autumn – When Life Gives You Lemons

Heaven is in the Highlands

As you leave the Lowlands and enter the Highlands, the landscape becomes more elemental. Rolling, cultivated hills are replaced with bleak moorland interlaced with fiercely running streams and tiny waterfalls. At the roadside, the hewn pink and grey granite is visible, great slabs of pre-history.

The landscape takes on the strange geometry of a turtle’s back; small mounds intersected by pathways worn by water. The thought of breaking down is terrifying, for there is no shelter here, only the rust red bracken and heather low to the ground.

Yet, proceed a little further north and it changes once again. Replacing the barren hills are now endless forests wearing their autumn hues: flaring copper beech trees; pale gold birch leaves fluttering against their ghost-white trunks; ranks of pine in every shade of green. The colours rivalling Joseph’s dream-coat.

**Autumn colours** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

And overlooking all are the mountains, the Cairngorms.

There are many beautiful landscapes in this country of ours, yet this, in its wildness, is by far our favourite and worth the fifteen hours of driving it takes to reach.

Arrivals

We arrived late on Saturday, ready to relax and enjoy our visit. Sadly, the cottage we’d booked fell well below expectations. It looked as though it had been furnished from a charity shop in the 1970s, had views on two sides of a garage and outbuilding and stairs so steep and dangerous that my husband decided we had to leave on the morrow. I’m not great with stairs at the best of times and these would be precarious indeed.

We found another hotel and were delighted to have done so. It called itself a ‘Wildlife Hotel’, which I thought was just marketing speak for being in the Cairngorms National Park. But they were true to their name. There were daily nature based activities, a library filled with books on birds and the local wildlife, and a lobby that played birdsong rather than muzak. Perfect.

Sharing the hotel with a group of keen ornithologists made us more aware of the birds we saw. I think I spotted a flock of bramblings, above, at the Clava Cairns. They were tiny little things feasting on the beech nuts that had fallen from the trees. But whatever their name, they were adorable.

Visiting the reindeer

One of the reasons we decided to visit at this time of year was that there would be reindeer in the paddock. The Cairngorms contains the only herd of wild reindeer in Britain, but sadly, they live high on the mountains for most of the year. In the autumn and spring (the rutting and birthing seasons), however, a few are selected to come down to the paddocks where those who are unable to hike the hills can see them.

They are gentle, shy beasts and though we were unable to walk among them, we were given a very close view.

**A male reindeer** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

As they were being fed at the time of our visit, we asked the herder about his job and the reindeer. It was a very personalised visit, as we were the only ones there!

Water, water everywhere

Across from the reindeer centre is Loch Morlich – a huge expanse of water fringed with woodland. Walking some of its perimeter in the fragrant pine forest is a glorious, multi-sensory experience. The wind whispers through the trees; the pine exudes its clean scent; the ground beneath crinkles as one pushes through the fallen leaves; the air tastes fresh as chewing gum and the view is a magical combination of leaf and moss and sparkling water.

Forest bathing has long been practised as a way to find peace. For me, the enclosure of the trees not only brings a spiritual calm but takes me right out of the world itself into a timeless, mystical place. Time simultaneously collapses and expands. There is only that moment and that moment is part of eternity.

It was perhaps less of a spiritual experience for the dog, but she loved it all the same. In her exuberance, she raced through the trees, jumped in the burns, ran circles on the beach and chased the ducks into the water until she realised quite how cold it was. This is doggy heaven too.

**Jeff and Hermione at Loch Morlich**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

The water runs down from the mountains, but often from the sky. We managed to avoid the wet weather and only experienced a few, light showers. Yet, rain aside, what the water brings is magnificent. Perhaps getting a little wet now and then is not such a great price to pay.

On the left, rain so fine that it is barely visible. In the centre, the river at Carrbridge and on the right one of the many burns that are everywhere.

A little culture

Though there is not much that can lure us away from nature, any cultural stops in nature are just fine. We revisited Culloden, a place of such sadness that it emanates from the very soil. Having dutifully wandered the modern and well presented museum, we caught the tail end of a guided walk. The leader was young and exceptionally well informed and made the whole tragic tale of the Jacobite rebellion finally come clear.

Jeff then found a Highland mystery set in the area, The Bookseller of Inverness , which further explained the consequences to the Highlands of that fateful battle. It is a gripping read that helps fill out the dry facts of history.

A trip to the Highlands is not complete without a castle, so we signed up to a walk led by a heritage guide to visit the newly restored Blairfindy Castle. It’s more of a fortified house than a castle, but fascinating all the same. Today it is used as a sanctuary for birds and bats, with boxes nestling in the ancient walls. I love that its purpose now is to protect nature rather than repel raiders.

**Blairfindy Castle in the sunshine**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Friendly faces

No trip is enjoyable if the locals are not welcoming and the Highlands are exceptional in this regard. One is always greeted on walks and treated with kindness and friendliness in shops and restaurants. For somewhere so far removed from anything, it is a remarkably cosmopolitan place. We met folks from all over the world who married Scots or who arrived here and never went home. Due to the Clearances and the lack of economic opportunities in the area, there are sadly not so many natives, but those who have chosen to live here have done so because they love its unique qualities and that leads to a very happy population.

We also received a warm Scottish welcome from my adorable aunt and uncle, who invited us for a delicious lunch and visit on our way there. It may be a long way to drive, but it also affords us the opportunity to see relatives we might not otherwise be able to see.

**Happy times with Edwin and Morag**
Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat

Our return journey gave us the chance to catch up with my dear university friend, Liz, and her husband, Peter, in East Anglia. They had organised a fabulous dinner party including my old cello teacher who had moved to the area (long story!)

There are those whose ideal holiday involves sipping cocktails on a Caribbean beach; others shopping in a large city. But me? Stomping through the woods in my wellies is my idea of heaven.

Autumn’s Arrival

When I started planning this blog at the beginning of the week, my intention was to take my title from an Emily Dickinson poem, ‘As imperceptibly as Grief – The Summer lapsed away – ‘. At that time, it looked like our extended summer would simply segue into autumn without us scarcely noticing.

My only clue as to the change of season was the arrival of my vibrant, autumn crocus and nodding Japanese anemones. Their appearance is bitter-sweet. While I am cheered by their, ‘See? There is yet time for flowers!’, I am saddened by the knowledge that they are the last arrivals. There will be now more new blooms until spring.

By mid week, autumn was striding on stage in the most dramatic fashion. Our Mediterranean blue skies began to fill with deep charcoal clouds and our evenings were a son et lumier show of lightning and thunder. Long sought after rain came down in torrents, tropically, at night and in bursts throughout the day. Gentle summer breezes were pushed aside by howling winds and my collection of windfall apples was soon outstripping my ability to peel and cook them.

**Apples everywhere**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Autumn had arrived. The days are still warm and the garden abuzz with pollinators and butterflies, but the light has changed: The crystalline sharpness of July replaced with the buttery yellow of September.

All creatures, great and small, are hurriedly making the most of the harvest and birds flock hither and thither in search of food to eat and store. Our Austrian pine this year has produced a bumper crop of cones. Sitting in my shed, I was puzzled for a while by the soft staccato coming from outside. I couldn’t see anything doing anything, but later, when I went out, I realised what the noise was. Our resident squirrel had been plundering the tree for the fat pine nuts stored inside the cones and dropping the empty shells to the grass. Perhaps the magpies were joining him – they love that tree too.

**The evidence. Empty shell casings.**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

A few nut casings fell from the pines I had picked for winter decoration and I broke one open to see what it held. Sliding my nail between the shell, I popped out the nut. I thought I would try it. I was rather hoping it would taste like the delicious nuts harvested from the Pinyon pine. Sadly, no. I spat it out. I shall leave them for the squirrels.

I have planted a couple of the seeds, though. They would make the most adorable bonsai. Wish me luck.

**Dark skies** Image: Jack Taylor on Unsplash

Of course, the most dramatic marker of the changing seasons is the night sky. Where not so long ago, we would sit in the garden watching the bats’ aeronautical display at dusk near ten pm, now it is dark by eight.

The shortening days mean winter is on its way, but I savour these evenings of dramatic skies and fierce sunsets. I’m happy also to let the dog out at night and see the moon and stars again. The next full moon is this weekend: moon watchers, take note.

So this splendid summer is over and I grieve a little for its passing. Yet, I am also filled with anticipation for what this autumn holds. After all, as Keats said, it has its music too.

My blogs may be a little shorter for a while as we settle in our Ukrainian guest. She is an absolute delight, but there is much to do to get her settled. Starting a new life requires a lot of paperwork!

Ode to Autumn

As I get older and myself enter my autumn years, I’ve found my affection for this season increasing. It is a subtle time full of muted colour, mellow sunlight and crisp, dry days.

It is tempting to think of autumn as summer’s swan song; a last performance before the chill of winter sets in. Yet, autumn is not an addendum to summer, a nostalgic nod to former, warmer days, but a season in its own right filled with the matured glories of the ending year.

Harvest

Pumpkins and plenty Image: Timothy Eberly on Unsplash

Until the 16th century and our gradual move from an agrarian to industrial society, autumn was known as harvest. Indeed, in some Germanic languages, it still is.

I think it a more fitting name, for this is the period when the crops are brought in; a time of plenty, even glut. Keats describes it as:

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run
John Keats ‘To Autumn’

Looked at in this way, it is no longer summer’s poor relation, but a period of joyous abundance. Though my garden is less colourful than before, there are still apples and pears to be picked, raspberries on their canes and a second wave of squashes flowering. My black kale is now large enough to crop and my giant sunflowers are growing apace. Across the land, there is a profusion of wild and cultivated crops. Hedgerows are laced with elderberries, blackberries and sloes. The last perfectly timed for making special Christmas gin.

Autumn crocus Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Celebrating autumn

Though autumn technically begins on 22 September with the autumn equinox, I like to think of it as beginning on the 1 September. Though few people decorate to celebrate autumn, I have always liked to – not least because it also marks the beginning of a school year and my students enjoyed the changing environment of my home classroom.

Though I have few students now and need to teach on-line, there is nothing to stop me creating my own autumn display and I encourage you to do the same. There is an abundance of beautiful foliage, seed heads and hardy fruits and vegetables that you can decorate with and of course, those rare, delightful autumn blooms.

Floral tribute to the season Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Bringing nature inside (whatever the season) invariably uplifts us. We do not need to have floristry skills to arrange a bouquet- only a vase. And if our display ends up like a primary school nature table, so what? I like those.

A dear friend in the States always honours every season with elaborate decorations (even when travelling with her job). What appeared, at first, as an adorable idiosyncracy has become a model for living. Making the effort to mark the season in and of itself makes it special. Selecting, picking and arranging flowers and objects makes us focus on their meaning. These little tableaus offer perfect life lessons that we absorb almost unconsciously – and the pleasure of our finished work brings us (and others) joy.

The dying leaf has a poignant beauty Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

I confess that I now follow her lead shamelessly and look forward to the challenge that each new display brings.

Quiet times

The occasional riotous assemblies of Halloween and Bonfire Night aside, autumn is a quiet time, ripe for reflection and contemplation. The gentle melancholy that accompanies the end of summer is more to be enjoyed than shunned. Just as a picture without shadow has no depth, so a year.

And I like the stillness of the season. We have no great expectations. We require nothing of autumn. If it gifts us with a balmy day, we greet it with gratitude. If we are given rain and drear skies, we try not to complain. Autumn helps teach us acceptance – and we are all the better for it.