Lush ferns line the verge of the single track road. Through moss covered oaks a glimpse of blue hillside rises, topped with a swirl of white cloud. Tarmac changes to gravel and my partner and I exchange a brief glance, pondering the wisdom of bringing a 1980’s classic car to the wilds of Scotland. The little yellow MG Midget tackles the track without complaint however and proved to be remarkably reliable over the 400 miles or so that it took to get here.
A pair of chimney pots peek above the bank and then the little white cottage slowly draws into view. Two sheep, a ewe and her well grown lamb, playing truant from their flock, nervously half hide in the hedgerow like naughty school children. Rain pours in straight lines down from the sky, finding every possible gap in the ageing vehicles body and quietly seeping inside.
The cottage nestles into the hillside, wrapped in elegant ferns and surrounded by woodland. I race to explore the rear garden which slopes upward before dropping steeply down to a playful burn. I stop and watch the dark water tumble and froth over the rocks. It’s been a stressful few months and this is exactly what I need. I can feel the weariness beginning to lift, the tension carried away with the rushing water.
The garden bird feeders are well stocked and to my delight there is a squirrel feeder, dare I hope for Red Squirrels in the garden? No sooner had a cup of hot tea been made when a flash of russet catches my eye through the window. Squirrel! He lifts the feeder lid with his little nose and climbs inside, comically leaving just his fluffy tail sticking out. At this point I’m doing a happy dance, at the same time as considering the angle of light, and where I might hide with my camera. There are birds galore as well, Great spotted woodpecker, Nuthatch, Blue, Great and Coal tits, even Siskin, a bird I normally associate with winter down in Norfolk. It’s difficult not to get distracted and equally difficult to remember that this is meant to be a holiday, and that I need to slow down. So with a second cuppa on the go I just watch and relax, knowing that observing and preparing now will help later on.
The morning is still and cool following the previous nights rain. Tiny specks dance an inebriated jig in the air, rising, falling, swaying unsteadily from side to side. They’re searching. For me. So far the midge repellent is working, but then I feel a sharp kiss, I guess I missed a spot. She bites with a fierce stinging stab, but I can’t move because I’m watching a Red Squirrel through my lens, I fear any movement might spook him. He is munching a healthy breakfast and studiously ignoring me, back turned. Like all wildlife photographers everywhere, I’m singing ‘Turn around, bright eyes’ in my head, but unfortunately he can’t read my mind. I risk a slow careful movement and gently brush my little friend off my cheek, only to open up my sleeve in the process allowing a whole party to start feasting on my arm. Again I choose to ignore them as the squirrel throws me a curious glance. I wonder if they get bitten too? Maybe the fur protects them.
I’m beginning to think slow living is relative. I have visions of steaming frothy coffee at a window seat in the sun, birds singing, some delicious morsel on a patterned plate next to me, a good book in hand. On a normal work day I’m up after 6am, out the door by 7.20am for the half hour drive to the office, and ready to dive straight into it by 8am. However here on holiday I’m up at 5.45am, rolling out of bed into jeans, jumper and coat and out the door, camera in hand. Despite the earlier start and getting to work near instantly, it feels slower to me. For me, slow living is more about having autonomy over my day, I can photograph when I like, eat and rest when suits me. Although, with a cheeky Red Squirrel looking at me through the window the rest bit doesn’t come as easily, but at least it’s my choice. When I’m ready to escape the midges for a while I’ll head inside for breakfast and coffee, and it all feels extremely luxurious to me.
Travelling in a classic car certainly invites slowness into life too. Not only is it literally slower, even though it’s a sports car technically, anything over about 55mph is very loud and soon gets uncomfortable, but it offers a full sensory experience which makes a journey far more interesting. Roof down, scents waft past in technicolour for the nose, roses in a front garden, sweet and floral, take the coast road and the brisk salty smell of the sea accompanies you. Perfumed journeys along Honeysuckle decorated hedgerows, or past fields of ripening wheat, warm and slightly musky. A freshly manured pasture, OK, not quite so romantic. The warmth of the sun or a cool breeze, it’s all there to enjoy. Looking up to the sky and watching a Red Kite soar directly above. Even in the rain, with the roof hastily clipped over, as it patters gently onto the vinyl is a calming delight. Slowing down to enjoy it all makes me realise just how cut off we can be from the real world, whether that’s in our modern air conditioned vehicles, or under the artificial lights of the sterile office. This is what holidays are for of course, but I’m pondering how I might be able to hang on to a little of this freedom once I am back home.
There’s so much more to tell you about this wonderful trip, so I’ve broken it down into a little mini series - coming next will be more wildlife, so please do stay tuned!
Thanks so much for reading, please do leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!
Until next time,
Dawn.
Of The Wild is a free publication, however if you enjoyed this article and would like to express your support, you can now buy me a coffee over on Ko-fi.
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