Looking out of the window as I write, I see that this Spring – if this is indeed Spring for the weather continues to jump about, back and forth, provocatively, in teasing fashion – the snowdrops have doubled in size, as in covering twice as much ground as last year.


Up towards Cothill from Burnside, massed flowers…

They like us being here, I think.

They know we are acting as guardians rather than owners. They rejoice in our energy and admiration. They feel safe enough to multiply and offer passers by, on the A923, a marvelous display. Just yesterday, two cyclists shouted their appreciation: “Oh wow, look at that. What a garden!”

Looking, and seeing. There is a difference for sure.


The road runs from left to right, right to left, over the wall between the blue furniture at the entrance to the labyrinth, and The Bonnet, a neighbour’s house in the distance…

The young women looked quickly, glanced, and then moved on. They did not stop to see… to take time to dismount, wander around, breathe in their quiet sappy fragrance, and look deeply into the heart of the flowers… into their spiritual core, their essence of being.

It is the same with all of us. Even when living closely with someone, do we really see them? That is why the phrase, “I see you” resonated with so many in the film Avatar. Quite often Akii and I will stop, gaze deeply into one another’s eyes, and say the words: I see you. We always feel so much closer afterwards.

This “seeing” is a re-connecting on a spiritual level. It is the recognition that we are spiritual beings enjoying a human experience, rather than the other way around. Those who look go no further than enjoying the human experience, so missing the point of existence. They are too busy rushing from point A to point B, focused on the destination rather than the journey.

So let me focus, just for a while, on the snowdrop, regarded by so many as the harbinger of Spring. When it snowed the other day, they disappeared, were invisible; when the snow melted, they reappeared again, quite unscathed. Unlike many buds on trees and shrubs that yet again seem to have gone into shock at such swift climatic changes. Delicate the snowdrop may appear, but hardy is its second name.


The last Galanthus nivalis (common snowdrop) to open, shaded by the woodland copse across the burn…

Known since the earliest of times, the snowdrop was named Galanthus (from the Greek for ‘milk flower’) in 1753. Nowadays there are twenty recognised species of this bulbous perennial in the family Amaryllidaceae, ranging in shape, height and size. (My aunt, who having planted each and every one, knew all the Latin names of plants and shrubs and trees in her garden, would be so proud that I have got around to learning this.) In the northern hemisphere, which is where we are, they have usually finished flowering by the vernal equinox on March 20 or 21. So carrying us neatly into Summer.

Snowdrops are also known as Candlemass Bells. Candlemass was originally an ancient festival (rather than pagan, which I regard as rudely ignorant) that marked the middle of winter – this year, February 2. Later it was given a Christian perspective:“The snowdrop, in purest white array/First rears its head on Candlemass Day.”

Because they are one of the earliest plants to flower, snowdrops have not only become symbols of Spring, but taken on some weird and wonderful associations, linked to what mainstream opinion now consider to be Old Wives’ Tales.

The most common is that it’s unlucky to bring snowdrops into the house. This superstition, which appears especially strong in the West of England, and on the Isle of Mull, seems to hark back to Victorian times, when the snowdrop became associated with death, and therefore a bad omen. (They were a gloomy lot at the best of times, the Victorians!)

Legends also abound throughout Europe, the most well known – and most positive, apart from Woman being made to suffer rather more than Man! – being its association with the Christian Garden of Eden:

Adam and Eve were kicked out of the Garden of Eden, a place where the sun shone every day, where they were warm and happy and had everything they could possibly wish for or want.  Unfortunately for them it was winter when they landed on earth, heavy rain, cold winds and dark grey skies. Eve spent every moment shivering, something she had never experienced before; she never needed to wear clothes, she didn’t even know what clothes were.  It was so cold that she felt as if her blood was beginning to freeze, and then the snow began to fall.  

At first the snow looked so pretty but that soon wore off; the blizzards made her eyes sting, her face hurt, her fingers were going numb and her body began to freeze.  Eve fell into a deep despair: would this cold never end, would she ever feel the warmth of the sun upon her face, would she ever feel warm again? She fell to her knees and began to cry. 

God hadn’t abandoned Adam and Eve completely; he had sent an angel to watch over them. Upon seeing Eve kneeling in the snow in a state of deep despair sobbing her eyes out, the angel asked her why she was so sad.  Eve told the angel that she despaired of ever feeling warm again; she had given up hope of ever seeing the sun, of ever being happy.  

The angel reached down and picked up a snowflake, gently she breathed on it, and let it fall back to the frozen ground.  Every time she did this the snowflake turned into a small flower as white as the snow upon which it fell until Eve was surrounded by a carpet of small pure white flowers. 

“Why have you done this for me?” asked Eve,

The angel replied: “To show you that winter will end, that flowers will bloom again and the sun will shine. This gift I give you is the gift of Hope”.

The flowers that the angel created became known as Snowdrops and they give us hope of a new spring, a new beginning, and new life.

Thanks to Silent Owl of County Mayo for this: http://amayodruid.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/thelegend-of-snowdrop.html

Most interesting of all, to me at least, the name of the flower does not mean a drop of snow, but derives from ‘ear drop’, the old word for earring.

Interesting to me because having learned rather more than I knew a couple of hours ago, I can now more honestly say, I see.

And ‘seeing is believing’… an idiom first published in a collection of Proverbs in English and Latin by John Clarke in London in 1639. It means, of course, that concrete or physical evidence is convincing.

Or is it? I love earrings, and wear four, two in each ear, all of which are different. Why? The simple reason is that I lose them, one at a time. Often this is while I’m gardening. I come back to the house and realize… oh no, another one gone.

So the thought bubbles up, that they are simply manifesting as flowers; which is why the land is awash in ear drops.








21. December 2016 · Comments Off on Returning to the light · Categories: Uncategorized

It’s been a complicated and deeply disturbing twelve months. And still far from over…

Why have I blogged so little… not at all since Spring. Was I blocked? Not exactly, because I did begin twice, once in late August, and then again last week.

This was the header selected for the blog begun last week: THE DYING OF THE YEAR. Today, it simply seemed wrong and out of sorts: I changed my mind.

This was the header selected for the blog begun last week: THE DYING OF THE YEAR. Today, it simply seemed wrong and out of sorts: I changed my mind.

The autumnal piece was titled somewhat prosaically, NEITHER HAIR NOR THERE, and ran on thus…

What does your hair mean to you?

The first time I sat down to have my hair washed at Caldon in Edinburgh’s Haymarket, I looked up and became fascinated by the collage of quotations on hair pasted to the ceiling.

The one that really caught my eye, resonated, was by Shane Alexander: “Hair brings one’s self-image into focus; it is vanity’s proving ground. Hair is terribly personal, a tangle of mysterious prejudices.”

So true, I found myself thinking. Vanity’s proving ground. And I remembered Leonard (http://www.leonardjacobson.com/) advising me at the end of the retreat in Monterey (Mt Madonna, 2015) that I was still too caught up in self image. And while I do worry about being over-weight, it’s my hair that has always been my premier focus. If my hair is not right, I’m not right… which is where the tangle of mysterious prejudices comes in.

Born with a thatch of black hair, and growing through infancy with a head of blonde curls, somewhere along the line my head settles for mouse. For years I was in pigtails, then my mother took it upon herself to try turn me into her with a succession of appalling home perms. Then came rebellion, in the form of a fashionable beehive. Brigitte Bardot I wasn’t – too skinny – but I could try…

Which is the point I ran out of steam, or interest… left only with a long list of further quotes from Caldon’s ceiling, which I will post for your interest or edification:

“Long hair is a security blanket for me. I cut it short a few years ago and I really never want to do that again. When I do cut it, I cut it myself.” Alanis Morissette

“I love my grey hair and wrinkles. I love the fact that my face has more of an edge and more character than it did when I was in my twenties and thirties. No Botox for me.” George Clooney

“Beauty is about perception, not about make-up. I think the beginning of all beauty is knowing and liking oneself. You can’t put on make-up, or dress yourself, or do you hair with any sort of fun or joy if you’re doing it from a position of correction.” Kevyn Aucoin

“If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.” Maya Angelou

“Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.” Khalil Gibran

“Some of the worst mistakes in my life were haircuts.” Jim Morrison

“Symbolic of life, hair bolts from our head[s]. Like the earth, it can be harvested, but it will rise again. We can change its color and texture when the mood strikes us, but in time it will return to its original form, just as Nature will in time turn our precisely laid-out cities into a weed-way.” Diane Ackerman

“Hair style is the final tip-off whether or not a woman really knows herself.”  Hubert de Givenchy

“They’re not gray hairs. They’re wisdom highlights.” Anon

“How can I control my life when I can’t control my hair?”  Anon

“Don’t you think it’s something strange that you rarely look at yourself in the mirror, except to do things like stand and ponder? I mean, in Shakespeare’s day, it was thought that the mirror would reveal something, that it is trying to tell you something – not just to tidy your hair, but something more.” Nicolas Roeg

“I’m undaunted in my quest to amuse myself by constantly changing my hair. Hillary Clinton

Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/hair.html

Well, Hillary has a lot of time now to amuse herself. The US has a new President-Elect, and it’s not good news. It makes me reconsider Maya Angelou’s line above, that if there is something that you don’t like that you can’t change, best to change your attitude. Right now this appears a conundrum, but I’m working on it.

Just as I am working on how to explain that the blog I wrote and posted on December 20 before the Winter equinox, two thirds of which disppeared overnight, is now redundant, so I shall not try to replicate. Christmas too is over, and the year-end on its way…

Tt may have been the sight of these spikes of sunlight piercing the gloom in Dunkeld yesterday, that set me on a new course. Never be scared or too proud to admit when the words are not right.  Just start again...

It may have been the sight of these spikes of sunlight piercing the gloom in Dunkeld yesterday, that set me on a new course. Never be scared or too proud to admit when the words are not right. Just start again…

January and February are usually considered dreary months, but I see no reason for gloom (all the obvious economic and political woes apart!). Many find Autumn and Winter depressing. Rather I regard them as times for Nature to hibernate and renew energetically towards Spring. Just as we are doing: sleeping a lot, eating well, breathing deeply, gathering strength and momentum. Living in each and every moment. And glorying in the additional 16 seconds of daylight we have been granted since December 21st.

No, the year is not dying, it is simply passing… slipping off its seasonal snake skin and transforming into whatever the future brings. Which is how I regard death of any kind.

In Japan it is customary to send nengajo (celebratory postcards) to family, friends and colleagues for New Year. The Japanese post office stores them up, stockpiles them, that that they are all delivered on January 1st. Which is a hell of a lot of Happy New Year (akameshite omedeto gozaimasu) cards. Even if the population of 126 million each receives twenty, that’s quite a feat of organisation and stamina.

Anyway, here is our own nengajo, customised for calendars in East and West, and I shall spend the next few days trying to work out yet again why this website insists on deleting so much of the copy I post.

Happy year-end everyone. May 2017 look after itself.



We're all going on a summer holiday...

We’re all going on a summer holiday…(All photographs courtesy of Chiaki Takahashi and Kevin Dodd)

Arrived at Tazawako station... now by bus to the pension!

Arrived at Tazawako station… now by bus to the pension!

Signed in, beds allocated, backpacks unpacked and it's across the road and down to the lake...

Signed in, beds allocated, backpacks unpacked and it’s across the road and down to the lake…

One way to get accustomed to the water... by paddling a paddleboat!

One way to get accustomed to the water… by paddling a paddleboat!

Only just got here and look, a fish!

Only just got here and look, a fish!


Time to go back; it’s sun set…

After supper there is music; normally That Sounds Good is a live lakeside jazz venue…

Musician friends from around the lake came to play...

Musician friends from around the lake came to play…


A high school helper leads the way back…


July 30: Up early – 3am for some excited enthusiasts is reported! – Chiaki and explorers…

Hard to get them out of the water...

Hard to get them out of the water…

Fun and games outside That Sounds Great

Team games build trust and cooperation…


Ball games in front of the pension…


Everyone loves drawing…


Time for English interaction with Kevin

Time for English interaction with Kevin

Help with homework from Heather...

Help with homework from Heather…

Craft workshop

Craft workshop

Local wildflowers used for souvenirs...

Local wildflowers used for souvenirs…


Time for more workshops…

Appreciating nature...

Appreciating nature…


To That Sounds Good… a gift of appreciation…



Appreciating good food (most foraged and grown locally)

Eating… (most food foraged and produced locally)


Chiaki, have you lost your sunglasses?


The last swim…

Until next year...

Until next year…

23. July 2016 · Comments Off on Mission accomplished · Categories: Uncategorized

On golden pond, on golden pond…

I’ve never quite seen a hotel door like the one that greeted us in Kamaishi. Golden ducks on a black laquer pond. Maybe its stylish beauty was to compensate for the plain Jane of the city, with its industrial history of iron and steel production. Maybe we had the honeymoon suite by accident. More likely (in retrospect) a premonition.

A premonition that (somehow) luminous birds on dark water would transmute into happy children paddling in a golden lake.

We were in Japan in May. Akii stayed a month. I was there just two weeks, and with only one thing on my mind: to meet Chiaki and apologise for failing to set up an imagined project to bring schoolchildren from Otsuchi to Scotland for a welcome break and some English (Scottish) language immersion.

Otsuchi, a costal town just half an hour from Kamaishi, in the north-east region known as Tohoku, lost 1000 of its inhabitants to the tsunami of March 3, 2011. This included half its city office staff; not surprisingly it took this shattered community a long time to get anywhere near back on its feet.

Otsuchi before 3/11, and beyond, now...

Otsuchi before 3/11, and beyond, now…

I became involved with Otsuchi at long distance after 3/11. Having collected coats and blankets for survivors and evacuees, I networked to try and find a way in which they could be distributed up north. Which is how I found Chiaki.

Takahashi Chiaki (family name first in the Japanese way) – based in Morioka City, Iwate Preffecture, and working as an English teacher so enabled to communicate internationally – had established an amazingly efficient volunteer organisation: Iwate Relief. It was she who drove my boxes to Otsuchi, and saw the contents distributed.

Halfway through Level 4 of DOTWW at the time of the disaster, it was clear after we reconvened three weeks later that everyone’s attention had been redirected. Alena was preparing leave Tokyo as a “radiation refugee” and move south to Wakayama Prefecture. Jacinta went on to set up (first by Facebook, later as a website) Embrace Transition, to help people cope with change. Jeffrey began writing songs about Fukushima’s unfolding tragedy, and produced a CD to help raise funds. James joined them on a trip to Otsuchi, to distribute gifts, as donated through the Share Your Christmas with Tohoku Campaign.

We had dreamed up this project over a rather drunken dinner one summer evening; good to report that it’s still going strong, with people all over the world sending gifts to share each year-end.

Eighteen months later, preparing to leave Japan for Scotland, I contacted Chiaki again. Did she know anyone who might find my sewing machine useful? Yes, she replied, a woman with children who having lost her home to the floodwaters was desperate to support her children. So off it went…

The world assumes four years on that all is well with Japan; it has “recovered”. But believe me, in those parts that have been conveniently forgotten by the media (as instructed by government), the need remains enormous. Communities have not only been battered, but subsequently abused, with Otsuchi providing a clear example.

Chiaki had gone to a lot of trouble to make our visit clear and instructive. After picking us up from the hotel, she drove 30 minutes from Kamaishi to the kindergarten in Otsuchi, where she teaches English to the little ones. I use the word “teach” loosely; rather she is familiarising the under sixes to hearing a different language and making them comfortable with using some simple phrases. And how beautifully she does it: in heavily accented American-English and using American-English expressions, true, but to which they respond with great enthusiasm and joy.

Chiaki Takahashi donates every Friday to the new generation in Otsuchi. In the morning she teaches at the kindergarten, accustoming the children to  English

Chiaki Takahashi donates every Friday to the new generation in Otsuchi. In the morning she teaches at the kindergarten, accustoming the children to English

There was no fear of me either. In 1986, when I first arrived in Japan, the large majority of children ran a mile!

Akii and I in the required line up...Chizu (cheese). As to the sweetness of the toddlers, most - but not all - born since 3/11, what can one say but Ahhhhhhhh...

Akii and I in the required line up…chizu (cheese). As to the sweetness of the toddlers, most – but not all – born since 3/11, what can one say but Ahhhhhhhh…

The owner and founder of the kindergarten came to talk with us, showed us photographs of the damage caused that terrible afternoon. The tidal wave, funnelled by the valley, swept right into the building up to ceiling height. Fortunately staff had taken all the children to safety, barring one, whose mother had come to pick her up by car before turning back into the town to collect her mother. All were swept away.

Much affected by what we had seen and heard, we went for lunch in the one restaurant back in service. It was here I explained to Chiaki why the project I had hoped to set up in Scotland had not manifested.

No matter, she insisted. “I have another idea that maybe you can help with…”

Which is how the idea of the Otsuchi Summer English Camp was born.

With the fishing industry decimated, the canning factory gone, and the iron and steel industry in Kamaishi reduced, prospects for the next generation are limited. Chiaki feels that with a wider exposure to the outside world and a confidence in English, they will have a better chance in life.

This is why she donates every Friday to the children of the town, and with nearing half a decade behind her, will continue for another five years. By this time, she will have seen at least one generation through from kindergarten entry level to age 15/16 when they move to high school.

We met many of these older children in in the local community centre, where they attend voluntarily extracurricular English language classes through the afternoon. They had all made us drawings of welcome, shook our hands with sweetly assured confidence and told us their names.

Akii chatting with one of the elementary school-age children that Chiaki teaches on Friday afternoons, as they gaze down over Otsuchi

Akii chatting with one of the elementary school-age children that Chiaki teaches on Friday afternoons, as they gaze down over Otsuchi

The community facility is the highest building in Otsuchi. Yet residents had been told to make the temple below the town’s main evacuation point in any emergency. Many of those who gathered there lost their lives. Survivors climbed up through the graveyard and huddled in the main hall, where they first cut down the long floor to ceiling length curtains and then sectioned them for wrapping up the children overnight. It was pitch black inside and out, snowing, and very very cold.

The graveyard, from which survivors climbed up to the community hall. Beyond, the construction industry having a financial field day...

The graveyard, from which survivors climbed up to the community hall. Beyond, the construction industry having a financial field day…

Those ragged curtains acted as a traumatic reminder of that time for all students and staff when school resumed. Now they have been replaced, thanks to yet another of Chiaki’s efforts: the Curtains of Love project, with major private and corporate funding, and a large contribution from Germany.

Just last weekend, on July 29, three months after our visit, a group of children from these classes, aged between 7 and 11, travelled by bus and train to Tazawako, a beautiful pristine lake in Akita Prefecture to the northwest. They stayed in the pension That Sounds Good, ran free (something they cannot do where they are living) in nature, cycled, enjoyed craft projects and began to learn to swim. Most Otsuchi children are terrified of the sea, never go to their own beaches.

As to the English immersion aspect, English-born Japanophile Kevin Dodd, who has been much involved with Otsuchi from the start, travelled from Paris where he currently based to assist. Also my friend of many years, Heather Willson, from Kamakura, south of Yokohama, promised to leave her fluent Japanese language facility at home.

We know that those Otsuchi parents who were reluctant to allow their children to travel so far, out of sight, have been watching this project with interest. With our intention to make this an annual event, a much larger group is expected next year. Needless to say, more helpers will be required; more funding also.

But at least we have a year. To have organised the weekend camp in such a short time, is miraculous. But then Chiaki is a bit of a miracle.

While in Otsuchi, she took us to meet a retiree whose house had survived while all those around were either lost or severely damaged. Initially he worked tirelessly to help his neighbours, but slowly they began to turn against him, angry at the apparent unfairness of their situation compared to his own. He has suffered innumerable breakdowns as a result, still suffering survivor’s guilt.

We met another friend of Chiaki’s who had lost his home and his car, yet is still having to pay the loans of them… He barely survives, handling his depression by escaping into traditional Japanese dance dressed as a woman.

Chiaki says that the level of mental health is low among just about everyone in the region. Everyone has problems.

Soon after the tsunami, with the population in a state of shock, the vultures moved in: real estaters from the capital, who bought or simply moved in on land from families who had no proof of ownership over generations… Now the construction industry is having a field day, laying down infrastructure and creating piles of sand which, it is reported, will be “glued together”. You can be pretty sure that the families in temporary facilities will not be able to afford to buy the houses to be built on such structures.

Chiaki is very angry. But channels this energy into helping as best she can. Which is all any of us can do, right?

I will finish with a few photos from our own stay at Tazawako…

Kathy Wu, the owners of the pension That Sounds Good, and Akii, on our last morning. Kathy, who was travelling alone from Hong Kong, is now an active supporter of Otsuchi  English Club events...

Kathy Wu, the owners of the pension That Sounds Good, and Akii, on our last morning. Kathy, who was travelling alone from Hong Kong, is now an active supporter of Otsuchi English Club events…

Lake Tazawa in Akita Prefecture: a beautiful unspoiled place to unwind...

Lake Tazawa in Akita Prefecture: a beautiful unspoiled place to unwind…

The pension That Sounds Good, on the lakeshore of Tazawako that hosted children from Ostuchi at the end of July

The pension That Sounds Good, on the lakeshore of Tazawako that hosted children from Otsuchi at the end of July

Sunset on Tazawako - on golden pond, on golden pond...

Sunset on Tazawako – on golden pond, on golden pond…

And will post photos of the camp as they come through to me from those involved. By next week, promise.






Blue is a colour much on my mind right now. But there again I’m not sure it ever quite went away.

Come to think of it, we're never very far from it anywhere...

Come to think of it, we’re never very far from it anywhere…


… by accident or design!


It began when my mother said that I ought never to wear blue. This would have been around 1957, in post war Britain.

Having studied fashion illustration at art school, my mother used to entertain my father, my sister and I with a chart hung on the wall explaining the colour wheel. My response, being a wannabe rebellious teenager? To go out and buy some bright blue fabric from the market in Coventry to make a sack dress, a fashion that was all that rage at the time. She was horrified, of course. Not only would the colour “drain me of colour” (her words, not mine), but the shape would “do nothing for me” (ditto). But I did the deed, as in run it up, wore it to jazz clubs and pubs, and thought I looked the bees knees. Being very thin, it’s more likely I resembled a blue bean pole, but let’s not go there.


A favourite mug

A favourite mug

Through the Sixties and Seventies, family life and my social life tumbled past in a fabulously fast and furious fashion. I was often blue – very blue indeed – as in deeply distressed and depressed. But I worked hard to keep my head above water, and somehow we all survived. The Eighties were another matter. My foundations literally crumbled.

In April 1986, desperate to change my life, I sold my house, apologised to the children and cats who were suddenly out on their own in the world, and went to Japan. Even as the plane soared upwards, away from Margaret Thatcher, the miner’s strike, and a blighted country steeped in blues of its own, I felt the colour change from negativity to positivity. Arriving in first Hong Kong and then Japan, with sky reflected in flooded paddy fields every which way I looked, I quickly understood why blue and white were the colours of Asia.

Fast following on, I learned that indigo (ai) was regarded in craft tradition as a national treasure.

I remember interviewing Amy Katoh of the Blue and White shop in Ebisu (https://blueandwhitetokyo.com/), and her recalling how playing tennis years before on earthen unmade land reclaimed from Tokyo Bay had been a wake up call. She’d realised that under her feet were any number of small pieces of blue and white broken china. I used to walk the beaches of Shonan picking up such remains, and right now have a sack of many hundreds in my garage in Scotland, waiting to be used for something… The general consensus is that ancient trading vessels laden with ceramics between Japan and China must have foundered, with shards still washing up centuries later.

The colour of Asia - sky and water

The colour of Asia – sky and water

Now Amy’s shop sells all matter of things in blue and white – fabrics, washi paper, ceramics, toys and gifts. It’s very successful too, not with mainstream Japanese who thinks it old-fashioned stuff, but quilt-makers, tourists and odd foreigners like me. A white cushion stitched with pale blue thread (sashiko) sits on our Highland sofa; a tenugui (cloth) printed with blue and white tea cups hangs on a cupboard door in the kitchen.

Our summer dressing gowns, in white cotton dyed with indigo – the true blue of textile dyes, from the leaves of the plant indigofera – are called yukata. Go to any onsen (hotspring) town in Japan and you will see people – especially the elderly – wandering the streets in these traditional bath robes; rather like western women in the Fifties, who felt no shame in wearing their hair in curlers to go shopping.

Quite a few friends in the late Nineties took classes in aizome, dying with indigo.

Thai aizome, and behind, a sketch of Akii and I from the Nineties wearing yukata

Thai aizome, and behind, a sketch of Akii and I from the Nineties wearing yukata

I have many bits here – curtains made from Thai aizome, bought on travels, the scarf that Rikako gave me; cushions and cards that Catherine made before returning to Canada; a jacket and overshirt made by Tomo (Tomoyuki Tsuji) in Kyoto. Tomo – whom (we heard from his wife) died in 2014 – had a great story, which in memorium I will relate in brief here:

His father had been an artisan indigo dyer, which filled Tomo wih mortification. So old-fashioned he felt as a young man growing up in the 1970s, wanting only to Be American. Escaping to Australia, he was astonished to find people deeply impressed that he came from such a revered city, and highly appreciative of his father’s ancestral calling. He returned to Japan with a new perspective, and uncovering the dye vats (his father had retired) put them to work.

Why did the subject come to mind so suddenly?


Upcycled for a music buff…

Well, Akii has suddenly been taken with the blues. His upcycled music centre is now in place, painted in just the colour he specified. And now he’s waiting for the exterior to be sprayed Cobalt, after hours of mulling over a shade card offering fifty shades of blue.

A second reason is because several pairs of monpe, the Japanese farmers’ trousers that I wear through the summer, are wearing thin. So I ordered three pairs (online, and so easy) from a maker in Kurume, Kyushu. This town on Japan’s southernmost major island and currently in the news, is famed for its kasuri fabrics (from which monpe are made). These involve pre-dying warp threads in indigo in precise mathematical measures prior to weaving. You more probably know the technique as ikat.

Japanese ikat, called kasuri, from Kurume in Kyushu

Japanese ikat, called kasuri, from Kurume in Kyushu

No sooner had the monpe arrived than we made the split second decision to go to Japan in May. Our tickets came through the day before the earthquakes in Kyushu began to take their toll…

Right now we feel far from blue, in every sense: physically and psychologically. We could be scared, but we’re not. Having survived Kobe and Fukushima’s 3/11, we know the drill. Packing my suitcase, though, its content will tell a different story. No hard hats and first aid kits (we can buy those on arrival), rather two new T-shirts from Toast (www.toast.co.uk), dyed in indigo naturally.







16. March 2016 · Comments Off on Containing Led Zeppelin · Categories: Uncategorized

Snow giving way to snowdrops and it’s all change at Burnside

Over the three years we have been sharing the workspace known as the 0-shotei , meaning in Japanese, the bush warbler’s hut, it has become increasingly clear that for one of us at least, it has not been working.

The space was not working. Neither was I. Well I was, but with difficulty, unhappily…

Much as I love my partner, he works in a far more active and vocal way than I do. Trying to concentrate was not easy with music playing, often with karaoke-style accompaniment, and a non-stop cacophony of samurai-style Japanese grunts and self-directed comments and discussion.

Our first idea – rather my first idea, let’s be honest here – was to develop the site where the garage stands. This wooden structure dates back to the late 1960s when my widowed mother moved from Coventry to live near her sister. Needless to say after 40 years plus it’s not in the best of shape, but with the concrete foundation remaining a sound footprint it made sense.

Summoning Gillies and Mackay, the Errol-based company that designed and contructed the o-shotei ready for our arrival in late 2012, we came up with a design: a new garage with an office on top, accessed by a flight of outside stairs and a balcony. Price agreed, a planning application was submitted to Perth and Kinross Council.

One day many months later a man in a suit turned up, walking in and around with great authority and a handful of proposed plans fluttering in the breeze.

“It’s a bit tall,” he stated.

“Really?” I replied. “With the log house on one side, and the stairs and balcony on the other providing width and balance, I think it will look lovely.”

Seeing his face darken at my audacity to disagree, I knew we were doomed.

And so we were. Plan denied: Unsuitable to location.

We took advice from our local community council (for not a single neighbour had protested) and considered re-applying: an appeal. But having already spent a lot of money, we were unsure.

Onto the scene strides our saviour, David of Kellstone Developments in Pitlochry.

I had met David at a farmer’s market in 2013, where he had a stall promoting his work as an eco-friendly mechanical engineer. We had been thinking to extend the cottage, and he came along and drew up some provisional plans.

Three years on we are still unsure about the extension. We want one, but not until we are sure we will be staying here. This depends on Akii getting permanent residency in 2018, and right now he’s on a renewed spouse visa. With immigration a hot topic, none of us know what the future will hold…

In a pathetic attempt to balance the books against the demand for entry from the EU, a certain Ms May is trying to throw out non-British spouses of British nationals. We know of several Japanese women married to British men who have been forced to leave, leaving families behind. There are Americans, Canadians, all with the same problem. So basically, we take nothing for granted…

And there is no point spending a small fortune on making the cottage larger and more sociable (we don’t even have a decent-sized table for eating with friends) if we’re not going to stay. As an estate agent said years ago, spend the money if you’re going to stay. Don’t if you are thinking to leave, because whatever you do it will always be a two-bedroom, one bathroom property, worth only so much.

This is what we were explaining to David November last, asking if he had any bright ideas for giving us more space.

“Have you thought about a container?” he asked. “You could sit it along the far side of the garage, so out of sight from the road. It won’t need planning permission and will cost less than half of what you were originally going to spend.”

Looking back, it was not exactly the right time of year for such a project. But David was excited, and so were we. So hands were shaken; agreements made.

Prepping the site

Prepping the site

First the base had to be excavated and laid and a lovely old redcurrant bush planted by my mother, relocated. The digger turned up late, but then it was December! As for David, when there was work to do, he was there in wind, rain and snow 100 per cent hands on and always cheerful and enthused.


Digging out the site

January 8 the container arrived from Glasgow on the back of a truck. GOLD it read down the sides, and for sure we felt we had struck that very seam of precious metal. First it was unloaded into the field next door, then swung over the fence and manipulated into place. Neighbour Michael did a sterling job on the crane, and David manouvred it – to the centimetre – into place. Tall and slender, his strength and stamina was phenomenal. We could only stand in awe.


Will the container fly? Will the crane take the strain?










Yes! And in place to the centimetre...

Yes! And in place to the centimetre…


Window space cut out. Yay!









It was David who then cut out the widow space and doorway, fitted them out and built a doorstep, thus displaying an increasing range of talents. (I doubt most architects would know how to use a welding torch, let alone be ready and willing to heave flagstones and mix concrete.)

Assisted by two young Polish men, he insulated the container throughout, and then supervised the fitting of all electrics, all connected to the existing cable and box in the garage. By this time we were in late February and it was cold. Very cold. But the interior of the container was warm, and fake-oak flooring and several coats of paint made it even lighter. It was ready to move into.

Window, doors and even a doorstep

Window, doors and even a doorstep






Moving in morning...

Moving in morning…



So Akii did. In the first week of March he finally, after three years, unpacked his beloved music system, and carried his desk, filing cabinet and chair over to the KON-TE-NA (in katakana) and (provisionally) Music Box in English. He found he could not hang the divided curtain, ordered and delivered as a Christmas present from Japan, because the doors opened inwards. So for now it’s pinned up at the far end of the room – the music end of the room: a small rabbit sits gazing at the moon, listening, listening… (Akii is a rabbit according to the Chinese calendar.)

Now he can play his 70s music – Led Zeppelin, Chicago, Keith Jarrett – full volume and you can’t hear a thing outside. An amazing piece of insulation!

Last week we found amazingly ugly piece of furniture at Allsorts in Blairgowrie. Now it’s across the road with Jennifer Devaney (www.realcycleuk.com) who is upcycling it in blue and white with a musical theme for a music centre.

And when the weather improves, David will be back to paint the exterior indigo blue, clad it in part with wood, and lay gravel. We are all looking forward to the day we can officially cut the tape and declare it open. There may even be a party…

As for me, it felt quite weird when Akii moved out of where I’m sitting now in solitary splendour. I even felt bereft. But not for long. I have turned my desk around that it now sits on a slant facing the door, with windows to right and left, just as my old desk did in Japan. And have been writing in silence since 9am. Bliss.

As Virginia Woolfe is quoted as saying: ” Every woman needs a room of her own to write in.”

At last, once again, I have one.

All to myself!

All to myself!
















15. January 2016 · Comments Off on Forever on the path of the learning curve · Categories: Uncategorized

And so we enter our fourth year in Scotland. Where will it take us? No idea. Best not to know, maybe. Simply be aware in presence and keep the faith…

The dawn of 2016

The dawn of 2016

I remember Heera once saying – maybe five or six years ago, during one of our monthly discussions in Zushi on the teachings of Eckhart Tolle – that hope was not in her vocabulary. Whilst it shocked most who believed that hope was all we ever have in terms of a positive future, I recall also a sense of curiosity. It planted a seed that has since flourished. Now I too have placed hope aside. Instead I use the word faith.

Hope I now realise contains a strong element of doubt, negativity. I hope it will be sunny tomorrow (but most probably the rain will just keep on falling, as it is doing right now in Scotland!) Better by far to accept whatever it throws our way. Have faith that the weather will continue its own journey, which is nothing to do with me and over which I have no control. In such a matter, hope really is rather a waste of time.

During the first week of 2016, the rain just kept on coming...

During the first week of 2016, the rain just kept on coming…

Even our lovely new bridge was under water...

Even our lovely new bridge was under water…

But what about all those poor people who have lost their homes and livelihoods? Not only because of flooding, but war, and persecution? Surely they need hope to cling to.

How much more powerful that they have faith in themselves and others to lift them up and see them through. Surely faith is the ultimate in empowerment. Something to think about if not to agree with.

Sometimes I am asked where my faith comes from. It is not rooted in any one religion and most certainly not in religious dogma. Rather in a deep-seated knowledge – no not a belief, rather a core-like knowing – that everything that has happened in my life, is happening and will happen, is part of a divine plan that is working itself out in pre-destined fashion.

...and then came the frost and snow. Today -5, but the learning curves of the labyrinth still beckon...

…and then came the frost and snow. Today -5, but the learning curves of the labyrinth still beckon…

Right now I am reading Caroline Myss’ book Sacred Contract.

Her work had been recommended to me over the years, and yet I resisted. Resistance I realise now has been a dominating factor in my lack of conscious (spiritual) progress, why I came to begin work on my self so late in life. Over and over again I was offered signs of salvation (as in being saved from further self harm); over and over again I backed away, allowing ego to raise and further strengthen the walls of self-protective denial erected in childhood.

Late last year I was doing a shift at a local charity shop and sorting out a shelf of paperbacks, mostly light novels left by visitors after being on holiday. Yet there, sticking out at the end as if shouting Oi!, was a copy of Caroline’s book.

I took it down, sat down, and almost immediately felt giddy, unbalanced and unwell. Putting it aside, feeling as if I really was not supposed to even look inside, I ended up being driven home by a kind acquaintance (now a friend). After sleeping a few hours and waking feeling better, I unpacked my bag and found Sacred Contract tucked neatly inside.

How strong my ego’s opposition to further awakening; how determined Caroline’s message to reach me!

So there was my Christmas gift. Now being read a second time and – to try identify and establish my own ‘sacred contract’ this time around – making use of my daughter-in-law’s own present to me: a beautiful blue leather-bound writing book. Clever girl, to know (without consciously knowing) exactly what would fit into my life right now. Beloved Sue.

Be loved. Another phrase that I am consciously making a part of my everyday language, and one for which I must again thank Leonard Jacobson in his teachings.

There must surely be no more over-used, over-worked and over-weighted phrase than the three words I LOVE YOU. In the same way that the word hope is used without all due thought and consideration, we load all emotion, desire, need and want into dumping our greedy needy ‘love’ onto another, whether good for that individual and the relationship or not.

We all know the sense of desperation in telling another you love them when it’s clearly not reciprocated. It can drive you mad, especially when judged as unfair. You offer them the full burden of your complex damaged love in the form of gifts, your lifestyle, friends and family, and what comes back? Rejection, abuse, pain.

True love –which sounds like the opening to a song, but I’ll spare you this at least – is boundless, unlimited, and 100% unconditional: Be loved, and do with that love (which, though heartfelt, is really nothing to do with me but offered freely) whatever works for you best. If it leads you out of my sphere of reference, so be it. I wish you well. (Beautifully exemplified by Gerda Wegener in the film The Danish Girl.)

What else have I learned and taken aboard?

Why I have always felt alone. Not lonely, never lonely… with many friends and very sociable. But a sense from early in childhood that I was separate, on my own in the world, and had to survive as best I could. It made me strong, but also deeply sad.

What is the connection between a golden feather, a bruise and age spots that replicated the constellation of Orion?  Who knows...

What is the connection between a golden feather, a bruise and age spots that replicate the constellation of the Pleiades? Who knows…

So I thank Osho for the dynamic exercise offered in Leonard’s retreat in California, which took me back to the realization that I was (or at some time in the past had been) the last of my tribe. And why I accepted a golden feather as a temporary ‘tattoo’ from another participant. It lay transferred in healing, posed between the mysterious bruise that manifested on Day 1 (not the first time this has happened) and the age marks on my hand that pretty much replicate the Pleiades star cluster or constellation. .

Stranger than fiction? Then let me return to fact. As in non-fiction.

Soon after arriving here, and desperate to carry my work forward and make my mark, I published a book based on travels and linked ancestral research. By this I mean self-published. Not via the genre known as vanity publishing, whereby an author pays to see his or her words in print. Rather Amazon.com’s print-to-order platform, Create Space.

It was hardly the easy process promised. With a graphic designer in one part of Canada, the cover’s artist in another, and me wobbling in Scotland (for wobbling I was to have made such a huge move after so many years) we crept forward slowly and far from surely. Eventually there was a book and I’m proud in many respects. Yet it would have been so much better if I had given myself the chance to settle and give the text one more hard edit in the cooler light of calm re-settlement.

I remember reading the I Ching before setting off on global travels in Spring last year, and how I was encouraged not to think in terms if goals (as in destinations) but concentrate on the journey, placing one foot carefully after another. I took this advice firmly on board and via Canada, California, Hawaii and Japan returned in one piece with no major problems.

So, a huge lesson here… to ‘screw the results and relish the process’. It does not matter that Chasing Shooting Stars was not picked by more readers. I always said that it was written for my children, so that they might know their mother better, and understand the dynamics of the two genetic pools from which they were created. In this sense, goal achieved. Success. (If, of course, ‘success’ is what I am looking for…another question to be answered, and I suspect Sacred Contract may provide more than a few clues.)

So here I am at the beginning of 2016, forever on the path of the learning curve, with only valuable distractions from my next book on the horizon and, with lessons learned, so much to gain.

Wishing us all fruitful journeying ahead.

Be loved.

Sunset on New Year’s Day, the light from my workspace still aglow as I write forward into the year

















27. November 2015 · Comments Off on The pains and gains of distraction · Categories: Uncategorized · Tags: , , , ,

Good news. I’m back on the book: Household Stories/Katei Monogatari (in Japanese) But three years has taken its toll. It’s not simply a matter of making sense of the time frame; there’s so much that needs re-writing. What worked written fast then does not work now: what was joyous on now distant occasion reads flippant; what made sense at the time seems muddled, incomprehensible even. So there’s a lot to do.

As usual, though, there are days I cannot settle…

From day to day the weather dictates whether I can get into the garden. Though leaves are largely swept and distributed into piles for compost, there is bracken to cut back, the burn to clear, new saplings to support and protect from deer and the ravages of the Scottish winter, and planted borders to put to rest until next year.

Welcome to a wintry Scotland...

So much to do in the great outdoors…

There is a new asymmetrical hair style I’m trying to cultivate; easier said than done!

There is also the co-op.

It was Leila who suggested way back in early summer that I go along to a meeting at the Birnam Hotel (across the Rover Tay from Dunkeld) to see how I felt about joining a co-operative of like-minded individuals, all with small businesses. Also how they felt about me. Seems I passed muster, because I am now one of the nine founder members of The Perthshire Care and Wellbeing Co-operative (www.thecareandwellbeing.coop) offering our various services to this part of rural Scotland.

L to R, back: Lindsay (legal beagle), Joyce (GrowBiz mentor), Anneke (bio-dynamic gardener), Donna (carer and co-op contact), Gillian (befriender) , Angela (writing guide), Olivia (down-sizing and re-homing) Fiona (carer), Leila (herbalist)

L to R, back: Lindsay (legal beagle), Joyce (GrowBiz mentor), Anneke (bio-dynamic gardener), Donna (carer and co-op contact), Gillian (befriender) , Angela (writing guide), Olivia (down-sizing and re-homing) Fiona (carer), Leila (herbalist)

It’s been one hell of a learning curve. For one thing, since allocated the role as words person, it was naturally assumed I would take on the task of writing copy for the co-op’s website, as designed by Louise Copeland of the Blairgowrie-based company Great Little Brands. The schedule was crazy as we planned to launch at Perth’s weeklong wellbeing festival in October.

Never again (well I say never again…) Thank goodness for Louise’s level head and experience in the field, leading me step by step.

Keep it simple I was advised. Write for the average 12-year-old I was instructed (whoever that may be). Repeating the same work in one sentence is not lazy writing, it seems, but reinforcement. Oh, and write the site from the middle outwards to the end and beginning.

Result? Some sleepless nights and one less than happy ‘writer’. We got there in the end, of course, and made the deadline, but I would not describe my part as a happy experience. But only because my ego was upset. As of old (before it was allocated the new role of life companion rather than a saboteur) it tried to jump in to protect old habitual feelings from hurt, self-doubt and fear of failure.

Launch day in Perth on October 5

Launch day in Perth on October 5

The Perth launch went well, as did two linked events. The general consensus in the minefield called social services and community welfare in general in the UK today seems to be that we are ‘new, innovative (as in thinking outside-the-box…), to be watched!’

Carer Fiona and befriender Gillian have already gained new clients. Donna, a family home carer and the co-op’s ‘face to the world, is busy acting as our contact, gathering information and attending endless meetings to network on our behalf.

It is a whole new world to me, and one that I embrace whilst at the same time acknowledging that I am a newcomer not only to the co-op, but Scotland and Scottish culture, and in many respects it’s a bit late to start a whole new career. Not that I want to: I am a writer first and foremost. As I have written on the website, “Through courses, workshops or working one-to-one, I am a writer who loves to help others with their writing.” So we will see.

Lots of interest in the project... Now it's up to us!

Lots of interest in our co-operative effort…

I am not just sitting back however. Leila (a herbalist) , Gordon (a mindful nature guide) and I (via words) are putting together an event called THREE KEYS TO AWARENESS, which we will test in February in Perth and repeat in Pitlochry in May.

So now you see why my book is coming along more slowly than planned. There are so many meetings to attend these days that I’ve even had to buy a Filofax again – the first in ten years – to keep myself straight.

When people assume I am that odd word “retired”, I have to laugh. A new world is opening up to embrace my acceptance of all that is to come. And yes, that does include scheduling my own writing in there; I just have to be more organised and s-t-r-e-t-c-h time out as I did in the good old bad old days of earning a living when multi-tasking juggler extraordinaire was my second name.

12. October 2015 · Comments Off on To publish or not to publish · Categories: Uncategorized

This is a question that has been on my mind for near on three years now. Whether to self-publish the second to last book I wrote in Japan, or leave it in my computer, whispering shigata ga nai/it can’t be helped… sayonara.

The view across Sagami Bay from the Shonan coast, south of Yokohama, where I used to live

The view across Sagami Bay from the Shonan coast, south of Yokohama, where I used to live

It is a book I needed to write at the time. Now though, being no longer in Japan, I’m wondering about its relevance.

So I have drafted a new introduction. Will it do the job, I wonder? Are you titillated? Encouraged to read on beyond the first sentence, first paragraph? To be honest, I’m really not sure, really need to know:


I’ve always been a more enthusiastic party-giver than party-goer. But there are exceptions. Which was why in late spring 2004, I was hanging out at a launch party held opposite the Korean Embassy in Moto-Azabu, Tokyo.

It celebrated the opening of a new kind of arts centre by three remarkable women, one Californian, one Japanese, and the third American-Thai-Filipino. It was a venue where anyone could learn to draw, sculpt, play the piano and journal visually via right-brain (as opposed to left-brain) techniques. Hence its curious name: RBR, for Right Brain Research.

A very happy day indeed! Kristin, Mayumi and Lia; on the right office staffer Kaya

A very happy day indeed! Left to right, Kristin, Mayumi and Lia at the launch of the RBR Center for Creative Arts, Tokyo (plus office staffer Kae)

On invitation, I began drop-in classes in creative writing based on experimental exercises that would trick left-brain – that masculine lobe that tells us we cannot write and never will be able to write so why bother to even try – into shutting up/down, so allowing feminine right-brain to function freely and intuitively.

We all used to be so much more right-brain before the macho Ancient Greeks got their reasoned hands on us, laid down the system of western-style education that is still followed today. Sadly the days when we communed naturally with the gods have given way to the three Rs and all the laws of logic and rationale.

By 2005, the classes I had initially offered through trial and error had evolved into an eight-week course. At the end of this, students asked when the next one would begin…

Today DRAWING ON THE WRITER WITHIN offers four levels: Initiation, Exploration, Affirmation and Confirmation.

The first three levels consist of weekly exercises followed by a 25 minute session of Proprioceptive Writing (http://radix00.com/PWriting_Main/) and omiyage, a Japanese word meaning obligatory gift. In this instance I give students the gift of a writing task to do in their own time at home ahead of the next session, to be shared – gifted back – for feedback by e-mail.

Level 4 is different. Students are asked to plan, develop and begin work on an 8-week project rather than weekly assignments. This is to encourage their own internal resources of self-discipline as writers. After all, at the end of this course, they are – theoretically at least – on their own.

To encourage them and – having spent years in journalism – plumb my own creative depths, I began a project of my own. The book that follows evolved from this self-imposed exercise.

I began it in 2010, by which time RBR had moved on to a new venue. This time around I was working with six women – American, Scottish and English DOTWW graduates –who had all completed the first three levels. I completed my own first draft a year later in 2011, by which time circumstances had changed.

While now a testament to the past, it remains as intensely personal and present as the time in which it was written. Welcome therefore to a love story about a house.

Angela Jeffs, Scotland, 2015

09. September 2015 · Comments Off on The old and the new · Categories: Uncategorized
DSC01744 copy

It’s that time of year, with the old and new on the move: combine harvesters and grain, clouds and kittens, diggers and stones. (The kittens come later; for now diggers and stones…)

This morning I posted an article from The Guardian on to my Facebook page. It’s about yet another discovery on the Salisbury Plain, famed for the iconic structure of Stonehenge but with our knowledge and understanding of prehistory being increasingly pushed ever further back into the mists of time: http://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2015/sep/07/stonehenge-archaeology-ritual-arena-neolithic-monument

It seems that archeologists have discovered a massive new site dating back at least 4,500 years – a site far bigger and more extensive that any previously found. And that is saying something, because it is now accepted that Stonehenge itself is just a small part of a prehistoric culture of ritual practices that extends for miles all around…

It’s my interest in such ongoing discoveries that spurred me on to create a board on my Pinterest site under the title Pushing Back the Years, with the following lines as minimalist explanation: New discoveries are pushing back our understanding of pre-history all the time… at the same time ignorance, ego and development places investigation and discovery under threat. We have so much to learn if we choose to survive.

Having read the article, I laugh aloud, having just remembered that Euan and Jamie are coming today to manouevre various rocks into place in our garden. Yes, the practice of setting stones continues…

It began when friend Naomi in London announced that she wanted to come north to stay in order to talk to Akii about Japanese gardens. ‘Ha’, I replied. ‘Like so many Japanese, sadly he walks around them knowing little to nothing about the origins of their design…’

It seems she had just finished reading Tan Twan Eng’s novel ‘The Garden of Evenings Mists’ , which centres around a garden in Malaysia created by a Japanese diplomat (who may or may not have been an Imperial gardener) before the Pacific conflict. A must-read, she reckoned. So I did – bought and read it – and quickly found myself ordering a second book, one that is referred to over and over again throughout the 2012 winner of the Man Asian Literary Prize.

‘Sakuteiki – Visions of the Japanese Garden’ is the most recent translation of two ancient scrolls. Originally scribed in the 11th century, and in combination, they are not only the oldest surviving treatise on Japanese gardening but the oldest known book on gardening in the world.

Sakuteiki (lit. records of garden making) makes for fascinating reading, as the links between setting stones in Japanese gardens and in places and spaces in ancient times become so clear. I read the introductory chapters – if this is how they may be described – on Nature, Geomancy, Buddhism and Taboos, and then the records themselves: on different gardening styles, how to create streams, waterfalls, ponds and islands, plant trees and most interesting of all to me right now, how to set stones.

Work began a few weeks ago on what was (before her death in 2012)  my aunt’s house and garden, and as diggers got to work, levelling ground and dismantling walls, I begged some of the boulders and lintels from the two men there working every day. Expert dykers, I was amazed at the speed with which they rebuilt walls and stairs to the new owners’ and architect’s design. And yes, they were perfectly happy to help, especially since I would be commemorating the building’s original function as quarry workers’ cottages and gardens.

One boulder, lying where dropped, decided to stay where it was, welcoming arrivals and showing off the view  of the labyrinth below

One boulder, lying where dropped, decided to stay where it was, welcoming arrivals and showing off the view of the labyrinth below

A second is moved along the wall to act in part as a seat while gardening

A second flatter stone is moved along the wall to act in part as a rest-up while gardening

DSC01746 copy

Jamie digs out the far bank so that a massive slab of granite can be positioned over the burn by Euan handling the digger

When they arrive – carrying two of the largest stones in diggers – I shall have my compass at the ready. Just as the Ancients set dolmens (standing stones) according to the four quadrants (north, south, east and west) and when grouped (more often than not) in alignment with the stars, so I shall do my best. I know for sure what not to do, according to the rules of fusui (better known in the west as the Chinese feng shui), but otherwise placement will basically be in the hands of Jamie, Euan and the gods…

But this feels comfortable enough. The origin of setting stones (ishi wo taten koto in Japanese) is traced to the use of prehistoric sites with naturally standing stones for prayer and ritual. Those with a rounded form and upright appearance were considered especially powerful.

As the Sakuteiki explains: It is believed that through the medium of the stone (and as believed in Japan’s animist religion, shinto), gods could be induced to descend from their heavenly abodes to visit earth and bestow their blessings or good health and ample harvests on village communities. These sacred stones, called iwakura, are still actively incorporated in religious life today. In later eras (after Buddhism was introduced into Japan from Korea via China in the 8th century), the spiritual qualities inherent in sacred stones carried over into the use of stones in gardens.

DSCF1688 copy 2

Euan and Jamie manhandle the first dolman into place at the entrance to the meadow. Flat sides facing north and south, it will sit two thirds above the surface

So here come Jamie and Euan, and I must get to work with not only that compass, but also my camera. All under the ever-watchful eyes of two new kittens who are just settling into their seventh week here. Sora (sky) and Hoshi (from shooting star) graduated this week to the genkan (lobby, in this case made of glass) and are fascinated by the general business of the garden – rabbits, deer, birds, mice… Today, however, they have (especially in cats years) a once-in a lifetime treat in store…

My aunt liked continuity. I believe she approves that some of the stones she so loved at Downalong have moved up the road to Burnside. She regards it as a further indication that we putting down roots. Roots that will last far longer than we will, but like Stonehenge and the many stone circles in Perthshire, will remain for time immemorial to remind us of the fleeting nature of human life.


Digging out the hole for the last stone at the entrance to the labyrinth, equidistant between two ancient stone walls relaid five years ago by neighbour (and sadly now retired dyker) Paul Latham

Digging out the hole for the last stone at the entrance to the labyrinth, equidistant between two ancient stone walls relaid five years ago by neighbour (and sadly now retired dyker) Paul Latham

Euan Macrae and Jamie Soutus (of James Ogilvy, Edinburgh) with five standing stones to their names for posterity. Thanks guys!

Euan Macrae and Jamie Soutus (of James Ogilvy, Edinburgh) with five standing stones to their names for posterity. Thanks guys!