11 and 12.4.11 - Island spring (Millport, Isle of Cumbrae, Scotland)
The clouds were heavy, grey and had no compunction about emptying their contents in splattering torrents into the puddles and gutters. But as our little yellow car nosed its way through the city and out through the fields, a tear appeared in the grey blanket of cloud and brilliant blue shone through. By the time the ferry swallowed us up through its massive maw, the sea was beginning to glitter, and we drove up to our island home in warm spring sunshine. Daffodils nodding in the garden, apple blossom pink on our little ornamental trees, Grape Hyacinths crowding their blue beaded heads along the edge of the lawn. And as we opened the door, there in the hall was a huge banner - 'Welcome home Granny and Grandpa', with pictures of a Kiwi, a Duck-billed Platypus, and two kangaroos, tied together with twists of crepe paper and a fistful of multi-coloured balloons. On the dining room table, a hand made card, a bunch of purple flowers, and a neat pile of Caramel Wafers (Bill's favourite biscuit). We were stunned. Our children and grandchildren had made it all at the weekend to surprise us - and were we surprised, and touched.
And so the tasks of chipping away at mountains of mail, unloading tightly packed cases, and greeting friends. Everyone wanted to hear about the earthquake, as we had starred as front-page news, picture and all, in the little local paper. That night, our bed had seldom felt so comfortable, our house so cosy.
In the early dawn, the sunshine and the jetlag deprived us of sleep, so onto bicycles and off, round the familiar island road, the sea a deep, dark blue, flecked with white crests, the verges of new growing grass starred with buttercups and dandelions, the gorse triumphant in golden garb, the daffodils, narcissi and primroses announcing the birth of another spring in every bank and hedgerow. New born lambs nuzzled for their mothers' milk. The trees misted in pale green, as tiny leaf tips peeped through, the red gently curvaceous rocks fingerprinted with yellow and grey lichen. The air was crisp on our faces, reddening our cheeks and brightening our eyes. It was fresh and clear to breathe, like pure cold water. A tug came thrusting through the waves, the water forming a white moustache around its black round prow, froth trailing out behind it. The mountains of Arran hazy pale blue in the distance, the very same slopes we hiked one glowing day last spring. The gentle bays of Bute seemed to beckon us to cross and walk the quiet streets of Kilchattan Bay, as we do each year, when the water is calm and flat, rolling like honey under the bows of our little boat. It's all a message of promise and opportunity.
We've seen many wonderful and beautiful places on our travels, but here is equal beauty too, literally on our doorstep. And we're grateful for it.
The clouds were heavy, grey and had no compunction about emptying their contents in splattering torrents into the puddles and gutters. But as our little yellow car nosed its way through the city and out through the fields, a tear appeared in the grey blanket of cloud and brilliant blue shone through. By the time the ferry swallowed us up through its massive maw, the sea was beginning to glitter, and we drove up to our island home in warm spring sunshine. Daffodils nodding in the garden, apple blossom pink on our little ornamental trees, Grape Hyacinths crowding their blue beaded heads along the edge of the lawn. And as we opened the door, there in the hall was a huge banner - 'Welcome home Granny and Grandpa', with pictures of a Kiwi, a Duck-billed Platypus, and two kangaroos, tied together with twists of crepe paper and a fistful of multi-coloured balloons. On the dining room table, a hand made card, a bunch of purple flowers, and a neat pile of Caramel Wafers (Bill's favourite biscuit). We were stunned. Our children and grandchildren had made it all at the weekend to surprise us - and were we surprised, and touched.
And so the tasks of chipping away at mountains of mail, unloading tightly packed cases, and greeting friends. Everyone wanted to hear about the earthquake, as we had starred as front-page news, picture and all, in the little local paper. That night, our bed had seldom felt so comfortable, our house so cosy.
In the early dawn, the sunshine and the jetlag deprived us of sleep, so onto bicycles and off, round the familiar island road, the sea a deep, dark blue, flecked with white crests, the verges of new growing grass starred with buttercups and dandelions, the gorse triumphant in golden garb, the daffodils, narcissi and primroses announcing the birth of another spring in every bank and hedgerow. New born lambs nuzzled for their mothers' milk. The trees misted in pale green, as tiny leaf tips peeped through, the red gently curvaceous rocks fingerprinted with yellow and grey lichen. The air was crisp on our faces, reddening our cheeks and brightening our eyes. It was fresh and clear to breathe, like pure cold water. A tug came thrusting through the waves, the water forming a white moustache around its black round prow, froth trailing out behind it. The mountains of Arran hazy pale blue in the distance, the very same slopes we hiked one glowing day last spring. The gentle bays of Bute seemed to beckon us to cross and walk the quiet streets of Kilchattan Bay, as we do each year, when the water is calm and flat, rolling like honey under the bows of our little boat. It's all a message of promise and opportunity.
We've seen many wonderful and beautiful places on our travels, but here is equal beauty too, literally on our doorstep. And we're grateful for it.
That sounds so wonderful. It's been ages since I last cycled round the island! Must do it soon.
ReplyDeleteSo glad you liked our welcome home!
I'm glad to hear that you made it home safely. Sounds like quite the adventure.
ReplyDelete