In the midst of the stress and turmoil of my job, I find myself missing Islay and wanting to travel back there if only in my memories. Michael and I, by no means, relaxed on our island holiday last month, yet, in the swirl of my current reality, I find I can return to Islay’s tranquility, its diversions, its magic, its people and its serendipity at every bend in the road—every bend in those skinny roads alone, were discovery for these two American travelers.
I’m keenly aware that my favorite color is green when I think of Islay’s fertile landscape and of the comfort gleaned from its vast open-airy-ness, its sheep-garnished hills, country crofts and ancient stone structures. We delighted in its hidden cottages, tucked into the hillsides that frame the Sound of Islay, as well as in its neat rows of colorful houses that knit together each distinctive village—their homey greens and squares, sandy beaches and sentinel lighthouses, and the prevalence of the island’s ‘beasts’. One such bend in the road treated us to the amazing scene of a herd of cattle ambling across a beach near Bridgend one evening (Traigh Cill an Rhuba, tidal sands of Loch Indaal). While searching a lush rain-soaked field of grass for the remains of the medieval era Kilmeny Parish Church (there is a new church as well http://www.kilmenychurch.org.uk/ ) an exuberant border collie appeared out of nowhere, knocked me down and ravished my face with kisses. I was suddenly six years old and giddy with laughter.
I remember the faces of people we met, the older gentleman smoking a cigarette seated on a bench outside his granddaughter’s home in Portnahaven. Once a Glasgow boy, he found this place too quiet. The hilltop lane he lived on offered a stunning uncorrupted view of the wild Atlantic, my kind of ‘quiet’. One day while madly snapping photos of ruins and cemeteries, the postman came dashing over hill and dale in his wee red truck. To our delight, it was Alan, Michael’s chess opponent of the previous night. I still see the grin of recognition on his face when he stopped to say “hello” and then the red blur of his Royal Mail truck buzzing away along the winding pathways of moor and meedie.
In Port Ellen we happened upon the Celebration on the Green, a children’s festival which was heralded by the Islay Pipe Band marching through the streets. But what equally thrilled us was the sight of jubilant kids and dogs running on the beach there, where we also sat to eat our fish and chip lunch served up by the cheery ladies in the local Nippy Chippy van.
Well, that’s it for today; I don’t want to overwhelm you with all my memories at once and my own rambunctious border collie needs a walk before I return to reality and head off to work. Yet of this I am confident—God’s grace will keep me far above it all.
Mise le meas (Yours faithfully)
Jacqueline
I’m keenly aware that my favorite color is green when I think of Islay’s fertile landscape and of the comfort gleaned from its vast open-airy-ness, its sheep-garnished hills, country crofts and ancient stone structures. We delighted in its hidden cottages, tucked into the hillsides that frame the Sound of Islay, as well as in its neat rows of colorful houses that knit together each distinctive village—their homey greens and squares, sandy beaches and sentinel lighthouses, and the prevalence of the island’s ‘beasts’. One such bend in the road treated us to the amazing scene of a herd of cattle ambling across a beach near Bridgend one evening (Traigh Cill an Rhuba, tidal sands of Loch Indaal). While searching a lush rain-soaked field of grass for the remains of the medieval era Kilmeny Parish Church (there is a new church as well http://www.kilmenychurch.org.uk/ ) an exuberant border collie appeared out of nowhere, knocked me down and ravished my face with kisses. I was suddenly six years old and giddy with laughter.
I remember the faces of people we met, the older gentleman smoking a cigarette seated on a bench outside his granddaughter’s home in Portnahaven. Once a Glasgow boy, he found this place too quiet. The hilltop lane he lived on offered a stunning uncorrupted view of the wild Atlantic, my kind of ‘quiet’. One day while madly snapping photos of ruins and cemeteries, the postman came dashing over hill and dale in his wee red truck. To our delight, it was Alan, Michael’s chess opponent of the previous night. I still see the grin of recognition on his face when he stopped to say “hello” and then the red blur of his Royal Mail truck buzzing away along the winding pathways of moor and meedie.
In Port Ellen we happened upon the Celebration on the Green, a children’s festival which was heralded by the Islay Pipe Band marching through the streets. But what equally thrilled us was the sight of jubilant kids and dogs running on the beach there, where we also sat to eat our fish and chip lunch served up by the cheery ladies in the local Nippy Chippy van.
Well, that’s it for today; I don’t want to overwhelm you with all my memories at once and my own rambunctious border collie needs a walk before I return to reality and head off to work. Yet of this I am confident—God’s grace will keep me far above it all.
Mise le meas (Yours faithfully)
Jacqueline
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