legacy

Hey hey hey! summer is here and it looks as if today (at least) will have some decent sunshine. Hopefully coupled with a decent breeze into the evening since summer also brings the curse of the twilight midge. It's midsummer's day today and I'm sitting at the desk in the newly-cleaned bothy hoping to get a decent chunk of thesis written before heading off to Drimnin for a pre-wedding chilli evening. I am temporarily without transport since the fat-wheel electric tricycle which was last year's grand birthday present to myself has suffered its second major breakdown in just 20 miles. This means I'll be walking out and, if I feel vigorous enough after the chilli, cycling back on one of my other bicycles, the canondale bad boy. For the past two weeks I've been indulging in all sorts of displacement activity to avoid the thesis writing some of this has been useful (clearing out the bothy) and some of it less so (baking extravagant quantities of cakes). So I'll be carrying out a quantity of cakes and flowers as my contribution to the wedding when I walk out this afternoon.

The bothy is a key bit of my parents legacy in Drumbuidhe. For years it was a storage shed and occasional rough-sleeping room whose corrugated metal roof would periodically blow off. About thirty years ago it was roofed and lined as an office for my dad. This was one of my mother's many schemes to live with my father but not have to actually, you know, live with him. After my mum's death we moved a single bed in here and, as my dad's turbine obsession moved into mania, it filled up with a quantity of stuff that took three wheelbarrows to remove. My dad also slept here for a year before he died which has meant a lingering hospital smell. My dad suffered from incontinence which he kept trying to disguise so not only is there a fair bit of urine seeped into the floorboards but his disposal of chamber pots out the door and window has led to the window-closing mechanism seizing shut.

It took a whole heap of displacement activity, the dismantling of the window frame and the judicious use of  small crowbar to get the window open but it means I now have a through draught to go with the fine views to distract me as I fret about not working.

At the end of May - while I was being all academic at an energy-policy conference in France - BB came up here with a group of friends to reassemble the wind turbine but this time as memorial art instead of electricity generation. Weather, time and logistics meant that they only got the pole erected. Their grand plans for bacchanalian barbeques came to naught as well so I was left with a whole heap of meat filling up my freezer. I had a paying guest arriving on Sunday which meant I had to clear out the fank freezer and - with no space left - I made a random stew that has sustained me for the past three days. The random stew doesn't really merit a recipe but suffice to say that it includes:

* one pack of cumberland sausages
* shoulder of mutton
* chilli-marinated chicken
* two tins of chopped tomatoes
* split green peas

The meat and peas were cooked beforehand and the whole lot is slow-cooked each morning for my lunch. Summer should be the time of salads and new potatoes but both of these are late this year after the loss of the lean-to greenhouse in the March storms. My other displacement activity has been flower-petal syrups with a very pretty rose and poppy.  wee bit of citric acid added to the rose syrup has enhanced the pink colour but the poppy remains an ominous dark purple. I was using  French recipe for vin de couliquot which is noted as having pharmacological benefits but I'm now displayingn my puritan streak and fretting that a drop of it will turn me into a dead-eyed junkie.

Sunshine on Snow

The weather is behaving as winter weather should with overnight snow and bright, sharp sunshine for my journey south.
Drumbuidhe, being right next to the shore, gets very little snow but the trip out can be a bit interesting once you get to higher ground and it's always wise to carry a shovel. The trip out is made more interesting because the track is going through a really, really bad patch.

A distillery has started up at the big house and the leftover mash is being fed to the cattle. This is excellent news for the cattle who are in fine fettle with glossy coats and good health. However it's rubbish news for the track. The tractor and trailer used to take the mash out to the cattle has a combined weight of 7 tonnes. This is too much for the track and sections of it keep collapsing. It happened last winter and it's happening again with two bad bits, just above Auliston and just before Port a'bhata. Once a patch of the track gets soft, that patch gets worse and worse.

Last year the track was patched in the spring and I assume that's going to happen this year as well. Obviously it doesn't fix the underlying problem which is that the track is not robust enough for the current agricultural use. If it's patched again (rather than the whole track being upgraded or lighter vehicles beinng used) then the same thing will happen next winter, albeit in different places.

The issue of the track is complicated because I don't own it and there is no formal agreement in place for its upkeep. The current owners of the estate would like me to move out and buy Drumbuidhe so the more difficulty I have getting to and from Drumbuidhe, the better for them. The current owners are also short of money so they would like me to contribute to the cost of track maintenance. Since the track problems are caused by their use, this is unlikely to happen. The current owner also has unsupported confidence in his ability to devise schemes for track maintenance which I am definitely not going to support. His cunning plan to dig out the hillside at Sornagan a couple of years back is causing regular problems as landslips keep blocking the drainage channels.

The rubbish track means that, if possible, I walk out. On Sunday there was a skiff outing which I walked out for and, for all the track problems, it's still a glorious route. Here's to a fine new year!

Good Things

After a brief cold snap, winter is coming slowly this October. I harvested the first of the parsnips last week and so lunch today was curried parsnip soup. This is a classic soup which can absorb any number of variations (old apples and creme fraiche in my case today) and is a fond reminder of family for me. It's not that it was cooked often in our house but it is the original invention of Jane Grigson and comes from her classic cookbook Good Things. This book was always around in both Glasgow and Drumbuidhe and my mum gave me my own copy when I left home at 18 - a rite of passage. My latest move from Glasgow to Edinburgh has been rather chaotic and my copy of Good Things has gone missing, hopefully temporarily since my wee flat doesn't really feel like a home without it.

Curried Parsnip Soup

3 parsnips
1 onion
2 small apples
butter
1 teaspoon medium curry powder
1 teaspoon vegetable stock powder
1 pint water
creme fraiche

* peel and core the apples and roughly chop the parsnips and onions
* fry the vegetables with the curry powder over a medium heat for a couple of minutes
* add the water and vegetable stock, bring to the boil and simmer slowly for at least half an hour
* add the creme fraiche, blend the soup and season to taste

The nostalgic haze on my photographs is due to a broken lens cover on my phone which has allowed dirt to get in. This does obscure the writing on my notepad which refers to the checking and rechecking of building performance statistics. What shines through despite the haze is the bright mustard wall colour which was selected to show off my kimonos and calligraphy.

The soup is finished so it's back to statistics for the time being.

peak whimsy

There is much to be said for tidying up. After spending a good three months with my sitting-room-office in Edinburgh strewn with various research notes awaiting filing; an upside-down table awaiting mending; various bits of clothing awaiting mending and a fancy Danish shelving system awaiting assembly ... I finally snapped. Turns out it took just an afternoon and a morning to assemble the shelves (I ran out of the crucial rawlplug and had to wait for the shops opening the next morning). Once assembled they do look very sleek and Scandinavian which may or may not fit in with the Oriental maximalism on the other two walls. It was then the satisfying work of mere minutes to get my research notes placed up on the shelves; the table fixed (since I had my tools to hand) and my clothing tidied away into the sewing box. I even rediscovered my poor drought-stricken swiss cheese plant.

There was then a long but gentle drive to Drumbuidhe via Inverness (bumped into my old colleague, Mike, waiting for a haircut in the mega Tesco) giving myself a dinner at the Whitehouse on the way so that I arrived well fed, watered and socialised at 10pm as the summer sun was setting behind Ben Hiant.

The fine sailboat Bessie Ellen was moored in the Loch as I arrived and, with a fine spring tide in the early morning, I was half considering taking my new inflatable canoe out to say hello. It turns out that was unnecessary as they came visiting to me. One of the sailors was John, a charming surveyor who worked alongside me on boatbuilding at Galgael. It was lovely seeing him again. Although the crew caught me in my Sunday-morning-dressing-gown mode, leaving the cottage tidy when I head south meant that I could rustle up tea and biscuits for the Bessie Ellen hordes with ease.

Sunday afternoon was then spent making rose petal syrup. This may be a sign that I'm reaching peak whimsy but it did allow for a very decent rose martini that evening.

rose syrup

* 120g scented rose petals
* 3 stalks rhubarb
* 3 cups granulated sugar
* 1.5 cups water
* 2 tsp citric acid

Add one cup of sugar to the rose petals and rhubarb, mix thoroughly by hand (crushing the rose petals) and leave in a covered bowl for at least 2 hours

Bring the remaining 2 cups of sugar and water to boil, add the rose petal mixture and citric acid and boil for 5 minutes

Strain the syrup into sterilised bottles




It turns out that rhubarb and rose petals contain quite a bit of pectin and I boiled the syrup for a wee bit too long so I now have a very thick syrup but it still tastes very fine.

A Party

Although we had a very fine party at Oran Mor in Glasgow following my dad's death in January 2016, the folk who'd known him in Morvern were still missing a chance to share the many weird and wonderful tales of his japes. I'd thought about a party in summer 2016 but I was A) in France and B) too damn tired to organise it ... I did get as far as designing the invites

The following March was also a possible date since it was his birthday but getting folk out to Drumbuidhe in daylight hours was tricky and some key folk (Dad's brother and our good friend H) who could have helped with transporting people, were both a bit poorly. Now that we're over two years since dad died it was starting to look as if the Morvern Remembering might never happen - so I resolved to kill two birds with one party and combine my birthday and a memorial for dad with one jolly get-together at Drimnin Hall.

I ordered a stack of wine from the Wine Society, food from the Whitehouse and some two-metre photocopied banners from the copyshop next to my Edinburgh flat. I think the key ingredient for the party was the sparkling wine (folk were strangely resistant to the remains of dad's dirt-cheap red wine collection) but I'm sure the food and banners helped.

I put together a slideshow of images of dad and me: principally from Morvern but with bits from Glasgow, North Carolina, Japan and Oman. As I said to folk in my introduction, I've moved house 29 times in my 51 years but the one constant has been Morvern - I can truly say it's my home.

The party was judged a fine success thanks to:

* Sumarroca Cava
* Treacle Scones
* The Drowning of the Landrover


I have never had any damn success with making scones (so many failures that I've begun to doubt my womanhood) so I include the Glasgow Cookery Books recipe for reference only. Taken from the 1960s edition:

Treacle Scones

* 1lb flour
* 2oz lard or butter
* 1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
* 1 tsp ground cinammon
* 1 tsp mixed spice
* salt
* 1 tblsp treacle
* buttermilk to mix (add 1/2 tsp cream of tartar if using sweet milk)

- mix dry ingredients and treacle
- add buttermilk 'til you have a stiff dough
- divide into four, roll out and cut into four
- brush with a beaten egg and bake in a hot oven for 12 to 15 minutes

The Drowning of the Landrover featured in both the banners and the slideshow and is now firmly entrenched in Morvern's oral history: One summer's day  in 1978 we were due to head out for a picnic at Ben Hiant (with the Sandground family I think). We were taking all the food for the picnic and, since it was low tide, we had to carry it all out to the boat at the end of the point. My dad decided it would be easier to drive the landrover out over the beach. My mum said this would be a bad idea since there was a clay deposit on the beach just under the sand. My dad decided to drive out nonetheless; the landrover got stuck; much panic and shouting ensued; the tide came in over the landrover; JohnNeil came with a tractor the next day to haul the drowned vehicle out; we spent the rest of the summer taking it to bits and cleaning every piece. Despite gallons of Jizer lavished on it, the landrover was never the same again.

Mud!

My earliest memory is of getting stuck on the track to Drumbuidhe. One fine, hot summer when I was just over a year old and my mum was heavily pregnant with my sister, we came up tyo Drumbuidhe with Kenny, a friend of my dad's. The landrover got stuck, as it was wont to do, on a flat portion of track near where we used to cut peat. Kenny had to spend the first few days digging the landrover out, spurred on by my mother's daily trips to see how he was getting on ... the sight of my heavily-pregnant mum wearing a swimsuit and pushing me in a pram drove him to frantic digging out efforts. Given my age at the time I suspect this is a manufactured memory but it's backed up by the regular, annual incidents of the landrover getting stuck. The portion next to the peat digging used to be the worst spot, partly because it was high up, above Drumbuidhe bridge, and getting the required volume of rocks to fill in the limitless bog was difficult. About 35 years ago almost the whole track (from Drimnin to Drumbuidhe Bridge) was refurbished and flattened. For 10 years after that it was possible to drive a standard car to Drumbuidhe and I can remember barrelling along on my bicycle back in 1985. Although the portion of track from Drumbuidhe bridge to Drumbuidhe wasn't improved, it wasn't either soft or heavily used so it's held up well with minimal maintenance such as gabions where it hits the beach. The track from Drumbuidhe to Dorlin is another matter and the portion where it dips down to sea level (and a burn crosses the track) has always been treacherous. It caught out our friendly neighbourhood potter who came on an outing to impress his girlfriend, got stuck and had to withstand being called every shade of stupid by my dad. He's still with his girlfriend and still making lovely pots but he's moved down south ... possibly to avoid the combination of mud and shouty old men.

The 35-year-old flattening of the track is now wearing off and every winter a new portion disintegrates. Inside the deer fence there's very little useage of the track so we're just prone to acts of god (cloudbursts and storm surges). Up on the high ground it's a combination of tractor and stock that churn up the damp ground in winter. Cattle are being kept up on the high ground and the tractor that takes their feed out weighs 5 tonnes, the fee trailer is another 2 tonnes so any soft patches in the track can disintegrate quickly. It tends to be a different patch each year but this winter is particularly bad. There are patches by Crow Gully and Auliston which are close to impassable. I got stuck on the way out to deliver soup & sandwiches for the Morvern Community Woodlands fundraising lunch. My contribution was not essential but the digging and cursing required to get me out did make it feel a fair bit more exciting.

I was able to introduce an innovation to the monthly 'Lets Do Lunch' session which was toasted cheese. Truly the food of the gods. Turns out that everyone loves a bit of toasted cheese but not everyone has the chutzpah to realise that this is what lunchtime needed. It may seem a bit unecessary but here's the method that I use for toasted cheese:

wet winter arrives

Everything is squelching underfoot and the water turbine is blocking every 30 minutes with twigs and leaves. Winter has arrived. In the last squeak of fine weather (and it was very fine) I got fourteen folk out along the track to help shift the really big rubbish that Campbell had left behind out. Of course there's still a mountain of small rubbish (cables! pipes! copper fittings! timers! radios!) to be sorted and removed but I can at least move them myself. The Colchester Student lathe was another matter entirely.

 The lathe is one of the more valuable bits of stuff but I had to get everything big out at once, valuable or not, because I at least have some chance of getting it all shifted. The fourteen folk were magnificent. Organised and motivated by the outstanding Luke and Cathy who came up from their farm in the borders to huff and puff with rusty bits of metal. I remain in awe.

Alas my awe for auctioneers remains limited. Having dragged a whole heap o' stuff over the six miles of track it remains where we left it. On the grass outside Drimnin Distillery. Looking out of place and waiting forlornly for the auctioneers (or anyone!) to come and pick it up.

So I'm celebrating what can be celebrated which is that we managed to shift:

* a yanmar tractor (with ridiculously complicated back actor)
* a colchester student lathe
* two 4m fibreglass dinghies
* a 3m aluminium dinghy
* a log splitter for the yanmar
* a 4m trailer (with bust jockey wheel)
* a hydraulic lift
* midge-eater, rotavator, bench saw et al

over six rough miles. There were a few casualties (a couple of flat tyres and the clutch on the series 1 landrover has gone - drat!) and some folk were definitely shocked at the state of the track but everyone made it out in one piece. If anyone happens to be in the neighbourhood with a massive lorry and a desire to shift stuff, do let me know.

The idea was that folk would be rewarded with copious food for their hard work so I had stacks of bread, cheese and casseroles on hand. I also had lots of pots of chocolate mousse having finally tracked down the recipe that my mum used. It's Julia Child's chocolate mousse from 'Mastering the Art of French Cookery' and I've still got some tinkering to do with the details. My mum (and Julia Child) used the egg yolk raw but I find it's got an odd metallic taste so I'm experimenting (see *) with cooking it with the coffee and sugar to produce a custard. The main problem I've got at the minute is the chocolate and butter mixture solidifying in grains rather than smooth chocolateyness. So here's the work in progress.

6 oz dark chocolate (the darker the better)
6 oz unsalted butter
1/4 cup strong coffee (using instant is the easiest)
4 eggs (seperated)
2/3 cup sugar
3 tablespoons whisky
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Mel the chocolate and butter together and leave to cool a bit*
Whisk the coffee, whisky, sugar, vanilla and egg yolks together. Heat gently in a double boiler til the mixture thickens then leave to cool a bit*
Whisk the egg whites 'til they form soft peaks
Fold* the chocolate, custard and egg whites together and refrigerate for a couple of hours or (ideally) overnight.

Serve with whipped cream if you're feeling fancy and just pouring cream if you're feeling impatient.