Over the past wee while, I’ve been working with Kate Davies and her team on their latest venture: Inspired by Islay. A quick scroll through old posts on this blog will show lots of content from Islay; I lived and worked there for a year in 2012-2013. My job involved Gaelic cultural-heritage with particular projects I initiated being about the connection between the landscape and language. It is on this topic that Kate asked me to contribute an essay to the book being produced as part of the project (sidenote: the book has gone to the printers!).
Kate’s work has long impressed me, and I’m chuffed that she has come to me to contribute small bits of work to other projects over the years, where she has wanted to use Gaelic. Gaelic aside, as a knitter and general culture/history-enthusiast I’m always impressed by the thought and consideration that goes into all she (and the wider KDD team) does and produces. Other folk contributing to Inspired by Islay include really astonishing artists, craftspeople, avian experts and photographers, so it is an honour to be included alongside them.
Anyway, the photos here are some snaps from my archive of pictures from Islay. My time on the island wasn’t always a song and a dance so it’s been really lovely revisiting parts of the island I fell for, and exploring further the rich Gàidhealach culture I am part of.
For all of Kate’s blog posts to date on the project see here.
In other news, I started a facebook page for my work. Like, share, comment, etc.
Bliadhna mhath ùr! Happy new year! No, you’re not going mad, for it is the 12th of January and the new year; the old new year, that is. In Gaelic tradition, the New Year begins now, with candles lit in each window the night before to welcome in the new year. It’s not a tradition much observed any more, but I make a quiet note of it to myself each year. Oidhche Challain – Hogmanay – would see ceilidhs and first footing undertaken, tales told and songs sung. Different areas would have their own particular traditions to see out the old year; this article mentions some Uist specialities.
As my dad always reminds me, it is from this point onwards in the year that each day lengthens by a cockerel’s step:’ceum coileach air an latha’. It’s a good thought to bear in mind when the weather is unforgiving and the darkness rarely lifts.
The photos in this post are (top – bottom) from Blair Atholl, the East Neuk, North Uist and Islay. Each one reminds me of how beautiful a change in light can make a scene, whether Winter or Summer.
Bliadhna mhath ùr dhuibh uile – happy new year to you all.
Last Islay sunrise.
Last Islay sunset.
Back in Edinburgh, my sometime home, for a short while. I’ve left Islay behind with little sadness and my eyes are looking ever further westward. Meantime, however, I’m enjoying being back somewhere which feels like home; that is so familiar and full of both happy memories and close friends. I’m also enjoying revisiting old haunts (hello, Peter’s Yard) and having some free time to wander museums do the kind of frivolous things you can only do in a city, like shopping here.
I have but two weeks left on Islay. As a result the next couple of weeks will be met with packing, tidying, and trying to see some final sights for the first time or indeed the last time.
An inevitable part of leaving Islay is packing up the belongings I took with me and those I’ve amassed since being here (far greater in number than I care to admit). One item that’ll not be leaving Islay with me are my beloved old walking boots. These were given to me as a birthday present in 2006. They’ve seen me through excavating thousands of years of human detritus in Wales, East Lothian, Skye, Mull, Uist… They’ve seen me through walking hundreds upon hundreds of miles in just about every corner of Scotland, climbing hills innumerable, and every holiday or day trip I’ve been on in the past 7 years.
Having been subjected to every weather imaginable, a few too many submerges in seawater and countless bogs, as well as clumsy wielding of spades, trowels and mattocks, they have long since been rendered not-fit-for-purpose. So, out they go. They have served me well and these photos are for posterity as much as anything. I hope their successors can serve me just as well. Forgive the unnecessary emotional attachment to a pair of boots, but I’m sure any walker or hiker will appreciate the singular role that a good pair of boots plays.
Yesterday I took a trip to Bridgend woods. It will likely be the last time I get the opportunity to visit this patch of lush, verdant trees so I took my time and made the most of it (this may or may not have had anything to do with the next bus not being due for hours). Either way, it was lovely and unexpectedly quiet. The leaves have started to turn so I know that it’s nearly time to leave. When I arrived on Islay the leaves had already mostly fallen. Mixed feelings on leaving here, but I’m sure I’ll come to that again anon.
Housekeeping note: this site is being tidied up over the next wee while too, so please forgive any glitches in the meantime.
Thank you, Islay House Community Garden, for providing me with a weekly bounty of delicious veg. Living costs are something near astronomical here on Islay, with shop and/or supermarket options very limited. Not having a car, working outside any of the villages with said shops, with the closest shop to home being closed on either side of work, opportunities to actually buy any bloody food are few and far between.
It comes as something of a revelation, then, to have the local community garden offer a service to deliver a weekly veg box, to my door, for the princely sum of £15. A lot of money on a tight-budget, but actually very competitively priced compared to, well, just about any shop on the island for equivalent amount of veg. I’ve been getting them for a wee while now and they have been, without exception, excellent.
So, to the delivery man I have never yet met, thank you for accepting my poorly-scribbled notes, my last-minute demands every week, and the entirely inconsistent method of payment. Visitors to Islay, do go along and support this fantastic community venture when you’re here. Locals, I hope you are already.
The air has changed. Autumn is creeping ever closer. The sun sets not long after 9pm and the rain is starting to make a reappearance, more regularly by the day. The wind is gusty and more determined; the plants all around looking tired and drawn. I arrived on Islay at the tail end of Autumn last year, and with Autumn making her presence felt, I’m reminded that my time here is beginning to draw to a close.
When I’m ignoring the pressing issue of What To Do Next (well underway but really, a daunting task) I like to read. I go through fits and spurts in reading. Either I’ll be utterly addicted, every spare second with my nose in books, devouring every word in front of me, or I’ll be quiet, not reading or trying to and perhaps struggling to manage more than a few paragraphs a day. I’m in the midst of the former at the moment, happily. It does make me feel like something of a recluse, though, rejecting company to instead keep reading.
I live by the mantra my parents set out for me: “money spent on books is never money wasted”. To that end, I frequently don’t have much spare money, but do have an ever-increasing book pile.
Images: some books I’ve read and enjoyed recently.
floo-reech-en Pronounce the -‘ch’ as if you were saying ‘loch’. Run the sounds together, gently does it; emphasis on the first syllable. There you are – that’s how you say ‘flowers’ in Gaelic.
Summer seems to have appeared out of nowhere. Granted, there was a spell over the weekend where it was cold and windy and everyone was back in their wooly jumpers, but for the most part the past few weeks have been glorious. Every inch of grassland has some kind of flower or jolly plant growing on it, sprung into life.
Baby birds are appearing from their nests, waddling about warily. It’s lovely, really. Remind me of evenings like this, evenings where it’s calm, warm, relatively midge-free. It’s barely dark for anytime at all so midnight walks are perfectly acceptable; farmers nearby are out working their fields ’til all hours making the most of the good weather. It feels like a waste going to sleep when there’s so much daylight.
One of my favourite blogs has a semi-regular feature called Ships in the Sound, detailing recent sightings of various kind of vessel passing through the sound of Mull. I always really enjoy these. As is evidenced by this very blog, I love being on the coast and like seeing what’s doing on the water, wherever I am. To this end, I thought I’d share some boats that have been moored and passing by out on Loch Indaal. There’s not been a lot of activity for most of my time here, beyond the regular big tankers that serve a nearby distillery, but the good weather recently seems to have brought my wee section of the loch to life.
A few nights ago I saw what looked like a long strip of disco lights on the horizon between the mouth of Loch Indaal the tip of Rathlin Island. A peek through the binoculars showed it to be this boat, fully lit up on her way to Portree. No photos unfortunately but take my word for it – massive!
Bonkers weather, dramatic skies. Perfect for the opportunistic photographer.
My professional life is working to promote, enable greater access to and ultimately celebrate the Gaelic cultural heritage of this island. My work has many different aspects to it, but of the different projects I’m working on a recurring theme is the long-standing relationship between Gaelic language and landscape. This week I led a session of the John Muir Award in Gaelic (Duais Iain Muir) at Gruinart, one of the island’s most bird-heavy areas, owned and managed as a working farm by the RSPB. My session focused on Gaelic terminology for birds and the landscape, but we also took a walk through some trees of indeterminate age.
There was a fantastic array of lichens growing, and buds appearing in earnest. My own tree knowledge is very limited, and my identification skills even worse, but there is a fantastically rich tradition of treelore in the Gaidhealtachd. So much so that each letter in the Gaelic alphabet (there are 18 letters) is named after a tree. It harks back to a landscape much more heavily tree-ed than a lot of the Highlands are today (at least, with indigenous trees and not forestry plantations), and goes some way to indicate how significantly the landscape has changed. I’ve some serious learning to do to be able to identify even half the species in the alphabet, but I enjoyed the trees at Gruinart, and the micro-habitats the trees themselves create.