got back to the caravan just as the sun was setting.

And no washing up. Result.

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A profusion of mackerel

Friends from the village gave us a bag of freshly caught mackerel from Armadale Bay yesterday.

They arrived, shining, still smelling of the sea. I always think they’re such lovely looking fish.

Husband heroically gutted them all in the tiny caravan kitchen sink and we decided to cook them over the barbecue whilst they were at their best.

Mackerel

There is nothing quite like freshly chargrilled mackerel. They were moist, sweet and slightly smoky from the fire, their skins blackened and crispy. We ate them whilst the sun went down with good bread, dill-pickled cucumber and some fresh salad.

There was enough left over to make mackerel pate this morning. The meat was flaked off into a bowl with cream cheese, lemon juice and zest, a lime, sea salt and cracked black pepper.

Mackerel pate

A pot has gone into the fridge to eat later with sourdough toast, and a bowl has been wrapped as a thankyou gift for the neighbours who brought us the fish.

Later on toasted sourdough

I was just musing that the last time we ate mackerel pate was an expensive pot bought from a London deli. And here we are a year on, eating the same, but probably fresher and more flavoursome than anything bought from a shop.

Eaten with thanks as part of our new life here in Scotland.

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Picklification Complete

A fellow island crofter generously responded to my plea for small cucumbers to pickle and donated a bag of them.

Salting peacefully awaiting their vinegar bath

Freshly picked from their polytunnel, small and crunchy, there was a definite frisson of excitement as I clutched the bag with barely concealed anticipation and drove home to check the vinegar situation.

There’s something addictive about pickling. Gherkins, or dill pickles, are my very favourite pickle of all time, and something I find hard to buy in the shops locally. This timely donation was therefore all the more meaningful and I was determined to do them justice.

Over the last few days I’ve tenderly washed and patted dry, salted, rinsed and patted dry again these little nuggets of joy. A newborn could not have been more cosseted.

Oh yes

I’ve sterilised jars, prepared my vinegar and crooned over the additions like an alchemist. Enough peppercorns? Too much mustard seed? A few more chilli flakes perhaps? I even picked the last of my dill flowers especially a few days ago, before the rain flattened everything, to add to the jars.

And so they are done. Behold the magnificence of these island grown pickles.

Picklification is now complete.

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Live music is back!

One of the things that used to be a huge part of our lives and which we’ve missed since lockdown began has been live music.

Being on the Isle of Skye doesn’t mean that gigs stop. Far from it. The nature of them is a little different (we’re unlikely to be seeing the Foo Fighters in the tent at Armadale any time soon), but we are rich in local musicians and there is a very active music scene here.

I’ve always preferred small venue music anyway – the intimacy and immediacy of a band or singer just a few metres away is, to my way of thinking, a much more real experience than being part of a crowd so big that the best view is via the video stream screens.

Innes Watson and Ross Ainslie

This summer SEALL was able to restart its festival programme, albeit with social distancing and other Covid protection measures in place. Established in 1991, the name means Look or See in Gaelic and is pronounced “Shall”. It celebrates the wealth of home grown musical talent in the area.

The first of the events we attended a few nights ago was an evening concert held outdoors in the grounds of Armadale Castle. Innes Watson and Ross Ainslie, two very talented young musicians. It was so good. I love that we celebrate Gaelic culture in its music and that the next generation fuse it so seamlessly with their own creations. We have a few more concerts booked in for July.

Open Air at Armadale Castle

We also watched Skye Live via livestream feed a few nights back. An amazing fusion of traditional and electronica performed and filmed in the Mountains in Skye. I’ve copied a YouTube link to it for those of you that would like to have a taster. https://youtu.be/596iVkMGj-g

Niteworks on the Quiraing

I’m so happy that live music is back.

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Long days filled with light

For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere we are approaching the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year.

Beautiful pink evening light on the Sound, photo by Tricia Petri-Clark

On this day at this latitude we have daylight for eighteen hours, and it never really gets dark.

The significance of the Summer Solstice is two-fold: it’s the lightest time of the year but at the same time it’s also the moment at which the year turns to ever shortening days. A bit bitter-sweet, I’d say. Just as we’re celebrating the light we’re also recognising that it’s on its way out.

I’m holding on to these long, light filled days, though. I wake with the dawn at 4.30 am. There seems little point forcing it, so I relax and watch the often rosy dawn diffuse across the sky from the comfort of our bed. I don’t want to wake my husband who is asleep next to me, so I don’t leap out and do something productive. I just relax, read a book, the news, or blogs until it’s time to get up. It still feels like a guilty pleasure not struggling into the shower and work clothes, to be honest. The day stretches ahead of me like a purring cat.

I love this time of year. This is a first for us up on the island in June. Everything is green, lush and growing. The skylark and cuckoo calls fill the cool morning air and I’m reminded that even though the house is far from finished that we are very lucky to be here, just breathing all this in.

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Seafood feast

I love living on this island. The waters around it are cold and clean, and the seafood fished in its waters can’t be beaten.

Kind neighbours alerted us to the fact that we could buy rope grown mussels fresh from a small mussel farm a few villages away some weeks back. I’ve always loved shellfish, but these were a revelation. Small and sweet.

This morning we got a text from them again to say that fresh langoustine would be landed today, and would we like some? Would we ever!

They arrived as the sun was setting, with a carrier bag holding two kilos of live langoustine. For less money than a tiny bowl of these, should you even be able to get them, in London..

When we opened the bag I have to say that my heart quailed a bit. They were very alive…snapping their pincers and looking very angry. Quite rightly so. Thankfully husband is made of sterner stuff and he stepped in and cooked and prepared them for us.

Supper tonight was a feast. Simply cooked and dipped in garlic and coriander butter, they were sweet and succulent. I’ve never had fresher or tasted better.

I suspect most of these make their way abroad usually, but with Covid meaning that hotels and restaurants are closed, the local fishermen are offering them to locals.

Definitely our gain.