JUST DOING WHAT I LOVE.

 

I wonder what other people did on their 70^th birthday. Some I know will have chosen to celebrate in grand style while others will have let the day quietly slip by, preferring to keep quiet, horrified at what old age has brought upon them. I never been the sort to celebrate any event including Christmas, New Year, anniversaries or birthdays since they all seem to carry with them an element of sorrow. I had made absolutely no plans for my 70^th. In the depths of last winter I had wondered even if I’d make it that far, so simply to wake up to an unexpectedly sunny September morning was enough for me.

First off was to light the Rayburn, for without that there would be no birthday cake. Secondly was to get the washing on and profit from a fine drying day. Then breakfast and my usual generous bowl of porridge. My brother would be horrified, you’re never going to eat all of that. Over the past week I’ve been making Neolithic inspired pots using local clay gather from the beach south of Tolsta Head, and after I finished a larger pot with scratch decoration now ready for drying. I will leave them over winter and hope to fire them next spring, outside in a primitive dug out peat fired kiln.

I then drove to the other end of the village to get mobile phone coverage and phoned my brother There is no mobile phone reception at the house, but strangely there is out on the moor. On my return I stopped at the village shop for butter and milk plus a WhatsApp video call from Western Australia. I dropped in at Donald’s to pick up some crackle varnish that he had ordered for me on line and I hoped I would find time later to try it out on a primitive pig painting on panel. The Rayburn was up to baking point on my return so I got on with making my birthday cake, an inverted orange cake. It turned out a total success and I sang happy birthday to myself as I tried the first still warm delicious slice.

After lunch, (90% home grown) I turned to a spot of gardening, trimming and edging, then bagged up three more bags of peat from the stack. I found half a dozen eggs on the hall table from a neighbour and the post which brought only good news. Well the interruption of electricity was not till next month. One birthday card with some photos of me with friends making me look like the shrivelled little old man I have become. Another with a form to fill in to claim my £300 voucher from the local community wind turbine.

I stitched a little more of the Old English Bantam tea cosy before returning to the garden and sunshine. Bringing in the already dry washing I noticed Alistair and Ewan sorting the sheep so took them round a slab of orange cake. My evening constitutional walk was a solitary one, Donald being away on the mainland and his dog Laddie refusing to come out from under the kitchen table. I took the slightly longer loop around by my peat banks and back along the beach. It was dust by the time I made the final plod uphill dazzled by the useless street lamp.

 It’s been a good day, no celebration, just doing what I love, and I will remember it. Tomorrow is Sunday and I’m out for lunch, but I’ve another pot to finish and some raw umber paint to rub into the cracks on that primitive pig. I think it was Noel Coward who said “working is more fun than fun”.

FLOWER POWER

 

 

I’ve heard certain people refer to gardening as outdoor house work, only worse. That always saddens me as they know not what they are missing, and I wonder just what turned them against such a pleasure. Perhaps it is the boring maintenance of a useless monoculture lawn or the constant clipping of a vigorous hedge that has led them to this point of view. My advice would be to relax, let it all hang out, and revel in the tapestry of textural kayos and abundance of minimal maintenance. 

 This summer on the Isle of Lewis we have been blessed with a particularly fine summer, not simply for being able to swim in the Minch, but for the exceptional growth that trees have made and for the equally fabulous flowering of shrubs, herbaceous plants and wild flowers. It started with the brilliant yellow of gorse at a time when I truly needed hope, and the delicate snow white pompoms of the perennial aconite leaved buttercup joining the golden yellow of king cups in the old drainage ditch.

 I left last year’s kale and cabbage to bolt, and along with the foxgloves my garden became delightful and noisy place, as the buzzing of local bumble bees filled the air from dawn to dusk. I like to think that the tufts of grass surmounting the old stone walls have become home for many of these delightful creatures. At the end of May the white broom filled the ruin of the old black house, while the attention seeking pink of the azaleas stopped me in my tracks. Even the Maritime pine tree put on a show before romping on with fresh growth. 

Now in early autumn the profusion of purple heather has brought a warm glow to the hills, and the roadsides are trimmed with delightful blue of small scabious. Down on the croft yellow flags drove me back to paint, while in the garden the red fuchsia seem at times to have more flowers than leaves. The agapanthus, grown from seed taken from a friend’s garden in Western Australia have produced a record number of flowers. They may not look that special, but I can assure you that here in New Tolsta they can be counted as an achievement.

 I know some can’t abide pink in their garden, but to see the hollyhocks on the gable end of the barn towering above me fills me with joy, as also did if the buzzing of bumble bees was anything to go by. Japanese anemones are slowly spreading and a clump of late gladiolas tucked away behind the studio lift my spirits every time they catch my eye. Beyond the limits of my garden I have planted over the past four years a mix of pine, spruce, larch, beech and alders, which are now romping away. My neighbours spruce trees have almost entirely hidden a street lamp up on the road, and I hope my planting will perhaps do likewise for another at the road junction. The islands of the Outer Hebrides are known for their general lack of trees, but it was not always thus and some are enjoying the challenge of tree planting, as well as the joys of flower power.