Island demographics

Our move to the Outer Hebrides in 2006 was met with some unexpected comments from our family in friends. The words 'Crazy' and 'La-la Land' were actually used, which has always surprised me. It was an easy move for us, so I was surprised to see how alien it seemed to people close to us.

Our, seemingly bold, move was validated however in 2013 when a series of articles came out in the national press, claiming the Hebrideans to be the happiest and most content people in all of the UK.

The Office of National Statistics claimed of well being in 2012/13, that Outer Hebrides and Shetland had:

• The highest levels of life satisfaction, self worth and happiness.
• The second lowest average rating of anxiety
• The highest proportion of people rating their happiness as 9 or 10 out of 10.

So the million dollar question is, what is it that makes the 27,684 people of the Outer Hebrides so much better off?

I can only answer for myself and it is an interconnected weave of many factors, but here are a few of my favourite reasons.

Kershader & Loch Erisort

The scenery
It's not that it is a verdent lush garden - my mother described Lewis as 'bleak' because she is used to the preened and coiffeured patchwork fields of the home counties of England.  But you can see the beautiful landcsape from a different perspective here.  There is nothing to get in the way of a good view.  The weather lights the hillside in a constantly changing cinematic experience.  You are looking at the land as a whole, not just a small tamed part of it.  And there is something about this that makes you feel special.

The people
Like the Lewis accent, which is lilting and musical, the people are not brash or forceful.  They are strong, because the elements can throw a storm at them at any time and they need to be constantly prepared. The Presbyterian church has a huge influence still and this Christianity was a welcome relief for me, coming from an impersonal city.  Even though we are not church goers, we are still included as a part of the community. We have become a part of the landscape and been accepted, simply by our durability.
It's great to be part of a crowd, as any of the many other incomers will agree.

Traditional croft house in winter

The lack of disparity
I think the the main horror that the family and friends we left behind on the mainland could not come to terms with, is that we do without a lot of the moneterial things that people rely on elsewhere. We live quite hand to mouth, don't buy many clothes, have no pension and no holidays abroad.  But the things we lack are not constantly paraded in front on us by our neighbours here. If people are doing well, they may have a slighter bigger and neater house, but not the huge mansions and latest model cars that people in well off areas on the mainland have.  The difference between rich and poor is much less noticeable, which makes me feel that the world is a fairer more equal place.  

I don't know if these are sentiments shared with the rest of the Outer Hebrides, but it was no surprise to read about our shared well being in the national press last year.  It had been just a feeling, but now it is backed up by data I can assure my family and friends that we are no crazier than the rest of them.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul

Morris has been working on a project for the last few weeks - well, its been a more longer term project than that, but the pace has quickened just lately. He has a collection of wobbly teeth and this weekend it was crunch time for the top front ones.

The teeth at the side of the two front ones have been slowly moving aside to make way for the new teeth. What started a little while ago as a slight gap to one side, had by Friday become a whole tooth sized gap, but without actually losing any teeth. Then after intervention by both parents, but to no avail, one was succesfully removed by a slice of chocolate orange.

Gruesome gums

 
Living on a remote Scottish island is always tricky when it comes to a visit from the tooth fairy.  Its not that she doesn't know how to get to us, or that she misses the ferry, its more that she often doesn't carry the correct loose change to pay her dues.  She has even been known to leave an IOU, but sadly that time it marked the end of the 'willing suspension of disbelief' for my oldest son Austin. 
Morris on the other hand is still a believer and it was imperative that the tooth fairy pay up on time.

I managed to get to the shop accross the road in time to get some cashback, but while I was there, distracted by the vast array of consumables and tourist-gold, I forgot to get it changed into loose change. And so it was at 5.30 on a Saturday and past closing, that I realised I was either destined to pay £10 for a single tooth, or fail.... again.... unless....

Like a mother with no conscience I struck on a plan. Once both boys were asleep, having safely tucked the tooth under his pillow, I ransacked Morrises piggy bank for a single gold coin.  Saved!

The next morning he happily stretched his arms out under his pillow and found his prize.  That important memory had been forged and all I had to do was make sure he didn't go counting his money before Monday.

All seemed well for the day, we talked about how the gum felt squishy and eating was different, we took the obligatory photo and admired the coin.  It was only when the boys were having a bit of a tussle upstairs that, waddya know, the other tooth popped out.

Its a Sunday and no shops are open on Lewis on the Sabbath!

Needing a pair of falsies

The thing about deception, is that when you have done it once and its worked, it is just so easy to do it again.

I waited until they were both asleep that night, again I snuck in and prized open his piggy bank, found the coin, swapped it for the tooth and stole away, having robbed Peter to pay Paul.

I am lucky that Morris is not a counter of his money, like Austin is. Monday came, two shiney pound coins were put into his money tin and he is none the wiser. Of course I had to confess my deception to Mark, though only once it had been completely succesfully, then I was guaranteed a congratulation for my cleverness rather than a scolding for being a rubbish parent.

And so life goes on. The tooth fairy still lives, Morris can enjoy the new feeling of sucking his top lip in over his empty gums and I can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that I have upheld the illusion of magic, for just a precious while longer.  

The British love to talk about the weather

XC weather, the trusted forecaster

A relatively mild storm has hit the island this weekend. The ferries to the mainland have been cancelled, the rain is hurtling along in horizontal curtains and everyone is glad they have nowhere they have to be. At least in our house.

Since moving to the Outer Hebrides, a rock in the Atlantic ocean, we have expected the weather to be interesting and it has not disappointed.

Last year we witnessed out first tornado on Lewis.

Beginnings of the funnel cloud

Thunder and lightening had been a rare event too, but has now become common. I assumed this was because the clouds moved too quickly accross us to have time to build up pressure. But since the tornado, I wonder if the weather has got more fierce and extreme events are more commmon.... 'Global wierding' it's been called.

Generally I feel pretty safe in harsh conditions - the walls of the house are 3 feet thick and built of the oldest rock on planet earth. Its exciting, nothing to be scared of - Nature is immense, I can see that here all the clearer.

Protecting each other... or hiding behind, I'm not sure...

So even though we lost 150 roof tiles in the last gale, with gusting in excess of 110mph, and nearly constituting a hurricaine, in Britain, I'll just consider it a learning experience and programme the builders number into the phone for future reference...

Weak inspection reports or weak character - which is worse?

I learned an interesting thing this week - learned through comedy, so not strictly citable, but a very effective way to learn - that apparently 45% of who we are, comes from the people we were at school with.

Old school pals - so influential

Back in the day

This new idea coincides with a lot of conversation in the community lately about the local school here in South Lochs and its recent terrible inspection report. 

The school is in the village of Gravir, 45 minutes drive from the main island town of Stornoway and therefore guaranteed to escape closure because of travelling time policy for kids - no primary school child must be on a bus for longer than 25 minutes to get to school.  This results in a lovely little rural school, with currently 24 children on the roll, in mixed age classes.  It has its pros and cons, but my kids and therefore I too, love it.

Sportsday, Primary years 1 & 2 competing- always guaranteed a placing

So if our adult form takes so much influence from our school mates, what will my kids gain from their educational environment.

Austin is one of 2 in his year group - the other boy, Lachie, is a year older, but has stayed back a year to have Austin as company - the year above is made up of 3 girls and so it was decided that Lachie would have more fun learning with a pal for company.  As it happens the 2 boys are quite different and while they choose to play together, they are put in different year groups to learn.  Austin is therefore quite an individual and stands on his own 2 feet. You can never account for all the variables in decision making.

Morris is part of a pack of 5 in his age group. His personality is very different - he has always had to compete with his peers to be heard and is very aware of where he might be placed in the group with regards to achievement. This has made him quite anxious that he may be overlooked or misunderstood, however he is also a lot more in tune with the feelings of others and the complexity of group dynamics.  He never fails to surprise me in coming up with something new.

Two very different boys as brothers, so now I also wonder how much of who they are is also being determined by their peers.  And what effect does it have if they have fewer peers than in mainland schools?

Gravir school roll 2014

Wee room: Primary 1, 2 & 3 = 11

Big room: Primary 4, 5, 6 & 7 = 9

Gaelic medium: Primary 1-7 = 4

So what of the 'weak' inspection grades. If so much of our development is from the people around us, does it matter that a school doesn't correctly fill in the paperwork? 

The staff at Gravir school could be called old fashioned in their ways. They place a lot of emphasis on helping the children to play together nicely - the older kids being made aware of the littler ones and their different needs. They are reminded about manners and respect for visitors who come to the school.  In my opinon this far outweighs the need for ticks on sheets and crosses in boxes.

Lets face it, kids can be horrible to each other and without any sensible guidance, a mob mentality soon develops.  The staff at the school know every child individually - not as a 'type' or a 'profile fit' - but as little people. Everyone who works there lives in the area too and they can see the homes behind the children.  Because of this close relationship, the children listen to the adults, not the mob voice.

Don't get me wrong, the academic achievement is also a priority, but so much of the education system is about learning how to fit in to society. How to work in a group, speak out but also listen to and respect the feelings of others.

Better a weak inspection report, than a weak character - I want my children to be cool people, not just by what they do in life, but who they are.

Things you take forgranted

I've been having a recurring daydream lately. It involves our piece of croft across the road. Its a beautiful spot with gorgeous views in both directions and I've always thought it would make a great spot for a campsite.

Ignore the wrecked cars and scrubland, and think holiday view

Seaview - think summer...

There are no services on site at the moment, but mains water is nearby and its easy enough to put in a septic tank for a shower-block when you have a digger <daydream item1>. Despite the irony that the powerlines for the whole of south Lochs run accross the land, and it is next to 2 community wind turbines, connecting to the grid would costs in excess of £6k.  So maybe it could be an off grid campsite?

My idea was tested this week when our own house was rendered off-grid by a particularly ferocious storm.

This was once our shed, squashed flat by a westerly gale

It has made me realise the things that I would miss if electricity wasnt always there.
The light in the bathroom when you're just nipping in.
The kettle for the first cup of tea in the morning.
The bedside lamp when you're scared. 

Wind power, from making a mess, to making electricity

The big things I could get used to not having, or of only having at certain times of the day - like the TV or internet, or the washing machine.
But its the little things that I don't notice that get taken forgranted.

Its also noticeable how taking away all those distractions has an effect on your perception of time. Suddenly there is time to think, not just to react or digest.  Perhaps visitors to our campsite would put up with the lack of power, in exchange for the long light summer days.  Perhaps they won't mind lighting their own fire to boil the kettle, when they have a good hour to plan a cuppa. 

 I wonder if there is a market for a return to old fashioned ways. How about some wooden cabins, made comfortable and cozy with oil lamps, a mini-stove and the peace and quiet. 

Nowhere to charge your devices so you become unavailable.... just reading old fashioned books and hanging out like kids do.  Or going for a walk and becoming part of the beautiful countryside.

Nearby the campsite, there are a collection of freshwater lochs. Perfect for paddling or swimming on bright hot days.

Peaty brown water makes everything underneath seem golden

Just along the road there are the ruins of an old Norse Mill which was used for grinding corn over a thousand years ago.

There is plenty of places to walk and stunning views everywhere.  When you pass through the countryside in a car, you are disconnected from the environment, it is easily taken forgranted.  But there is nothing like the Hebrides to bring you face to face with nature.  When its sunny it's beaches are comparable to the Caribean.

Luskentyre beach, just an hour away, with Taransay island across the water

But when its stormy, the hebrides shows you the full force of nature. Perhaps those log cabins, should be stone cains instead... even so, I think this daydream has a lot of potential.....

Protein, pork crackling and red wine....

For all its sun drenched days and fresh air, there is a dark side to self sufficiency which cannot be avoided forever.  If you are a meat eater, how do you get your meat?

The first livestock we got on croft 1, was chickens.  The idea goes that you can buy in a a few hens for eggs (protein) a cockerel for the ladies and every year perhaps you'll be blessed with some baby chicks.

Our first brood of all natural chicks was a pure joy to watch. We put 2 broody hens aside in their own 'maternity wing' and just left them to get on with it.  As soon as each of their eggs hatched, the Mums decided to join forces and both moved into the same nesting box. It didn't seem to matter whose was whose, better together!

Unfortunately the cute bundles of fluff only lasts a couple of weeks and then the chicks enter the 'crow' phase.

It's not until months later that the average chicken keeper can tell whether they are boy chicks or girl chicks.  The idea is to keep any girl chicks to increase and replenish your egg laying flock, but fatten up any cockerels for the pot.
Nature seems to have its own timer for this part of the process.  I only keep one cockerel, because more than one and they fight... to the death.  As soon as the boy chicks are big enough to start cocker-doodle-doing its time to get the catching net out and set aside some time for preparing the bird for the freezer.

Mark has drawn the short straw when it comes to 'dispatching' our birds, but after researching a few different ways, he has developed a quick and as far as we can tell trauma free method.

When they all come out of the shed for breakfast, I hang around the feeding tubs and select the right bird. Whilst they're busy with breakfast I can grab the cockerel, hold him under my arm while he flaps and protests and put him into a pillow case - this immediately makes him go quiet and I can hand him over to Mark.  Mark uses a broomstick to stamp on the neck, breaking it immediately and hopefully the process is completed successfully.....  I say this has taken some practice, because one of the first times we tried it,  I went back to a 'dead' bird to start plucking and it blinked.... but that will only happen the once.

Meat from a free range chicken who has been running around all its life sounds ethically superior to the supermarket birds.  I have to admit that in reality they are chewier, thinner and create a bad atmosphere at the table when remembering their cute days.  However, it is meat and needs must.

When it came to the pigs, things got more complicated.

...how could you. :(

Pigs get big.  They arrive like little dogs and as the months go by they turn into large adult pigs.  Where I grew up on the Essex/Suffolk border, they farm pigs outdoors.  You can see them from the A14, enormous pink pork machines, living on the hillside with Anderson-shelter-style huts, so big that all I can see are the pound signs.  I am still debating with myself whether its better for these animals to be out in all weathers, in the mud and cold, or in a nice warm straw lain barn, 15 to a pen.... at least in the UK these are the only 2 options and our bacon does not come from an animal kept in a metal cage all its life, as is the case in other parts of Europe.

But I'm getting political, instead of enjoying what we had.

We bought in 2 Gloucester old Spot X pigs in the April and fed them until the October when they were big.
I had taken to measuring them with a bit of string. I had a handy formula for calculating their weight just by measuring the length of their back and their girth.

By this time, a bit like the Hungry Caterpillar, they had eaten their way through; 38 bags of pig nuts, 5 months of our leftover vegetable scraps, 4 months of vegetable scraps from a nearby pub, one small grassy yard, one field of rushes, and one concrete and polystyrene floor.
They were big now, wire haired and they had beady eyes.  One of them bit me one day and I was getting a bit scared of them too.

Pig bite

I can hear myself getting defensive here, because in reality, no matter how much you think that they have had a good life, it doesn't take away the day of saying goodbye and how sad that makes you feel.

 It didn't make a bad day better, that one of them escaped on the way to the trailer and shot off up the hill. It took us 3 hours to coax her back down with apples and pig nuts before she finally joined her brother in the trailer.  Mark drove them to the abattoir in town and they stood up all the way, ears flapping in the wind. It was only the last 3 miles when they lay down and went to sleep - it reminded me of my boys, they do the same thing on a car journey.

The abattoir asked us if we would like the heads back, when we came to collect the carcasses. I was worried I might recognise them, so I said no - I think they sell them on for an extra bonus.

Down to business though. The abattoir offered a butchery service which wasn't too expensive, but we save pennies in every ways so I did it myself. It took a Friday evening and most of the next day, but I completely filled our large chest freezer with joints, chops, bags of stew and put aside a back joint and a leg.  An unfortunate part of butchering is that I gave myself an 'idiot rash'. The knives were so sharp, I couldn't help but nick my hands here and there.  It made the next process smart - salting a bacon joint for streaky bacon and soaking a leg joint in brine to become a ham for Christmas.

But though it was tiring, I completed the job and we had a supply of the best tasting pork you could ever have.  It was the Ferrari of food, with the added joy of having reared them ourselves.  They were so much fun to have, it made up for the guilt of their ultimate end.  We will definitely have pigs again, though this time, we'll try to grow as much of their feed as we can.  Pork is an expensive meat to have, but maybe if we can combine it with a bit of chicken and a bit of lamb, we can make it last a whole year, and be more at ease with the process.

Christmas ham

The lambs

One of the best things we did this year, was finally starting our own flock of sheep.
After collecting a chest freezer full of milk from the shop across the road (they saved it from the bin when it reached the sell by date and would keep it in the freezer until we picked it up in the wheelbarrow!) we advertised on the noticeboard 'Wanted: Orphan Lambs'.
We'd been told that sometimes lambs get rejected by their mothers, and the process of finding them another Mum, or rearing them by hand can be too time consuming when you have a big flock. We on the other hand have 2 little boy 'lambs' of our own who would be very willing to put in the time and the cuddles necessary for the job.

A few weeks into lambing time, we had a call from our neighbour in the next village, Dolly.  We had a large old water tank filled with straw already installed in the kitchen by the radiator and so, Dolly the lamb arrived. (Named in honour of our benefactor, but also a double joke referring to the cloning station in Roselin.)

When Murdo, husband to Dolly (human) brought Dolly (lamb) up the drive dangling by the 2 front legs, I couldn't help but scoop her up in a blanket and treat her like a delicate thing.  But I didn't actually know what else to do.  Her Mum had died shortly after giving birth, so she had had a little colostrum, but not much else. Murdo had given her some milk via a tube into the stomache, so, as I had my bottle, my tube and my instructions on the packet I made up another sachet of colostrum and gave it a go.
Murdo had told me that unless you have 3 hands, it makes it easier to take a sip of the milk yourself, and put the tube in your mouth. I knew to sit the lamb accross my knees while sitting in a chair, but even with all the instructions and diagrams in my sheep keeprs book, it still took a while to get the hang of it.  But I managed to get Dolly to chew on my finger, then I slipped the tube into her mouth and down her throat, being careful not to get it down her windpipe. Then I let the milk out of my mouth and down the tube straight into her tummy.

Probably the best lucky dip ever!

I gave her a little at first and then put her back in her tub by the heater.  She was shaking after having the tube down her throat, so once she'd had a rest I tried with a bottle to get her sucking reflex going.
It took a while over the next couple of days to build her strength up because I didn't really know what signs to look for.  But once I saw some colostrum had gone in, I moved onto the milk.  Then one evening she was making some strange noises and when I looked in her bucket I could see she'd had a poo. My baby rearing experience suddenly clicked and I knew everything would be alright now!
Next she just needed some cuddles, so I passed her onto the correct department.

 

 

What more could one little boy need.

 It was just a few days before Dolly (human) rang to find out how we were getting on. By this time Dolly (lamb) was skipping about the sitting room, as lambs do, and investigating the great outdoors.

So did we want another she asked?
And so we nipped off that morning to pick up Murdo (lamb Murdo, not her husband)
When we got to their barn he was standing up in a cardboard box bleating at anyone he could see. Obviously stronger, he had been one of twins, but his mother had rejected him and concentrated all her efforts on the other lamb. He is a cheviot x, as opposed to Dolly who is a blackface, so he was already a bit bigger, but still in need of some care. He already had the sucking reflex as he'd had a few tummy fulls of milk, so it was easy to feed him straight from the bottle.
Before long the 2 of them were spending the sunny days outside in a makeshift pen and the nights in the wood shed together.

 
Then along came 'Shouty' - again from our generous neighbours Dolly and Murdo (humans) and so called by Morris because this one wouldn't shuttup! Shouty was another who had been given the energy of mothers milk, but had fallen on hard times shortly after.  We thought at this point we should probably take down the notice in the shop, but when Dolly (human) rang for the 4th time and I explained that Shouty was getting left out in the wood shed at night, she was relieved to say they had a sister for her.
So finally we gained 'Quiet', another Cheviot x who was very docile and needed some extra cuddles when she started to hit a low.  By this 4th one I realised there seemed to be a period where it wasn't just the milk they needed. Sometimes they would go a bit stiff and generally look depressed - of course, not surprising when they were obviously mourning the loss of their natural mother. So at this point I would sit them on my knee while I was at the laptop and the warm body contact was well received, just to let them know they're not alone.  Quiet pulled through and she is the prettiest of them all.

Look at those pink ears

 Our 4 lovely lambs.  We had used a range of 'care' styles from a tube into the stomache, to a cuddle of the sofa and our initial flock is established.

There were other things mentioned in the sheep rearing book that weren't so easy to negotiate. For starters, Murdo is a boy.... and we did not at this point in the flock, want to keep a Ram.  Also, sheep generally need to have their tails docked so that they don't get too long and pick up mud and dirt.  Mark did a quick ebay search and found a nifty tool - for £15.59 a solution appeared.  £14 for a pair of 'pliers' and £1.59 for 100 elastic bands and the sheep don't seem to feel anything at all. Our friends asked, while considering Murdo 'What are you going to do with them when they fall off...?'

 ...take a picture of course!

We have pampered this first 4 - they have had a hut to sleep in for the first 6 months of their lives, but now we have moved them into a second paddock with long fresh grass, we've used this as an excuse to remind them they are actually sheep and equipped to sleep outside.  One day they will be roaming around the fields further away and turning the brown grass into green by mowing and fertilising it for us.  Then when they move on next spring, we can start to advertise again for some more orphan lambs....

Happy workers in the best job ever