1. Hello from Scotland (Jan '04)

I'm sitting in ma' wee hoose in front of a peat fire that is now dwindling down to red, glowing embers. I've just had a "dinner party" to celebrate my arrival here on Lewis and inaugurate my kitchen. There were a few minor hitches in my plans, due to me being a novice cook and fire-builder -- like the oven not turning on (there's an extra little switch that you have to switch before it will go on) and the fire taking about an hour and a half to get going (the kindling was a little damp. As was the peat. In fact, the entire island is a bit damp). But with friendly people and a bottle of wine all problems become minor hitches, and eventually the food got cooked, the fire got roaring and we got fed and drunk and warmed.

I cooked a shepherd's pie for myself, Laura and Justin, the couple who arranged for me to come to Lewis to teach harp, who found me this little house to rent, arranged a car for me to buy, and connected me with a woman who is starting up a music teacher training course in Stornoway (the 8,000-person metropolis of the island, about a half-hour's drive from Tolstachaolais [the 100-person village in which I live]). They have been an invaluable help to me logistically, as well as being cheery, outgoing, optimistic types. In fact, the day after I arrived (I got in on Friday, and I've been sorting myself out and finding my way around. I start teaching next week) we went out for a "health walk." Laura is a rural doctor, and one of Justin's jobs is to lead adventure hikes and kayak trips and things, so they've organized a series walks to places of interest. Rain or shine.

In this case, last Saturday, it was most decidedly rain. In fact, it was wind and rain and at some points felt a bit like hail. There was water underneath as well, as we were slogging through a bog. Not surprisingly, the only folks who showed up were us and the naturalist who was there to point out the splendors of the area (including local birds [there are loads of birds on the island; sea birds round the coast and ground-nesting birds inland, as there are no trees. All the trees were cut down ages ago, and don't grow back because the plethora of sheep roaming free all across the island chain {and most of the Scottish Highlands as well} nibble them down to tree stubs], local flowers [heather and sphagnum moss and several others which I've forgotten], and historical information of the area). But we wore our wellie boots and had on waterproof trousers and jackets, and so stayed warm and dry and able to appreciate the dramatic skies, huge and dark, with sun breaking through every now at then, illuminating the bright green hills dotted with little white sheep (actually, the sheep are normal size. You can't put them into a small jar and keep them in your medicine cabinet to swab out your ears when you shower. I tried). That's the spirit of the island, really: it's going to rain, so you might as well get on with what you were going to do anyway. Or on the other hand, if you just wait and have a cup of tea, the squall will blow over and you'll get clear, bright skies again. Which is what happened to us. As soon as we got back to the car.

My wee hoose is smack dab in the center of the village (that's a picture of Tolstachaolais at the top of the page), and is actually not all that wee, come to think of it. There's a sitting room downstairs (in which I'm sitting, watching the fire [three cheers for touch-ytping]), plus a bedroom, which I'm going to use as my harp teaching room. Plus an added-on kitchen (maybe they cooked over the fire in the old days when the house was first built?) and bathroom. Upstairs there's the bedroom in which I sleep, a small hallway with a bookshelf and comfy chair, and then a spare bedroom. Loads of extra room for all of you who promised to come visit me. You'll have to do it before April, though, because I'll probably have to leave by then. This is a holiday cottage, after all, and as soon as the spring/summer holidays start I'll have to find another place to lay my head.

I have a little fenced in area (to keep out the sheep), and a bench on the lee side of the house on which to sit and watch the copious clouds during the day, or the spectacular stars at night. The weather here is quite mild, actually. One can sit still during the day without freezing. In fact, I have to keep reminding myself that it is winter. I can walk around without hat or gloves (when it's not raining) and I'm quite warm. And the short days haven't been oppressive, either. The sun rises around 9am, and sets around 4:45pm, and although it doesn't get very high in the sky, it's plenty bright. And, being optimistic, the late rising time means that I get to see frequent sunrises for the first time in my slugabed life.

The folks up the road (from whom I rent this place) have a modern-day crofting lifestyle (a croft being the bit of land on which people would grow their food and raise their animals). They have two rams, a herd of sheep, a henhouse full of chickens (and a cock called Amos), Polly the pony, Samson the big black horse, three sheep dogs, two bulls, and two highland cows (you know, the red shaggy ones with hair falling in their eyes, and big pointy horns. I was a bit wary of those pointy horns when I first met the cows -- roaming free in the front yard -- but it was the cows who scrambled away from intimidating, scary ole' me). They (Ali and Sandy, the crofters) are the friendliest, most welcoming people you could ever meet (as is everyone on the island, really). They invited me in for tea and homemade scones when I first arrived. And they had me over for Sunday dinner, where they served roast potatoes, heaps of vegetables, and a shank of lamb (which I suspect was one of their own. Eek).

As far as teaching harp goes, it looks like I will mostly be teaching youngsters, with a few adults here and there. All female, I believe. The woman who is the secretary of the local harp society is a very organized (sorry, "organised") woman, and is rounding up all the folk who want lessons from me, so that I just have to show up and teach. It's not too hard, since most of them get a once-monthly lesson from a teacher who flies in from Edinburgh. That concentrated lesson blitz is happening this weekend; she flies in Friday morning, teaches all day, sleeps, teaches all Saturday morning and flies out again Saturday afternoon. I'll get to sit in with her and see who all the pupils are, take notes, and figure out just how the heck I'm supposed to impart all that I know about harps and harp playing to strangers whom I will see once a week for forty minutes, often in pairs or groups of three. My music teacher training course doesn't start until February, so I'm on my own for the first few weeks.

That's mostly what's been going on here. Life on an island is slow-paced. Lots of walks around the village or down by the bay. Cups of tea while sitting gazing out at the hills and lochs and sky. Driving on single-track roads to get anywhere (all the shopping, including food shopping, has to be done in Stornoway. Though there is a milkman who comes round, plus a vegetable van, fish van, library van). Trying not to hit the sheep who believe that the roads belong to them, and they have every right to dawdle across them, usually just as you drive up to where they've been grazing.

I expect things will get a bit more hectic when I start teaching; and I may take a class or two at the local college (maybe basic Gaelic, the language spoken on the isles). But for now I'm just settling in and getting used to the minor differences. Like stoves that need to be switched on at the wall before they produce heat.

A one-paragraph synopsis of the time in between leaving Portland (November 28th) and arriving here (January 7th): I spent a month in Philly visiting with family and friends, then a few days in Edinburgh with a friend and her little boy. He goes to school at Heriot's, a day-school dating from sometime in the 1800s, smack in the center of Edinburgh. When we were waiting to pick him up one day I looked at the fenced-in grounds, the large stone entrance gate, the ornate, castle-like school building, with Edinburgh castle and the royal mile in view in the background and I remarked, "that sure looks Harry Potter-esque." My friend replied, "well, it probably is the inspiration for Harry Potter, since the woman wrote her novels in a cafe around the corner." Oh.

I hope all of you are doing well and had good New Years's and such. I look forward to hearing from you :).

Love,
Andrea

Here are some pictures. The place looks a lot neater and more impersonal than it really is, since I moved all of my junk to the half of the room behind the camera. Just click on the "Add Clutter" button, and it will make them look more authentic.

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A wee picture of the wee hoose

And my little red car outside

Sitting Room

Kitchen

View from the back door

Beannan

Loch

My Bedroom

Bedroom Window

Andrea Blumberg

Copyright © Andrea Blumberg 2016