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.




  

Friends or Food....

As it is Boxing day and the fridge is full, literally full to the top, with Turkey, sausages, bacon, salmon and pate, it makes me wonder if this new year will be a time when I will move a step closer to becoming vegetarian.

The idea of moving to a remote Scottish island, often cut off from the mainland and the supplies brought in by ferry, never daunted us; self sufficiency has always been a goal.
We have grown a huge variety of vegetables here, but when it comes to meat, there is no getting away from some cold hard facts of life... and death.

It started with mackerel.

Our first house was on the side of a small sea loch in Gravir. At certain times of the year shoals of mackerel would come into the loch and on a warm evening, Mark could stand on the local pier, catching fish after fish after fish.  He would mostly give them a quick donk on the head to finish them off quickly on the pier. But sometimes he would put the carrier bag from fishing on the kitchen draining board, and it would still be flapping about and rustling when I came in to de-head and gut them for the freezer.

When we moved to our permanent house in Kershader, I finally got to realise a day dream when I was given my first 6 chickens, 2nd hand.  They were a bit too free range to begin with, but the eggs were outstanding.

The thing about a flock of chickens is they are so easy to keep when you have the space, and so easy to expand when someone also gives you a cockerel.

The joys of baby chicks...

Mark always told me I should be the one to raise and look after them while he handled the unfortunate end part. He developed a stress free method for popping their clogs... but nowadays, after 5 years of doing the necessary, he is starting to feel the strain. I guess we also know them all a lot better now...

The island has an abattoir, not for chickens unfortunately, but certainly when we upped the game and got some piglets, it was the only option.
They arrived adorable.

And in just about 6 months turned into huge freezer packs.

It was hard to get rid of them, they had been good pets, wonderfully amusing to keep but I'd forced myself to always see them as food...

...difficult all the same.  The bigger the animals, the higher the anthropomorphosis.

So we went back to poultry after that with some ducks.

It was all a bit uncomfortable, and though we managed to 'enjoy' one of them, the rest - lucky for them - escaped and flew away to live happily ever after.

The chicken flock continued to expand which was wonderful for the eggs, but as far as meat was concerned we had now given up on rearing table birds.  Watching them at every stage of their lives, I couldn't help but see life from their perspective - soaking up the sun's warmth, scratching in the ground for anything interesting, cuddling up to each other for warmth and comfort, or just hanging out.  All such basic needs, just expressed by way of their own environment.

Then things got super cute when we were given some orphan lambs by a neighbouring crofter.

Sheep are the main way that people round here get their protein.  We hope to take on about a dozen sheep in the future and have lambs from them. So far we have 2 of our orphans still, and they are still adorable, probably more so because we have seen them, tended them, fed them since babies.

Today I went out on a frosty, clear, quiet afternoon, with all that food in our fridge, but none of it self sufficient.  I fed:
- 4 ducks, reared from eggs this time and not so inclined to escape

super cute, and no where near intended for the table, at Christmas or any time.
- 4 goats, taken on as a favour to a friend despite other peoples comments that they'd make a good stew

- 2 dozen chickens and 1 cockerel

- 2 soppy sheep, 1 ewe 1 eunuch

and a partridge in a pear tree! (No, no partridge but we did plant a pear tree from seed - maybe next Christmas..?)

All these animals, they may be wild, they may be smelly (though not necessarily bad) they may not be domesticated pets, but they are certainly not destined for the freezer.

It might be a problem, but as I still can't make the connection between them, and food, for now vegetarianism is still on pause.




 

If you have a problem, just throw money at it...

We moved to Lewis after renovating our house in Tile Hill, Coventry. The property price bubble had just exploded over the West Midlands and prices still being cheaper in Scotland and especially Lewis, we upscaled on size, but downscaled on the mortgage.


This meant that during the property renovation we weren't faced with the same budgetry constraints that had hindered us renovating the house for the 5 years that we'd lived there.

We discovered a mantra used by the rich - If you've got a problem, just throw money at it.

It is amazing how many of normal life's woes and worries suddenly disappear when you are able to buy your way out of them.


When we moved to Lewis it took us a while to climb back down from our care-free with money ways. We rented for 2 years before finally finding the right place to buy. The pot of money waiting in our bank account, which we had hoped back in Coventry would buy us a house, had been eaten into by things we felt were needed at the time.... a new van for Mark's work that turned out to be an overpriced rust bucket; a round trip back to England by plane and hire car, only a year after we had got there; another van which wasn't so much of a rust bucket, but still cost a couple of thousand.  When you get used to having money its hard to stop spending it.

But then, we also learned to noticed the value of things, even when the price tag didn't match...

By the time we had moved into the house, at 1 Kershader, the new renovation project, our budget was greatly hindered.

We had unwittingly got mixed up in a land grab situation with the neighbours and ended up spending another £10k on extra croft-land. We only just managed to buy some solar-thermal panels (which have been amazing and worth 10 times their weight in gold) and decorate the boys bedroom and kitchen before we moved in.

Since then, our mantra has changed. No longer throwing money at our problems, we now make do or do without.

The crofting way of life has always been one of making use of what is immediately available to you.   We can see the evidence of this just by looking around us. Things have been bodged together from rubbish - they do the job, but back in Coventry this would be scoffed at.  I like it though.  British society has become so disposable and consumer - influenced by over 3 thousand years of snobbery and class system, I find it refreshing to have the space to just experiment and figure things out by myself - and be surrounded by like-minded people with their own history....

When was money invented? When did value and money get so disparate?

The Hebrideans have an ancient history - the Callanish stones were built, and from what the latest archaeological studies are saying, were also renovated, around 5 thousand years ago.  I'm sure people back then had problems that only a change in mantra had helped them with - no money yet invented to throw at it and keep the status quo, only some small change in ideas.

Callanish stone 'circle'

I could never have imagined back In Coventry, in the city, how my perspective could be so influenced by my surroundings.  I have dreamt here, about being one of the people back then, living on the moor, before the days of the stone circles, or much sooner when the Brochs, came.

Dunn Broch Carloway

Being wild, before civilisation offered company, conversation, structure.  Before money was invented.... what a concept...what a dream....

Are we there yet...?

1st stop - in the quiet glen

When we first moved to Lewis, it was January. We were in a holiday house and were told that we were fine to stay long term, but a couple always booked the house out for the first 2 weeks of April.  This was fine, we found a wonderful house down at the loch's edge and stayed there for 18 more months. What we didnt realise at the time was how reliable the holidaying couple's barometer was. 

2nd stop - down by the loch

The winters feel long on Lewis - the days are short, roughly from 9.30am - 3.30pm at midwinter and by March everyone is desperate for the grass to start growing. Then come the first 2 weeks of April - Pop! Spring is here! The sheep know the time is right and the villages are suddenly filled with lambs. Old abandoned houses fill their gardens with daffodils planted by inhabitants long gone and everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

Gravir is an 'open village' for grazing so the sheep have right of way

Don't get me wrong, I also like the winter... because I'm lazy. I love drawing the curtains and ramping the fire up. There are so many films to enjoy and the internet to explore. And I love to sleep!  That wonderful moment when you're just dropping off and you feel like you leave your body.  When I was younger I loved to interpret my dreams and wonder at what they meant. While I still dream vividly, in full colour, I place more emphasis on daydreams now, just using the night work for insight.

In some ways the summer is too much here, the days are from 3.30am - 12am at midsummer. When its 10.30 at night and the sun is streaming in through the windows, its quite exhausting. 'Come on come on!'  its saying 'look at the day! Get out and enjoy it!'.

This year I cant wait for spring, again. Its mid March and I've just put duckling eggs in the incubator. In 28 days time they should be hatching and we'll have had our first 2 weeks of April.  I guess after becoming a Mum and having 2 babies of my own, I can't resist the joy of new cute bundles - but without all the pain and sleep deprivation that comes with your own children.

The first time I made baby chicks, was such an interesting experiment. I made life, just with the right ingredients, heat and time! Morris especially loved to sit and watch them feeding, sleeping, twitching.  I would watch him watching them = 2 levels of cuteness in one sitting <sigh>

I've tried to hatch ducks before and had no luck, lets hope this spring - when it finally arrives - proves to be more successful. Just have to be patient in the meantime....

  

Memory and connecting accross distance

Since moving to the island, to get over missing family and old friends back on the mainland, we have become regular Facebook users. My Mum has even become a silver surfer, though when i took her to buy a laptop, she got to the till and forgot her pin number, which wasn't a good start with technology....

This weekend I have joined a group called 'If you live in Halstead...' which asks for memories of the town I grew up in. The group has been a ravaging phenomena, growing its members to over 1300 in 48 hours.  Halstead, when I lived there, was about the size of Stornoway - 1 secondary school, 1 sports centre/swimming pool and far too many hairdressers and pubs.

The site has brought together so many scattered people, sharing a collective memory of a place and similar or shared experiences.  The positive energy generated by this group is obvious from its viral growth. Like the branches of a tree, one has passed on to many, who in turn pass on to many more. The speed of member growth is a testiment to the happiness shared memories evoke.

In many cases with the posts, it is a place which triggers memory - we have all played at a certain park in our childhood and each of us has had an individual relationship with for instance, the slide. In the same way that Citizen Kane's last words were 'Rosebud' the name of his sledge, perhaps we all remember the slide well because of the thrill it gave us.

Greenwood Park's slide and one of its many happy users

What I find more interesting is the idea of shared memory, which may be false or fabricated, or borrowed from an original telling.  I am sure I remember getting my pants stuck on the top of the slide one time!  They ripped and it caused maybe a mixture of embarressment, shock and humour - all intense emotions which are said to help to 'fix' a memory. However via the facebook group I have heard 4 other childhood stories of pants and trousers ripping at the top of the slide. Of course its highly possible that all of us just fell victim to the same broken slide, but I wonder whether there is more happening here too. Such a story or anecdote could easily have been shared over the years, retold and in retelling attributed to our own experiences, rather than as a group story. The study of 'false memories' seems quite popular in academia, I wonder if facebook could become a repository for subjects to collect data from...

Obviously people everywhere enjoy sharing memories and most especially so on the islands. The local historical societies here are very popular, both with the islanders who have strong family connections already, but also with foreigners who are tracing their family roots.  Because many families were forced to immigrate in the 1800's because of the Clearances, there are many people who can now connect across the distance to their past, and unlock their own precious memories.

The Pairc Historical Society and Hebridean Connections facebook pages have just started putting up photographs which not only serve as a historical record, but make people feel part of a collective through sharing the same memories, or memories of the same place or event.

I wonder what effect this will have on human cognitive development in the coming years - the ability to recall memories is something that we all hope to hang onto as we get older. Perhaps social networking will show itself to be a social good for improving memory in old age and improving our mental well being and happiness in the future....