Its a new dawn, its a new day….

Christmas was a blur this year, a collision of worlds and a reminder of all the jobs outside I have been neglecting because of working inside now.

My goats have worried me for months; their field is waterlogged from a year of rain, they have eaten everything in their field so that the ground looks shaved and last week the youngest mysteriously died. To be quite frank I feel she probably lost the will to live, facing another stormy cold muddy winter, she probably just thought, no I can't put up with this any longer.

Poor Snowdrop

It is very upsetting to lose livestock, I just cannot see these animals as automatons, incapable of thought, feeling or personality. The chickens, well they do seem pretty limited, but the goats are so physically big it seems as though they must posess more inside their minds? I do believe that animals will behave as you treat them (an idea that applies to humans too) but how their goaty minds work, I do not know.

I have felt guilty of the life they must lead, I make them live outside, in an open shed, all I really do us feed them well enough and try to make them as comfortable as I can. But when I do have time to give them some fuss, a stroke or a brush, it is unquestionable from their reaction that they enjoy it. They like physical contact, as well as the butting tussles they have with each other, they also huddle into each other for warmth and for comfort. Millie was the mother of the goat, Snowdrop, who died- they used to stand together, nuzzling necks and just enjoying the comfort from proximity. I think she must miss her now she’s gone, but for what reason I wonder? Is it just for selfish reasons?

All this wondering aside, goats do like human attention and I don't give them very much nowadays.

This holiday I have had the time to get properly dressed to go outside; waterproof trousers, extra socks and a good jacket. Dressed like this I could almost live outside myself! It has given me an insight into the life of an outside creature. The wind is a scented breeze not an uncomfortable blast. The day has its own time, never governed by the hands of a clock but by the whims of the weather. The goat’s main occupation is to graze, rest, regurgitate, repeat. Apart from the absolute boredome of it perhaps a life like that isn't so bad? Do they understand anything of the world they see and experience around them or are they ruled by emotion rather than any rationality. Do they have their own ideas about how the world works? When the moon comes out some nights, does this create a different calendar for them and extend their year? How different is the world for them?

As we go into 2016 I feel optimistic for the coming seasons. Despite the lack of summer last year, I can't help but feel this year will be a blinder again…. I resolve to organise my time (and footwear) better, to get out on the croft again and not get too preoccupied by office ways. In a few weeks we will move the goats from their shaved field and I wont have to cut down pine tree branches for them and throw them into their field.  For the first time they will step out onto the adjoining hill, covered in all important roughage for them to eat; heather, grasses, moss and rushes. Their view of the world will change, their perspective of the nearby fields and hills will be different and I am confident this will make them happier.  Or at least give them something to do and think about for a little while longer....

People of America....

I only met a few locals very briefly on our journey to the States, but they have still stayed with me.

Pilot of American Airlines:
On the flight into Philadelphia, the pilot would intermittently tell us of our course of action, and I couldn't help notice how much he sounded like Gil Scott Heron.
"We are currently cruising at 30,000 feet and anticipate landing in Philadelphia in 45 minutes, may I remind passengers that, the Revolution will not be televised..."
Obviously my own preconceptions have had an influence on my first experience of American culture.

Random passenger traveling home to LA:
When I sat one seat away from Pam, in the row behind my husband and 2 children, she couldn't help but remark on what a smart seating arrangement I had been given. Yes, I said, I had obviously tried to rebook the seats online, but - shucks - I'd still ended up on my own ;)
She was returning from a working trip all week In Philly, so had to do some spreadsheet stuff on the way, but otherwise we talked of work, of homes, of children and she showed me her recent (2nd) wedding photos.  She also wrote down her email address and directions of how to get to some great vineyards in Cali that offer free wine tasting tours.  I think we will be friends for life.

Checkout girl in Dollar General:
I chatted to Mark about how cheap our groceries were and she noticed my accent.   I had spent a bit of time working out what coins were worth what, so she asked 'Are you on holiday?'.
'Yeah,' I answered 'I haven't got a clue what this one is' I said holding up a dime (It is worth 10 cents but looks just like a 5p)
'What's it like where you're at?' she asked.  This was in the middle of the Mojave desert, in California City.
'Its wet - all the time' I said and 'we love it here because of the sunshine' - she rolled her eyes as if wondering what it would be like to have it rain so much.

Park warden in Red Rock Canyon:
He was pretty portly for an outdoors employee, but he was warm and friendly, even though he was telling us off for filling our RV with water, when the sign said not to. I explained his colleague had told us it would be ok, just for a half tank so he backed down and then let the drinking fountain spill over for a while to give the bees a drink.
We talked about the drought in California, how we had been using the Sat Nav to find a place with a lake or river, as we knew there would be trees and shade there.  Only when we got to 'Lake View Drive' or some such place, would we'd find the lake was long gone - one place even had some people dune buggying on the sand left behind.
He told us he was from the East coast and might go back in a few years, he was finding it hard to cope with the heat.  We said we were from Scotland and the sunshine was heavenly for us.  He explained he usually meets Europeans in the summer months - the campgrounds and parks are usually shut for the summer season because its too hot, but thats just when we all want to come and visit.
Strange concept, being shut for the summer.
Strange concept, that we are 'Europeans'.....?

The Hitcher
We had just driven the long road down through Death Valley and out through the Black Mountains. It was not a place to be stranded and it had not been a busy road.  Passing an old mine off to the side, I'd thought it strange that there was a car parked up there - not an off-roader, just a town car.  And then we saw him, his relief to see us was visible and he flagged us down to get a lift.
I looked at Mark as if to say, 'we couldn't not stop here' so we let him into the back of the RV, next to our kids and tried not to think of what happens in films.
He said he'd lost his keys while poking around in the old mine, looking for gold.  He'd had to drink his radiator water and he needed a lift back to Pahrump to get help - were we going to Las Vegas?  Unfortunately not, but we gave him a lift to Shoshone, the nearest town and as we pulled out of the petrol station, we passed him hitching his way back onto the interstate in the direction of Pahrump.
It is such a shame that we were so suspicious of just another person.  Awful that I imagined at one point how easy it would be for him to pull a knife from where he sat behind us and put it to my throat.
How awful that sensationalist films have tainted my view of the world and its people so much.  How guilty I felt for not being friendlier to him. But you know, I think he knew how he seemed to us as well and I don't think he held it against us.  I guess we'd all seen the same film.

The bird couple.
They arrived and pitched their tents beside us at Furness Creek. One tent for them and one mesh gazebo for their birds.  We couldn't help but go and introduce ourselves, especially after Morris and I were peeking through our RV curtains at them one early morning.  The way the man talked and cuddled the 2 parrots, letting one climb over and ride on his back as he made breakfast, was so adorable. 
The people came from Northern California, doing a trip of the state and taking in lots of interesting places for the birds.  The birds were parrots, very domesticated and obviously more human than parrot nowadays with all their special attention.  The people found it easy to take the birds everywhere, they even had little cages that could be attached to the front of their bikes so the birds could feel the wind beneath their wings.  The lady said they particularly liked going out in the kayaks.
We followed their advice to go to Red Rock canyon after Death Valley and could see why they had liked it so much. An incredible rock face houses hundreds of swifts, screetching and swooping in and out of the rocks. The parrots must have been fascinated by the new voices on the air above them.  While we sat out one night we even heard an owl hooting and could see his outline perched up on the top of the rocks above, possible watching us or maybe hypnotised by our fire like we were.

Traveling in Time

We had the longest day:


We left Glasgow at 10.20 GMT and travelled for 7 hours, but on touchdown into Philadelphia only 2.5 hours had gone by.

At 16.00 Eastern timezone we travelled for a further 5.5 hours and touchdown in Los Angeles, but only 3 hours have been put on the clock.

We got up at 06.45 and when we got to our beds that night our body clocks were telling us it was 03.00 the next day, but the world was telling us it was still only early evening.

We actually traveled back in time.

We had the shortest night, in the middle of another long day:

We left Los Angeles at 08.20 Pacific standard time and traveled for 5 hours.

When we touched down we had missed lunch and jumped forward to teatime.

We flew out of Philadelphia at 18.50 Eastern time, spent 7 hours in the air and on landing in Glasgow it was the next day already.

06.55 is painful enough but more so when you only been given 3 hours of night before it.

I still can't quite picture it in my head. I have to get the airline's itinerary out for it to make sense again, a bit like when you have to draw a diagram to explain an aerial viewpoint.

Even now, as a family, we still tend to argue about the facts....

Of course we are all time travelers, every day.

The United States of Ameri-car!

It became very apparent as soon as we hit the freeways of Los Angeles, that the car is an integral part of the American dream.

The freeways were packed - a hellish mix of lane changers and breaking space invaders, jostling for pole position on a badly tarmaced surface (imagine the chaos should they ever close the roads to repair them??).

We had just arrived and been given an enormous sailing whale of an RV.  We weren't too sure how wide it was or how good it's brakes were, when suddenly we had to deal with downtown LA on a Friday rush hour.

Thankfully once out of the city the panic subsided and the roads gave way to miles of straight - very straight in some places - peace and quiet.

Some of the towns we stopped in however, reminded me of the car-centric nature of US living. We would drive along long stretches of retail areas at the edges of towns, looking for a McDonalds to use their wifi, or the entry to the Interstate. The number of automobile related outlets was astounding - car hire, car dealerships, exhaust repairs, body-shops and something that did something about the Smog (?).  It gave the impression that cars and their needs were a large part of everyones life.  We had already fallen very much in love with our burbling V8 engined RV, it was easy to become smitten with such shiny freedom finders.

The cost of tarmacing has made me wonder lately just how expensive the roads of the UK are. On Lewis there are just a few roads and the conditions are relatively good. Where my Mum lives in the more densely populated south of England there are miles of small village roads that must be a constant nightmare for local Councils to pay to repair.
In America when it comes to local roads, they have a simple solution: They just don't tarmac local roads and everyone has to buy a truck!

If you have a shiny yellow sports car, don't go rural.  We drove along a dirt road to get to a campsite and had to drive at 5mph to avoid juddering - not that we minded, it was a much more pleasant way to take in the gorgeous scenery.  But finally we realised where the stereotype of a backcountry cowboy in his pick up truck comes from.  Perhaps he has a town car and a truck, just like the people of Lewis - one shiny hoovered car for going to church in and one pick-up for pulling your trailer.  After all,

it helps the economy along and the sense of freedom a vehicle gives you is worth paying over and over for.

Patience Rewarded

Heavenly Heavens! Give Joy and Thanks for a Wonderful Holiday! Rapturous Glory for Travelling is Great and Good!

We made it all the way over the Atlantic from little old Lewis and again across to the West Side in safety.
We enjoyed just a little part of So-Cal, but it was So-Cool!

From Lochs to the Desert, we couldn't have seen more of a contrast and it was wonderfully different.
Everything was new to us, whatever happened it didn't matter, it was all brilliant because we were there! 

I am still letting all the experiences come back to me and returning to the beautiful sights and sounds. Frequently a memory pops into my head at random intervals, sometimes an event, a sight or maybe just a feeling.

I have no way to catalogue this in a linear way, without it greying the happiness. I can only enjoy taking pieces from here and there and try to put into words the heavenliness of holidays.

Let the secondary journey begin...

Rain, rain....

...go away! What a great solution to this years endless winter...
A trip to sunny California, departing this week.
More to follow .....

Getting ready ..

Our dream holiday is only days away now and the rollercoaster of anticipation has been delicious!
I have never felt that I needed a holiday - we live in a holiday location and I feed off the tourists enthusiasm when I talk to them, explaining what it's like to live here and notice them  soaking their surroundings in.

But I now understand why the 2 week family holiday is such a popular concept. It has kept us going through tough times and given us something magical and comical to talk about and wonder over.

I am so looking forward to our road trip - I want to be surprised, to become reflective and have a break from the norm to gain some new perspective.  I'm not expecting a Hunter S Thompsom trip, but to feel the desert, away from Lochs, would be an interesting change...

Narcissus

I love daffodils! Maybe because they are such bright yellows and oranges, at a time of year when everything is dull and dead. Or because I bought a mixed bag of bulbs 6 years ago when we moved to Kershader, planted them in an old lazy-bed and every year they produce more and more flowers for free.  Or perhaps because things are so much more beautiful when they have meaning.

I love that every bulb could turn out to be a different variant - it might be bright gold with a trumpet in the middle. Varigated with a mix of colours or have many heads sprouting from just one stalk.

The classic trumpet shaped dafodil is called the narcissus. It is frequently linked to the myth of Narcissus who became so obsessed with his own reflection in water that he drowned and the narcissus plant sprang from where he died.

Alternative names through time have been 'Daffadown Dilly' or 'Lent Lily', a signal from nature of the end of the Christian period of abstinence before Easter.

The old lazy-bed with its rich soil is ideal

I planted our bulbs when we had first moved in and were planning how to make some money from our croft. I had the idea to sell bunches of unopened daffs, so that people would also buy the surprise of not knowing what type of flower they would get.  This year I nearly managed to make some bunches to sell at a school fundraiser, but so far my golden daffodils have not produced any actual gold!

But they are so well suited to the rough grass of our croft.  Before we sorted out our fencing, we were constantly plagued with stray sheep eating everything we planted.  But the one thing they dont eat are daffodils.  Once we had stopped the sheep getting in, we then found that the indigenous grasses grew so quickly that anything we planted immediately was taken over by weeds. Except the daffodils which burst through even the thickest grass.

In fact the more I think about 'daffadown dillys', the more meaning I find.  I'm glad such a humble flower has been immortalised by an expert of communication.   William Wordsworth wrote this after a moment with his sister Dorothy, when they 'came across a long belt' of daffodils - I know how he feels, my long lazy-bed of colour inspires me to write as well.

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Traveling Without Moving

LUCK! Good luck, great luck, divine intervention... whatever way I look at it, I am still over joyed by my recent win of a holiday to California!!


I entered a competion on twitter, a joint marketing promotion by Bulmers cider and Xfm radio, where I had to tweet a favourite song that summed up the feeling of a weekend. I tweeted Radiohead 'No alarms and no surprises' as a feeling close to my heart - but it gave me the biggest surprise I've ever had!

The actual prize was return flights, 4 star hotel, insurance and visa for 2 people for 7 nights to Los Angeles. As it happens I couldn't imagine not being able to share this with the whole family, so we have paid a bit more so that the boys can come with Mark and me and we have hired a motorhome for 2 weeks.  We plan to go accross to the Grand Canyon in Arizona, take in the Hoover Dam on the way back to Death Valley in California and see how many of the wonderous national parks we can take in on our dream holidaytime.

Mysterious moving rocks in Death Valley

And when I say dream holiday, we would never be able to justify spending money on a any kind of break normally.  We are just not that sort of family.  I take the boys down to my Mums every summer, Mark stays at home and this is the closest we get to a holiday.  But now...this truly is the holiday of a lifetime in the sunshine state - what a contrast it will be; the Californian Wilderness, from the Wilderness of the Hebrides, I can't wait!

The John Muir wilderness area in the Sierra Nevada

A big part of the fun of traveling is always the planning - whether you are going to Russia, or Reading!  I have found a great site called 'Roadtrippers' and thanks to the interconnectedness that is the internet, I can plan and dream and research to my heart's content, all from the comfort of home.

https://roadtrippers.com/trips/california/6641205?a1=x!-118.16660254457399,y!35.025801072860524,z!5

We won't quite be setting off into the wilderness like John Muir, with just a rucksack, a few books and a bar of soap. But it feels like a huge adventure, life changing, enlightening and an experience to always be remembered and captured on film.  Just what all family's should be able to do together.

Otterly brilliant!

One of the reasons I love living in a house by the sea, is the wildlife that regularly walk across your path.

The sea loch across the road supplies me with it's heady fix of scents, its orchestra of sound from birds like the chattering oyster catchers and what has become a regular visit from a local otter.

Mark captured what we think is a mother and child, early one morning.

https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=10152087248827924&set=vb.559722923&type=3

Early quiet mornings had been the best time to see them, but this winter they have become far more visible; strolling up the front path, jumping up onto the windowsills (??) and finally wreaking havoc on our chicken and duck population :/

Before Christmas 2014, we had 22 chickens and 4 large Aylesbury ducks, free ranging on a small part of the croft, away from the water edge. By January we were reduced to 3 remaining shell-shocked and confused chickens.  At first we thought it was a dog killing the birds - we would find headless chickens (ignoring the pun) dotted around the croft, killed but not eaten. But one day Mark actually spotted the large, dog otter retreating into a field drain and next door's dog was pardoned.

As the local Raven, Buzzard and Eagle population caught onto the free buffet happening, the carcas finds were reduced to just wings and feet.

My loyaties are completely torn - I loved those ducks, having hatched them in the incubator and adored their ultimate cuteness. As adult they were so white and preened - during the winter when everything was drab and wet, they were happiest in the driving rain, cleaning themselves and honking around asking for food.

But the wild otters have always fascinated me too. Those hairy whiskers and long, sleek bodies.

One very hard, hail-y afternoon Mark and I were standing in the dining room when an otter jumped up onto the windowsill beside us. I think maybe it thought it could see a clear tunnel through the window, some escape from the elements. Seeing it so close up I could just image holding an otter in my arms, stroking it like you would a tame cat.....having said that, the gaelic name for otters translates to 'black beast' so any daydreams of hugging an otter are very misplaced.

In a way, we have the otter to thank  thoughfor saving us from an unpleasant job. The chickens are about 5 years old now, and have stopped being reliable layers. We had already decided it was time to dispatch them, but Mark had got fed up of the unpleasant job involved. The otter attack means there are just 3 left to get rid of!

In that funny arrangement nature has with time and fate, the solution has presented itself cleanly.

If I have to choose between my tame poultry, or the wilderness of otters - it has to be wild for me.