Wild Weather and Cosy Interiors...

Wild weather and cosy interiors...

My cosy lighthouse studio on a rough day. I can never takes photos of it in focus! Maybe the lighthouse Ghost is interfering again...

The weather has turned around and storm Doris is on her way. The sea can feel her approach and heaves in huge swells which are preventing the Good Shepherd from sailing.

I love the rough weather, I love the big seas and wind that tries to wrench the door out of your hands as you step outside for a moment. Today, however, I would like a boat. I have ordered wool from Lerwick, big boxes of wool in honey tones, yellows and pale mossy greens and I would like to get my hands on that wool. As I stare out at the waves I wonder if it might be at the airport instead, awaiting a flight. That seems just as unlikely as the boat. I feel slightly comforted by these thoughts. I love my life here. All the little inconveniences convene to feel like home. 

Our inverter has stopped working. Nights have shortened once more into pitch dark tooth-brushing, banging into closed doors that you forgot were closed and then creeping around with candles wishing you'd made that last cup of tea. 

An inverter is so important here. It collects up electricity during the day and then when the island generator is turned off at 11:30pm the inverter kicks seamlessly in with a little flicker and the television stays on. 

Without an inverter a lot of films have no ending and evenings come to abrupt end as you are plunged into darkness. And I mean darkness! 

There are no streets on Fair Isle, so no street lighting. 

Sometimes I look out into the night and see a city in the near distance looming its lights through the darkness. There are no cities near here I remember, no visible landmasses unless you stand high on Malcolm's head (a mountain not a local...). 

The light is Aurora and sometimes she sends her beams up into the dark like a distant nineties discotheque advertising fun times. These are a different kind of fun times, but certainly fun nonetheless. Candles and whisky make these dark nights cosy and unusual, lonely in a gentle melancholy way that makes you relieved to have each other in the dim shadows.

The Aurora as seen from the Auld Haa

During the days I am weaving. I have been working on a piece that feels like it has been woven out of the landscape and my memories of days spent beach-combing and exploring. I like the idea of wearing a woven landscape and feeling as though you have been decorated by the sea as you wash ashore.

Memory landscape: Sompal
Woven neckpiece; 100% Shetland Wool 
£60

On days when the wind is blowing and the sea is hurling itself around, it's also nice to think back to those balmy summer days when I first came to Fair Isle. I remember being so excited as I wound my way up the country on the train. And then the flight onto the island. 

In August, the last time we came before moving here I remember the how the cliffs were edged with Sea Pinks, their pink fluffy heads bobbing in the breeze. 

I think about the blue of the sea, the rolling green of the lush summer grasses and the sun sparkling far below on the water. As the birds wheeled overhead I remember thinking how striking and slightly indulgent the pink flowers looked against the green of the grass. These thoughts have merged with my experiences of the winter landscape and have appeared in some whimsical hats and slippers.

Crocheted Hat with Sea Pinks (Armeria maritima) 
Crocheted hat; 100% Shetland wool

SOLD

And so, as I pick up my crochet and settle into a wild and windy day curled up on the sofa, I reflect on how lovely life is when your deadline is just darkness and think about what it must have been like before the island had electricity. I'm sure that even then the islanders, like me, stumbled around enjoying that quiet, soft melancholy and enjoyed having each other to warm the bed (and that cosy bottle of whisky) while they dreamed of summer.

Kathryn