It feels very surreal to be sitting down to write this as I felt this day would somehow never come, even eighteen months ago when I started my contract, the idea of it being over seemed so far away a prospect it didn’t even seem worth bothering over. So here we are, on the other side of one and a half years, it is a Sunday, I am now a craft fellow, someone who has some sort of idea of what they are doing (supposedly). Today, at least, I am not daunted by the future which is rather comforting. Instead I feel the issue at hand is to catch some rest before I am swept off on the next adventure. I feel as if something momentous has passed, and yet also as if it is Sunday and I have just had breakfast, it’s all rather strange.
It also feels strange to be faced with the prospect of summing up my experience of the last few years, it feels impossible to collate two and a half years in one neat paragraph. Putting it simply, it has been the most tumultuous, inspiring, chaotic, tiring, life-changing wee while. And a whole bunch of fun of course.
Alongside all the actual work, I have racked up enough road miles to circumnavigate the globe a couple times; seen more corners of the country I call home than most will see in a lifetime; built beautiful things for questionable people and have worked with some of the best people you could ever meet. I’ve seen the sun set on the Isle of Lewis at 2pm with hands so frozen they couldn’t even unzip my jacket; warmed those same hands over an oil drum fire under a roof made of heather whilst building an iron age village. I've gotten to know the stones of some buildings better than my own family, roofs that have seen relationships come and go. I have helped build new homes and helped keep very old ones alive. I’ve camped in graveyards, kipped in castles, laid my head to rest in so many places I don’t know where home is anymore. I’ve worked some weeks of glorious sunshine sweating in a vest, and others shivering in a ski suit. I’ve helped a pal forge a sword from scratch; gobbled fruit from the king’s garden; paddled coracles on a loch; and roasted fish on the burning remnants of a thatched roof. I’ve lived in a shack amongst horses, learnt the value of a good wood pile, and watched buzzards whirl and arc on the hilltops with breakfast. I’ve spent weeks in the hills picking heather with pals, jamming tunes under the stars with a sense of complete connection; I've spent days at the wheel feeling totally alone. I’ve seen sun, rain, snow, sleat, in every combination - Scotland in all her shifty moods. I’ve had damp feet for days and the silliest looking tan lines; I’ve shifted enough tonnes of turf to really feel it the next day, soothed aching muscles in frozen seas; I’ve got sciatica from driving so much and yet have never felt stronger. I’ve never been more tired and yet so awake to the world and the way it could be. I’ve learnt that even a critically endangered craft can have so much life in it, and that there is no division between us and the past. But most of all i’ve learnt how surprised you can be if you have a little faith in yourself and just dive in.
Between the stories, pictures, scabs, aches, and joys I hope to make something of this time. I do not know what that will be but if this tickles some vein of interest then keep your eyes to the hills, watch for signals, I will return with some sort of offering.
