Monday, April 18, 2005
Time To Service The Lawnmower.
04/18/2005
A grey Monday morning, a light easterly breeze springs up late in the morning and brings an afternoon of rain, but it is mild enough at 10 degrees or so. I returned to Glen Trollaigh last night after five very tiring days working hard at the Country Living Scotland Spring Fair in Edinburgh. I had been drafted in by Diana Drummond to try my hand at exhibitions and it certainly knocked me into shape. The first twelve-hour day travelling to Edinburgh, painting and setting up the stand was a leisurely affair compared to the next four selling days. 6.30 am starts to prepare for the day ahead, seven hours hard chat to customers and then, of course the evenings socialising with other exhibitors, customers and friends past midnight. I am strangely drawn to such intense work, somehow completely unimagined by people attending the events, almost a parallel universe. My masters tell me that it all worked well, and that is the main thing. I have been booked for more of the same in June and July. Dearest Dottie, Lachie and Mhairi seem to have held the old pile together in my absence, the grass is greening, leaves are filling out and more lambs are appearing at foot to their sturdy mothers. I spend a little of the morning reviewing the newspapers that I have missed and quickly realise another advantage to being locked away in an exhibition hall for a few days, the papers are full of absolute rubbish and I shudder to think to whom such nonsense and lies might appeal. Lock me in Glen Trollaigh for a day or two to recharge the old batteries, please, and burn the media for a fortnight. God bless one and all, Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Happy Days
04/12/2005
A strong southwest breeze brings the temperature tumbling to eight degrees, dry and pleasant in the morning, but wintery showers in the afternoon and it feels chilly. Thin snow appears on the tops once more, but it will not take much to shift it. Feeling guilty about lack of exercise makes me endure a day of logging, chopping firewood and planting trees. More than ever, I believe that I must turn more of the land and my time to supporting wildlife in the glen. I have to smile to myself as the siskines reappear in strength to devour even more food; they are so aggressive that I can put my hand within inches of them while they gorge on the nut feeders before they take flight. As dearest Dottie and I sit with a light lunch, we watch a young pine marten moving around the buildings and garden as inquisitive as any cat, such a rare sight in daylight, but so satisfying to think that our efforts in Glen Trollaigh make such a wild wood animal feel secure within our boundaries. I will miss the peace of the glen over the next days as my responsibilities take me to Edinburgh with Diana Drummond and the Country Living Spring Fair. Dearest Dottie, Mhairi and Lachie will keep things on an even keel here; they will probably manage better without me! Speaking of Lachie, there seems to have been some doubt about his status in the Glen. Lachie is short for Lachlan, the name he shared with this father and grandfather who have all severed us in Glen Trollaigh. Although they have all worked outwith the Tower and Farm, our present straightened circumstances mean that “my” Lachie is a general factotum, Stalker, Woodsman, Shepherd, Handyman and occasional Butler. I regret that he has failed to find a mate, and so at his age I can now assume that he will be the last of the line, as indeed I am myself, so Lachie old friend, raise a glass with me to the future of Glen Trollaigh! I hope that my diary will restart next week, if I am to be spared. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.