Filed under: 1 | Tags: electricity connection, Electricity pole, Hydro electric, Scottish and Southern
No pictures today because I forgot to carry my camera to the croft both before and after lunch. However, the day most definitely warrants a post as it was an unusual one. It was the day when our barn was scheduled to receive its first pulse of grid generated electricity and consequently more than half the island had to do without between 10am and 2pm. The cafe and museum were closed as a result but the shop stayed open. However, it was difficult to distinguish between a parsnip and a carrot due to the dim light. I felt a glimmer of guilt in the same way as one might, having infected a school with chickenpox, however the guilt was overshadowed by the anticipation and excitement of finally lighting up the croft and hoovering the barn floor.
I spent the morning watching the electrician scale freshly creosoted larch poles as I wandered up and down the hilltop field zapping thistles with Grazon 90. At lunchtime I wandered back to the farmhouse with my neighbour Stephen, and we marvelled at the handsome, newly erected pole on our croft. After lunch we ambled back and it gradually dawned on us both that the handsome pole was no longer there. For a short while I wondered whether it had ever really existed. Had it perhaps just been wishful thinking after months, nae years of speculation? but as we approached it became clear that the huge beast had entirely fallen down…splat! It had crashed through the march fence bringing half of it down with it and warping the gate to boot. The event had also resulted in broken fuses and a badly bumped transformer. Ohhhh dear.
Mr Scottish and Southern and crew tried to appear cheery as they attempted to attend to the damage and figure out why and what to do about it. Something was mumbled about dry, stable ground becoming wet, jelly like ground and nothing was said about stays (or the lack of one). However, Mr S and S assures me it will all be fine in the end, whilst muttering ” Nightmare, nightmare”.
Tomorrow, our slightly less handsome pole will be re erected and the island will, once again have to abstain from cups of tea, computers, television and, in some case, income for the sake of our bright and buzzy barn.
Filed under: home, life on lismore | Tags: going with the flow, Pulling thisles, tweed notebook
Half completed notebook covers.
Today the sum total of my textile production has been 6 half completed notebook covers, bound eventually for “Sheila Fleet” in Kirkwall. This is a pathetic amount of produce and don’t I know it.
My day was delightfully filled with providing electricians with cups of tea, cleaning and clearing work surfaces, hoovering my studio, ordering replacement bonnet for the mainland car, fixing email glitches and showing wedding photos and newly built barn to visiting rellies as well as writing a hall newsletter and making lunch, tea and a black currant pie for the croft workers and the boys accompanied by occasional pangs of guilt for not managing to clean the village hall once this month and I’m on “July”duty.
Today was about attending to the here and now and not side lining life for the sake of a tick list. It felt good. OK…off to pull thistles in the evening sun.
Boat Notebooks from the Tweed Collection.
Filed under: latest news | Tags: Aviemore, Cairngorms national park, Speybank, Speyside
It’s always a little disconcerting to voyage away from the one place I like to think of as the best in the world, because I then risk an encounter with a place that might actually be a little better, which will then make me feel less smug and I like to feel smug.
Loch an Eilean, picture postcard perfect.
The last eight days spent under the eaves of the Cairngorms have been a little unsettling in this respect. So darn beautiful, so varied and so well set up for visitors. There’s a bumper number of activities to enjoy and terrains to explore. We paddled in kayaks and tried not to disturb the nesting Osprey overhead, swam in rivers, scaled Cairngorm, painted pottery and watched wolves and a polar bear at the wildlife park. In the mornings I jogged in the pine scented paths of the larch woods and spied red squirrel and deer en route.
Woodland paths/ joggers paradise.
Lismore doesn’t have woods of any considerable size. This morning I tried to take a new running route and after the sixth farm gate, dew soaked trainers, a cow plat splat on my knee and a U-turn encounter with a very ugly bull I admitted that the East and its little red riding hood woods and inexhaustible activities has a certain competitive edge.
I know there’s more to be said on this topic but after all that Eastern exertion I’m just too darn shattered to think.
Night night.
