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.

       Yesterday I mentioned that I might write about my fantasy of living on one of the “small islands”, namely Eigg. Well, truth be told, I may fantasize about living in a cottage by the sea, but very quickly reality gets the better of me when I think about actually living on a remote island. By remote I mean any island where I’d have to depend on a ferry to get there (and equally important, out of there). The romantic dream of growing my own food, milking my own cow, sheering my own sheep, not to mention weaving and spinning, so I can knit my own sweaters, doesn’t last long; believe me, I wake up suddenly with a jolt. I might like to participate in some of those tasks, well, some of the time, but I’m more of a sit-around kind of gal these days. Simplicity for me isn’t returning to the “simple” life on the croft, but simplifying what I have and what I have to do so I can lead my current ideal of a simple life.

     On the other hand, I like knowing about the island and croft life of people through the years in Scotland. At the moment I’m reading “Seal Morning”, the autobiographical story of Rowena Farre, who from age ten to sixteen lived with her aunt in croft in Sunderland—in the mountains but not near the sea. It’s a lovely tale of their every day life there, and of their experiences with their many pets, which include a rat, two otters, a dog, and various birds and other animals that came and went during the years, And of course there was Lora, the seal. I say lovely, but in truth it was an every day tough life-and-death existence.  

      So, here I am, sitting in my cottage near the sea on my last day on Skye, with plenty of time to write or do whatever I want, asking myself what it is that draws me to this cottage life. Friends and strangers, intrigued and maybe mystified by my desire to find cottages near and by the sea, may ask me what I learned or discovered. I could offer a detailed list, and maybe I’ll share some of them another time; but for now, suffice to say that I hear God in the silence, solitude, and simplicity, and that, I believe, is what we humans are looking for, in our own particular way.

      Tomorrow I’m off to Oban and then to Iona for four nights. A week from today I’ll back in my cozy cottage at home.

       This windy, rainy day has kept me close to the cottage. In fact I’m reminded of how I spend  the winter at my cottage by the sea, although today I went out at noon to the local eating spot for fish and chips—something I never do at the cottage.
     Right now I’m snacking on broccoli, one of the steady, nutritious staples of my diet. With a self-catering cottage I can indulge myself even in broccoli, as well as settle into solitude and silence in the evenings. Supper simply includes some combination of the following: cheese and oatcake crackers, farm fresh eggs, with the deepest orange yolks that I have ever, ever seen, and cereal. After the deliciously fried fish and chips, (always on the menu in Scotland), I figure I need to balance with a healthy menu. Oh, just to round out the eating, it’s oatmeal and banana for breakfast, with a min-morning scone fit in somewhere, and an apple eaten on the road sometime. Um, has anyone noticed that I write about food every day? Is this a new (or old) obsession of mine?
         In case you’re interested in what I did all day in the cottage, here it is, in no particular order and with some repeats: I read, prayed, ate, took a hot bath, played the recorder, sat in the silence, wrote, emailed. Nothing worth writing about but since readers of this blog are looking for silence, solitude and simplicity, and sometimes like to be alone, it just might resonate in some way. Those of you with intensely busy lives, might be thinking, “Oh, how I’d love a day simply to hang out.” My hope is that my experiences will encourage you to find your own way to do just that.

     P.S. Before posting this I decided to take a walk. In twenty minutes I went from no rain to being soaked through. Weather is no predictable and god shows no partiality. Enjoy my rain photos.

This morning I wisely believed the internet weather forecast and joined the Misty Isle Boat Trip from Elgol to Loch Coruisk. Good choice as you can see from the photos.

        Forty five minutes across the water to be greeted, well, acknowledged, by a colony of common seals just before we landed for the ten minute walk to the loch and then an hour on our own to wander about on the rocks. Today we were blessed with sunny views of the jagged black Cullins and the smooth red Cullins in the background.
     The photos speak for themselves, so I want to say something about the seals. Yes, I want to say that they have the 3S’s down pat. I doubt that they  need to read this blog, nor would they be interested in writing for it. You see, silence, solitude and simplicity are woven into the very fabric of a seal’s being, or at least their skin. There they were lounging on the rocks, not getting anxious or stressed with each other or with all of us gawking at them from the boat.  
       This is they way it is with seals, or so I like to think. When they are so moved, in the go for a swim or for food. All in good time. Although in seemingly close proximity in the colony, they appear to have their own personal space—quite a balance between being independent and being in community.
        I know I can get carried away with the analogy, but I do wonder what I can learn from seals. Full disclosure: I’ve always know that if I were an animal, I’d be a seal. I mean, wouldn’t it be fun to be a silky? But for today, I felt affinity with them lying there without a care in their world. Maybe as a start, I can learn to be laid back.  

          You’ll never know about all the missed photo ops on my roundtrip to the northern tip of Skye today. Enough to enjoy the ones posted here.

      It wasn’t until 3:30 on my way through Portree that I discovered the right luncheon spot, so needless to say I was more than hungry. And there was the Café Arreba, the very spot where I had a cup of coffee when I was here with my mom years ago. Today’s tasty and very welcome selection: carrot and parsnip soup, Moroccan lamb patties with a warm flatbread, humus, yogurt, spice and roast tomatoes and salad. Do I ever make such a treat at home? Simply delicious when eaten out.

Don't worry, I stopped the car to take these!

I took these on my walk after supper.

Photo taken today of The Cullins

How’s this for a spiritual practice? At 5:15 this morning I became aware of a peep from the smoke detector which is lodged somewhere in the hall ceiling lamp of this cozy little cottage. Not startlingly loud but consistent in its twenty second intervals between peeps—yes peeps, not beeps. I tried to dismantle it but to no avail, so I decided to practice living with it--including it, loving it, ignoring it, and so on. I did okay, but it sure didn’t give me the sense of silence that a peeping bird might offer. What’s more, I don’t need to extend this spiritual practice into the upcoming night.
     Clearly this peeping had to be taken care of. The owner lives in the adjoining house but she is away until tonight, so my next step was to call the listed emergency number. But I don’t have a phone, so out I went in search of a pay phone, which I located near the bank and post office. Well, I am probably the first person who has tried to use that phone in over a year, and it wanted no part of my coins. Talk about obsolete!! Well, bless the  Bank of Scotland teller. She let me use the bank phone--even dialed the number. No one answered so I left a message. I’ve done my part for now. Stay tuned. In the meantime, I’m taking to the hills.
Five hours later: I just made another attempt to unscrew something and voila, peace and quiet--no peeping or even beeping. I'm going to bed. All is silent.
9/1/11 The peeping began again in the early morning hours. Now no wifi connection at the cottage. I'm going to get out in nature.
      I am peep and beep free. My delightful hostess and her delightful neighbor took the smoke detector out of the socket. It was still beeping when the took it away. End of story.

      Today was one of those days that couldn’t be improved upon. I just loved the whole thing! I drove down the one-track road B8083 from Broadford to Elgol at the tip of one of Scotland’s many peninsulas, stopping along the way at a chambered cairn and the Cill Chriosd graveyard. I was the only living soul wandering about either place. Um, why do burial sites give me such a feeling of silence, solitude and simplicity? It all comes together for me at those places where the veil is thin between heaven and earth.
     But don’t worry that I’ll get too lost in my own world; driving on a one-track road is a social affair. The road is only wide enough for one car, but along each side are “lay-bys” where one car lays by while the other car continues on the road. There are all kinds of unwritten rules about who lays-by, who may have to back up, who goes by, etc., all of which are acquired intuitively the minute you enter a one-track road. I felt in solidarity with each driver I passed as I lifted my fingers off the steering wheel to wave. Very subtle, kind of like a wink, but that’s one of the rules. It took me a couple of times to master the wave, but once I did, Aye, I knew I was one of them 
      Oh, I enjoyed homemade soup and a sandwich at a shop along the way. I sat outside in the middle of one of the many most beautiful views in Scotland. In Elgol I found out about boat trips across the bay to Loch Coruisk at one of the feet of The Cullins. A trip for another day.

     Back again in my cozy cottage after a ride on the local bus to Portree. I decided to try public transportation instead of spending money on petrol (very expensive here) and having to hassle parking my rental car once I got there. Portree is the capital of Skye, which doesn’t mean that it is big; but any town in the highlands has traffic and parking problems, at least for drivers from “across the pond” like me. An added bus bonus was that I could look out at the Cullin Hills instead of keeping my eyes glued to the road. I want to tell you, people drive fast, fast, fast on these narrow roads. Once a motorcycle appears in your rear view window, I’d say you have five seconds to brace yourself before it buzzes by.
     If you want to contemplate silence and solitude, just look at The Cullin Hills, or The Cullins as they are called, which we passed on our way to Portree. Actually they are mountains--huge, grey, lifeless mounds, often cloud-covered, and definitely not climbable, although people make attempts to hike among them and along their bases. Fifteen years ago I hiked a few miles along Glen Sligachan toward Loch Coruisk , and I may just do it again this trip.  It’s on my list.
        So, what compels me to return to see these hills (this is my seventh time), and to wander about their base once again? After all, they suggest the antithesis of the silence and solitude I cherish. For me, silence may not include words or speaking, but it often embraces the muffled, quiet sounds of nature; silence definitely  doesn’t mean there is no sound at all. The Cullins, however, feel dead, lifeless; they have no sound. As for solitude, I believe that solitude embraces aloneness, not loneliness. And yet, The Cullins exude loneliness.
      “Why go?” I ask myself. I don’t have the answer, but I do sense that there is something deep and honest for me to discern from these ominous hills.  Maybe I’ll discover it on my hike. Maybe not.
      Actually the hike is among rocks, heather, streams, where life thrives, where birds chirp. The Cullins are always in the distance. Of course, that’s where the discovery is to be made, in the in-between places! Worth a try on the next sunny day.
        (This is a view of Portree. The bus was going too fast for me to snap any of The Cullins. You’ll have to wait until my hike.)