Auld Lang Syne - Slainte

Robert Burns wrote some of the most beautiful poetry/lyrics. Ae Fond Kiss is perhaps my favorite. At the stroke of midnight of the new year (aka Hogmanay in Scotland), all over the world people join hands and sing For Auld Lang Syne.

Below is the traditional way Burns intended the song to be heard. Performed by Mairi Campbell and Dave Francis.



Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne ?

CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp !
And surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot,
Sin auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We twa hae paidl’d i' the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin auld lang syne.

CHORUS

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere !
And gie's a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
For auld lang syne.

CHORUS

Can't resist posting Ae Fond Kiss, performed acapella by Gemma Hayes.



Ae Fond Kiss
by Robert Burns

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever
Ae farewell, and then forever
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and goans I'll wage thee.

Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him
Me nae cheerful twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy:
Nothing could resist my Nancy
But to see her was to love her
Love but her, and love for ever.

Had we never loe'd sae kindly,
Had we never loe'd sae blindly,
Never met - nor never parted -
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever
Ae farewell, alas, for ever
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

Christmas for Cowboys (Gareth in the Whites)

The video Christmas for Cowboys written by Steve Weisberg sung by John Denver was taken down for copyright reasons; this version done by Wylie Gustafson (filmed at his ranch up in Washinton) is a nice alternative.






In August of 2005, I was fortunate to spend a week up in the White Mountains of east central California. About an hour from Bishop, the Mountains rise to about 14,000 feet. Unlike the Sierra Nevadas located just 10 miles west across Owens Valley, the Whites are extremely dry with almost no precipitation at all. From a distance the land looks barren, but once you are in the mountains, the landscape is beyond beautiful.



The 'campsite' was located in an extremely remote location about 15 miles down a 4 wheel drive only road at about 9,000 feet. Nestled in canyon walls 2 miles or so past the nearest campers (fishermen), the site had a rock fire pit and complete privacy. Sleeping under the stars took on a whole new meaning, as the night sky was very crisp and clear and truly breath taking; the stars so incredibly close, you could even track the movements of satellites across the night sky.



It was late in the summer and the sweet sent of sage was everywhere (I brought bouquets home and it just about broke my heart when at long last I had to throw them out). Patches of red and yellow and blue wildflowers flourished near the small trout stream. We brought drinking water, but took water for washing from the stream.



At 9,000 feet the sun was hot, but one only had to stand in the shade of a scrub tree or canyon wall to feel instantly cool. At night, the jackrabbits were plentiful and active, as I assume was their predator. Thankfully all the critters stayed to themselves.



You quickly become accustomed to the solitude of the wilderness. Oh so very quiet; only the sounds of the birds, insects and such. So, I was surprised to see a man on horseback ride into camp. Never mind the couple head of cattle he was herding, he was truly the most handsome male I have ever seen ever. Bar none. Looked like he just stepped out of a Zane Gray novel, complete with gun in holster (defense from rattlesnakes and mountain lions). The young man was a cowboy from the cow camp a canyon or two away. On our arrival, we had gone through 2 cattle gates in the road, and had seen and heard the lowing of cattle grazing, but did not know the herd was moved about. We were actually on private land, but it was not a problem. He was moving the cows and could not stay long to talk, so he invited us to his place. We we walked over the following day.



A small private college (Deep Springs) in the eastern valley below runs the cow camp each summer. The mountain cowboy serves three summers. First summer as the junior cowboy, the second alone, and the third as the senior cowboy mentoring a green trainee. It was Gareth Fisher's second summer. He was in charge of the herd - moving them about to protect sensitive areas from overgrazing and tracking down strays. The camp consisted of two small drafty one room cabins built in 1914; one a tidy living space with a bed and the other cabin served as the tack room. No running water or electricity. I don’t remember seeing or hearing a generator, but he had cold beer (and we brought some) so there must have been one or a ice box. There were three horses and a large fenced corral. The cow camp completely blended in to the landscape. He was brought provisions every few days. It was idyllic.



Ok, so I had to consciously try not to stare at him, as he really was very handsome so one could not blame me, but it was more than that. The young man also had a thoughtful and contemplative nature about him, a lovely aura. You could sense he was completely in his element in the canyon. I thought - if those girls down in Bishop knew about him, they would be finding ways to get up the mountain and get stranded. Too bad he wasn’t 25 or so years older.





Gareth is a very unusual name, so upon my query as to how he was named, he said his mother was born and raised in Scotland and he had spent time there. Perfect! I had not yet started my Scotland quest so I did not know much about my own heritage, but I did mention my family name was MacDonald. Upon learning that, it was as if we were distant kin - he opened up and talked about his family. I mentioned his Mother must worry a bit about him being in such a remote place all alone. When I asked if she had sent him cookies, he said yes, cookies and an old thick warm wool blanket from Scotland which he showed us. It was exactly what I would have sent my own son. There is nothing quite like a well loved blanket which smells of home.

We talked about life in the canyon, music (of course), books, trout fishing and such. He spoke of his college which was student run and geared towards preparation for lives in public service; he was very serious about his studies. I mentioned my youngest niece was just starting at Prescott College which concentrates on community involvement and the environment. He knew the school and said they were similar, although his was much smaller and more intense. Deep Springs College is an all male working cattle ranch and alfalfa farm where academics, manual labor and self governance are its cornerstones. He said it was very hard to get admitted as class sizes are small. We were sitting on the porch of an old cabin, miles from civilization, looking out on an amazing landscape few have ever seen. A most enjoyable visit with a most interesting young cowboy.



Circumstances changed, and I never did make it back to the White Mountains the following summer. No doubt, young Gareth is off doing his part to help change the world for the better. And no doubt, breaking hearts along the way.

"All of the good gifts given today,
Ours is the sky and the wide open range."
Merry Christmas.

Joe and the photo

Schubert - Liszt: Ständchen (Serenade) performed by Tobias Sing

A few days from now is the birthday of my father’s mother, Elsa. She was born in the year 1880 and passed three days before her 98th birthday. I was 22. Every year around December 18th I think of her and remember......

She came to live with my parents when I was in my mid-teens. I was her youngest grandchild, born 20 years after the first. I was the grandchild of her old age.

One day, I asked her if she would please tell me something about life in Ohio. She told me the most beautiful and magical story of how she met my grandfather. Not so long ago, I shared this story with my mother and sisters, and surprisingly no one had ever heard it before. I must have caught my grandmother in a weak moment.

When Elsa was about 19 or 20 or so, she sat for a portrait in her village of Glandorf. This was the era of beautiful high collared lace embellished blouses and long hair held up with combs and pins. (Elsa was an accomplished seamstress and had a love of finery.) The photographer was so pleased with his work, he asked if he might display the photo in his storefront window. She of course, was flattered and agreed.

Joseph was an up and coming young man from a neighboring village, also of German descent. His father was a hard working saddle/harness maker, and the family scraped together just enough money to send the oldest son to medical school. With no means to pay for law school, Joseph studied law on his own while working for an attorney who mentored him. Joe happened to be in the village, walking down the main street, when a photo in a storefront caught his eye. It was a portrait of a young woman with dark hair and smoky eyes and a certain je ne sais quoi. Dear Joe was instantly smitten-love at first sight. He immediately went inside and asked the shopkeeper about the young woman in the photo. Resourceful and determined he found out her name, Elsie Kolhoff, where she lived.....

Sometime later, Elsa’s church sponsored a picnic type social. The women would bring a box or basket filled with culinary works of art. They would have a raffle of sorts for the boxes prepared by the unmarried women. Single men would bid on a box lunch and then have the pleasure of eating it with the lady who brought it. A young man she knew asked Elsa to accompany him, and she agreed. The poor man of course, assumed he would be eating what Elsa had prepared.

Joe lived in the town of Lima, about 20 miles from Glandorf. He somehow found out about the picnic social. It was the opportunity he had been waiting for. The girl in the photo was sure to be there. He was a man on a mission. Now, traveling 20 miles on horseback is do-able, but traveling in a small horse drawn buggy would take some time. Joe showed up at the social with a horse and buggy. Perhaps he rented it in Glandorf. There was no reason for a single man to need a buggy, except if he was hoping perhaps someone would be sitting beside him. Buggies were built rather narrow, and one had to sit very close, perhaps even touching. What an optimist, that Joe. What must have gone through his mind as he made his way to Glandorf. Was he rehearsing what he would say to her? How his heart must have quickened at the sight of her in flesh and blood. Did she see this stranger in the crowd and wonder who he was? Did his face betray him? When did he approach her?

She had absolutely no idea anyone had noticed her photo, let alone had gone through some considerable effort to meet her. The dear girl was clueless. I do not know what Joe told the photographer for he did not run and tell Elsa about the young man who inquired about her. Glandorf was a small village, and no doubt he knew Elsa’s family as her father owned a small sawmill. Had Joseph appeared less than worthy, the photographer would have told Elsa’s father. Of this I am certain. Perhaps he was just an old fool who loved the possibility of such a love story, especially one in which he and his photo played such a pivotal part.

As my grandmother told me, to make a long story short (I would have given anything to have heard the long version), she did not return home with the young man who took her. I remember her pause and the sparkle in her eye. The sparkle was a mix of remembering her own youthful coquettishness and of a tear starting to well. Completely shocked and dumbfounded beyond belief (this was my very proper and correct grandmother after all), I blurted “Do you mean you dumped your date for my grandfather?” “Yes”, she replied simply. “Please tell me more” I begged. “Well” she replied, “Joe had a horse and buggy and we took the LONG way back to my house and Joe drove REALLY slow..., and you are a smart girl and you can fill in the blanks”.

Some memories were hers and hers alone. Too precious to speak. Elsa got up and went into her room. Following her, I watched her pick up the framed photo of my grandfather. In that moment and for the very first and only time, my grandmother and I were in perfect harmony. We both loved Joe.

They lightened their lives with song

Julie Fowlis - I just love this girl. So special.

Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving Day I give tribute to Squanto of the Pawtuxet nation, his friend Samoset and all the First Americans (especially Chief Massasoit of the Wampanoag nation) who shared their harvest feast celebration with the poorly equipped and starving Pilgrims in 1621.

I'll be singing all these songs while cooking......

Walela "Cherokee Morning Song" sung in rote below:

We n' de ya ho, We n' de ya ho (I am of the Great Spirit)
We n' de ya, We n' de ya, Ho ho ho ho
He ya ho, He ya ho, Ya ya ya




So, now from absolutely lovely Morning Song to heartbreaking and all so familiar.

Ulali - Lyrics by Pura Fe "All Our Relations" below:

As posted on youtube: The music for All My Relations is based on an Irish drinking song from the late 1700's. Gary Owen is actually the American pronunciation of two Gaelic words that roughly translate into Owen's Garden,(and I do mean roughly) which is or was a place in Ireland where people gathered to drink and whatever. It was listed as "Auld Bessy" at a publishing in 1788 and subsequently attributed to "Jackson of Cork" around 1800. It was adopted by the American military during the 1800's as a marching song. It is often referred to as Gary Owen March or Hale in the States. It was often used by the American military as they marched into battle to kill the Native Americans, most notably by Custer at the battle of Little Big Horn as he marched against the Lakota Nation. It continues to this day to be used by the American military. Pura Fe wrote the narrative that Ulali speaks over the music. We use it as the background of the narrative to commemorate and honor all our relations and others who have died throughout the wars.



Tom Russell and Andrew Hardin "Sitting Bull in Venice"

Sitting Bull toured Europe (including Venice) with Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show in the late 1880s.



Peter Rowan's classic "Land of the Navajo" performed in 1990.



Land of the Navajo by Michael Martin Murphey

Oh the wind blows cold on the trail of the buffalo
Oh the wind blows cold in the land of the Navajo
In the land of the Navajo

A hundred miles from nowhere out on the desert sand
One-eyed Jack the trader held some turquoise on his hand
And by his side sat Running Elk his longtime Indian friend
He vowed that he would stay by Jack till the bitter end

Jack had gambled everything he owned to lead this wandering life
He might have had a happy home or a tender loving wife
But his hunger was for tradin' trappers' furs for turquoise stones
Anything the Indians had Jack wanted for his own

Oh the wind blows cold...

Said Jack to Running Elk I'd gamble all my precious stones
Before I'd leave my body here among these bleached bones
For now my time is drawin' near and I'm filled with dark regret
My spirit longs to journey as the sun begins to set

We've raped and killed and stole your land we ruled with guns and knives
Fed whiskey to your warriors while we stole away your wives
Said Running Elk what's done is done you white men rule this land
So lay your cards face up and play your last broken hearted hand

Oh the wind blows cold...

When you're dealin' cards of death the joker's wild the ace is high
Jack bet the Mississippi river Running Elk raised him the sky
Jack saw him with the sun and moon and upped him with the stars
Running Elk bet the Rocky Mountains Jupiter and Mars

The sun was sinking in the west when Jack drew the ace of spades
Running Elk just rolled his eyes smiled and pssed away
Jack picked up his turquoise stones and cast them to the sky
Stared into the setting sun and made a mournful cry

Oh the wind blows cold...

Diamond and Edmund Fitzgerald

The Bonny Ship the Diamond (Traditional)

Oh the Diamond is a ship me lads, for the Davis strait she's bound
And the keys they are all garnished wae bonnie lassies round
Captain Thompson gees the orders, to sail the ocean wide
Where the sun it never sets me lads, and darkness dims the sky

And it's cheer up me lads
May your hearts never fail
While the bonnie ship the Diamond
Goes a fishing for a whale

All along the key at Peterhead, the lassies stand around
Wae their shawls aw poo'd aboot them, and their sawt tears runnin' doon
Oh don't you weep my bonnie lass though you be left behind
For the rose will grow on Greenland's ice before we change our mind

And it's cheer up me lads
May your hearts never fail
While the bonnie ship the Diamond
Goes a fishing for a whale

Here's a health to the Resolution and likewise the Eliza Swan
Here's a health to the Battler o' Montrose and the Diamond ship o'fame
We wear the troosers o' the white and the jackets o' the blue
When we return tae Peterhead we'll hae sweethearts anew

And it's cheer up me lads
May your hearts never fail
While the bonnie ship the Diamond
Goes a fishing for a whale

It'll be bricht both the day and nicht when the Greenland lads come hame
Wae a ship that's full of oil me lads and money tae oor name
We'll mak the cradles for tae rock and the blankets for tae tear
And every lass in Peterhead sing 'hushabye my dear'

And it's cheer up me lads
May your hearts never fail
While the bonnie ship the Diamond
Goes a fishing for a whale



The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee.
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and crew were a bone to be chewed
when the gales of November came early.

The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the gales of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.

When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."
At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
"Fellas, it's bin good t'know ya!"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
and the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
in the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral.
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee.
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"

joy - pride - relief

The pen was a perfect wet marker. It glided smoothly and effortlessly. I wanted to savor the moment, and so I traced my already completed ovals one extra time for good measure. Walking out of the precinct, I felt an emotional wave of hope and happiness spread over my body. Locking eyes for a moment with another voter, I knew he felt it too. It was a sensation I had never felt before in all the years of casting my ballot. I was a part of something momentous - a shift - a current that would put things back on the right track.

Later that night when Ohio, who had been so wrong 4 years ago, gave their voice to change, I knew history was made. And to hear it be called - the election of Barack Obama as our 44th President. Speechless. It was a moment to weep and to be grateful this mutt of a nation pulled together and finally did good. Tears of joy and pride and relief. America is like little pieces of everyone - every race, every religion, every background, every economic status, every anything one can imagine; like those photos that look normal until you zoom way back and discovery it is actually made up up thousands of individual pictures. For us to overwhelmingly agree to put our trust and faith in Barack is beyond words. He has all the qualities to be a great leader and now he has the support of a nation.

I reached to call my Mother to celebrate, but was stopped short when I remembered she was gone. And then a huge smile overtook my sorrow. She always voted absentee ballot, and those were mailed out a long time ago. Perhaps she mailed it back before she fell; I do not remember seeing it in her papers. She was just shy of 91 -had grown into an enlightened human proud to mark her ballot for a black man. What an inspiration and role model!

I am filled with hope not just for my country, but for all the people of the world. This little blue dot is all we've got. There is a lot of work to be done. But now we have the one thing that had been missing - hope. Come January 20th, to crudely paraphrase Shakespeare 'the 8 long winters of our discontent' will be over. The chill will be around for a while but it's season is over. :)

Charlie from Lewis

Just when life seem predictable again, something wonderful happens.
Conversations with my son on Wednesday and Thursday.

That boy we saw by the green van, he's my friend from Scotland.
Excuse me, did you just say that boy is from Scotland?
Ya.
And he's in school with you? And he's your friend?
Ya, he's been here for a couple of weeks. Is going back home soon on Saturday.
Are you kidding me?
No.
Why is he in Chico and why have you not mentioned this before?
His grandmother lives here and she is really sick. (pausing-warning) It's really sad Mom.
Oh dear. Go on.
She's dying. I don't know what it is but she wants to go home while she can. She might have Alzheimer's or something. She wants to go back while she can still remember. So they came to take her.
(sad)What a bittersweet story. (sad) We are all too familiar with grandmas dying. I feel for them.
I know. It's sad. (sigh) He's here with his parents.
Do they have other family here? (Thinking - community everything in Gaelic culture.)
Not sure but I think so.
Good. They have a lot of decisions to make, especially if she has Alzheimers. Where in Scotland is he from?
Well, I am not absoutely sure she has Alzheimers, but she is dying. He's from some island. Has to take a boat. I think they also have a house somewhere else.
Excuse me, an ISLAND! No way! Did he say which one? Skye, Lewis, Harris.....
I don't know. The one with the "funny rocks"
You mean the standing stones? They are sprinkled all over the islands.
He said people came to see them.
He has to mean Callanish. So, he is from the Isle of Lewis. Stornoway's the big town.
I guess Lewis. Didn't say. Had to take a boat.
Ok, yes the C McB ferry. The far north end of Lewis they call the Butt. Way north of them is Iceland.
The Butt???
Yes, kinda funny. Just like we live in Butte County and for fun we call it Butt. You have Butt in common. (smile)
He has a special paper to be allowed to stay here.
Probably some type of Visa. Pretty cool he's going to school.
Lives in a really old house that belonged to his grandmother's grandmother or something.
Did he say a croft house? Has to be.
Don't know. He also speaks a different language.
He speaks Gaelic son. Have I not taught you! What's his name?
He said to call him Charlie.
"Call him" sounds like he might have a Gaelic name he thinks you can't pronounce so just call him Charlie. (thinking: whom do you belong to) How many classes do you have together?
Just 1st period. PE. He's really good with poetry.
Interesting observation. Yes, poetry is much more a part of their culture than ours.
He said it is really crappy here.
(kids are so honest) I am not surprised - he is from a beautiful landscape. It's home here to us and we love it, but to someone from the islands, not so much so. I can show you pictures of Lewis. They have lots of wildlife like deer, sheep, highland cows, lots of birds, and at one time were over run by hedgehogs, and of course lots of fish.
He said we have too many cars and traffic. Where he is from there aren't a lot of people.
He is right about the traffic. Did not used to be this way though. (sigh)
He did say the girls here are very beautiful.
Aw, how sweet. Well, I am sure all the girls absolutely love his accent and have big crushes on him.
Maybe. He says we talk funny. We talk through our noses. Try it (pinches his nose and talks). See, he's right.
Where is he staying? With grandma?
No, they have an apartment over behind the Holiday Inn. He's leaving on Saturday.
This Saturday! Too bad. You could have invited him over. We could have offered help to his family. His parents must have been working very hard the short time they were here. I was so grateful for the neighbors and friends of my Mom's who looked in on her from time to time. And school has to be really different for him, to be mixed in with kids who also look different like the Hmong and Hispanic. Who does he have lunch with? Did everyone make him feel welcomed? Does he have siblings?
Oh yea, it's all good. No worries Mom. He's really nice and he hangs out in my group. His parents told him it would be really different here, but he says it's not so much so. He likes the fact there are a lot of kids here to make friends with. Their aren't a lot of kids where he is from. There was Hmong guy sitting with his eyes closed and Charlie thought it was a dummy.(smile) He doesn't have any brothers or sisters.
(what great kids we have) I am glad he met you as you can understand what he is going through with his sick grandmother. It is not an easy time for him. And he came a very long way.
It was 18 hours on the plane. We are all reading the same book and it's a really long book, so he'll be ok on the plane back.
Did you tell him you were of Scottish descent? From South Uist? Never mind John from Edinburgh side of the family. Just don't say we ARE Scottish, as he might take it literally and think you're crazy. It's frigging special to come from the Hebrides son. And your Mom knows a bunch about his place on this planet!
Ya, told him my Mom's kinda nutty about it and you have a bunch of books and stuff. I could not remember the name of the place. I did say we were MacDonalds. Charlie said "cool" and that his grandmother was a MacDonald.
Grandma's great grandma was from South Uist son. Lewis is at the top, then Harris, then....
I told him I went with my Mom to hear this Scottish guy Dougie something.
Dougie MacLean son. Hmmm, I think he has a house on Lewis too. (breaks into song ...the old man looks out to the island, he says this place is endless thin....) I am really jealous you know son. I would love to have a friend from Lewis.
Ya, ya, ya I know. It's not that big a deal Mom. I play WOW with people from all over the world.
Well it is to me. What an opportunity! Exchanging ideas and such with someone who lives on the other side of the world. How amazing is that! You could go visit someday and vice versa. He did not get a chance to see much of our country. (wistful)
Sure, I'll get his email address.

Charlie was here to witness the election of Obama as our historic next and great president. What a positive memory for him to share with his friends back on Lewis. And the kids at school included him naturally and without thought they were actually ambassadors of this country. Makes me so proud.

Iain Crichton Smith and Alastair McIntosh

My favorite Island photographer had a quote from Iain Crichton Smith on his web page. It expressed so easily what I have always thought.

And being of a curious nature and so loving research I looked up Mr. Smith and there in Wikipedia is a pdf document containing pages of Towards the Human; Selected essays published in 1986 and timeless. Here it is. http://www.alastairmcintosh.com/general/resources/1982-Iain-Crichton-Smith-Real-People-Real-Place.pdf The moment I saw the photo of Iain Crichton Smith I knew he was a kindred spirit and a lovely man. And the writing, well, one has to read it for them self. A photocopy will be made and read and saved on the bookshelf.

The person who made the pdf available, Alastair McIntosh, is another notable individual worthy of investigation. What he is all about, I could not hope to explain. Most signficant perhaps is his work in the community buy-out of the Isle of Eigg, now held in Trust. What struck me most of all about McIntosh more than his social and spiritual activism, and books and articles he has authored on human ecology, was the sharing of emotions in the form of letters to friends over the loss of his unborn son two years ago this January. I have not found Scottish people to be so open about such private matters and I was really surprised. And the photo of little Ossain, so beautiful and perfect. It was really touching and I instantly grieved for him and his wife. (I would very much enjoy meeting and sitting down with her to share stories about women's role in changing the world.) I considered sending an email, but I do not know the words. So, I send my thoughts through those mysterious waves of universal consciousness.

Speaking of grief, my Mother passed just over a month ago, and I miss her deeply. She would tell me I was her rock, when it was really the other way around.

RIP Sweet Momma

Before a battle, Crazy Horse, leader of the Lakota Sioux, is quoted as saying.........Today is a good day to fight.......
Today is a good day to die.


Today is a very good day to die.
Every living thing is in harmony with me.
Every voice sings a chorus within me.
All beauty has come to rest in my eyes.
All bad thoughts have departed from me.
Today is a very good day to die.
My land is peaceful around me.
My fields have been turned for the last time.
My house is filled with laughter.
My children have come home.
Yes, today is a good day to die.

MANY WINTERS, author, Nancy Wood

Dr. from S Uist

Runrig "Year of the Flood" with Scenes of Lewis, Harris, North and South Uist.

Mother broke her hip on Friday. She’s hard of hearing and was having difficulty understanding her doctor (her GP’s associate whom she had never met before). To make her feel better I mentioned his British accent as the culprit. I just wanted to die when he said he was from Scotland, not England. Yikes! It is one thing to confuse Scot with Irish, but it is quite another to confuse Scot with English. And I know better. (In my defense he went to school at Oxford and had picked up some of that accent.) He was a good sport about it so no harm was done, especially when I told him we were MacDonald descendents and I had been reading and learning about his lovely homeland.

He was very friendly and quite happy to talk. His wife is from California so they settled here. Originally from Glasgow, he served in the Army at the missile testing base on South Uist. His duties included acting as the doctor for the non-military islanders. Unbelievable! (It felt like an Elaine “get outta here” moment from Seinfeld, you know when she is so flabbergasted she pushes poor Jerry or George backwards.) Few have even heard of South Uist, let alone lived there and drove the road (well, they have more than one road, but the one that connects the Outer Hebrides is a single lane road with occasional passing lanes) on a regular basis. He quickly figured out I had knowledge of the area, and we had a grand chat – a real conversation. Fun for both. He of course said I must visit, and gave advice on where to stay and such.

I won’t go into it all, but while in the military he had gone out to St. Kida in a landing boat. Umonst other things, we discussed Glasgow and the high unemployment rate - 2/3 of all children living in homes with parents who are on government assistance. Some born into that culture/mind set and some simply unable to get out. Welfare with no end date. The gap between the haves and the have-nots growing. I do not pretend to understand their politics. However, like Bush, it seems Gordon Brown has messed things up pretty badly in the UK. A consensus I find time and time again.

They were preparing my Mother for surgery and the doc and I were visiting and Mother was smiling and enjoying it all.

Society - Eddie Vedder

George W flew into Redding yesterday to survey the damage from the recent and ongoing fires. The last sitting president to visit the far north state was President Kennedy in 1963. JFK stayed for two days; spent the night in Lassen Volcanic National Park before giving a speech before a throng of 10,000 at Wiskeytown Dam; and he mingled with the locals, chatting and shaking many a hand. Bush graced us for a short 2 hours. He did the obligatory photo shots with Eagle Scouts and Fire Jumpers, surveyed the damage from a helicopter, promised Federal aid and left. His arrival was greeted by only a sparse scattering of locals. Comments aired by the local TV channel were of the "I came to see him just because he is a president, not because I support his politics. I voted for him but now realize he has been so wrong about the war" variety. Before the fire, Bush was already scheduled to travel to Napa for a private fundraiser for McCain. Coming to Redding under the guise of surveying the fire damage made for a perfect opportunity to shift the cost of the cross-country flight to taxpayers. He only had to pay the cost of Air Force One from Redding to Napa. How convenient. How sad. I really hate being cynical, but it is what it is.

Our country is bleeding and he is off raising money for McCain.

Paradise's sad 15 minutes of fame

Paradise is now on the global map. Quite a shame its "15 minutes of fame" is on account of the Humboldt and Camp fires. Now that the Camp fire is 55% contained and the danger of it coming up the canyon is lessening, we all feel a collective sigh of relief, albeit guarded as this fire's movement has been unpredictable.

The smoke in the valley is really crappy and not predicted to leave anytime soon(the air quality folks use index terms like unhealthy and hazardous. Years ago I was very much in love with a high muckety-muck in that field. He was older and worldly and I was a pleasant source of surprise. A true "be here now" lovely time of my life. Sorta what I imagine visiting the Hebrides would be like - living each moment fully, no regrets, knowing that the moment will never be again. And the man, well he is a rolling stone and I am, happily, moss. But I digress...) Everyone is bucking up, but you can read the weariness in our faces as the fires are still ongoing and the season is young.

With the situation somewhat under control, some fire trucks are heading out of town, going home to their loved ones. Yesterday we saw a convoy of trucks from SF - how they must long to feel the coolness of their fair city by the bay. The last 4 or so trucks got separated from the leaders at a signal and almost turned the wrong way. The mistake was noticed, they turned on their lights, and through the red light they drove. It would have been a beautiful sight had they had left the lights on all the way to the highway. Without their help, so much would have been lost and we are eternally humbled and grateful.

Response to AllyMar July 6 blog

Ken and Harp,

The sounds of the AllyMar cutting through the water, the mist, the movement and the wonder all in perfect harmony with the haunting music of Lorenna McKennitt - I close my eyes I am right there with you.

With much love and affection,

Marty



Loreena McKennitt - Beneath A Phrygian Sky

(She was inspired to write this after visiting an archaeological site in Turkey near Gordion where Celtic stone ruins were uncovered.)

The moonlight it was dancing
On the waves, out on the sea
The stars of heaven hovered
In a shimmering galaxy
A voice from down the ages
So haunting in its song
These ancient stones will tell us
Our love must make us strong

The breeze it wrapped around me
As I stood there on the shore
And listened to this voice
Like I never heard before
Our battles they may find us
No choice may ours to be
But hold the banner proudly
The truth will set us free

My mind was called across the years
Of rages and of strife
And of all the human misery
And all the waste of life
We wondered where our God was
In the face of so much pain
And I looked up to the stars above
To find you once again

We travelled the wide oceans
Heard many call your name
With sword and gun and hatred
It all seemed much the same
Some used your name for glory
Some used it for their gain
Yet when liberty lay wanting
No lives were lost in vain

Is it not our place to wonder
As the sky does weep with tears
And all the living creatures
Look on with mortal fear
It is ours to hold the banner
It is ours to hold it long
It is ours to carry forward
Our love must make us strong

And as the warm wind carried
Its song into the night
I closed my eyes and tarried
Until the morning light
As the last star it shimmered
And the new sun's day gave birth
It was in this magic moment
Came this prayer for mother earth

Reprise:

The moonlight it was dancing
On the waves, out on the sea
The stars of heaven hovered
In a shimmering galaxy
And a voice from down the ages
So haunting in its song
These ancient stones will tell us
Our love will make us strong

The Antique Vase

Well, the blue skies favored us for only a day. It has been scorching (113 degrees tomorrow) and miserable. Air quality very unhealthy...headaches and irritated eyes again. Upon leaving the house for work this morning, I found ash all over the car. And later today, old Magalia, and the entire east side of Paradise was under immediate mandatory evacuation orders, and more of my little town was under precautionary evacuation. The hospital where my children were born has evacuated its patients. The fire situation grows more and more serious. My heart is worried. So stressful on so many people, many of whom are elderly. We will get very little sleep tonight. Tomorrow it will be one month since the start of the Humboldt fire and the steady stream of new fires and threat of fires and the unknown.

Although I have lived many more years in Chico, Paradise remains my nostalgic home town. I wonder what would I pack. A daunting task for sure. No doubt every nook and cranny of my car would be full. And if the cat has to be on my lap as I drove, that would be ok. I know a woman who is being evacuated for the second time and she brings just her animals. A few important papers and that's it. An empty car. She seems to become overwhelmed by it all and calmly just decides to do nothing as it can all be replaced. Part of me wants to tell her to snap out of it and pack some photos, instruments, pebbles from the beach, grandma's china, anything.....dammit, and part of me admires her non-attachment to the material things. She is clearly not owned by her belongings. It brought to mind a beautiful parable I stumbled upon years ago.

The Antique Vase by Derek Lin

There was a general in ancient China who retired after many years of military service. Not wishing to sit around doing nothing, he took up the hobby of collecting antiques.

One day, he sat in his study to admire his latest acquisition – a small antique vase. It was expensive but worth it. He turned it this way and that, examining the exquisite patterns that ancient craftsmen had worked into it.

Suddenly, a careless movement of his fingers caused the vase to slip from his hands. The general tried to catch it, but its slick surface was difficult to grasp. He dove forward to try again. It was a close call, but he finally managed to hold on to it, mere inches from the floor.

The general's heart was pounding rapidly. His breathing was frantic. He gripped the vase tightly and stood up slowly. After a while, he was able to regain some composure.

He was relieved to have avoided damage, but something was not right. Instead of elation, he felt only puzzlement. "In all my campaigns," he thought to himself, "charging against the enemy, leading men into battle, even facing much bigger armies than mine… I never felt as much fear as I did just now. Why?"

Throughout his military career, the general always recognized the possibility of losing his life, but it didn't frighten him at all. Somehow, on this particular day, the possibility of losing the vase frightened him a lot.

In an instant of clarity, he saw the problem. He had become too attached to the vase. That attachment was the cause of emotional turmoil. He looked at the vase again, seeing it in a completely different light. Then, with his mind perfectly at ease, he relaxed his hands. The vase dropped and shattered into pieces.

The Dying Redcoat

Today, Americans remember our Independence from the British crown in 1776. Young men and women are ordered to kill and sacrifice their own life, and not necessarily for causes they believe in. I found this old ballad written by a British soldier, titled The Dying Redcoat.

'Twas on December's fifteenth day,
When we set sail for America;
'Twas on that dark and dismal day,
When we set sail for America.
'Twas on that dark and dismal time,
When we set sail for the Northern clime,
Where drums to beat and trumpets sound,
And unto Boston we were bound.

And when to Boston we did come,
We thought by the aid of our British guns,
To drive the rebels from that place,
To fill their hearts with sore disgrace.
But to our sorrow and surprise,
We saw men like grasshoppers rise;
They fought like heroes much enraged,
Which did affright old General Gage.

Like lions roaring of their prey,
They feared no danger or dismay;
Bold British blood runs through their veins,
And sill with courage they sustain.
We saw those bold Columbia's sons
Spread death and slaughter from their guns:
Freedom or death! these heroes cry,
They did not seem afraid to die.

We said to York, as you've been told,
With the loss of many a Briton bold,
For to make those rebels own our King,
And daily tribute to him bring.
They said it was a garden place,
And that our armies could, with ease,
Pull down their town, lay waste their lands,
In spite of all their boasted bands.

A garden place it was indeed,
And in it grew many a bitter weed,
Which will pull down our highest hopes
And sorely wound our British troops.
'Tis now September the seventeenth day,
I wish I'd never come to America;
Full fifteen thousand has been slain,
Bold British heroes every one.

Now I've received my mortal wound,
I bid farewell to Old England's ground;
My wife and children will mourn for me,
Whilst I lie cold in America.
Fight on America's noble sons,
Fear not Britannia's thundering guns;
Maintain your cause from year to year,
God's on your side, you need not fear.

Blue Skies

At last.........we can breathe and be oh so grateful to once again have blue skies. It's got me singing one of Irving Berlin's best.

"Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see
Bluebirds singin' a song
Nothin' but bluebirds all day long

Blue days, all of them gone
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see"

West is on fire

I read a headline today which stated "The West is a Tinderbox".
No s _ _ _ Sherlock. When you enlarge the NASA photo and see the circle of fires at the northern part of the state, that's us.

Dry lightening strikes caused hundreds of wild fires last week all over Northern California. Big Sur on the coast was hard hit; 12 miles of Hwy 101 is closed. So sad to see the coastal redwoods ablaze. And in the far north, we are surrounded by fire and have been living for days in smoke and haze. The air quality is considered "very unhealthy", the second highest level just below "hazardous". It is best to keep all windows closed with the air on 24/7 and limiting time out doors. Some are wearing masks which block the small particulate matter. Before I bit the bullet and closed up the house I suffered headaches, runny nose and allergy type symptoms. Kids seem to be faring much better. My dog is now stir crazy. We had a tiny bit of wind and the sun actually tried to burn through the haze today, so we took the dog out to stretch her legs. As night fell the conditions worsened. With over 450 miles affected by the smoke, we do not expect to get any relief until all the fires are contained and we get some wind to blow it all away.

There is a great deal of concern about the wildlife displaced from their homes and stressed out searching for breathable air and shelter. There is not many choices for wildlife as the fires are all over the place. Alerts were made about the mountain cougars coming into upper park seeking water and food. They live in the foothills and I saw one years ago driving in Cohasset. What a beautiful creature but not one to ever turn your back to. We saw a couple of buzzard volchers at the lake for the very first time. They took to flight we we approached; what a wing span. I kept a watch out for rattlesnakes as well.

So far, firefighters have managed to keep the fire from jumping the West Branch of the Feather River somewhere north of the old Whiskey Flats gold mining area, located down the steep unmaintained dirt road off Coutelenc. The road is the same one used every Gold Nuggett Days for the Donkey Derby; it also brings back high school memories of keggers at Whiskey Flats.

The cavalry finally arrived in the form of four massive Air National Guard C-130s from No Carolina and Colorado. The big boys work with Cal Fire, dropping retardant along fire lines. Interestingly, they arrived the day after Gov Arnold was in town to access the situation. They need 3 miles of visibility to fly and were grounded for a day, but were able to take off and head out to Whiskeytown. The largest water supertanker in the world, a 747 is expected to arrive soon from Vancouver. (6/30/08 Update. The Martin Mars has the same wing span as a 747 but is shorter and lighter. It arrived yesterday in Redding.) It can't come soon enough. Of course help could have been sooner and a lot more if not for the fact our National Guard is off being mercenaries in the name of W.

Air strikes (and clearing skies) are also hampered by the inversion layer which is covering the fires. That's a cold layer of air holding smoke near the ground. We need the layer to lift, but it is like a lid on a pot. If the lid is lifted too quickly, fire activity will increase drastically, like water in a pot boiling over. We need it to lift so more aircraft can be used for remote areas. If it does lift and the winds come, fire activity will increase but since the whole state is smokey the skies are not likely to clear up if the layer lifts.

What I would not give to be standing at the Butt of Lewis where the wind blows strong and the air is clean and it permeates every pore!!

Humboldt Fire

The Humboldt Fire (so named as it started on Humboldt Road)started on Wednesday, June 11th and burned about 23,500 acres and destroyed 74 homes. Aided by heavy north winds, the fire moved incredibly fast up and down the dry fingers of the canyons. About 1/3 of Paradise was evacuated. Everyone came together to help. Incredible effort by the firefighters who came from all over the western states. As of last night it is now 100% contained.

Horseshoe Lake

My best guess is Lily is shepard and boxer. Did I mention she is super cute? Yesterday at Horseshoe Lake (I love my town, just a hop and a skip down the road and there's Upper Bidwell Park, wild and open and the entire west side is dog friendly) we found a deep pocket and she was quite entertaining swimming back and fourth fetching a stick. Such a happy girl (ok, happy girls). There was only a couple of people fishing so we had the far doggie side to ourselves. She would have loved to play with another pooch (she likes other dogs!), but it was nearing dusk so it was just she and I at the water's edge. The Maidu trail runs past the lake and so far she is not interested in the bicyclists or runners, unless they have a "playmate". I do keep a close eye on her to make sure she has nice manners and doesn't pester anyone with her puppy-ness. Everyone we have encountered have been very friendly, which is typical of Chico. We are all out just enjoying being out. She is very curious of the geese and ducks and everyday we see the momma with her two darling ducklings circling the tall reed island. There's always other birds including hawks above to watch. Thankfully, Lily has the short coat of a boxer and is easy to clean and dry after her romp. I say I am taking my dog to the lake to work off pent up energy and get some exercise...but actually she is taking me. :)

John Muir

John Muir was born and raised in Dunbar "Dùn Barra" (North Sea coastal town just east of Edinburgh "Dùn Èideann") until his family emigrated to the US when he was 11. (High Street statue on right) If I was taught this in school, the knowledge did not stick. I assumed he was a California son, which he really was as one does not need to be born in a land to belong to it. And John Muir truly loved California.

John Muir was a long time friend of John and Annie Bidwell, the founders of my town. Their friendship started when Muir and Asa Gray (Father of American Botany) stayed at the Bidwells in 1877 and they traipsed about Mount Shasta studying wildflowers. (Annie in a corset and long dress and not a hiking boot in sight!) Asa Gray was a buddy of Charles Darwin so the conversations must have been quite lively with conservative Annie Bidwell. John Muir stayed on with the Bidwells after Gray left and later corresponded with both Annie and John separately for over 35 years. When she died, Annie deeded acres of land to the people of Chico for a park (now at 3,670 acres/nearly 11 miles in length, making it one of the largest municipal parks in the United States). John Muir, John and Annie all shared the belief that nature should be preserved for all generations to come.

But I digress...back to Muir and Scotland.

This all came about when I was digging around the net for information about the amazing island of Skye. I came across the John Muir Trust. Of course, we all know Muir founded the Sierra Club and is responsible for preserving Yosemite..., and I wondered why these Scottish people were honoring him in such a way, being so nationalistic and all. Well, duh, he's Scottish! I am also a bit ashamed to admit, but I did not realize John Muir (standing with his walking stick looking towards Half Dome with a Calif condor flying above) was on the California quarter. Apparently, the quarter is something Scottish school children know about - they even have an on-line puzzle of it. Well, I have been on a mission ever since to collect the coin in the hopes that someday I can mail them to kids in Scotland. Just two "problems" - I don't know anyone in Scotland to give them to and the darn coin is hard to find. There are 50 states and each one has a coin and then there is the old quarter. Georgia peaches, Oregon Crater Lake, Idaho bird of prey (thanks Nanci for taking me to the preserve), Kansas buffalo, South Dakota Mt. Rushmore....abound. The California quarter is as elusive as the condor itself. Rolls of the quarter are only available from the banks when it is first minted. So, I have two rolls that I continue to swap each week for fresh rolls when I do the office banking. I have found only 4 coins so far, and one was on the floor of my son's room. No worries. I'll find them when I find them.

Lord, three blogs in a row!!! Kids at their dad's so computer is mine, an early long walk with the pooch in the wind and light drizzle, and top it off with PBS's Globe Trekker with Megan in Scotland makes for a grand day so far.

snippits

When she was named, two songs played in my mind. The first, from one of the greatest albums of all times. I pulled the song book off the shelf and sang it one more time, all 16 verses. Like visiting with an old friend from a lifetime ago.

Lily was a princess
She was fair skinned and precious as a child
She did whatever she had to do
She had that certain flash every time she smiled
She'd come away from a broken home
Had lots of strange affairs
With men in every walk of life
Which took her everywhere
But she'd never met anyone
Quite like the Jack of Hearts
(Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts by Bob Dylan, From Every Stage Joan Baez 1977)

Me and my best friend Lillian
And her blue tick hound dog Gideon
Sittin on the front porch cooling in the shade
Singin every song the radio played
Waitin for the Alabama sun to go down
Two red dirt girls in a red dirt town
Me and Lillian
Just across the line and a little southeast of Meridian
(Red Dirt Girl by Emmylou Harris)

I had first thought to call her Flora. I had not thought of the old song, Lily of the West, until today. :)

When I first came to Louisville, my fortune there to find
There was a maiden there from Lexington, was pleasing to my mind
Her rosy cheeks, her ruby lips like arrows pierced my breast
And the name she bore was Flora, the lily of the west
(Traditional, Irish origin)

Lily

Something just came over me. I had resisted for years and finally decided the timing was right much to the shock and disbelief of my sons (and myself). Even though I am a complete person all by myself, I do love a relationship, but only one with unconditional love and the complete knowledge my kids are a bonus, not a liability. One that sticks thru the good and the bad and does not care if I am not perfect. Not so easy to find. That's not to say I would turn away from the two legged kind if fate was kind, but I have not the energy right now to devote myself to an unknown.

Cute little Shep caught my eye but there was just no chemistry. And then there was pretty Mai Tai, a small German Shep mix some idiot never claimed. So smart and calm for a 1 year old and past the bulk of the puppy training stage. Knew 'sit' and 'down' and walked well on a leash and most important did not bother or show much interest in the shelter cats. Because she was so well behaved, she got to spend time in the shelter front office and was much loved by the staff. It takes some time to go through the adoption process and while I was there I got to name two tiny adorable kittens. Duncan and Dougie. (Duncan after my Great Great Uncle and Dougie after Dougie MacLean.) Pretty fun stuff. So I signed adoption papers, she got microchiped... and the two of us went to Pet Co (they give discount coupons to those who adopt from the shelter) and bought a bunch of doggie stuff (she picked out her toys herself) and went home. Brian was in the living room and the look on his face was pure joy when we walked through the door. I had not told a living soul of my wild hair idea to bring a dog into the family. With Tasha kitty so old at 18 I did not want to bring home a kitten as she would get pestered and deserves better. Lily (renamed by Brian as Mai Tai was just a shelter name) just sniffs Tasha and then leaves her alone. She listens well and so far has left Tasha's food and box alone. I cannot imagine who would abandon such a nice dog; she was well taken care of, shows no signs of abuse. She is so smart and willing to please and will even 'shake' her paw when asked. She sits in the back seat of the car-no pacing or acting up at all. Both boys love her and is my not so secret weapon in waking them up in the morning. She got a bath and has settled into her new home. Granted I have known men with dogs, but it's been many years since I shared my life full time with one. We have had a couple of setbacks which is expected (she thought the towels drying on the line were her play toys) but all is well. In her behalf we have had gusty winds so they must have been flapping madly. (Now, in the lovely Scottish islands they have REAL wind, the kind that blows the rain sideways (no kidding), so our gusts are not so much.) I hope the vet will have a better idea of what is her other breed. She does not have the fluffy tail and fluffy hind quarters of a Shepard - and the shedding is very minimal (thankfully). Memo to self - take photos.

Bringing her home meant I had to finally get off my butt and fix the fences and gate and I am quite satisfied with my carpenter skills. We had a very early hot spell (in the high 90s, maybe broke 100! Yuck.) so it was a sweaty job but now it is done. There are a couple more boards I need to replace in due time as the cedar is rotten out in spots. I am sure the fence on the north side will fall down next winter so I am not wanting to put too much money into boards. The south fence fell down this past winter and my neighbor and I shared the cost in a new one. Thankfully, my insurance paid for the bulk of it. I saved a couple of unused kick board which came in handy!

In just a few years the boys will be gone and if I was going to get a dog, it would have to be now. They play with her and wear her out. She is so much fun to have around and I am sure my blogs will contain some news of her doings from time to time.

Connected

Today was the last commitment Saturday for awhile! The ever growing weeds can now be pulled......

I guess I should have named my blog “Ode to the Hebrides” or something along those lines. But since music is my life long passion, a lyrical theme won out (at least for now).

For a while, I have immersed myself in researching the Hebrides through books, music, photographs and the internet (my book collection and research binder keeps growing). My head has been full of bits and pieces about the Gaelic people, past and present. I am afraid family and friends are just humoring me when I start in with, for example "did you know, in South Uist they discovered these really ancient mummies......" They are in for a long haul, as sharing what I am learning is part of the fun.

When I started this journey, I had no idea what I would find. I never imagined how invested I would feel.

I started looking at the past, but it is the present that is at the forefront. The outer islands are at a crucial crossroad. How do they balance maintain/preserve their culture and embrace the change needed to survive? The issues are varied and complex. Their young surf the world wide net and look to futures beyond fishing, crofting, micro-businesses,...of their parents and grandparents. Young women seek equality and a means for independence. The young people leave for opportunities simply not available on the islands, and in come the outsiders, looking for a place to retire. The outsiders (mainland Scots, English...) do not always understand the deep relationship the natives have with the land, or the customs so much a part of their lives. For hundreds of years they survived a harsh land. They did it as a family community with laughter and music and I think they did it well. The Gales do not get the respect they so deserve. Any change has to come from within and needs to be addressed now. Our world is a much different place, more so than in any other time in recent history. Along with economic concerns they face finding solutions to the environmental issues. Communities have come together to purchase and preserve large land grants. Small scale wind turbines dot the landscape, instead of massive turbine fields, which allows the multitude of birds to continue to flourish. The issues go on and on - there are no easy answers.

There is so much to write, which I will attempt at another time. But I have to mention the language- so amazing and so very mysterious. It is the hardest thing to attempt to wrap my brain about. Looks like nothing I have ever seen. I read they are not so concerned we outsiders pronounce words correctly (such kind people), as it is the meaning behind the words that matters most. Behind the name of a location, for example, is a story. The story has meaning - a history to be remembered. The connectedness is ever present. They do not simply ask you your name, but rather whom do you belong? How beautiful. So names would include daughter of so and so, grandson of so and so..... Keep in mind babies were (I guess still are) named after family members, so it is a way to keep everyone straight as to who's who (my own GG Grandfather John MacDonald shared his name with countless others; including his family lineage in his name was a simple solution). The names of towns are looking more and more familiar but I am positive I am butchering the pronunciation in my mind.

My children's first middle names are family names with a twist, which of course means there is a story behind them. They also both have my last name (which I reclaimed when their dad and I divorced) as a second middle name. It was really important that their names have meaning and a connection with their heritage. I may be a modern independent woman, but it looks like I am my ancestor's daughter after all. :)

stereotypes

I have been pondering a bit about stereotypes and misconceptions ever since speaking with the Londoner who stopped by the office. (He works for an international company with an office in the north state.) I told him I was planning a journey, a pilgrimage of sorts, to the Hebrides, mainly to South Uist. It was very exciting as he was the first person I have met who had been to Scotland! I seized the moment and he was very agreeable to answering all my questions. We chatted for a while about Scottish Gaelic and heather and midges and Scottish “independence” from Great Britain and all sorts of things and I could tell he was amused. I continue to learn a lot by researching the net and it is all becoming sweetly familiar, but the practical stuff is evasive, like how much should one pay for a pair of Willies? (5₤) And yes, Skye is as impressively beautiful as the photos. Of course, I am partial to the windswept flat landscape of S Uist, but one can't deny the absolute majesty of Skye. (I found this dusty old book at the used bookstore amonst all the newer typical travel books. Had to use the footladder to get it off the upper shelf and from the moment I took at peak inside, I knew I had found a treasure. Written in 1929, H.V. Morton describes beautifully his emotional reaction to seeing Skye for the first time. On the boat through the mist.....)

I was taken aback by his comment that being from California translates to living in Hollywood, or at least having a Hollywood type lifestyle. Yikes. I don’t know what that means, but to be thought of as one of the self absorbed Plastic People is horrifying. LA is about 450 miles and a world away. I don’t live next to a movie star, I am not rich, I have never surfed, freeway driving makes me anxious, gas guzzlers disgust me, I don’t spend my days shopping, my breasts are real thank you, Botox injections are gross, my children were born naturally... (I know I appear guilty of stereotyping; there are many wonderful and genuine people living in So. Calif.)

It is challenging enough to come from a country whose politics are disliked (with good reason) by many. I never voted for George W or his father. (That's not to say those who voted for him are bad people.) I disagreed completely with the war from day one. I am far from perfect, but I do live within my means while many of my countrymen run up debt and use up natural resources. Naturally one cannot help but be an ambassador and represent ones country. My hope is to somewhat blend into the landscape (after all my face is Scot/Irish) and if I am to be sized-up, to be judged for who I am.

S Uist is a small place and I imagine everyone knows what you are doing before you do it! I have nothing but love in my heart and have faith in the people of Scotland to see that. From all accounts, they are warm, lovely people. I am a bit worried I might somehow offend without meaning to offend. Sunday sabbath is strictly observed for example. In the book A House By the Shore, Alison Johnson describes the American visitors as being polite, enthusiastic and friendly. Sounds just about right. (My friendly nature has not worked so well in my favor, as my attempt to make friends in the Hebrides has not been successful...yet. I hold to the belief one will click when it is supposed to.) I suppose there is some need to be accepted but I do not require validation to be content.

Just knowing my family lived and loved and died on this land is good enough for me. I can't ignore the call anyway. My sense is the natives are a very close nit, proud nationalistic people who have been screwed over time and time again by the English (government not people). Might make one cautious of strangers and to question motives. I think the language, music and culture is remarkable; it is strange to be on the outside looking in. 150 years ago John and Margaret, like so many others, had no choice but to leave. But, what would have happened if everyone had stayed. John & Margaret had 10 children which was probably typical. Could the island have supported the generations from all the families who left? I wonder. The islands would not be as pristine as they are today. It helps to think my family leaving had a positive effect in the long run.

And when I go, technically I may be a tourist, but inside I won't feel like one. If I help dispel any misconceptions about myself and where I call home, all the better.

All because of Ken

This blog is a new project, and not of my choosing. I will however, attempt to figure it out so I can follow the AllyMar and make comments from time to time. So, Ken if you ever read this, it's all because of you. :) (I am also watching another blog containing amazing photos of the Western Hebrides. )

4/10/08 Update: Can't figure out how to add a great blog, Tales From the Outer Hebrides, to my link list. MySpace is so easy to use - this format is friggin frustrating. Oh well. Just wishful thinking.