Where I Live
Lovely Michelle at The American Resident has just started a new linky called Where You Live, and this week’s prompt was ‘If I visited you for a day, where would you take me? One place. And why.’
How could I not take part in that?
In most of the places I’ve lived before, I would have been spoiled for choice with this question.
In Harris I would have wondered whether we should go to the beach, roll our trousers up and shriek as we splashed in the clear, cold waters of the North Atlantic. Or whether we should get fish and chips in the village, which we’d eat sitting on the wall that overlooks the pier – the best spot to watch the ferry come in.
Eventually I would have settled on showing you the big boulder on the hill behind my Dad’s house, right beside the lower loch. With a large flat top like a table, and ledges that stick out like shelves below, that rock was my imaginary childhood teashop. I would put my pretend cakes in to bake in the pretend oven, before serving them up with pretend cups of tea and coffee. There was an indentation in another nearby rock, which would fill with water on rainy days, and that is where I would do my dishes. It made my heart sing when we went to Harris last year and DorkySon ran up the back hill, headed right for the same spot.
A touchstone, both literally and metaphorically. Continue reading
The Gallery: Self Portrait
The theme over at The Gallery this week is self-portrait.
As soon as I saw that I knew which photo I was going to use for it. It’s not a recent one – in fact it’s almost four years old, but it remains one of the few pictures of myself that I really love.
I can’t remember exactly how old DorkySon was – just a few months I think – but I do remember that this was the first day after he was born that it was warm enough for us to spend an afternoon out in the garden.
Walking without Purpose
I had something of a revelation this past weekend.
I mentioned in yesterday’s post that my oldest friend came to stay for a few days. During one of our many nostalgic chats over the weekend we ended up talking about the long walks that we used to take all around Harris. Continue reading
Old friends and whisky
I learnt a new word this weekend. Diurach.
Diurach is the Gaelic name for someone from the Isle of Jura, and I was lucky enough to have three of them staying with me this weekend (although one of them – a friend who I have known for twenty-five years – is a Hearach like me. But Harris is happy to let Jura borrow her for a wee while…) Continue reading




