adventures from hill 2 shore

windows' stories


April never deceives. From hill to shore, my two weeks of freedom have opened single track roads around the island.

Photo courtesy of R. Dornås

Last Monday, I shared a slice of Sumburgh & Compass Head with a young lady from Bergen, whom I met on a coach on the previous Saturday... We befriended and, in no time, we spent Monday  between tarmac, mud and laughters! The view from Compass Head is fabulous. We spoke the magic of our respective worlds, conservation and drivers' tricks... We exchanged e-addresses, and Bergen lies on the other side of the North Sea - all I need to do is look eastward. More connection with our Scandinavian neighbours & friends :-) ...And talking of Norge, I felt far too happy to hear from my Norskie connection: NYBAKK returns to my side of this wild North Sea next month, just in time for Norway's Constitution Day. We have something special in store for celebrating our bond with our Nordic heritage - the grand opening of Scalloway's brand new Museum. Scalloway, toute une histoire! 



And this morning, looking through a window that was not mine, I woke up under a dusting of snow that melted at sheer speed of light - this arctic blue in which we bathe is still raging. However, my window was amazing.

I spent the last precious hours with my Serpentine Clan in a fantastic setting - Voxter Centre, just off the settlement of Brae, a little north of my 60N latitude. And what a slice of life!
We gathered in the old manse and invested each room with 
pleasure and passion. It is a magic place, for it harbours comfort and joie de vivre - it has a walled garden, in which trees turn into gallions for all kinds of pirates! ...A plantation to please the eye and warm the heart by the hearth after dark. Our little troupe made it home for the weekend. Effortlessly, since freak snow showers never stopped us. 


Actors' delight 

we spoke, we wrote, we played and read...

From Jonathan's little family of adventurers to the keenest Thespian, Voxter - that translates as  a good place for growing - offered a playground and a home. In between two workshops, some of us dared to venture out to the wood and, closer to the porch, the walled garden. Jane, The Matriarch,  gathered dead  wood for a perfect log fire and fed the hearth with passion. Then, she led part of her clan within the dry stone walls where the world's safe for them to play  in harmony with their whole world.


And as the day drew to a close, Louise and Wendy had concocted us a dinner fit for a night of role-play, entitled "The Brie, The Bullet & The Black Cat" - a game of murder mystery.

We were given a few hours to turn into our characters. One after the other, we reconvened to a table that reeled to the sombre 1940s. Inspector Jacque LeClue would make us question our motives... 
As each clue was revealed, we grew nervous, dismayed or afraid. All would be revealed in due time. Actors' magic - we spanned our lounge into 1940's Casablanca. The night ended in the retiring room, by the log fire. Joy or horror, I discovered my character to be the naughty one - the murderer, or at least, one of two. For a nano-second, repulsion filled my heart... I did not expect it. Together with my (then) unknown accomplice, I had to hide the deed. Confusion filled the room - and then, shock, horror! Hahha, for a first time, the game was fun. Just by the hearth, we laughed and played charades till late.



From hill to shore,
my fortnight of adventures is coming to an end. And left Voxter & friends with a great sense of happiness - happiness for such great moments that I will treasure forever. The drive through da Lang Kames was magnificent, as Nordic sun refracted on snow-dusted hillsides. But pushed the door of my dear hut to be re-united with window panes dear to my heart.

Thank you, dear friends, for such a great string of adventures!

once upon a big sky

...how many words for snow?


Up to four seasons in one day we can enjoy on the island. April feels capricious. If I can start to remember what an after 6 p.m. sun can feel, a sudden U-turn to Svalbard (without the polar bears) still surprises the most astute and tolerant mind... So is our fate in the Far-far North. The forecast hardly changed since the past week. I looked at my flowering redcurrant shrubs and thought, argh, weel...


In an effort to break the spell, I played Kate's 50 Words For Snow, though in vain. Since Saturday, a determined sky began to spit flurries that warned us of more to come. I pit-stopped at the main country shop in the southern part of the island to get basic necessities (including those precious firelighters) as part of my effort to spot an early Northern Wheatear around Spiggie. The bird having been reported on Fair Isle, I took my chances. However, I came home without our felines' favourite food...  (NOT the bird.) Peewit looked at me with disdain. Baboo walked away through the flap and Tystie nearly broke a lamp! 
With snow forecast, I can't afford to mess around. Second shopping spree in the town to return home with a jute bag filled with delights, fit for felines and our own needs :-)

Then north wind began to gust around the walls of our Shetland Hut. N/NNE, as time went by and our hearth began to work on a constant basis once more. From those directions, it really feels cold! My other half later joked about Yule time... "Why not set up the tree again and bake mince pies?" I laughed in the face of whiteness! Snowflakes flew in diagonal and by this morning, we opened our door to a mini-version of Svalbard, or mini-mini Canada, not so unusual for April after all, though still slightly disheartening at first sight. Sparrows still sing during snow showers, though blackbirds vanish from their pedestal and wonder if they won't lose out on courtisanes... 


first view this morning

 Although I expected flurries, I did not imagine so much would stay overnight... Snow does not stick long enough to the ground after the equinox. Still tucked in my fleecy blanket with two hot water bottles at my feet, I did not really feel like getting up at 0830 - especially since I am free from timetables! So I lingered in bed a little. All three cats did not make any fracas on the other side of the door. White, white, white, white!

No snowday disrupted the winter term (oh, barely a February weekend) and, gosh, now it's arrived!


White out, psycho-hail, twisting, ankle-breaker, blackbird's Braille, drifting, avalanche... Stellar tundra, crème bouffant, Hunter's dream, hooded wet, terror blizzard, vanilla swarm, sorbet de luge, as  through the lips of Stephen Fry. 

Let me hear your 50 words for snooooowwwwwwwww! 

My world had vanished once again under late winter's white blanket. This morning's Shetland Times did not read too encouraging either...

the other side of the coin in one day

Trillions of snowflakes melting at the speed of light!

Just by magic, as a bitter NE began to sweep away snow shower clouds, a more dignified spring-like blue filled our afternoon  sky.

This time, white light filling our world!

The garden still bears a few remnants from this morning's  capricious sky - with scarfs around trees and shrubs, blotches of crystals dispersed and and there in the shade... But nothing serious. The cats' passage looks safe from grass level. 

From Arctic spell to spring Technicolour!

I love the island. Its light changes all the time. Now time to listen to Good Evening, Shetland, just in time for the weather forecast :-)

roosting time

where do you stand?


Tonight I heard the blackbird's Braille and caught our Moon in eastern sky. We, islanders, have endured gales instead of snow. Morning downpours led way to light. The air was as freezing as our wild North Atlantic. The Westerlies feel so bitter, as sun ventures across our sky. February, the coldest, harshest month with a desire to make you feel its sharpest claws...  Raw, incisive, as wolf fangs through the flesh of a buffalo, and yet as invisible as a dream, snowless winter grips you and turns you blue. I could have felt on some shoreline in Hudson Bay; along the coast of Labrador... Those cold deserts, tundra landscapes, where permafrost still dreams of warmth and waders' calls, feel just like home. Each tongue of land holds its secrets.


Mine stands so proud in-between North Sea and Atlantic. Battered and constantly windswept, the island withstands anger from currents, rotating blades of each roller, ending their race on sculpted sand or against rocks, stacks and natural arches. Earthly Rodin. They shape our shores like a sculptor... They carve through basalt and Old Red Sandstone without shame and carry the world in their bellies. Every pebble locks its nomad's tale. 


And yet I grab those precious stones, as I retrace my steps back home. 


Birds unfolds wings to brave currents and reach heavens.
Sweet freedom, flowing in my heart.

By sunset time, I watched  gardens fill with our most common visitors. Since we planted trees in not such a distant past, they have now grown to perching springs, well above ground and feline eyes. As soon as I opened the door onto the sliding sun, the sky unveiled earth symphony, as starlings, sparrows and blackbirds hovered around barren branches. So many voices filled our sky. 

Wintersong,

gathering on top branches from June's secluded garden and fly off for roosting time.

Life, a constant flight for survival.
  

Another night, morrow or year. 

I wonder if they too stick to almanacs.

catapult

from rocket sky 2 rocket cat

That sunset on the second day of the first month...

felt like a dream.

Rocket-red, winter blue or B&W. 

I loved the cloud movement that gradually clads our Nordic sky on a crisp day. It was awesome. For a moment, I thought this sole image would encapsulate a glorious end of holiday... 

Until the unexpected strikes!

He's not a cat, but a pirate. I won't forget my last two days of holiday. Peewit The Cat gave us a fright on the third day of January, as he retched, hid, and vocalised in a strange way. He even refused his favourite, cuddles & food. We did not wait  long to jump on the handset and called the Feline A&E. The Vet on call had a somewhat familiar accent, which I first thought South African. Errare humanum Est! We put our feline in his box and rocketed to the Westside in a bleak end of afternoon - Peewit mimicking a diva in every kerb, as tarmac took us close through gales and rain. I suspected he eventually developed a secret love for the veterinary surgery! Little did we know we took him on time. He was awaited by a young Veterinary Officer, who quickly diagnosed feline bladder as the main culprit. Not South African, but Flemish, with beautiful French! This time, Peewit would taste emergency surgery with full board till he would be fit to go home. The hut felt strange without him, even though our two other feline pirates, Babooshka and Tystie, amused us till his return. Peewit came home yesterday with a shaved butt and many more loving miaows. I was ever so grateful & thankful to the devoted staff at the surgery, especially to Cathy (the Vet) and Kaye (the Nurse), who took so much good care of our muggy. Our hearts felt so lighter. Oh, yes, that first week of January will not be forgotten! I never saw classroom re-start, as days vanished like stones projected by a catapult.

Now, with the weekend came thrills and smiles! If yesterday, Saturday, was devoted to retrieve our loving feline, Sunday would take a twist none would suspect. As Peewit re-gained his gargantuan appetite, tuna chunks concealed his daily antibiotic mini-nugget. I first found Babooshka on the kitchen worktop foraging for any crumbs, just like a food hoover - or now nicknamed as "Googlegrub" - as she still thinks her grand age would let get away with anything... Tystie remains the only reasonable one. All three were tended with love and care.

 By late morning, a series of Tweets alerted us of island fun in our inshore waters. Orcas, Killer whales, were spotted and, although I had to be in Lerwick for drama rehearsal in early afternoon, the chase began. Grutness, Levenwick, Hoswick, Broonies' Taing, Sanick, Noness. Magic placenames that rhyme with breathtaking seascapes and opportunities to enjoy not only seabirds, but cetaceans when the conditions are united. 
A first attempt to Broonies' Taing led us to the bay at Sanick, where dorsal fins were playing so close to the shore. Magic moment! Watching those wonderful beasts in the wild remains a formidable spectacle. Folk flocked to the roadside that leads to the headland of Noness, as the pod of orcas - one bull and two females, from what I could see - swam along. I felt like a child in a toyshop just before Yule! They were magnificent. Again I forgot time and sent a quick tweet to my Serpentine actors, for I knew I would be slightly late for the afternoon. I shan't forget my weekend either. 

Life on the island is never dull! 


With renewed thanks to my other half for photography :-)


AND grateful thanks to Helen Moncrieff & Magnie Shearer for keeping us on the right track! :-))

in between silence and whistlers

Tongue of winter

I still remember beginning of Yuletide... The sky was kind to earth and folk. Our three felines, like clockwork mechanical toys, were sunbathing behind the glass of the kitchen and ate their saucer of tuna without raising an whisker... Rare moment of contemplation... We seized Yule light to pay homage to the many dwellers of the marsh, mire and loch. The island's rich in winter wildlife. Geese of many kinds and origins adorn hillsides and fields. Golden Plovers, Redshanks, Moorhens, Purple Sandpipers, and other waders grace our sky. Seals, all year round pop their heads at the surface of water... Winter visitors have arrived too. In addition to Redwings, Fieldfares & other thrushes, Long-tailed ducks & Goldeneyes paddle around. 


I love wild geese. To my heart, they epitomise winter on this latitude. They're scattered in small or large gaggles everywhere. Yesterday again (27 Dec) Greylags (as pictured here) mingled with Barnacles at Fleck. But light came to end so abruptly I even did not try to capture them through the lens. Another time :-)

All was quiet till 24 December. Yule celebrated within the comfort of the hut, with candles and delights, as night covered the many homes on the island. Peaceful and joyous, it was later shared with friends till very late in the night.


December 25 December belonged to hurricane winds that wrapped homes day and night... Dancing tiles and incessant hissing gales always sound both impressive and terrifying, when the wind gusts at giddy speeds. Anyway, reprieve was felt yesterday and we seized the opportunity to check hut and garage for structural damage. So far, we resisted to the anger of winter... So we went out and spent the early afternoon at East Voe and Ninian's Sands in search of shells and adventures. And this we did. Our love of the natural world includes the shore, and what better place  than an island? Among the few treasures brought home, I found a broken specimen of arctica islandica, which used to be on the menu of islanders in a non too distant past. Will have to submit my record to MarLIN... They might accept it.

Ninian at dusk looks so blue.

Hmmm, each day has its own adventures and I hear more whistlers may hit us again. Argh weel, so is the fate of the island. A day of light and silence from the sky remains a treasure, just like wood, rocks and shells. 

among the great windcatchers

man on earth

Leonardo da Vinci and Jules Verne could be proud. 
Such bladed machines face the sky...

In our pursuit to tame the very own planet we inhabit, we often tend to forget it is our only homeworld.  Our constant quench for consumption of energy can drive both producers & consumers to blindness... Sustainable is an adjective I have always heard when it defines clean energy. Wind mills, turbines or windcatchers, I do believe in will power.

 once upon a hill

Saturday afternoon took me to the top of a hill I always looked from the distance. As part of Shetland guide training, I met the Burradale ladies and stepped inside a mecano.

Techno-details at: Burradale ladies

It felt more like Techno-Lego on a large scale, although I'm told blades and nacelles have grown in size since those were built...We all met at Mina's foot. Standing under the rotative blades took me back to Don Quixote... But as I looked above, I imagined listening to the baffles of monsieur Verne's Nautilus...

inside the belly of the beast

We walked up to Betsy. Our host, David Thomson, explained us this elderly lady happened to be the most productive of them all... So we gathered and watched her three blades fall inert. To my poet's heart, she reminded me for a second of Lokkaminnie's oo, this silver-haired bog cotton plant that belongs to the peatlands... Soon we were invited to step inside her belly. Three high metallic steps would make us step just like inside a submarine. Amazing thought! Her tubular body stands up to 45 metres... To me her blades just look like some gigantic propeller. That ladder looked everlasting. Those five turbines have blended well in our landscape and have become our Famous Five! But as we stepped again outside, we faced bullrush and Atlantic with breathtaking views on Foula.

 

wanderer

For a moment, we wandered around the hilltop, and felt at one with an island so generous to its dwellers. There is no doubt deep in my heart about the need to benefit from the harnessing of the wind and have faith in our windcatchers. Sucking up oil, gas alone, or for that matter fossil fuels, is like raping our Mother Earth.... Taming the sun, wind and the tides might help us all live just longer. 

 There is an on-going debate about a much bigger windfarm project on the island. Education diminishes fears. Honesty generates respect. I am a lover of our world, and when I hear nearby nesting birds be considered as a nuisance by a windfarm developer, I also frown at the madness of few fat cats who only see financial gains in their lifetime... My question is: Can we accept a compromise that satisfies us in our world? Today, I heard that storing produced energy costs mountains of money... So does budgeting for conflicts none of us wants to be part of. If politicians, arm dealers and financiers were sent to the frontline, there would be fewer landmines in the world or dirty deals under tables...  After all, time has proven man can be both so destructive and ingenius. Sensible decision making is crucial.

fractured bearings

when that poem sounds like an anthem

Strange feelings have filled my heart since yesterday. 
In the light of the spoon-fed world, I was saddened by the news of Scotland's greatest poet the 20th century has ever met. Mr Morgan has inhabited my creative star ever since I collided with that visionary rendez-vous. 

Native American wisdom reminds us all there is no death - only a change of world

Very well. Let's celebrate the poetics of such great man. Instinctively, I read it out to a close friend as a remedy to poison. His spoken world is alive forever. The only link I need to add is my favourite space poem of his... offcourse
Such moment of glory resonates forever. Unlike any rock or metal, it will neither erode or corrode... However exposed to the sea.

in-between Glasgow and Sandwick

But then, in the midst of that unforeseen eclipse, new constellations merge in innerspace... No collision. Funny enough, I was conversing with Norrie via FB when kindred spirits met in the rain, there on tarmac of some carpark before they decided to celebrate their connection over a pint... Friday night belongs to poets who paint one world and share visions. Tonight, Kenneth White on our lips, as we celebrated the poetics of our respective shores.That talented photographer from Glasgow can be found here: Ruth 's constellation

How grateful to Alistair Cook I feel tonight! Kindred spirits really shine and find their way through the ever expanding world we call cosmos.

Now let us re-count shooting stars ;-)

morning walk

just like a sign...

My morning wish to tidy up within my walls went through the roof as light increased... I heard the North Atlantic calling.

So I looked up through the window and drove to my favourite sands.

There is no place like it on Earth.

 First, it appeared like a guizer...
I decided on a more feline, stealth approach - so I walk sideways like a crab. And then I watched this morning fog slithering like the most elusive of serpents. I never dared to look behind, I just kneeled on the warming sand.

As light returned, colours deepened. Jade from shallows to summer blue polarised my senses and heart.
When you come down to the shoormal, you need to respect every step and make contact with Atlantic.
So I took off my sheepskin boots and folded the edge of my breeks.

...Welcome to morning Arcania :)

 ...It is not cold, it does not sting! I felt at one with the whole world.
So if you too live by the shore, take a morning to feel its pulse and it will help you remember who and where you truly are :).