Friday, I'm in love - Issue 8

Autumning in whisky country and writing from the dark

1. I snuck in a night away last week and fully immersed myself in the seasonal splendour of Strathspey, an area renowned for its whisky and wildlife. This was confirmed when I stepped out of the hotel onto Grantown-on-Spey’s main square in my hiking boots and multiple forest-toned layers (I am an autumn person in every sense), and immediately spotted a red squirrel scampering up a tree. The resurgence of Scotland’s timid native squirrel has been one of the success stories of recent years, with conservation efforts seeking to address habitat loss and limit encroachment from the dominant grey, introduced from North America by those souvenir-loving, grabby Victorians. Curiously, while the trail was littered with semi-eaten pine cones, this would be the only one I would spot this morning.

A short, yet exhilarating walk took me through rust-coloured bracken and up to a viewpoint where, on a less cloudy day, a glorious view of the Cairngorm mountains would have awaited. The walk wasn’t without interruptions - I was fielding a barrage of messages from my anxious daughter throughout, and found myself gazing longingly at The Dava Way sign, inviting me to follow the 22 mile trail to Forres (one for another time, I promised myself). But it did go some way to filling up this depleted parent-carer’s cup after a tough few weeks of illness and too much time holed up indoors.

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2 - It’s October break here in Scotland, aka the tattie holidays - a time when those of us growing up in farming families would traditionally be commandeered into helping with the potato harvesting. This brings back memories of standing on a wooden box to reach the conveyer belt, marvelling at the speed with which seasoned workers could sort through the tatties as they thundered unrelentingly towards us, numb-with-the-cold fingers - too small for rubber gloves - seeking out stones to discard and plunging into the shock of slush of rotten root veg, wind whipping through the canvas harvester as ghost stories sent shivers coursing through my body. Six year-old me had nightmares for weeks.

While my dad shared videos of the new, and vastly improved, potato harvester in action up in Angus with our family WhatsApp group (and I’m pleased to report no children were manning it), I felt the joy of walking to the train station as farm workers in the field at our village edge brought the brassicas in, singing jovial songs in their mother tongue as the autumn sun shone.

Another hit of happy came with the local writers’ group recommencing after our summer break. In our first session back, led by poet and interdisciplinary artist Rebecca Sharp, we drew inspiration from tarot decks to take our storytelling to new, and unexpected, places. I’ve used photographic coaching cards as a fiction prompt previously, but this was my first time working with tarot and I found it quickly allowed me to drop into different voices, times and places. I suspect I’ll be bringing home a set to play with on my next trip to Edinburgh and the Old Town occult shop. Tis the season after all.

Dreaming Way Tarot, created by Rome Choi and Kwon Shina, sent my imagination soaring in devious directions.

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3 - Picture books are good for the soul. While my 11 year-old has moved on to graphic novels and middle grade fiction, I keep being drawn back to the picture book section. Sometimes I’m looking for a gift for a younger child. But, in all honesty, I’m often selecting these books for myself - healing old wounds and invoking wonder through a child’s world view.

A couple that little me would have loved, and big me cherishes…

I Go Quiet by David Ouimet - A dark, yet uplifting, and visually stunning book for anyone who finds themselves without words. My daughter has been increasingly becoming non-verbal recently and saw herself in these pages. As did I.

Maybe by Kobi Yamada and Gabrielle Barouch - A wondrous tale of the potential inside each of us.

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The last novel I read - Hollow Kingdom by Kira Jane Buxton, an apocalyptical tale narrated by a domesticated crow. I had kinemortophobia for years, which can be particularly challenging at Halloween, but this is the second zombie novel I’ve enjoyed. The first was The Girl With All The Gifts by M. R. Carey.

The book I’m currently reading - Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls, a boldly written, incredibly candid memoir by T Kira Madden, whose Arvon masterclass on Writing The Self / The Selves was a highlight of my writing week.

What I’m watching - Nothing since bingeing Kaos (TV joy!), followed by The Perfect Couple, an opulent mystery series with a star cast including Nicole Kidman. Send recommendations please.

What’s been bringing hits of light - or delicious darkness - to your autumn days? Do tell in the comments…

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And taking us into the weekend this time is The Cure with Burn, which you may remember from the original (and best by the sounds of it) 1994 version of The Crow, starring the late Brandon Lee. Sometimes I still wonder what happened to the boy who was brave enough to wear an Eric Draven-esque leather trench coat in our small, North-East coast of Scotland town. The last time I saw him he was snogging my boyfriend on the dancefloor.

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