Intimate details of my life though? Not usually. I waited to tell you about our latest move until we were IN THE HOUSE ALREADY and some of you are still confused about those 2 years in Puerto Rico. Secretive, no. Private, yes.
So perhaps that is why I haven't talked about Scotland that much.
We went last year somewhat on a whim. My husband had frequent flier miles and asked where I wanted to go. Without thinking, I said "Scotland!". While the soaring, panoramic filming of the Scottish glens and hillsides in Outlander had a part, I think I just always knew I would like Scotland. I knew it was rainy and a bit cooler than home, but I had no idea the wildness and harsh beauty of the place.
It rained. Then it rained some more and again, it rained. Often, that is the beginning and then end of the complaints about Scotland. For me though, in November even, I loved the rain. A few times it got a bit cold, but for the most part the rain meant crisp air, droplets of rain perched on plants, mists crawling up the hills and clouds covering up the scorching sun.
I hate the sun. I hide away from it in summer and run outside to garden the second a bank of clouds rolls through. I despise the beach with its brash beating sun, bright and reflective sand and tepid warm water in summer. I get headaches in extreme heat and headaches in extreme brightness. I could honestly live without summer in my life. I could totally live in Scotland.
I enjoy the harshness, the barrenness, the clean, crisp feel of the Highlands. There is something deep in my soul that responds to this landscape and I have not felt that way about any of the other places I have been. I feel this must be the way the sailors love the sea - the harsh, deadly, unforgiving sea. That is the way in which I love Scotland.
|My souvenir from Inverness - well loved boots!|
A sea captain when he stands upon the bridge, or looks out from his deck-house, thinks much about God and about the world. Away in the valley yonder among the corn and the poppies men may well forget all things except the warmth of the sun upon the face, and the kind shadow under the hedge; but he who journeys through storm and darkness must needs think and think.
- William Butler Yeats, The Celtic Twilight