Welcome

Welcome to Harvest Moon, a place where the creatures and landscapes of my imagination take form and meet the world. Nestled in beneath the wild craggy tors of Dartmoor inspiration comes on chilly winds from moonlit landscapes of other realms which share this rugged, ancient land of gorse and granite. Living here I sometimes feel on a bridge between worlds and ages as the land speaks from spluttering streams and wind-beaten tors, telling stories of folk and beast, but only in snatches before the endings are whipped away down the valley with the broad river and out to sea. So here I will share these stories and characters and they can dwell in your own imagination, continuing their stories with infinite outcomes. This is how they live, enjoy them!

Tuesday, 21 February 2012

...cosy croft

We asked our neighbour Beryl to water the greenhouses. We tied up a few loose ends, packed our cases into the van, gathered up the dog and set off on the long road north. From Dartmoor to the North Western Highlands, with a few visits en route, took us 3 days. The journey is almost my favourite part....aside from the occasional metropolitan blip we are treated to endless rolling green lanscapes scrolling past, flattening out around the midlands and becoming more voluptuous as we creep our way north. Britain is beautiful. On my travels I have wondered at the beauty of many foreign lands, but always on returning to this green, fertile island my heart is won. Give thanks for the rain!
 ...and so, with our hearts full and our bellies still full with the generosity of our hosts along the way, we arrive at our destination....Captain's Cottage has nestled here by the edge of the sea loch for hundreds of years, but we'll never know how many. The Captains were batchellor brothers who lived their whole lives out here, making boats and catching fish for their living. As a child my father-in-law fished with them for tykies off the rocks, and on revisiting his childhood memories found the croft empty and crumbling back into the hillside. The Captains had no children to whom they could pass their crofting livelihood, so he decided to rebuild it himself, complete with black tin roof, gas lamps, burn water and no electricty. Now the croft is bursting with the memories of his children.....
 taking the row boat out, catching mackrell off the rocks, climbing the mountains behind, gazing across the water to the islands with their white feather boas of cloud and hats of snow. The loch offers up muscles, king prawns, salmon and crabs for the plate, otters, porpoises, golden eagles and many other creatures for the sketch book. We had 2 blissful weeks here (mostly in the pouring rain) and I find that my memories have also moved in as I remember the walks we did last year, and find an irrepressable sense of nostalgia creeping in to my days. It is a place created for nostalgia and sentimentality, built upon it. How fortunate we are to swim in its waters and sit by its hearth.