The Independent Stitch

Orkney - Corrigall Farm Museum

Where Skara Brae shows how residents of Orkney lived 5000 years ago and where Kirbuster was built in the 16th century (and expanded in the 18th), Corrigall Farm Museum brings the progression of home-and-farm sites I visited up to the late 19th century: quite a leap again, even though I also needed to keep in mind that Kirbuster was still used as a home concurrently with establishment of Corrigall.

Many aspects of the buildings' shapes, functions, and construction carry forward earlier themes, with new ideas added, including chimneys.

The sizes, shapes, configurations, and some details evolved. The stone roofing here, sometimes with turf on top, is wonderful and shows up all over Orkney.

Peat, cut and stacked against the winter.

More careful stonework: a doorway to the barn.

Within the barn, I was surprised to find a familiar configuration of stalls for dairy cattle (now storing other items) and a drain channel in the floor, reminiscent of the way the main barn was set up at Windy Knoll Farm in Illinois in the mid-twentieth century. That was a larger barn, and made of white-painted wood, but I felt as though I recognized this space as soon as I walked into it.

In the main house, there was a big oven/kiln. As with Kirbuster, I'll need another visit (and background reading) to really understand some of the components of the way of life. But look at that amazing ball of rope, I think made of straw:

Here's a straw bikko, or dog, constructed at the end of the harvest time.

Large netting shuttles, with twine in place, and more wonderful ropes, of different kinds. Rope is an essential tool of life that we certainly manage to forget about (or ignore) in these days of computer cables and duct tape. Where would we be without rope?

A closer view of one of the roof combinations, sod on stones.

This is the entry to the house: it's the kitchen area, and the chickens enjoy the grain that's scattered around the stones where it's ground into flour.

Not everything was work. There was music, and there were dogs, and there was art.

Although they could have wandered farther, the chickens seemed to stay in the entry area of the house. . . .

. . . it was probably far more interesting to them than the sleeping and sitting areas. The cat, however, made herself at home everywhere.

There were lots of textiles, many of them worn enough that they were not too "precious" to be on display and handled by visitors. Both originals and reproductions hung on pegs, were neatly folded in cupboards. . . . 

. . . and lay on the floor.

Up in the rafters, I saw two niddy-noddies for winding skeins of yarn. Here's one of them.

It's true: I wanted to take down one of the niddies (also called reels) and use it.

The other sections of rafters and tops of items (like the cupboards) in the main room also held carders, lazy kates for spinning-wheel bobbins, and other textile tools.

A bookshelf displayed many titles in bindings that resemble those of some of the books my sister and I now have.

The family at Corrigall apparently liked to read, and a number of the books could have come directly from the shelves at my grandmother's house.

Another room held more family items: a cradle, child's and adult's chairs, more carders, a basket of wool. . . .

. . . a skein winder and a spinning wheel (with a few missing bits), plus a small expanding swift on the shelf behind. . . .

. . . and the cat who goes everywhere.

A real plant, of a somewhat rare type, from which cuttings are available to those who may be able to cultivate offspring.

In the room that is now a small shop and information center, there's a wonderful big old loom.

And a quill winder. You can also see here some of the pegs set into the back of the loom to form a warping frame.

While there were an amazing number of items on view, it was possible to focus on individual objects in turn and see their elegance and simplicity, along with the dignity that comes from having been well used. As, for example, these two reeds that may have been fitted in turn into the nearby loom. They were made, not manufactured.

And this shuttle, broken in several ways now, smooth and shaped when it was originally carved and then even more during the thousands of hours when a weaver held it, threw it through the shed, and caught it at the other side . . . 

. . . then turned it to send it on the journey back through the next shed to the other side, growing—one thread at a time—all the cloth that would be needed by and put into use in a household: for sheets, towels, clothing, and more.

At both Kirbuster and Corrigall, we were lucky to find people as well: in each location, we met a guide involved at all levels with the museum who was willing to share his insights and knowledge. At Corrigall, that was Neil Leask, who, when he's not working, is developing a personal collection of treasures and their stories and the skills that go with them, some of which he shares with visitors at the museum, to keep both the memories and the living knowledge active. His young children will benefit in the future from his efforts and enthusiasm, as the museum does now. We thought we were about to leave, and then another hour of fascinating discourse ensued!

I felt lucky to be in Orkney during the open season for the farm museums (just barely), and I look forward to the possibility of going back for more. I'll know not to have a very tight schedule, which, fortunately, I didn't—I wasn't able to see anywhere near as much as I wanted to, but no visit that I made was rushed. That was true of this whole adventure. . . .

Orkney - Kirbuster Farm Museum

Several sites in Orkney allow a visitor to see the progression of human habitation. The earliest is Skara Brae. After that, we went to Kirbuster Farm Museum, a massive leap forward in time but one in which the types of structures and living spaces implemented at Skara Brae were still evident.

Kirbuster originated in the 16th century. Where Skara Brae is 5000 years old, Kirbuster came into being about 400 years ago as a croft (smallholding, or farm) house. While typical of its time in some respects, it was larger and more diverse and the domicile connected with more land than most structures of its era. It was also expanded in the 18th century and was lived in until 1961, so many portions reflect inhabitation from the 19th and 20th centuries.

Here's a glimpse of some of what's there. . . .

One interesting thing about the two farm museums I visited in Mainland Orkney is that they are so approachable. Some of the items are historic and some are replicas, but all can be moved among and "felt" in place, as if the spaces were still in use, perhaps by you who are moving within them, imagining what it would be like to carry out the activities of daily life inside these walls and and among these fields.

The ancestral stonework skills endured—prompted, no doubt, by the ready availability of stone. This is an outbuilding near the entrance: I think it was a drying house or type of kiln, but am open to correction. Having recently been at Skara Brae, I was more focused on its construction than its function.

Here's the inside of the house, looking back toward where we entered, from a vantage point near the hallway to the later addition. That great block of stone is the hearth. The pole hanging down is attached to boards in the opening of the roof that lets the smoke out. More about that in a moment.

Here's the hearth and its burning peat fire, with strings of fish drying in the heat. Yes, real fire and real peat. While it was smoky, it was nowhere near as bad as you'd think (for an open fire burning without fireplace or chimney) because of the ingenious draft system.

The hole in the roof (proto-chimney) is amazingly effective—more so than the smoke-removal options in many later houses of this area and elsewhere. The boards attached to the pole can be adjusted (by angle and position) in response to the direction of the wind to make the draft most effective. I have some photos of the opening in the roof, although they're not terrific.

This is looking up into the hole. The board extension controlled by the pole is in place on the upper edge of the hole that the photo is looking toward. It could be shifted to the other sides and slotted into place.

The hole isn't just a hole. It's pretty carefully and ingeniously devised and built. Here's another view of the portions that are in the dark in the photo above.

The point is: this place is rustic, but people knew what they were doing when they put it together. It was not in the least haphazard, and when the winds blew and the rain fell, the thick walls and adjustable heating system provided relatively spacious and functional shelter.

Textile crafts were in evidence, if not actively progressing (but wait for the end of the post to see a much better representation of the fiber heritage).

A wheel that needed cleaning, a flyer, driveband, oil, adjustment. . . .

Old wheels like this always make me wonder if they're salvageable.

It was very "gray" in the fiber-processing realm, but at least the elements were present. The drying fish over the fire were pretty dusty, too.

The neuk (nook) bed is strongly reminiscent of similar stone enclosures at Skara Brae.

My next photo's a little fuzzy, but the style continued into the new wing and its box beds. The materials from which those beds were constructed were different and the styles of bedding changed. But the type of resting place would have felt familiar.

The new part of the house has a very different feel, but there is continuity. Shawls hang on a peg rail:

Inscribed names record a lot of family history—the information on these pages reflects events of the mid-nineteenth to mid-twentieth centuries, with an emphasis on the late part of the nineteenth and early part of the twentieth:

Like Skara Brae, this was a home.

At the back end of the property is a long building with a lot of tools. I'll show just a few. Two wagons, of similar design but from different eras:

And a tool for laying rope:

 Out back of the extension is a walled garden area with an orchard and flowers.

It's even more remarkable than it looks in this photo, given the general Orkney landscape—this taken nearby:

And this of the croft context:

And that brings us to the most interesting fiber detail of the Kirbuster visit:

There were two North Ronaldsay sheep in an adjacent pasture. I have to show you both.

At both Kirbuster and the following museum (next post), the curator/attendants offered fascinating insights into the buildings and objects in their care. They're obviously and justifiably proud of these resources where history can be touched and felt and experienced in continuity with the present day.

The Unst bus shelter

The chronology of posts for this trip is interrupted now for a glimpse of yesterday's journey to Yell and Unst, the northernmost islands in the Shetland group.

Thanks to Jeni Reid for the photo of me knitting in the Unst bus shelter. The shelter has been decorated this time in honor of the North Atlantic Native Sheep & Wool Conference, which is what I'm currently participating in.

We enjoyed a pleasant stop en route to our more official duties, along with a short knitting spell. (I got a lot of knitting done on our bus ride: I completed two demo swatches while watching out the window.)

If I had ever made a lifetime "bucket list," visiting the Unst Bus Shelter would have been one of the items on it.

I look forward to visiting it again before too long.

Also from Jeni, a she-says "gratuitous photo of sheep":

They look like Duncan Gray's ewe lambs to me (mostly born in May this year), although I'd need to check my notes to be sure of that and of the spelling of his name. Apologies if any of that information is askew. I need to walk down to the museum now. . . . Today is the day of the North Atlantic Native Sheep and Wool Conference presentations, of which one is mine.

Stones and vestiges

The landscapes of Orkney and Shetland display the layered remnants of about 5,000 years of human habitation. I've only been able to set a few experiential anchors in my understanding of those layers, and most of what I've seen (with a few exceptions, to be mentioned in future posts) has concentrated on the ancient reminders in Orkney. I look forward to broadening my acquaintance, but I've gotten a start.  Even the oldest of the archaeological sites reflect the joint lives of humans and sheep in these landscapes.

Here are glimpses of some of that. As with all these posts, I'm only glancing past what I am doing, seeing, and thinking.

Orkney is, with notable exceptions, low and rolling and eminently farmable. Also extremely beautiful, in an understated way.

Stone

The Stones of Stenness is an early structure exemplifying monumental achievement, which is nonetheless human-feeling in scale.

Here's the monumental view: the stones are visible from far off, above the water and just under a third of the way from the righthand edge of the photo.

And here's the close view.

Not far away is the larger Ring of Brodgar. Under half the original stones remain (27 out of 60), yet the essence of the structure endures. It's a place full of spirit.

This stone was split by lightning.

From every angle and from every distance, the circle of stones intrigues.

It's easy to fill up with visions and impressions. Fortunately, it was possible to experience a handful of sites over a handful of days. So I was able to approach Skara Brae fresh.

Along the extended path to the site of this village (or, rather, village built on top of another village) have been set markers for other historical events, like the building of the pyramids (2700–2200 BCE). Skara Brae predates them by 400 to 900 years (3100 BCE). 

Today, the site is a sculptural combination of stone walls and grass mounds, of hard and soft surfaces, of open spaces and enclosures.

It's sited beautifully by a broad bay.

Normal life continues nearby. The more modern building below is part of the site administration and maintenance facility. Grazing land, and a working croft (farm), lies adjacent to the bones of the simple and functional dwellings.

Skara Brae was buried in sand, revealed by a storm, and is at risk of disappearing again.

A few days later it was time to visit Maeshowe, a neolithic structure with ceremonial attributes, most likely used in part as a tomb. It appears from a distance as a gentle mound.

The approach, again, is through active agricultural land.

Photography is not allowed inside, so you'll have to take my word for the fact that it's well worth seeing. That's the entrance just off-center to the left.

Within that mound is a stone structure carefully and cunningly constructed from large slabs, blocks, and stones.

The entry has been oriented so that at the winter solstice, light comes through a long passageway with a particular orientation to the internal space. After about 4800 years (construction estimated at 2700 BCE), the beams strike slightly off their intended locations, due to changes in the earth's rotation—but only slightly.

At some point, the place was abandoned. At a later date (middle of the 12th century CE), Vikings found the structure and scribbled runic and pictorial graffiti on the walls.

The shifting light brought a dark sky and an illuminated mound as we returned to the car park (parking lot), contemplating the fact that both people and sheep lived here when the stones were moved to make these domestic and sacred spaces.

Thurso to Kirkwall (Scottish mainland to Orkney)

I'm very far behind, because I didn't have my laptop with me on some of the most recent travels. So here's one of a series of short catch-ups that won't begin to do justice to what I've seen and done. I actually prepared a lot of photos for this next bit, but we'll hit the high points in order to have a bare chance of getting to today, perhaps by next week some time, if I'm both diligent and lucky.

Thurso is at the far north of mainland Scotland and a ferry for Orkney leaves from nearby Scrabster. This is the early morning view from my hotel window—the Press and Journal opens up before dawn. (That is, of course, a reflection of part of my hotel room. I'm enjoying many of the inadvertent reflections I'm capturing as I photograph frequently through glass, due to timing or weather.)

Their sign says why:

Breakfast in the hotel set the tone for the day: relaxed and very good. Sorry that the next photo is blurry. The poster was behind a wooden pillar in the hotel lobby, right next to the reception desk and hard to miss but also a little hard to photograph, especially because I was not quite awake. It advertises the Cast Ewe Ceilidh Band. The event is tonight, although I'm now in Shetland and won't be able to see what it's about. (Those who have caught any of my blog posts about our Border collie will know that her name is Ceilidh. It's pronounced KAY-lee.)

The ferry crossing was fairly short, and it was extremely windy out on the observation decks. Note the other passengers' elbows braced on the railing to keep a photo moderately steady. That's the Orkney island named Hoy.

That pillar is the rock called the Old Man of Hoy, taken from inside the ferry:

The soft morning light disguised the Old Man a bit. To get a stunning photograph would require different timing and location.

Later, as we were pulling past Hoy, the conditions shifted.

Our arrival point on Orkney's Mainland was at the town of Stromness. (On this trip, there are mainlands in (1) Scotland, (2) Orkney, and (3) Shetland; they are all islands, although the Orkney and Shetland ones are more obviously so.)

It's a pretty place, which we zoomed through in the interest of getting settled over in Kirkwall, although we came back to Stromness later.

I'm taking a lot of photos through the car windshield (windscreen), and that reflection on the right side is a permit for parking.

I'll pick up a few of those later Stromness photos now, out of concern that I won't get back to them later.

There's lots of stone building (because stones are here and trees, for the most part, are not), and it tends to be a soft sandstone, so gets weathered. A lot of Stromness is being either refurbished or revised.

Looking down narrow passageways while walking along the main street reveals interesting vistas, large and small . . .

. . . leaving me with questions about who has created and who tends some of the unusual and charming combinations.

J. L. Broom, Bookseller, is a wonderful shop. It's small, but the selection has been made by a proprietor who loves books.

"Displayed face out" is, for the most part, not an option, because there are too many books. It's a browsing sort of store and spines are adequate. The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook was there, as was Donna Druchunas' Ethnic Knitting Discovery.

Some of the shelves added commentary.

That bit advises:

Turn unwanted hair into
Coats for the family

I saw books that I have read and like—a clue that others selected by the proprietor are likely to be interesting. Yes, I bought a book or two. . . .

The owner said that The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook is a regular seller (friends had spotted it in the window of the same shop last year) and referred us to the Northlight Studio, just up the street, as being owned by someone who had recommended it to him.

What another gem! This is Ros Bryant's personal studio, where she also teaches classes. On display were two exhibits, one of Ros's recent work (photo in a moment) and another of a group of small tapestries produced through a challenge called "Sea Journey," where each weaver took the same photograph as inspiration. The contributors came from a number of different countries. Some worked in parallel, meeting during the process, while others worked independently. The techniques and visions produced a collective show composed of purely individual creations.

Here's the introduction to the show:

Some more of the delightful pieces:

On a side table, several notebooks offered insights into the independent creative processes:

Another wall displayed some of Ros Bryant's own work from a recent series of explorations:

As someone who loves textiles, graphic design, words, letterforms, and calligraphy, I was most taken with the pairings of the pieces. And I didn't get a photo of the slate carving that I liked the best of all: yet I liked it best, perhaps, in the context of the others. I would love the whole wall of these. All. Together. To live with.

Also, the array of colors (working materials) along the shelf below tantalized.

We found an excellent lunch at Julia's, right across from where we'd arrived on the ferry from Kirkwall.

That corner of a yellow and blue sign is the readily recognizable indicator that delicious Orkney ice cream is available nearby.

And I was amused to note the font Papyrus engraved on the window, viewed, in this case, backwards.

One of the things I immediately appreciated about Ros Bryant's lettering is that it is informed by a well-grounded knowledge of letterforms and typography, and yet is not limited by any constraints that might come from that knowledge. Her work in the multiple media displayed (but did not in any way flaunt) a deep understanding of craft and the ability to launch from the foundations and produce fresh combinations and insights.

She's nice, too.

And has a splendid dog, Millie.

An excellent day becomes perfect when it includes a superb dog.

Scottish vocabulary lesson: dreich, drookit

First I learned dreich.

Then (this afternoon) I learned drookit.

Note the state of the map, which was fresh when I began the walk from the Lerwick Esplanade (near the town center) to my lodgings. Without that map, I'd still be out there. As it was, I overshot my turn by about a quarter-mile. (It's hard to tell which rotary leads to the appropriate road, especially in the dark.)

And here is a closer view of drookit:

I had on wool, or I would have been chilled besides. By the end of the walk, my trousers were soaked through so much that water was beginning to saturate the wool socks inside my waterproof hiking boots (the boots were dry . . . except starting to be damp inside). I would have called for a ride, but mobile phone signals are off-again, on-again in Lerwick, and they were off-again all the way from where I was to where I needed to be. Fortunately I stayed warm throughout, although I was ready to quit squishing by the time I reached shelter. Which was ten or fifteen minutes before I needed to leave again for the opening ceremonies of Shetland Wool Week.

As I came up the last hill, I looked across the road and saw a ewe sheltering on one side of a small stone enclosure with her lamb on the opposite side, both somewhat shielded from the wet. If it hadn't been so dark, and if I hadn't been soaked, I would have tried for a photo. (As it turned out, my camera was damp, too.)

Thanks to Jeni for being there and taking the photos and to Alison for suggesting the Scots words and confirming that I have applied them correctly.

Moving north

Before leaving for the north, we washed one of the Ryeland fleeces from the Scottish Smallholder and Grower Festival. It will dry while we're traveling. It's a good thing we had a nice bottle of Power Scour handy.

Clouds and no-clouds: parts of the day varied, but as we drove north the sky did tend to clear up.

Just like at home, there was road construction and we had to wait for alternating one-way traffic.

Here's a portion of a map of northeastern mainland Scotland, with some of the locations about to figure into this post.

The plan was to have lunch at Dornoch, but as it turned out, on a weekend (especially one with beautiful weather, I suspect), reservations were required at every tempting place in town. Fortunately, we'd had a good breakfast.

We did walk around town and I learned that the stepped stones along the rooflines are a particularly Scottish architectural detail.

As we proceeded north, we stopped for a view looking across toward the North Sea. This particular spot may be at the opening end of Dornoch Firth or perhaps the wider portion where it's opened out into the sea. I'd have to look up its specific location to tell; it was by the Wolf Stone, Brora, East Sutherland.

Ah, Berriedale. When I was in Scotland the only other time, for UK Knit Camp, I had some fantasies of traveling a bit farther north. That didn't happen, but in the process I learned that a few days before my arrival, Clan Gunn was having a gathering. The Robsons are traditionally a sept of this clan ("from the fifteenth century . . . the Robson Gunns had their seat in Braemore in south east Caithness"), although there is apparently an unrelated line of Robsons elsewhere. As many Americans are, I'm a mix of heritages, among which the Scottish and Norwegian portions have made the most indelible (or at least family-memorable) marks. In terms of direct connection, the Robsons to which I'm related have been traced to mining communities in England. Some time we may trace them further—or someone in the family may already have done so. Regardless, I grew up knowing what the Gunn tartan looked like (exactly) and knowing what the clan motto was ("aut pax, aut bellum"). The links may be tenuous (or not), but at the very least they offer morsels to entertain curiosity.

From the exploration-of-possibilities component of that earlier trip, I had on my computer a few notes. Because we had skipped lunch, we had all afternoon to travel a relatively short distance to Thurso. Thus we enjoyed the opportunity to wander among the places named in my notes. I couldn't access the maps for which I had collected links (no internet connection), but we had enough for an enjoyable ramble.

My notes suggested that the Braemore to which they referred might be the one located some distance off the main road, between Berriedale and Dunbeath, and that there was a clan museum in Latheron, all towns arranged along the sea and directly on our route.

Berriedale had a lovely church and associated multi-century graveyard with abundant and varied surnames, a few of which were Gunn.

The road past the church, leading off away from the sea. This was a road not taken.

An observation from a William Steven, a crofter and joiner who died in 2007 and seems to have had the right idea:

Here's another view from the churchyard:

And in another direction:

As we headed toward Dunbeath, we saw a sign leading to the left toward Braemore, possibly the "correct" one, located about six miles down a paved but narrow road.

At the end of the road, there was a splendid valley . . .

. . . a small bridge . . . 

. . . and a means of modern communication, possibly due to the lack of mobile (cell) phone coverage.

The roads in all directions became private.

So we looked around,

. . . and turned back.

Now we reach the fiber content of this episode. While retracing from Braemore, I stopped to climb across a narrow ditch and up into the heather to get a photo of bog cotton.

And not long after that, these friends were on the road, but quickly skittered off.

After rejoining the main road, we went along to Latheron, where my notes suggested that the Gunn clan had an interesting museum.

We found it, with a big OPEN sign.

It was the last day in September, but unfortunately the OPEN time did not include a Sunday at 4:30 p.m.

So we browsed around the churchyard . . .

. . . which had splendid views . . .

. . . . and neighbors on the other side of the wall.

We neatly made it it to Thurso in time for a superb dinner at the Pentland Hotel. I had spaghetti con aglio, olio, e peperoncini. Delicious.

___

I'm quite far behind on posts versus adventures. Tomorrow I head to North Ronaldsay with Liz Lovick. I'm not sure I'll be able to take my laptop: extreme weight restrictions on the flight, and I may want to bring back some fiber.