From the ferry before it became sunny.
My first day on Iona and what a beauty. Sun, no wind. Everyone is getting sunburned. I spent a good part of the day walking around and taking pictures. Please enjoy the day with me. If we have a rainy day, maybe I’ll write more. For now I find the solitude as I wander about.
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Edinburgh sun; perfect day for a hike to Arthur’s Seat, and besides it was my last day before taking the train to Oban. Why is this hill called Arthur’s Seat? No one knows but the name leaves much to the imagination—King Arthur and all that. The walk/hike up took an hour; it’s impossible to figure the distance because there are many paths to choose from. You just wander up, hoping you’ve picked one of the easier ones. Same for the hike down. Silence, solitude and simplicity, but also community. I stopped to talk with a woman sitting along the path, cane by her side. She was grateful that she could climb as far as she did and was now waiting for her daughter who was making the hike to the top. “I was diagnosed with MS in ’97 and look what I can do! I’m so grateful and am just appreciating the scenery.” She went on to tell me that at age 43 she became pregnant and what a gift her daughter has been. Two days ago, on her 70th birthday, her daughter telephoned to say that they were going to Scotland for three days to celebrate. And there she was, sitting on the grass half way up Arthur’s Seat. I told her the ‘very grateful’ story of my mom’s last words, and then went on my way. It is no simple matter to blog and travel, especially in a city filled with history, gardens and architecture like Old and New Town Edinburgh. The best I can do is offer a slide show, but as they say, ‘a picture’s worth a thousand words.’ Here are some random shots taken during my visit to the Royal Yacht Britannia, Queen Elizabeth’s happy home away from home during forty years of her reign. I hadn’t been interested in touring the ship until I rather fell in love with the Queen Elizabeth after reading the biography, Elizabeth the Queen: The Life of a Modern Monarch, by Sally Bendell Smith. I certainly developed compassion for this tough but kind and compassionate dedicated woman who definitely needed to get away. But visiting the ship—oh such opulence to keep royalty and all its pomp and ceremony going!—Well, I can see there are many sides to the royalty coin. Monarchists and non-monarchist both have a million valuable points. That being said, I hope you enjoy the photos as much as I enjoyed a luncheon of fish soup, salmon sandwiches and red wine at the Royal Deck Tea Room. I took a tour of the Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh yesterday morning. Magnificent!! The following is from their website, which I highly recommend, especially to my gardening friends. http://www.rbge.org.uk “The Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh (RBGE) was founded in the 17th century as a physic garden. Now it extends over four Gardens boasting a rich living collection of plants, and is a world-renowned centre for plant science and education. "exploring and explaining the world of plants for a better future" “That's our mission. Without plants, there would be no life on earth. RBGE has been growing and studying plants for over 330 years, and so is perfectly placed to help document and conserve the world's diversity of plantlife.” Iona Abbey Tomorrow friends and family will gather to remember and celebrate the life of Edie Murray. As we come together I’m sure that we will acknowledge the services taking place for the victims of the Newtown tragedy. One of Edie roles while on staff at the Iona Abbey and as director of Wayside Hospice was to plan and lead the services of remembrance. The following poem/prayer was always included. How appropriate it is at the time. We Remember Them In the rising of the sun and its going down, We Remember Them. In the bowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, We Remember Them. In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring. We Remember Them. In the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer, We Remember Them. In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn. We Remember Them. In the beginning of the year and when it ends, We Remember Them. When we are weary and in need of strength, We Remember Them. When we are lost and sick of heart, We Remember Them. When we have joys and special celebrations we yearn to share, We Remember Them. Sp long as we live, they too shall live, for they are part of us. We Remember Them. ~From the Jewish Book Of Prayer~ More about Tenzin Palmo. Specifically she became a hermit because she wanted to gain ‘Enlightenment as a woman.’ When a friend asked her what she had gained from the experience living in a cave for those thirteen years, she responded, “I wasn’t’ bored.” Was she avoiding putting into words what she had felt and discovered? Was that the best she could come up with about something so profound? Did that answer sum it all up? Of course people were curious, and we don’t really know what her answer means. However, I resonate with her response. When I am asked what I learned from my month traveling alone in Italy or my three weeks in Scotland last fall, or from my time at the cottage by the sea, my reply is vague. Like Tenzin Palmo, I answer in the negative: “Well, I was never lonely.” Clearly that is a public response, and it is really all I want to offer. Putting it all into words is impossible, and trying only places a ceiling, a limit, on what the experience was all about. By it’s very nature, solitude is private. You have to find out for and by yourself what it means to you. The best anyone else can do is to inspire you to start your own exploration. Reading about the experiences of others is a start. The result is beyond words. The other day a crew of four tree surgeons took down a big maple in front of our house. This was not simple. They came with a crane which meant that they had to hire a policeman to direct traffic as huge sections were loaded onto a truck by the side of the road. I wasn’t there but my husband took pictures of this extensive, noisy, man-powered operation that led to the premature death of a tree. The alternative would have been fear and the possible reality that a dead branch would fall on someone.
What about the thousands of trees at various stages of life and death in the forest, where nature takes its course? I am reminded of the dense woods that I wandered through last September on the Isle of Raasay, just a short ferry ride from Skye in Scotland. With the wind and falling twigs it was far from silent; the collage of trees wasn’t simple; and I had no sense of solitude as I wandered through. In fact, now that I think about it, I was happy, and yes, anxious to get out into the open meadow where I could look across to the Cullin Hills of Skye. On that beautiful day, without even the contribution of inclement weather, nature was not offering me silence, solitude or simplicity. Looking from the Isle of Iona to the Isle of Mull. The poem I’ve just posted (see Cottage Companions: Poems), entitled “The Shortest Day,” is the first in a series of “Midwinter Poems” by Jan Sutch Pickard. In the early 2000’s Jan was the Warden of the Abbey on Iona; she now lives on the Isle of Mull. Jan is a writer and story teller, and an advocate for peace and Justice. I met Jan during one of my visits to Iona. She was friendly and vivacious, and very present to everyone who was on the Island Pilgrimage that day. I had the sense that she had found a balance between her work out in the world and her need for solitude—an extrovert and introvert in sync. Glasgow Airport I think I’ve mentioned that I love airports and that if I were homeless, that’s where I’d live. Something shifts in me the moment I go through those automatic doors at Logan Airport. I slip into a different zone, which Tony Hiss, in his current book, “In Motion: the Experience of Travel” calls deep travel. Sure, I wanted to get to Scotland, but my travel wasn’t about being an ‘already there traveler’ and getting to my cottage-near-the-sea on Skye as soon as possible. When I travel I seem to be more prepared to stay in the moment and take things in in a different way. In my backpack is my Nook, a book, journal, maps, puzzle books, pens and pencils, and all my travel papers. My mind shifts into airplane mode, thus preparing me to embrace any delays or inconveniences, and I pretty much stay on that frequency for the entire trip. The flight to Glasgow this time was effortless and flawless, the only glitch being that we arrived ahead of schedule and had to wait twenty minutes on the tarmac for a gate. I had three hours to spend at the airport before my bus to Ft. William, and strange as it may seem, I was delighted. I wandered about, or shall I say puttered about, found the ATM machine, enjoyed a ‘full Scottish breakfast’, checked flights, watched arrivals, bought my bus ticket and tried, unsuccessfully, to find a ‘hot spot’ for free internet. Here’s a try at describing this airplane/airport time? It was travel and destination all wrapped up in one. It was being present in the moment with some kind of past and future simultaneously whirling about. I was on the movable walkway, delighted that wasn’t coming to an end. I have the sense that there is some deep connection between solitude and travel for me. That travel might be across the Atlantic, up the highway to my cottage-by-the-sea, or just across the street to the library. Travel from one place to another, but intense and present every second along the way. Waiting for the bus. I wonder how Pete’s doing? Pete, my bus companion from Trydum to the Glasgow airport a week ago. At age 68, Pete and two younger buddies were on their way home after climbing Ben Nevis, the tallest mountain in Scotland. Pete admitted that the trek, especially the descent, was tiring on his legs, but that he had done a great deal of climbing in his lifetime so it wasn’t a big deal. I’m really wondering how his fifty minute flight home to the Midlands went. You see, Pete had never flown before and he was petrified. When I told him that the ride home that evening would be smooth compared to his rocky flight to Scotland on Tuesday (riding along with Hurricane Katia), he was incredibly grateful. “Thank you, for that,” he said with intense sincerity in his voice. We didn’t talk every minute of the trip. Truth be told I wasn’t in the mood to carry on any usual kind of conversation with a stranger, but Pete was different. I offered him some Scottish shortbread, which he idevoured. Every so often he would bring up the flying issue. He wanted me to tell him all about my first time flying. Was it bumpy? Was I scared? I had to admit that I had no recollection of my maiden flight; I’ve been flying as long as I can remember, and I love everything about it. I was no peer for Pete. He was still petrified and all I could offer was reassurance that the ride home would be smoother than the ride up. At the airport I met Pete’s buddies, definitely long time friends who were helping him fulfill his dream to climb Ben Nevis. I have the sense that it was Pete who led the climb, but it was his friends who held him up as he faced his fear of flying. I was privy to a transformative moment in Pete’s life. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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