Tag: 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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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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Peachy galette

I’m not the most organised of cooks. I often get a sweet craving come over me and I’ll be tempted to make a dessert, but will have to improvise with what I have in the cupboard or fridge.

Our restricted storage capacity in the caravan fridge is probably what’s keeping me alive and avoiding a massively early death through my over-consumption of sweet things.

Because if I had all possible ingredients to hand I’d probably make a dessert every evening. Which is not good. Note to self: the pantry you’re building may not be such a good idea for the remains of your waistline… Fill it with beans and pickles, woman, if you value your life…

As the clock ticked around to about 4pm today I started thinking about supper, and I really fancied something sweet.

I found a punnet of rather hard peaches and a roll of ready made puff pastry lurking in a dark recess of the fridge. They were behind the bags of kale and chard, which glowed with health and reproachment. I also just happened to have a tub of mascarpone left over from some previous excess. I could make a peach galette!

Peach galette. No judging please..

In the UK, and especially here in Scotland, we don’t have the tradition of peach pies that I often see in the United States. Peaches are a rather exotic, imported fruit here (which I am determined to grow in my polytunnel one day. We must be independent in good fruit. But I digress).

A galette is a rather pretentious name for a slab of pastry, crimped up around the edges of creamy mascarpone egg custard and a pile of sugared, sliced peaches. It sounds so much more exotic than it actually is. It’s raggedy and rustic and delicious.

I couldn’t be bothered with forming a proper pie today anyway. Rough edges and random piles of fruit seemed like a perfect idea. I can do piling and sugaring, I thought.

Nay problem.

The remains..

And so I did. And so we followed a healthy stir fry with a crusty, cinnamon scented, custardy, sweet peach galette.

It gladdened the heart. Which compensates for the expansion of the waistline, I’m almost sure…

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We have warmth!

Ha ha! Happy faces! The sun has returned! The air and the soil have warmed up and as I speak we have blue skies and a soft, warm breeze.

It will be the midges soon, but I’m hoping that being at the top of a hill with more wind than most that we’ll escape the worst of them. We’re prepared, just in case – I’ve bought midge hats and nets so that if we do get bombarded we have a fighting chance of avoiding being eaten alive whilst we run back to the caravan.

Impromptu BBQ

We had an impromptu barbecue last night to celebrate the lovely evening. These shots were taken at about 7pm. As the sun dipped behind the hill at the back of the croft at around 10pm it started to get colder, and we wrapped up in blankets and added a bit more wood to the fire.

The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and husband has thrown open all the doors and windows in the house whilst he is working so that it cools down.

I don’t want to count my chickens, but it seems like summer has come at last…

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Guttering

We’ve been waiting for a break in the weather in order to fit the guttering on the house. Standing on a ladder in fifty mile an hour winds is no-one’s idea of a good time!

At last. The weather for the last few days on the island has been dry and clear with light winds, and it looks like it will hold for a good few days more.

My job is holder-of-the-ladder and passer-up-of-tools, brackets and gutter lengths. And maker of tea.

Husband is doing all the technical stuff like measuring, drilling, aligning and connecting.

All the easy stuff 😊…

We’ve gone for Lindab galvanised steel guttering.

It goes well aesthetically with the wood cladding, is solidly well made, can cope with the vast amount of rain we have on the island – as it’s extra wide and deep – and isn’t plastic. Not that there’s anything wrong with plastic, but we preferred not to use it.

We have lots still to fit, and are working our way around the house starting with the back. Let’s hope the weather gods smile upon us.

I was standing holding the ladder today, listening to the silence of the afternoon on this exposed island hillside, the only noise occasional birdsong. And I thought to myself, how life has changed.

How lucky I am.

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Herbage and Seeds

The urge to grow new things is very strong. We have no greenhouse or polytunnel yet, so I’ve set up a small space in one of the rooms in the caravan to start my seeds off. Luckily this room still has the old carpet down so it doesn’t matter if it gets grubby.

Balanced somewhat precariously on old cardboard boxes and a heat mat, and wedged between boxes of spare clothes and the hoover, are my first trays of seedlings. The blue wands of wonder are moved around to those plants that seem to need them most. It’s not exactly a professional set up, but it will do!

I’ve tried to choose plant varieties carefully to ensure that they’re hardy for our exposed site, but this first year is going to be very much an experiment.

I know that I’ve probably started too early for these northern altitudes, but I was itching to start. If they get too leggy I’ll just have to re-sow.

I have garlic ready to plant out. We eat lots of that, and I have more to plant directly into the soil once the beds are ready.

I have seed potatoes chitting ready for planting in the coming weeks. A local crofter recommended two varieties that I’m going to be trying, with good flavour but also good blight resistance.

I also have beetroot, chard, leeks, sorrel, parsley (it germinated! Hallelujah!) and Sutherland kale sown and just starting to grow.

Husband has been working on the construction for our compost bays too, which we need to start as soon as possible. The price of good compost in the quantities we will need is eye-watering, and I’d much rather we made our own.

I’ve also just finished reading this book. A total inspiration, a really interesting story and full of very practical advice about growing abundantly, organically and using no-dig principals. It’s just come out, so do source a copy if you get the chance.

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Gaelic singers, fires and venison

Our first island Christmas.

Last night we attended an outdoor meal with friends around a fire, with local musicians and Gaelic singers. They sang traditional carols but also songs that we didn’t know, hauntingly beautiful in the open air and the darkness of the night.

It was a cold night but we honestly didn’t feel it. Such a lovely introduction to Christmas here.

We returned home smelling of woodsmoke and with heads full of new melodies and happy memories.

This morning, Christmas Day, and it was a day alone for us. The wind howled around the caravan and we sat in front of the fire with big socks on and shared a zoom call with the boys in Manchester.

We ate venison and drank red wine and enjoyed the feeling of peacefulness and nothing that we absolutely had to do.

It’s been a very unusal and quiet Christmas, but a good one for all that. It’s made us remember what’s important and has made us look forward to next year’s celebration with family (and a proper kitchen!) all the more.

Merry Christmas to you all. From the fireside of the caravan on the windswept hillside of the croft I’m sending you all good wishes for health and happiness, wherever you are.

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Autumn in the Highlands

We drove the last part of our journey today up to the Isle of Skye. Our trip today took us from the borders of Scotland up through the Trossocks, Glencoe and Fort William across to Kyle of Localsh and over the bridge onto the island.

It was a blustery autumn day in the Highlands, but the wind kept the rain clouds moving, and each outbreak of rain was interspersed with the most amazing light and colour.

The leaves, bracken and heathers were a carpet of russet and golds.

My phone camera couldn’t do them justice at all, especially through the glass of a smeary car window, but I hope these snaps will give you a pale glimpse of the glory that is the Highlands at this time of the year.

We were exhausted when we eventually reached the island, but as there was still a bit of light before the sun set, we couldn’t resist dropping in on the croft to let Bertie stretch his legs and take his first introductory sniffs of the land.

He seemed to like it 😊.

Next a quick supper, a hot bath and a good night’s sleep ready for the work to start tomorrow.

We’re weary but happy. It still feels a bit unreal.

We made it.

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The bone-weariness of 5am

It is 5.02 in the morning and I am writing this from our hotel bedroom. The room is overheated and stuffy and our dog lies curled up and slightly confused on his blanket in the corner of an unfamiliar room. I should be asleep. But infuriatingly I can’t sleep, even though I am weary.

Moving house is exhausting. I have done it so many times that although it’s lent a certain proficiency to the process, it’s increasingly a bone-wearying, energy sapping experience. This time especially so with my recent second knee replacement restricting my ability to do much physical work, meaning leaning on husband more than ever.

The house empties so slowly, exposing cobwebs, dust and the ghosts of lost slippers behind furniture.

After a day and a half of loading the removals van we hit a wall at around 4pm. We looked at each other as we stood in our empty kitchen and agreed that we had to stop.

The removals guys were still working through the garage (how do they keep going?) but were happy to complete without us and lock up the house so that we could start the long drive northwards. London rush hour was about to start and we were keen to avoid the worst of it.

As it was, we still hit the rush hour traffic, but every mile towards our first nights destination felt good. We tumbled into an empty bar at our scarily Covid-empty hotel and ate a quick supper before bed.

Today is another day. We’re both relieved to have that behind us and to focus on the drive up-country to our new home.

We’re taking each day at a time.