Back up to Scotland and this time the larches have got fir on. The sun has decided to show it’s bonny face
to see out the end of Spring. This lodge is on a beach not far from Elgin and
happily for me the view from the kitchen window is a stunning one: a bit of
grass and dune, then sand and sea. I can
gaze over the Moray Firth to the hazy hills of Sutherland and Caithness where Morven
peeps his quirky head above his friends like a piece of Toblerone with a bite
out of it, surrounded by Walnut Whips. We’ve watched dolphins and porpoises
nearly every night.
In amongst cooking and gazing at the view I’m reading up on the Picts;
I have a new History of Scotland book.
This was their land before they were absorbed by the Scots, so I’m
making it my mission to use any time-off this week roving a Pictish trail. To
begin: Burghead Pictish fort and the standing stones of Sueno and Rodney.
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| (This photo of Rodney's Stone from http://www.mcjazz.f2s.com/Picts.htm) |
I’ve seen a lot of stone art recently in Ireland and the Western
Isles, but these Pictish symbols and carvings are super strange and beautiful
and poignant with mystery. Rodney's Stone stands at the bottom of Brodie Castle’s drive, so I went in to have a
look. Not what you’d expect from a looming Scottish castle; it’s ultra airy and
light inside and very very pretty. Graceful. And a mighty art collection too; works
from the Scottish Colourists McTaggart, Peploe, Cadell and Hunter. There was
Dufy next to Van Dyke, a Landseer and a Bloemaert among plenty more.
Outside were woodlands full of wood sorrel, so I picked two handfuls
to scatter on the top of tonight’s lobster noodles. It’s so cheering to find growing things
again, to pick and eat. We’ve had heaps of asparagus this week already and yet
more wild garlic pistou, this time on bruschetta with locally made crème
fraiche. There’s still not much fruit though…rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb….. so
puds have harked back to more wintery days, like Meringue Mont Blanc’s - renamed 'Meringue Morven’s' with a hail to that hill. Scatterings of gorse and
rosemary flowers have joined the primroses adorning plates of food.
I went on a wander along the cliff path in search of Sculptor’s Cave
near Covesea – a haunting place with Pictish symbols carved into the rock. It
was another warm, blue-sky afternoon. Fulmars glided protectively around their
cliffs. Whitethroat’s were lustfully throating and the sea pinks were just
about poking their pink out.
I walked with butterflies. In the shelter of the dunes, gorse bloom
brushed the air. The sunny yellow flower was at it’s magnificent best, wafting
coconut scent, and I took in lungful’s of it. With the breeze in the right
direction and my eyes closed I could be in Puerto Rico with a piña colada. (Though when in the
wrong direction it just smelt of dog poo. Sadly this is a place with ‘dog
walker's’ attached to the ‘paradise’). But what with the gorse and inhaling yoga
style breathes from a fluffy tuft of primroses it felt like I was breathing in
the sunshiny yellowness of it all.
If only everyone exalted in such easily sought pleasures and the
little gems of memories they give! They are simple riches. Truly simple, truly
rich. I’m certain the world would be a happier place, or at least Britain might
be anyway.
And so to the kitchen. Tonight: warm ‘potted shrimps’ with homemade
focaccia to dip in to the nutmeg-y butter. The bread was stuffed with nettle
sprigs and Crowdie. Rhubarb syllabub for pud!
One
salmon was caught today, but two fishermen fell into the Findhorn. That’s one
up to the King of Fish...
