Multi-sap-tasking

I picked up a wee bit of conversation on the radio yesterday where an American woman was talking about how important it was for young women to be able to see themselves in future roles like Kamala Harris’s. She also said that what she wore would have an added influence on how she was perceived. I asked Spook what perception I created with my attire.

“Hmmmm…..

the inner set of dungarees suggest that you have got up and got dressed. There’s the added possibility that you may plan to brush the kitchen floor. The outer waterproof dungarees suggest that you may consider washing it as well.

Was that helpful?”

Not particularly.

The task of the day was to cut up a tree at the top of the Croft which had fallen on the fence. This tree had served a fine purpose in that it had supplied a few bottles of Birch Sap wine. Now the cutting of the tree would create a dog walking situation without having to walk the dog.

Trimming the branches would create fodder for the goats - whilst not providing much nutrition, it satisfies a need.

There’s also the chance of a bit of action for the dungarees.

Goats happy, it was time to put the pup through his driving paces. He’s not been practicing much recently so this was too good to waste.

There was mouse sniffing galore. It’s hard to get good hibernation going when there’s a hairy predator on the loose.

And bonfire building is less productive when I put it on and he takes it off.

But by the end of the day, the wood pile had greatly increased and one tree had more than proven its worth (not that it needed to.). Likewise I lived up to my portrayed image, as I did sweep the kitchen floor. Whilst I didn’t quite stretch to washing it the dog melted all over it and I wiped it up - so close enough.

Chilling

Happy New Year.

2020 has been an excuse for me to do very little - just obeying the rules.

But Running Girl has still invited me on her weekly dip all year. Curly and The Girl Next Door have also issued invites, some of which I’ve accepted and others that I’ve neatly side-stepped. No matter how many times I get into that cold water, it never gets easier or begins to feel like something ‘I do.’ It’s a shocker and for all the documentation that this is really good for you, the drive to freeze my butt off is not as strong as the desire to drive in the opposite direction.
Last night Running Girl asked if I fancied a wee walk up to the Half Ben Lochan for an extra special dip. Recently I’d abandoned the swimsuit for wetsuit, wetsuit socks, shoes, gloves and as much full body cover as is practicable. However dragging all that halfway up The Ben didn’t seem worth it.
Climbing Kev enquired whether we intended to swim a breadth of the lochan or a length? Running Girl suggested 3 full strokes would suffice and I murmured that 1 massive stroke was more than likely.

But who can resist Running Girls enthusiasm for a wee bit of purposeful trial and tribulation. And what a beautiful day for it. Warm in the sun but treacherous underfoot. Strolling up the Ben Path just now is not really recommended. Careful steps up and even more careful ones down. However I was so warm I really did believe I was getting in that lochan.

Until we walked over the crest of the moor to be hit with the north wind and arctic conditions. And joy of joy - a frozen lochan.

I did try…..

There was no way I was taking my clothes off in that chill wind anyway - but Running Girl would have been in there if she’d found a snow hole big enough.
We looked for a sunny spot for lunch instead.

Here, I could prove my commitment to the swim. At least I’d put my cozzy on in good faith. As had she -

Thankfully we’d got our clothes on before the couple and their dog walked round the corner.

Running Girl still needed her swim though. So when we drove past The Roaring Mill in the lower region of the river Nevis, we had to get in the water. For me - up to my knees. For RG it was her 3 full strokes in water that sucked the breath out of her. There is stuff documented about the benefits of chilling your knees and that’s good enough for me. My knees feel wonderful now.
Meanwhile Spook took a run over Banavie Hill to Drumfada and got himself a wee Brocken Spectre.

Here’s to 2021 and whatever we can make of it

A Time To Heal

Think Claire Fraser of Outlander and her herbal medicine.

Think misunderstood, wise women of the land.

Think witches.

And then drive to Lochaline on the outer reaches of Lochaber to visit Clare Holohan - a Medical Herbalist. Forget a fictional Claire Fraser - but remember the rest. When I heard that the real life Clare was involved in a book called Scotland’s Wild Medicine, and along with 3 other women had launched a Kickstarter Fund in order to raise the money to publish the book, I hot tailed it across the Corran Narrows and along the beautiful road to the Morvern Peninsula.

When I first started this blog, I was hoping to meet and have adventures with the myriad of fascinating people who live in Lochaber. From the ordinary (because other peoples lives are fascinating) to the extraordinary. To a certain extent I did do a bit of that, but in the long run my courage and confidence failed me when it came to approaching people I didn’t know. But right at the start, Clare Holohan generously offered me a place on her foraging course, which I didn’t manage to go to as I was caring for my Mum. Extra sad, as no one would have enjoyed that course more than my mum who knew a lot about plants and was a great believer in the natural healing that could be found there.

www.westhighlandherbal.com

Clare is collaborating on a book for a charity called Heal Scotland. While many of us slowed up during lockdown and took more time to look around us and felt the benefits, many of us also developed new anxieties as restrictions lifted, renewed, changed and were widely interpreted across the land. This book is timely. Scheduled to come out in Spring 2021 it will provide advice and guidance on maximising the benefits of that slowing down, and how to approach life from a much simpler perspective -no matter where you live, and in ways that don’t cost money. (the book will be available as an ebook for £10 and a hard copy for £15)

https://www.helpyourcell.com

Just driving out on the Morvern peninsula itself has therapeutic benefits - in particular on a late November day with low lying sun, quiet roads and wonderful sepia, raw sienna and burnt umber tones on the hills and moors.

Waiting for the Corran Ferry

Looking across to Argyll

Not quite Outlander, but there is a pride in caring for the old mileage signs.

It’s a long and winding road to tranquillity

Husband Spook came with me to enjoy the time together (aww) and go for a run. Meanwhile, I met up with Clare and wondered if she might suggest a poultice to sit on for the journey home as I was recovering from a painful hamstring pull and had brought a crutch just in case. I thought perhaps Dock leaves might be the thing as that was the first plant I asked her about - was it all placebo as a child when I frantically rubbed the convenient dock leaf that always grew near the nettle patch I’d just landed in? What I remember most is focussing on the rubbing - reddening the skin, whilst turning it green with dock slime. She could reassure me that it was not placebo and that there is real evidence of the healing created by the damp content of the dock leaf released by rubbing it vigorously on the nettle sting. So far so good, but I decided to spend a wee bit more time with her before broaching the poultice for my lower butt cheek. That’s that courage issue again.

The herb garden, planted in a circle - in response to the seasons

The winter garden was not at it’s most fruitful and was settling in for the winter. Just as Clare is - enjoying that the day darkens at 4pm and she can go inside and snuggle up by the fire, recovering from the long days of graft in summer. Making tinctures and potions, writing a book………probably not so much snuggling, really.

5 acres are carefully utilised to contain some Hebridean and Shetland sheep, some goats, and a retired old sow happily snuffling about in the earth, along with hens, ducks and the herb garden, vegetable patch, polytunnel and magical mystery shed. This is the simplest set up that is deeply underwritten by a wealth of knowledge and personal experience from ten years of practice. Clare lives this life and generously shares her space and knowledge with volunteers who help tend the garden and often go on to become Herbalists themselves. She has also witnessed the successful use of her applications and tinctures for many clients, herself, family and animals. As we wandered about the herb garden I asked what somewhat non-descript looking plants were for. Each response had me either conjuring up someone I knew who absolutely needed this or reminding me of my own short-comings and jokingly asking what she’d give me for my increasingly judgemental nature, my irritability, short temper, lack of sleep and general huffyness - I didn’t even get on to the fact that I have been diagnosed as pre, pre-diabetic most likely due to my life-long sweet tooth. It’s noteworthy that the herb I came home clutching was one that smelt of sherbert! I don’t even remember what it’s called or what it’s for, but it smelt amazing. Surprisingly, Clare did have a herb for my every short coming. LIke our wee dog that recently rolled in our goat shed (and now permanently smells more like a goat than the goats) I fought back a compulsion (if only the dog had such restraint) to roll all around the herb garden. Starting with the tangle of hops (a sedative) then immersing myself in the mugwort to dispense my irritability and possibly stem off a cold sore which my other witchy pal tells me is due to unspoken angry words, (huh. I can’t speak ALL the angry words!!) and then just keep rolling about in the hope that some of this earthy goodness would rub off on me.

I was drawn to the sage without knowing what it was, rubbing and smelling it. I followed this up with a wise word and we laughed I (wish I remember what it was) lending quite a bit of weight to the rolling about in the garden idea.

Mugwort - as irritable looking as I feel.

The power of the plants and herbs, is simply released, and harnessed in the most un factory-like conditions.

Magical mystery shed.

The press

Scots Pine - Claire called this a gift from the storm, which was awaiting the press and transformation into a tincture.

4 weeks in alcohol is enough - unlike many of us in lockdown

Calendula

As we meandered back up to the car, Clare suddenly realised I didn’t have my crutch anymore and had to go and look for it. The jury is still out on whether I’m a bit of a drama queen/fraudster, or if the garden and Clare’s warmth and positivity were the tonic. I found Spook hobbling back up the road, having pulled a calf muscle early in his run and he’d had to walk for about 5 miles. He was NOT in a good mood. I’m only sorry I didn’t send him round Clare’s croft in order to effect a little healing.

I forgot about the poultice but I did ask Clare what I needed for courage (thinking of my blog ability). Borage, she said.

I’m going to see if I can grow some of that on the croft so that me and the dog can roll about in it. It’s got to smell better than the goat poop.

Homeward bound

I genuinely can’t wait for the book to come out. Perfect for the coffee table, it will be a beautiful page turner and an inspirational talking point and more importantly an action point. There is nothing ‘holier than thou’ about Clare. She exudes natural well being and energy, warmth and hospitality. And whatever that herb for non judgementalism is - she must have consumed a bucket load.

Here is the full story of the campaign from Jane Wright - journalist and editor. And at the very end, a couple of tantalising pics and content from the book.

KICKSTARTER CAMPAIGN FOR HEAL SCOTLAND BOOK

SCOTLAND’S WILD MEDICINE: RECONNECTING WITH

NATURE FOR HEALTH, WELL-BEING AND HEALING

Heal Scotland is an education, information and support platform to help people get healthy and happy – and stay that way.

Unfortunately we have one of the worst health pictures in the world. Killer diseases and conditions like cancer, obesity, diabetes, alcoholism, stress and depression are rife, with life expectancy in some parts of the country less than that in some parts of the developing world. 

Of course it was not always this way; once we lived by the rhythms of the land and ate simply but well from the wonderful larder that nature provided. But when did we stop eating our indigenous, seasonal, plentiful, brain-building food? And why?

Industrial-scale farming, pesticides and weed killers have destroyed our top soil and the Earth’s biome, resulting in nutrient-depleted “dead” food, just as stress and overuse of pharmaceutical drugs have decimated our own gut biome. This has led to a massive decrease in vitality and health. Our energy has been compromised and with that our passion and purpose has been dimmed.

One of the most important – and overlooked – relationships we have is with nature. At the most fundamental level this symbiotic relationship literally sustains us as we inhale the oxygen that plants emit into the atmosphere. But as technologies have advanced and our world has become ever-more sophisticated and life is lived at an accelerated pace where everything must be faster, more immediate and convenient, we have become divorced from nature. And we are suffering for it.

Our physical and mental well-being have been drastically affected as we have retreated indoors into sedentary lifestyles. We have developed addictions to virtual online living and social media that is anything but social, as we all become more solitary, staring down at back-lit screens. We have become disconnected not just from one another but from the natural world around us. And the toll is huge, with ever-greater numbers taking anti-depressants and relying on pharmaceutical drugs that treat the symptoms but not the root causes of physical malaise. 

But the solution is simple and easily available to us. When we understand that everything is connected, and that we cannot enjoy optimal health when divorced from nature, we are already on our way to fixing the problem.

Our incredible land with its raw beauty and rich bounty holds the answers to a more harmonious life. When we truly understand that we are part of nature, we can start to recover our health, vitality, happiness and purpose.

To that end we have created this wonderful book, Scotland’s Wild Medicine: Reconnecting with Nature for Health, Well-being and Healing to help guide people back to a more natural way of living; to discover – or rediscover – what nature can provide us with to keep us well, healthy and happy. The key is understanding this precious relationship we have with nature, and how embracing the natural world can bring us back into balance and flow.

We need to reconnect to our land, our nature, our power, purpose and potential. That includes foraging plants for food and remedies; breathing fresh, clean air; exposing ourselves to sunshine and natural light; walking in the woods (forest bathing) or barefoot on a beach to “recharge” ourselves; drinking fresh, natural water; eating fresh, organic, nutrient-rich food; and swimming in the sea, rivers and natural pools.

In this book you will find a practical guide to Scottish plants for food and healing, taking you through the seasons month by month, identifying the myriad flora, explaining what they are good for and how they can be used. Our Highland medical herbalist Clare Holohan shares her deep knowledge and provides expert advice and guidance on how to use each plant for health and healing.

Nutritionist and energy healer Lilia Sinclair explains the many ways we can reconnect physically to nature and all the benefits we can reap from simple activities that cost nothing but can mean everything when it comes to healing. From cold water immersion to meditative walks among our ancient woods, Lilia demonstrates how daily rituals and practices can set us on a more positive, healthy path that we can maintain for the rest of our lives.

Eilidh Cameron is a gifted young photographer with a passion for the Scottish landscape that shines through in the stunning array of striking images throughout this book. She has photographed in close-up every plant mentioned for easy identification, as well as capturing Scotland in all its mercurial weather moods. Her work stands as delightful record of nature’s bounty and the magic that herbalist Clare works with nature’s raw ingredients.

A charitable organisation, Heal Scotland has a website, YouTube channel and app, and offers workshops and retreats both here and abroad several times a year. Beyond this book project, the bigger vision is to set up healing communities all over the country to help improve the lives and health of as many people as possible.

We invite you to help us bring this important project to fruition by contributing to our funding. There are a variety ways you can pledge your support:

• £10 will buy you a copy of our ebook. Download on to your phone and use it as an indispensable guide to help you identify plants and fungi on foraging trips.

• £15 will buy you a beautiful high-quality printed version of the book, which would make a fine addition to any coffee-table.

• £20 will buy you a copy of the ebook and the printed book.

• £60 will get you five printed books for the price of four.

• Sign up to our very special Scotland’s Wild Medicine retreat being held at Portavadie Marina and Spa on the banks of Loch Fyne from 10-13 September 2021. Ten lucky people will spend four days learning how to forage for wild plants with Clare, with classes in cooking and making remedies, tinctures and balms. Alongside the foraging adventure, Lilia will teach breath-work, meditation, yoga, cold-water immersion, forest bathing and techniques to improve mental well-being, such as the art of letting go negative thinking and behaviours. Luxury five-star accommodation and breakfast at Portavadie is included, plus access to the wonderful spa which includes a heated outdoor infinity pool with spectacular views across Loch Fyne. You can book a place now for £799 per person based on two people sharing (you will be teamed up with another person on the retreat in other words - or persuade a friend to book a place too!).

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1719899110/scotlands-wild-medicine

It’s All About Mr Brown

Time nor tide waits for no man, goat or donkey. Mr Brown has been gone for a few weeks now with the understanding that he could come back if he wasn’t happy. The Goat Lady has provided an update that he’s been hanging out with a herd of girl deer and their calves. No shenanigans have been reported thus far, so no long eared, agile ‘donkdeer’ are anticipated. In fact the herd matriarch is ensuring there is no opportunity for rumpypumpy.

One has to feel sorry for Mr. Brown who is used to being the chaser and not the chasee. It was this image that convinced me I had to check all was truly well with him. The Goat Lady loves him very much and may not be in the best position to judge his state of mind.
I decided to recruit the support of the East Witch as she knows The Goat Lady well and as TGL is a bit of a witch herself, I didn’t want her pulling the wool over my eyes.
Spook likes witches and hanging out with the girls in general, so there was no leaving him behind.

And before we set off, I had a quick word with the goats to let them know I’d be checking out the facilities to see if it was possible for them to head west.

This was no easy ride. We were heading to the last great wilderness of Scotland and we had much to get through to reach Mr Brown.

Well - Mallaig wasn’t looking quite so wild as one might have found back in the day when the fishing boats were in dock with happy, tired, well off fishermen getting ‘fu’ and unco happy’ in the bars.

Just a sated seal, floating about in anticipation of a tasty morsel.

We chose a high powered rib for the first part of the journey. I felt that speed was of the essence.

And of course, I asked for a safety briefing and guidance to the exits should anything go wrong. I’m a nervous kind of girl. But folks don’t like upstarts looking doubtful and asking questions, so on the next, rather pared down boat, I tried to look more comfortable and less questioning.

I even went a bit Titanic.

The Goat Lady was driving this one and was a wee bit nervous as she’s quite new to driving a boat. It was important she feel we had absolute confidence in her…

Spook showed his complete and utter faith in her by looking suitably bored and checking his social media updates in a rare signal opportunity.

He said he was ‘working’.

Picking up Mr Browns fan mail is an important part of the week so we did that on the way past.

And food to sustain our efforts seemed important. Goodness knows how long the journey would take and we needed to make sure we wouldn’t go hungry.

The Goat Lady has cooked a whole lot of fish in her time but never ever fished. This seemed like a good time to start.

Lunch sorted. It reappeared later, having been cooked on a beech fired barbecue.

But we were not there yet. Another kinda boat and crew was required and I needed to take control to make sure we were on track. This was all about Mr Brown.

They may look the part, but I wasn’t convinced they were taking this seriously.

Finally, on dry land, we had one last mode of transport.

It was Spook who found the shadowy figure in the shed……..could it be?

The mysterious Mr Brown.
After all we’d been through, it was an emotional moment. Mr Brown let me rub his forelock and he nuzzled my chest before wandering off to join his girls.

But I couldn’t help feeling he’d changed. No braying and other such donkey-like behaviour. No. Something else was happening. Something far more disturbing. More Animal Farm than Dr Dolittle.

The Westerly Witch casting a spell on Mr Brown.

I can’t deny he’s looking well, but I needed to hear it from himself.

And we discussed it as a group because that also seemed important.

The only conclusion to draw is that he’s very happy. He’s clearly renewed his bond with The Goat Lady and we need to let it go. He doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable with his living conditions and in general, the scenery is quite nice.

Eventually we had to get back on the boat and return without him.

We were sad, but we have each other.

We left a happy Mr Brown and a Happy Goat Lady and her husband. And we had a really happy visit. Thanks to TGL for phenomenal food and to her and Mr Goat Lady for wonderful hospitality. And to Mel Shand the East Witch, for her wonderful documentation and interpretation of the witchy ways.

Silence of the Lambs

No sooner did I warn Mr Brown not to get too attached to the sheep and they were gone. Having spent his time here getting to know them - chasing them out of their shady spots under the Hawthorn bush just because he could, moving them on out of the shelter and sneaking up on the lambs to say ‘BOO’, it was a downer to have them moved to the wee field, rounded up, and removed for shearing purposes. Not that it was a smooth removal, and not that the departure of the noisy craturs wasn’t at least welcome to the human occupants of the Croft, as they managed to be even noisier than the donkey. It involved 5 of us chasing them round in circles while Spook and I attempted to display our crofting credentials to the McFarmers.

Mr McFarmer demonstrated the basics and after a magnificent tackle, Spook managed to get a bit of a sheep.

Whilst this was helpful on the shearing front, it wasn’t getting the flock to where they needed to be. Mr McFarmer suggested he try something a bit smaller.

Mr Brown ran up and down the other field braying with indignation as they were HIS sheep to chase, not ours.

Once the sheep were ready to go I just had to round up Spook.

“Way tae me, Spook, way tae me!”

Job done.

The silence of the lambs is wonderful but has left Mr Brown a wee bit lonely. He was sulking in his shed one day when he suddenly noticed 2 magnificent horses being walked along the road in the care of their female Handlers. They were huge - the size of police horses - and Mr Brown clearly thought they were his own kin as he raced across the field letting loose 2 very loud and extended brays, his wee legs going like the clappers and his stubby Wee tail wagging enthusiastically. He had never looked more like the donkey in Shrek. They reared up with a lack of mutual respect, and a look of horror at this wee abomination while the Handlers expertly kept them in check. As they strolled along the road back under control, Mr Browns legs were going in double time to keep up. But this was unrequited love and, just like the sheep, they too moved on.

Having snubbed us on a regular basis, he has now allowed himself to submit to grooming and head rubs. His bottom has returned to good health thanks to the magical ointment and my perseverance to get in aboot it. Local children come and visit him quite regularly and with no one else to annoy he will happily blow the hair off their faces now and then with a loud hello.

Other things (but not much) have been achieved out with the animal chaos.
Spook made a chair.

And I made a tomato and some radishes.

Which means I am no longer crippled by envy and anxiety over other people’s efforts. A tomato’s a tomato. And just because no one in the family likes radishes is no reason not to feel proud.
The Croft security system is still in place though not totally reliable yet.

After a hard day trying not to harass goats, hens and donkeys, he likes to slip into something comfortable and just relax.

The Trouble With Mr Brown

Mr Brown turns into a fire breathing dragon at 3.30am. And 4.30 and 5am. Or at least he did, until he settled in. He resides in the field next to the goats so that he doesn’t bowl them over. He lives with Mr McFarmers sheep and lambs instead and chases them out his way when he’s in a bad mood. And he gets in a bad mood when the midges are in full flow.
“How’s his bottom?” Asked the Goat Lady on the phone

A bit dry looking, with peeling skin” says a squeamish me.
“Just rub some of that ointment on it, that I left for you - it has magical qualities.”
“Aye, right!”

Wooing a donkey is not easy. Hand applied ointment was not going to happen so I went back to the spray bottle. He hates the sound of the spray. He hates me. Part of the wooing was to let him into the field with the goats once they’d gone to bed so that he could nose them through the gate. And then put him back into bother the sheep in the morning. This worked well twice. and On the third evening we had a Mexican Stand Off. He stood in the middle of the road between the two fields and refused to go into either. He hates me. This would have been the moment to produce the spray bottle as he would definitively move somewhere, and quite fast. Eventually, when he got bored, he wandered back into the sheep field where has created a new bond with his flock. Hope it’s not too strong a bond as they do tend to move on!! And then he let me rub ointment on his bottom!!! Was he feeling guilty for having given me such a hard time?? Now Mr Brown is no trouble. Well - today.
With 8 Chooks arriving to add to the livestock we decided to get in some Security.
We got a guard dog

Introducing him to his charges has gone well so far. We have a lot of work to do to build up some of his fiercer qualities.

Pity he doesn’t seem to be able to milk goats. The Goat Ladies Husband was passing by midst relocation duties. “Wanda’s left udder is looking rather swollen so you’ll need to take some milk off.”

”Oh!”

”It’s not difficult once you get the knack” says GLH

“I’ve been known to swear a lot and sometimes cry” says The Goat Lady.
Very reassuring.
Luckily The Biology Teacher aka The Milk Maid, called by for a socially distanced catch up with her pal, Oor Princess. If we couldn’t manage to milk Wanda she could get mastitis and get sick, so we really needed to get this right. The Biology Teacher agreed to record the event in order to get feedback from GLH should it be required. “I’ve milked a cow before” she declared, “so I’m happy to step in if need be.”

Appropriate and mature video footage is available but I dont know how to add to blog so it’s on Itsmosblog Facebook. Needless to say social distancing was abandoned for the sake of Wanda’s health and The Milk Maid came to the fore.

Having only milked one cow once, this was impressive. Over half a pint collected and my stuff discarded after Wanda stood in it. No swearing or crying but heaps of giggling.

The guard dog would like some chilled and stored in his trendy kiwi bottle, Thankyou very much.

Postal Orders

Spook commented to Our Princess recently that he’d hardly spent any money over lockdown. She stared in disbelief, as a non-stop trail of delivery people and exhausted Posties have beaten a path to our doorstep. Tractor hubs, tyres, Subaru subframe, nuts bolts, cables, power washer, hoses, wine making equipment……..the list goes on. Truly, it is myself who has done the least shopping. As lockdown stretches on, Ive spent hours watching the garden birds, and getting to know the Robin family with 3 Bairns, and then the Chaffinches with their 3.

Spook has become fond of Yaffle the Woodpecker even though he’s become a wee bit demanding when the fat balls run out. He sounds like a squeaky toy and lets us know when he’s there and the table is bare. I’m a bit worried he’s forgotten how to peck a tree. And the Woodpecker has been demanding too.
Thanks to my friend M2N, who is an amazing Grower (and Painter) over in Pittenweem, I have fantastic salad leaves growing in the poly tunnel. Whatever seeds he sent me just grow. Stunning. And my tattie patch has finally begun to flourish. I feel empowered.

Of course the tunnel continues to be a glorified rabbit hutch and since I blocked off the rabbit holes the rabbits are inside and can’t get out. I daresay they’ll just dig another hole. I have had to net or raise everything that’s in there. No wonder they like it - I like it myself, in its different moods.

Yesterday morning, and this morning however, it was me who received a delivery - which blocked both the normal delivery van AND the Postie. Yesterday’s delivery only stayed where it was meant to for about 2 minutes. Which is better than our pigs a few years ago as they only managed about 20 seconds. So we’re improving.

There then followed a very arduous day of emergency fencing by the delivery man who is the Goat Ladies husband - GLH. He and she are relocating from a fairly isolated to Glen to an extremely isolated loch side. The lochside is not ready for goats…..or a donkey…..

Mr Brown

The question is - are WE ready for goats and a donkey. Well, thanks to GLH and Mrs Goat Lady, we are at least a bit closer to it now. The Donkey sustained major carpet burn from the back of the float, so we had to call upon Mr and Mrs McFarmer from next door, who turned up with some anti-biotic spray. It took Princess and myself hanging onto his head collar at the sides, GLH blocking a frontal escape and Mrs Goat Lady chasing behind with the spray can,( having warned us that Mr Brown was able to kick frontwards and backwards,) to finally make his red bottom turn blue. Very reassuring. Mr and Mrs McFarmer stayed on the otherside of the gate. They do sheep, cows, deer, dogs, cats. Not, as yet, donkeys or goats. But they are willing and welcome supporters and will be watching their neighbours with interest.

I was wondering if I could get close enough to paint a wee saltire on there. Maybe not.

Goats and donkey reunited after a day apart, on separate sides of the road, did inspire a lot of noisy braying to acknowledge that Mr Brown had seen them. I’m going to assume that the braying will now stop and all will be peaceful. GLH has done a great job of the extremely wobbly and useless fence.

And yet, the beautiful green field is not what interests them. Everything outside of the field looks far more tastier. When I first met these goats and the donkey in their quiet glen, they seemed so easy going…

The Goat Lady made it all look fun.

Now she is leaving us with them until she and GLH can get their shed rebuilt in it’s new location and all I have to do is keep them alive and out of the neighbours gardens.

The calm and reassuring presence of GLH and the Goat Lady have gone now. There’s my reassuring but utterly manufactured appearance in work ready dungarees, and there is Princess and her fast, goat and donkey chasing legs. Spook is planning to electrify every tree and bush around the fence line - these are not the first goats he’s had to live with and he has a look of trepidation. I’m glad to say that, although I may have recieved the delivery, and whilst I couldn’t quite say he’d ordered it, he did give it full approval. No going back now, Spooky.

Where are we Noo?

Foraging seems like the distant past. Growing has become the future, though it’s a very life limiting future if it were to be relied upon. My mum and grandpa were excellent growers. I’m fairly sure it hasn’t past on to me. Although there are signs of some natural ability. My 2 most impressive tomato plants (apart from the ones my neighbour gave me) sprouted from the 18 year old compost I’d been nurturing/ignoring until I finally braved removing the dalek-like structure recently to see if there was anything in there other than mice and slime. The tomato plants appeared in pots where I’d used the compost for herb seeds. This is the most productive thing to come out of the dalek since the Environmental Group left it on my doorstep and Spook popped out of it just as I was about to lift the lid. He thought it was very funny but I nearly burst into tears.
If only it were just about sticking seeds in the earth.

It took me a few days to trap young Peter, here, who was having a lovely time in the privacy of the poly tunnel, nibbling on lettuce, radishes and spring onions. I let him go and he ate my Lupin.
Then the slugs moved in. Loathsome wee beasties.
Spook went to great lengths to get his trusty steed working so that he could till the land.

And very successful he was too. I wish I could share the video of a happy Spook in his tractor but rest assured, he was chuffed as a monkey. However, it does not have the implements for tilling so he had to go down a more arduous route.

Tattie patch duly prepped, it was for me to plant the tatties. Every day I anxiously stare at it waiting for signs of life. Grass, dock leaves - probably tomatoes, all popping up nicely. No tatties. I think if I shut my eyes and toss them over my shoulder, my natural ability will come to the fore.
There was a barley crop growing nicely on the deck, under the bird table until we power washed it away and moved the table off the deck. I doubt Spook ever imagined how much entertainment he’d get from a bird table. The regular visitors seem part of the community now.

Most recently, a family of Robins - parents and their 3 fat off spring - sparking a discussion that maybe a Cuckoo has tricked the parents, so big are the chicks.

The wildlife in the poly tunnel is more spectacular than the produce - Peter aside.

The wildlife in the kitchen is possibly the most dangerous. I found myself trapped between Spook trying to syphon his Birch Sap wine into a fresh Demi-john, having let it settle for weeks and Meg trying to get her sourdough into the right shape without losing air. Spook needed me to hold the syphon tube in place and as I glanced over at an anxious bread chef, I accidentally touched the bottom of the jar and stirred up the sediment again. Bad. Very bad….

When you’re bad, you have to go and stand in a corner. Anyway up will do. And when your sourdough is giving you an emotional runaround, you may as well do it too. I’m only doing it ‘cause I heard on the radio it was equivalent to a face lift. If you do it often enough.

Also may help ease the belly after eating all the bakers goodies.

In this household, you can have your gin and tonic in a cake, or a glass…..

And look at the world through a reddish haze….

The haze is not recommended for hair cutting day, however. Spook kept banging on about how “this is NOT how Amanda does it”. What a whinger! And yes I know what the elephant in the room is…

MY hair!!

Hunter-Gatherer

The Spa Break back in February may have tapped into my inner cave woman instincts. Whilst defrosting the freezer so that I could access whatever had been entombed by my lack of interest in such domestic activity, I found some mummified beasties whose lives I did not wish to waste. Not sure who supplied them and apologies to any vegetarians but they were already dead when I got them.

A clear bag with what I thought was probably pheasant, got defrosted and popped in the slow cooker. 3 mackerel were fried in butter while the slo-cooking progressed. The delicious smell of the stew was immediately overwhelmed by the horrendous smell of the fish. No one would come in the kitchen and it took a long time for the very bad smells to evaporate out the window.

Not looking too braw

If there was to be any hope of these fish getting eaten, I had to get rid of the smell and the carcasses.
Meanwhile the stew continued to smell lovely. As I was removing all the pheasant bones (Identifiable bones were likely to deter consumption of the stew) it became fairly obvious that this was not a bird, but something with a different set of haunches and joints. Like an Easter bunny. They had been quite accepting of a potential pheasant for their dinner - but would they cope with a rabbit? I waited until everyone had declared it to be a very tasty stew before I broke the news. Amazingly, the general consensus was that if you’re going to eat meat, it’s better to eat meat that’s had a good life and a short journey to the plate. This rule did not extend to the fish, as even I couldn’t stomach it. Sorry mackerel. It’s a good, meaty, oily fish and fits well with a healthy diet, but either it needs to be fresher, or I need to learn to cook it better.
The 2nd day, leftover stew was going down well until Meg suddenly spluttered and a mouthful dropped onto her plate. Oops. An identifiable bone. Finn thought this was hilarious until a moment later he dropped a mouthful onto his plate - buckshot.
And there endeth the rabbit stew.

They may become vegetarians yet.
Meg and I have more in common than she cares to believe. Both of us are interested in experimenting and learning new skills. Hers today, is to learn how to make a sourdough starter. Having put the kitchen in order (again) she was searching for the kitchen scales. Unfortunately I had procured them on what I hoped would be a more palatable and nutritious lunch for my family.

Having spent some time digging up matured horse manure for my other growing attempts, I’d seen that there were a lot of young nettles growing in the poop. My mum made nettle soup for us once. I’m understanding the ‘once’ part of that statement now.
400g nettle leaves. The above is the scales with no nettles.

Note how little impact nettles make on a set of scales. Meanwhile Meg is clattering through the cupboards looking for the scales…..she did not believe her dad when he said I’d taken them to weigh nettles.

Between checking for caterpillars, (it’s not easy to keep on the right side of vegetarian - and there’s the added worry of taking away the nurturing plants of butterflies. Do not kid yourself good people - it’s a moral minefield,) and washing and stripping the leaves off the woody stems (lessening the weight even more!!!!) it was an extremely time consuming effort. Thus probably confirming why mum only made it once.

The vegan test failed when I added cream and butter - well, I had to have the best chance of them eating it.

Which they did. Yippee.

A strongly missing element in my life is Running Girl. I know she is running and cycling for her allowed excercise and there are flashes as she passes by on the road. But there are other signs.
Her garden borders onto our shared Banavie Hill. On one of my slow wanders I came upon some shallow holes in the ground with no characteristic animal scrapings.

There were lots of these holes or gaps. Inexplicable until I found the construction….

This is new!! And it smacks of RG.

Freshly cut Whin bushes placed over muddy sections of her favoured route over the hill.

Final confirmation. Doubling up to ensure dry feet and creating a potential, de-stressing plunge pool which has deepened after the Stone Beaver has clearly spent ages creating a dam like structure - this was previously a few stones you could wobble on to get across the burn.
She has been here. And you know she has been happy. There are many elements of isolation that suit the rare and naturally shy Lesser Spotted Stone Beaver.

Spook and The Rising Sap

With time nor tide holding back nature, Spook had to get into his shed to see if he still had all the appropriate gear for the job. He was a man on a mission….

A keen eye for the best trees

Next there was boiling, stirring and potential extra ingredients. He prides himself on his resourcefulness but when I found him scrubbing the inside neck of his Demijohns with MY toothbrush which had been bent to the appropriate angle, I wasn’t pleased. He assured me he’d sterilised it against any nasty diseases I might have been carrying. This hadn’t been my point!

1st batch - Original

Like a fussing parent, bubblers were stared at until they were in full flow. TV viewing in the next room was interrupted with regular “can you hear them?” Until it became a more satisfied “listen. Isn’t that a great sound?”
Honestly - couldn’t hear a thing.

2nd batch - with apple juice and raisins

3rd batch - with raisins and dried up old mandarins

6 weeks until blast off. The pick of the Birch Sap ‘Lockdown’ from Spooks wine cellar will be going to our Lochaber NHS friends and Frontline workers. Not entirely sure it will be what they are needing.

Next job. Fix the tractor.

Guilt

Even thinking about writing a chirpy blog when the breadth of experience at this time is so vastly different for everyone, has me wondering what to share. For those who’s duty would seem to be to work until you drop and for those of us who’s duty is to stay at home and be safe - how does one reconcile the chasm between those places?
I can’t, therefore I won’t try.
My mum spent the last 14 weeks of her life in a Care Home next to one of her greatest fears - Faslane Base, where Nuclear Subs passed by her window under escort. She couldn’t see by this time, thankfully, but being in a care home - no matter how hard they tried to make it a better experience - filled her with misery. It would have been hard to imagine anything could make it worse for her than it was. We had a schedule in place that made sure there was a member of her family or friends who visited every evening. My dad visited every day.
She was exhausted and had few words. I asked her one day how she was coping with all the visitors (one group of hill walking friends came every Thursday afternoon and staff called them The Laughing Group). It took her a while to come up with just one word. “Essential.”

I cried when I heard about the people dying in Care Homes over the course of one weekend or one day. Without family or friends.
I can’t imagine the strain on the Carers and the wish to protect their own families.

But I’m just going to take a wee verbal and pictorial walk around one or two positives of where we are personally at the moment as it’s not possible to predict where we will be in a couple of weeks hence.
Firstly, Meg made it home in the nick of time and on my birthday. After an abortive set of flights and a new set that took her to Dublin, she was one of 3 passengers on the flight to Glasgow and she and I were the only ones in the multi-storey car park when I picked her up.
16 months ago, I’d made the error of mentioning that since her return from Uni, I’d discovered that she and I really couldn’t live together. She acknowledged this was true and within the month had turned a 6 week holiday to NZ into a 16 Month trip which only ended due to COVID-19. In my mind I’d been thinking of somewhere a bit closer - like next door.
The first phase will be to learn to live together in harmony and compromise on some of our living standards.
Perhaps I can teach her some old fashioned skills…….like darning.

My beloved jeans.

Meg was unimpressed. ‘You may as well darn yourself a new pair as they are only going to fall apart round the fixed bits.’

Fair point.
Meg spent some time tidying up the house and clearing out cluttered cupboards. ‘It’s nice to see you have milk jugs, Mum. That’ll be nice when we sit down for a cuppa.’
Next day - ‘where are the milk jugs, Mum?’

Ah, well - I’d grabbed a moment to sneak to the caravan where I could practice some drawing. Meg was no more impressed with this than she was with the darning. Another fair point but if you dont practice, you don’t get better at it.

With that in mind, Meg has practiced the art of cookie making and is a wee bit ahead of my drawing skills.

Spook watching tv - just give me time, I’ll get there.

Been layering colours all winter. Trying to find images now - give me time.

As part of living together again, it’s important to find some space…..

Banavie Hill - Spook over estimating social distance

Moving slowly and quietly, no heavy breathing (I would seem to have given up running as there is no hurry - it didnt take much persuasion,) I looked down the banking of the burn to see a big dog fox walking below me. When I move even slower I see lots of patterns and have time to draw on the ground.

The one above is a stress mandala as I made the mistake of making it very close to where Finn was chopping wood. He then interviewed me with endless questions on what I was doing and why.
“Do you think maybe you’ve Joined a cult and just haven’t noticed?”

I picked up a passenger from the last mandalas which Spook had to remove with his special tic removing card, so I’ve given earth art a rest for now.
One might ask - what HAS Spook been doing with his time, apart from de-infesting his wife?

I’ll tell you about him next..

At Least I Qualify

International Women’s Day. I met the basic requirement, if not the most positive attitude. No matter how many times I’ve been for a dip in the sea or the loch, I still anticipate the drastic change in body temperature with abject horror. I’ve got everything on that you can get away with and yet there are swimming costume (and bikini) clad women peeling off outer layers with relish. Some were sensibly attired in wetsuits but also wore enthusiastic expressions - in contrast to my own. To plunge a warm, comfy body into a chilly loch goes against instinct.

Loch Lochy

A wee bit drizzle and a cold breeze, with any sound of the wind (and the whinger) drowned out by the laughter of more than 15 women excited by the prospect of an easily achievable high - if you can just get over yourself!!

Of course I could have joined the suitably clad women for the longer swim out to the red buoy but nipping in and out the water about 4 times until my temperature has adjusted is my personal requirement and then swimming round in circles close to safety is good enough for me. For all that I moan (a lot), I’m really chuffed that I do manage to overcome my natural resistance to anything other than easy comfort. It IS worth the effort and apart from anything else, the only way you get one of Anya’s buns or a bit of cake, is to take the plunge.

Anya in the background in red - thanks!

Still warm

I’d like to thank the women who keep making the effort to join together and support each other - all over the country and beyond. I’m never the one to put out the call, as I harbour an increasingly reclusive nature, but I’m glad you are there.

For Foof

You are in control of your own happiness if you choose to be - no matter what. I’m reading a self help book. Not because I was looking for one, but because it came into my hands and is written by a Lochaber man. He is telling me the same kind of stuff my mum used to - ‘energy breeds energy’ for one. A particular favourite of my mums was “if you want something done, ask a busy person”.
There is no doubt I’ve got lazier and lazier as I’ve got older. I also spend a lot of time saying ‘I’m not really an artist” despite going to Art School, and “I’m not really a runner” despite running in 14 Ben Nevis races. Which is kind of true as I have never consisterly trained (or painted). And as a result neither of those activities have ever been built into my routines.
In the book, he would say to write down your values and what you want to be. The White Witch of the East has been saying that to me for years. In fact she painted it in my shed many years ago….

But I still don’t say it. So today, having not run anywhere since 4th of January, I told everyone that I encountered that I was going home to run for 30 minutes no matter what the weather. Taking off warm clothes to put on less warm ones, to go outside into the cold just isn’t right. I told Foof - Ironwoman extraordinaire and beautiful person to boot, and she said I had to blog it. Would I be going with Running Girl? No. She was half way up Ben Nevis with the fit girls and had dumped me on the running front. Well, that’s not quite true. But she has given up on the persuasive front as that gets quite draining for a pal. Yesterday she took me and the dogs out for a walk. I’m not as unreliable as the dogs and I’m always first back In the van after the walk. So I’m still fine there.

Loch Lochy and Ted

Curtain of hailstones

However - she did issue a stark warning. “If you don’t start running this week, you wont be ready for the Ben Nevis race” (early September) She’s done 21 of them. She’s a past Scottish Hill Running Champion. She knows.
So - I put it out there to most of the people that I met whilst visiting the No Fuss IntroEnduro at Nevis Range. I’m hoping I didn’t come over too needy.
Once I’d gone to all the bother of putting less clothes on, I’d settled for an hour of running.

A Mink ran across my path, got a fright and dived back into the canal. The ducks got an even bigger fright.

There was light at the end of the tunnel. Once through here I turn and head for home. Just as Heron Valley’s ‘Home’ came onto my playlist.

If this doesn’t make you feel happy to be live in Scotland and lift your feet up to run a 9minute mile instead of the first 3 sluggish 12 minute ones, then maybe the power of music doesn’t do it for you.

So, Foof. I managed a very happy 5miles. Running Girl may take some of the credit, with her tough love approach. And maybe the self help book. And you Foof, because you told me to blog it. That often works.

Spa Break

Running Girl was looking a wee bit peaky last week. Clarabelle and I analysed the situation and decided she needed a break. She has worked and worked without a holiday for a long time now. I’d just had a month in NZ in the sunshine and Clarabelle is partial to weekends away in her campervan with a city break in a hotel thrown in now and again.
Breaks are not breaks if they’re not the right kind so we hatched a plan that suited our subject……….something that could be fitted in between jobs…..Weather- irrelevant

Something that we could tailor make to her requirements……

She clearly needed pampering and relaxation - at a ‘get away from it all’ destination. Yet one that wasn’t far from home.
Somewhere comfortable but not too comfortable.

Like a cave. Well - an actual cave.

Afternoon tea was 1st on the agenda once we’d got the heating on. And found somewhere to hang our clothes which were dripping from the walk in.

Pampering began in earnest - she only wanted one nail done so that didn’t take too long. I’d opted for something to ease the baggy old eyes.

I was also keen to find a cure to thinning hair which can come with getting older when I find that some of the hair on my head has relocated to my chin.

Apply for as long as you can bear and without being overcome by the worry of creepy wee beasties slipping down your simmit (vest)

As nightfall began creeping in we got the lights turned on.

And had a bite to eat before the next treatment.

We took some time to dry out some items that had got wet on the journey.

This is not as brutal as it looks. It was just to get it dry as it was my hot water bottle.

Clarabelle had brought along something to take 10 years off us…

I thought gravity wasn’t helping so I lay down for my treatment, in the hope that I might look better than them…

Ah - a bit deathly looking.

With us all looking so shocking, we thought the main good point was that should there be any visitors to the cave, they’d be more frightened than us. In fact, if we enacted a quick sacrifice, it would definitely see off intruders.

No teddy bear was harmed on this trip

We sipped some Jamieson Special Cask whisky to while away the mask time.

Stunning!! An almost Nun-like quality.

Fire gazing was the last item on the agenda before tuck in.

Oh - and supper.

And story telling.

Night night

7.15am. Rise and shine.

Yoga time.

Arm-flapping stance

Spa pool was next on the agenda….

Some consideration was given to the matter. Wind chill was tested, and a wee dauner chosen instead.

Time to head home - after a spa break that had left us smelling like kippers and smiling like cavewomen.

What on earth????

Bye bye to the bay

There’s only one boggy area that takes a bit of care…..

Otherwise you can end up quite literally up to your groin in it. One leg completely submerged and the other helplessly stuck at an angle. One friend (a very useful paramedic) able to help (through the giggles) while one makes time to take a photo. I did try to help but ended up in the bog myself. It was a shocker!! What looked solid but damp was a seemingly bottomless pit.

Our girl is made of tough stuff and once she’d recovered from hysterical laughing, we made a safe return to the car.

I’m not sure why their eyes are shut. Is it an ‘ohmnnn’ moment or are they exhausted and relieved?

Christchurch/Auckland

Last dinner with Meg and last in Wanaka. Last breakfast with Meg and last in Wanaka. It was very sad to say goodbye to our girl until we see her in October. And most likely that we won’t come back to Wanaka.
The drizzling rain as we departed matched our mood but as we climbed (very slowly in the Lucky van which at least was consistently still going forward) up through the Lindis Pass, the weather lifted enough to make it a great road trip across the High McKenzie Country. Meanwhile, way out west, the drizzle was more of an unrelenting rain, causing landslips in Milford Sound, trapping around 400 people on the inaccessible side, kick starting a national emergency. And the Routeburn track which Meg and Spook had walked a couple of weeks before, suffered a landslip that damaged one of the huts and hurt a couple of people. The track is likely to be closed for months now.

We were oblivious.

5 hour drive to Christchurch

I took over the driving to come down Burke’s Pass and onto the Canterbury Plains - eventually. There were strong cross winds which stopped us from operating the vans air conditioning system (opening the windows). It got hotter and hotter and between the wind, the heat and my natural heating system, I was welded To the steering wheel by the time we arrived at Hugh and Donna’s house in Rollerston, outside Christchurch. It was 37 degrees Celsius.
Hugh was happy to rehydrate us with whisky and beer. He’s from Spean Bridge and was not going to waste the opportunity for a ceilidh. As the whisky flowed he got his accordion out and phoned Duncan McLeod in Nairn. Duncan sat shell shocked on his sofa first thing Sunday morning whilst being regaled by a fond Hugh on the other side of the world - I thought the FaceTime screen had frozen but it was just Duncan caught in the headlights. I presume Spook started singing at some point but Donna and I had not waited to hear it and took refuge in our beds.

Next morning we flew to Auckland to be cared for (tenderly) by Maggie and Mike.
The temperature was lower but the humidity higher. Maggie has wanted to take me to her beloved Piha beach since we first met, so we went there to cool off.

Now. This is more like it. Lifeguards watching close to the shore and more of them higher up with a wider view of things and a set of binoculars and radios. To be protected by the lifeguards we were to swim between the flags as they monitored rip currents and possibly sharks (for my sake). You got a wee blow on the whistle and some frantic waving of arms presumably to let you know you’d strayed and not that a shark attack was imminent. Once I’d established this reasoning it was fantastic to let big waves wash over us and splash about like kids. Magical.

Maggie felt we needed to recover in calmer waters. (Surf was way bigger than it looks.)

18 degrees in the sun warmed pool

Magnificent views over Auckland to Sky City

More beer and bbq of excellence.
We had been wined and dined up and down the Land of the Long White Cloud and it was hard to say goodbye to people who are such long distance friends and so warm and welcoming all these years later. But Scotland beckoned and that’s where we belong.

Here. Exactly as it looked as Storm Ciara approaches - no filter

Dunedin

Back in 2009, Horizontal and I went to the rugby at Carisbrook in Dunedin to watch our first ever International game - All Blacks against the French. Unfortunately the All Blacks lost and there’s an extra animosity towards the French on account of The Rainbow Warrior. They do not forget - understandably - so the atmosphere was tense. I remember driving around Dunedin in the dark which is set around a lit up harbour and surrounded by twinkly lights on hillsides overlooking it. I didn’t really remember what it looked like in daylight, or the landscape around the coast very close by.

The harbour and hillside areas are pretty. The coastline is stunning.

At this point we had a domestic because we were lost and due at Pete and Jills NOW!!

We got over the domestic as the views got better and better

We finally got to Mossgiel in the very Scottish Southland and enjoyed amazing hospitality with Spooks ex boss and family, and Dave and Nicky who had come up from Invercargill. Over breakfast the next day we watched the clock tick down to Brexit. The Kiwis hadn’t being paying much attention to it until then.

And then it was a 3hour drive back to Wanaka where I was desperate for a longer catch-up with Mary. While Spook and Meg got a few things organised ahead of our last dinner together in Wanaka, I drank 2 glasses of Mary’s delicious family wine and blethered shite. I was so happy to be back in Mary’s company that I had clearly slipped into some kind of broad Scots vernacular and between her Kiwi vowel sounds and mine (and the wine?) she mostly hadn’t a clue what I was saying nor me, her. Her partner, Mick, acted as interpreter. I must have adapted my accent a little when I lived here before - or stuck to one glass of wine.

Ah - must have adjusted my accent. This photo is from a night out with Mary and Sarsha over 10 years ago and I wouldnt normally look this happy to be arrested. More than one glass of wine, clearly.

Haast

Before I left Spook behind in NZ for 3 months alone in 2009 he took me up to Haast. I wanted to do that road trip again.

A 2 hour trip, it’s well worth the effort.

With the shark attack report down at Oreti Beach in Invercargill, I was a wee bit shy of the surf. Beach combing was enough for me and the things with teeth that had their heads removed presumably by something with bigger teeth, acted as a warning shot across the bows…

An Albatross???

A few dead fish, birds and trees. No rubbish and plastic. On a huge beach. And some nippy wee sand flies!

Deluxe Homes

Meg has been living in a beautiful house since arriving in Wanaka last year and has a month between beautiful houses as the new one isn’t available until 2nd March. However her hosts have lent her their deluxe caravan for the time in between so she’s sound.

A touch of the Father Teds

She provided her own bling.

Hamish had brought his own accommodation for the 3 night visit.

It’s many years since I’ve had a chance to take the kids to the park and it was nice to revisit those days….

Hamish and Meg on the bouncy thing in the kids play park

No one could be quite sure who she was the most pleased to see. But it did seem to be the dogs.

Yip. If she could sneak that dog into her hand luggage, she’d be a very happy woman.

Family

We were excited that Hamish and Roddy could manage 3 nights between jobs in the wilds of Southland. We spent their last Christmas together in Scotland about 17 years ago. And we spent our 1st Christmas in NZ with them 10 years ago. We have managed to meet up over the years despite the different hemispheres and it’s like they live next door.

Buddies since birth

My blog app has stopped letting me post photos for now. So rest assured it was fantastic to eat Hamish’s personally sourced venison cooked beautifully by Roddy, to talk for hours, race each other down the hill on carts at Cardrona and go watch a film at the iconic Cinema Paradiso. Each time we say goodbye we are never sure when we will see each other again, but we always do.

Rugby Corner

Laundry and beach day was followed by an epic ascent of Corner Peak up above Hawea. I was let off as I had some camp management to do. I’m very good at these kind of excuses. I also could have a meal ready for when they came back - this was the winning one.

Not too far from the top Meg suddenly decided she’d had enough and sat down in protest. At this very moment she received a message from Shannon saying that she and Steve had bought us tickets for the rugby at 6pm. That was all it took. Straight onto her feet and demanding her dad get a move on so that we could make the rugby.

It was a 7.5hr day out on the hill but we made the rugby in time (after I’d got them fed) to see the local Otago team Highlanders come on to a bagpipe sound track against the Crusaders who I think are from Christchurch. This is Our Horizontals home pitch from when he played for junior boys Upper Clutha.

That’s him centre of pic

Getting into the engine room

John Timu was the coach of the young Upper Clutha team and each week there was 1,2&3 points awarded plus a Snicker bar for an overall effort. One week Horizontal got points for “working hard in the engine room”.
These guys were a bit bigger.

There were 7000 tickets sold and the place was full of families sitting around the edge of the pitch. So when they kicked the ball out, it was either duck or catch. I think my favourite moment (Highlanders unfortunately lost to Crusaders) was the pitch invasion at the end…

The teams are at the far left corner. Every child that was able or allowed flooded across the pitch to get to their heroes.

Families could apply to host a player overnight and many kids had spent the day playing In The lake with their heroes.