Croftless Crofter - 6.2.25

I have already seen my first snowdrops, the daffodils in the garden have yellow buds showing, the birds are pairing up and gathering nesting materials and if you are super organised with your sowing and have under glass or heated spaces for seeds then you will likely already have started getting your hands dirty in the soil. 

As I type this we are barely a week from Storm Eowyn though; we were without power for 22 hours and others have been cut off for even longer. The shoreline of the loch is strewn with high tide lines of washed up seaweed, the roads are still littered with the remnants of fallen branches and here in Strontian one of the older trees on the village green fell during the storm. A quick count of the rings of the trunk revealed the copper beech tree was around 170 years old. 

The destruction and disruption caused by seasonal storms is both a reality and a challenge of rural Highland life. From frozen water supplies meaning gathering water directly from the burn outside our house to carrying an axe in the car boot along with the emergency blankets, torches and bottled waters in case of fallen branches blocking our track. 

The winter is a harsh time of year and regardless of nostalgic tales of bitter and extreme winters past there is no denying that thanks to climate change we are facing an onslaught of increasingly dramatic natural weather phenomenon. From wildfires to arctic blasts, record breaking hottest, coldest, windiest, rainiest, snowiest levels seem to be being set almost weekly. 

This is a stark reminder to consider our footprint, ponder our impact, plan for a future of less certainty in services and resources and prepare for more extreme seasonal variances to come. There is also a rhythm to the seasons which has been danced to for generations - winter storms felling trees for next seasons firewood, high tides and onshore winds washing up seaweed to be gathered to improve the ground and create fertile soil for crops, cruel weather culling the weakest wildlife to provide food for the survivors to feed on. Frosts to sweeten crops still in the ground or split bulbs ready for the coming season. 

Every month brings a new challenge and a new reward, every season offers highs and lows, every rotation around the sun offers increased mental wisdom with decreased physical ability. Recently I have been pondering not on what I can actually do myself but on what I can pass on - what knowledge, what skills, what understanding. From rural crafts and nature based know how to practical skills and associated tools and kit.

Around 20 years ago I remember watching, charmed and entranced as a group of elder women  used spinning wheels to create yarn from raw fleece. I watched their hands feed the fleece, their feet treadle the wheels, their eyes taking in everything and all the while they chatted and shared stories with each other. Then, as a younger person, I felt I was watching something from a bygone age being kept alive by nostalgia. Now I am grateful for not only having learnt some of those skills myself but in understanding how important it is to pass them on to others. Not as a relic from an age gone by but as a useful and relevant skill moving into our next age as humans. 

The news just now is a blend of the onset of artificial intelligence, end times reports of war, suffering and atrocities. It gives me a flicker of hope, optimism and spirit to know that those of us who can turn our hands to living with and from the natural world may still make a future for as long as the snow melts, the buds bloom and the birds make their nests.