Farmers Markets - The Buildup To Christmas

Most Saturdays, Hamish loads up the Trailer with a luchous assortment of plants and drives to various farmers markets around the Highlands. There is one in Dingwall on the second Saturday of each month, one on the Inverness high street (7th Nov; 5th Dec; 19th December ) and Elgin on the third Saturday of each month.
The plants are seasonally selected, with a selection of the best the nursery has to offer on display, as well as some old favourites among the shrubs and perrenials and any wee gems that Hamish chooses to sneek in.

This last market, the showoffs were the stunning orange flowers of the crocosmias, the wonderful feathery white flowers of the Saxifrage fortunii and amazing Desfontania spinosa (Chilean Holly)














We also did well on our great value six packs of polyanthus and winter pansies.


Now that we are leading up to Christmas we put in some plants that make ideal gifts and if we are feeling particulary festive attach some big red bows.
Tomorrow we are at the Inverness farmers market - Here's hoping for a good day with no rain and sufficient warmth that i will still be able to feel my toes after 8 hours standing on cold concrete. Do I aim too high?

St Columba's Font Stone - An Abriachan Mystery

At Abriachan we have the wonderful and not very widely known St Columba’s Font Stone
Under the shady branches of the hazel trees, this mysterious hole sunk into granite schist, sits, surrounded in tales of religion and magic.
If you were to ask around and you’ll find no two people readily agree on the origins or intended use of this man-made hollow.
The most common tale attributes its beginnings to St. Columba, who passed our way in the 6th century.

Was it the base for a cross?
Was the water within used to anoint and purify?

Is there some darker and more pagan usage hidden in the mists of time?

Certainly, there is a belief that the water is of benefit to women in childbirth, and even until recent years, a few drops have been know to be added to baptismal bowls of infants!
There are also less romantic notions, that it is simply a foundation stone of a house, used to support the central wooden roof pole–or more functional still, a partially constructed millstone. You can see it is still attached to a much larger rock, maybe a work in progress

Decide for yourself! – For whilst its purpose may have faded into history, the stone still commands a mystical presence, adding to the wealth of folk-law and myth that penetrates Scotland.

A final thought – The hole, unattached to any underground spring, and sunk in the most impermeable of stone, has never been known to run dry! Even in the driest summers.

West can be frequently caught red handed slurping the water out of the stone - he just doesn't appreciate history.  However he is already several years over the average Vizla age, so maybe he's on to something.

Accidental Artichokes For Tea

We ate this years crop of Artichokes last night and mighty delicious they were too.



Dad had not intended to plant any of our own, put he threw the few remaining pots from the selling beds into the ground and ignored them from then on. The heads were large, the meat melting, the lemon and garlic butter a perfect accompaniment, I have urged him to plant a whole bed of them next year and perhaps with a little more love we may get an even larger, even more delicious crop.



However, Mum declared that she was not that impressed and that it seemed to her the perfect food if you were on a diet as it took, "so long to eat the darned thing"

The Polytunnel Saga

At around 11.30 on New Year's Eve over ten years ago, while I rugging up in preparation for going out first footing on the Abriachan hill, Dad was in the bottom polytunnel tucking in some of the more delicate plants with fleece.

There was a hell of a gale blowing and the wind was roaring down the Loch and through the trees, whipping up the snow and slamming into the house. We have several huge fir trees that grow tight together in the wee Kilianan graveyard that nestles at the bottom of our garden, and they were being whipped back and forth by huge gusts of chilling wind until one huge breath caught one of the firs of guard and snapped the huge trunk sending the whole top half of over 30ft crashing down right on top of the tunnel where Dad stood.

He avoided being squashed like a pancake by only a few feet, the branches tore through the plastic of the tunnel and crushed the metal struts all around him, leaving him unharmed but a little surprised in the remains.

Years on, and the tunnel had been well patched up and repaired, though it was never quite the same again. This year, the hard wearing plastic was once more full of holes, though this time from age and weather more than sudden storm damage. So instead of replacing the plastic once again, Dad has decided to relocate the tunnel up the hill to a fresh sunny spot where he will be able to fill it with plants that require a little more light and warmth.

The trees in the graveyard now have a gaping hole where the tree fell, though as you can see in the lovely photograph above, it still looks rather grand.

So, for the last week, my fabulous Australian boyfriend and Dad have been flattening out a fresh spot, digging the required trenches and then rejigging the whole shebang to fit into the new spot.

Taking it Sloe

Every year we try to find the time, we try to rustle up some sloe gin, and it is unbelievably delicious. It is wonderful how such a sour berry with little initial promise can flavour gin so perfectly, taking away the harsh alcoholic edge and making the most mellow fruity scrumptious warming winter drink I have ever come across.

This year the crop is outstanding, I have never seen such an enormous amount of sloe berries on the trees and it makes for relatively easy picking. The long spines that normally slow the whole process down are less of an issue when you can grab a whole handful of berries in one go and substantially decreases the picking to swearing ratio. One of our oldest birches was brought down by Hamish and his chainsaw this week, it had sadly given up the ghost in the summer and we thought it wise to bring her down before the winter winds did it for us and perhaps damaged the shed and anyone standing close by in the process. So now we have a gap in the garden and a big pile of birch wood for burning.
Whenever something dies in the garden it is a great opportunity to look at the space that it creates and think about new ideas, and maybe a makeover for the area around it.