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Scotland — Part 6. The Highlands
“The holy land is everywhere.” — Chief Black Elk
What can I say about the Highlands that’s not a feeling but an actual description? It’s difficult.
The rolling hills that lead up to the mountains tops, where even the low ones, are usually hidden by the leaden, heavy gray of the clouds. The sheep between the craigs, the occasional, sudden burst of sunshine, like a quick glimmer of gold, is seldom spotted — quickly it comes and is quicker gone — a river or a loch, glimpsed here or there, an occasional highland cow (pronounced “hairy coo,” in that Gaelic Scottish). It’s a dream, this place, a beautiful, haunting place, and a hardscrabble place to make a living, but a place where every heart lifts and aches a little bit.
On our tour through Scotland, we were driven to a charming little hotel. In the hotel, there were several fireplaces in several public drawing rooms, but only one was going that evening. While I rested at hotel, my friend, Caroline and a few others went to an Australian Shepherd herding show/sheep shearing show. My biggest regret (other than falling on the first day the trip, but that wasn’t voluntary) was not going with them. First of all, it rained on them. Second of all, they got to pet some puppies. C’mon!
After returning, Caroline placed herself in one of the little nooks of the hotel, with a…
