Washing Lines.

04/02/2007

Chilly blasts from the east keep us well wrapped up, although the seaweed sniffers are correct as it is still dry and sunny, even warm by day, with frost stiffened grass overnight. I always recommend Scotland at this time of year to the first time visitor, for between now and May we are normally dry and midge-less although to be fair it can be chilly and the spring colours and textures of Scotland are inclined to be those of last year’s white, dead grass and various shades of brown vegetation left over from the same period. Little in the way of game can legally be shot or hooked by one’s enthusiastic guests; however the air has a wonderful clarity and by night a huge moon lights one’s nocturnal wanderings, our skies and gardens are filled with livestock of every tribe and hue. This is the season when every self respecting farmer has a box of matches in his pocket and a meadow of white grass to burn to encourage the new seeds and sprouts, in Glen Trollaigh I have decided to forgo the miurburn this year, as I am constantly being told that its bad for the environment. To be honest I am not too sure about the science of it all; however I am more than happy to try some hard cutting with flail and tractor, rather than a fiery torch and let’s see what happens, sweetened by an £10K “assistance” from SERRAD. Judging by the number of fire engines whizzing around the Argyll roads and plumes of thick smoke hanging around the forest fringes not everyone is following the same advice. Local sages blame the springtime campers who have filled every flat tent-sized space, complete with a cheery blazing campfire this weekend in the good weather; others nod wisely and hint that most fires are lit by firefighters for a little PR, and a nifty practice or two. There are many stories of retained fire crews being marooned on western islets in the arms of the local sirens, lulled into a lack of communication with home by warm sunshine and a dram or two days after every grassfire has been extinguished. I have spent some time with the annual erection of the open air washing line, which was carefully coiled away at the end of last September. This is a tiresome task under the direction of dearest Dottie and Mhairi as the line must be set and tensioned with perfect precision, however I can think of no surer sign of the approach of spring. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.