News from Sparrowhall: August 2024

Jessica walks toward Quoyness Cairn

Before I can start reporting on my marvellous time at Sparrowhall this August, I need to give a bit of backstory.

My life feels a heck of a lot different now as I am about to turn 50 than it did when I turned 40. Back then I was married, my kids were two years old, we were living in a Victorian terraced house in Bristol, and for my birthday I hosted friends at my ‘Transatlantic Parlour Room’ party. It was a fusion of contrasts in my life: born American and naturalised as British, leanings toward 18th century thinkers but also modern philosophy, ‘parlour games’ and storytelling meeting live performance, wordy books read aloud with theatricality. It all ‘met in the middle’ as I sang a duet with a now deceased friend of the 1931 song, ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’ … which has become even more meaningful to me in the years that followed.

On the train to Aberdeen

Fifty fast approaching seems like a big deal. My life has changed radically. I’m now divorced and living in a new-build house (which everyone tells me is marvellous but I’m not feeling it). I have, through a combination of physical health issues, burnout, and sub-sequent discovery of my hidden neurodiverse traits, been unable to work since 2019. I’m still a very proud mum to my twin girls, now 12, so some things don’t change so much. And my visit to Sparrowhall has reminded me of many of the things I value that haven’t changed.

1861 Census listing Sparrowhall residents

First of all, some parts of existence here just as well could be 18th or 19th century. I travelled here by train and two boats. During my visit we discovered that stone-built Sparrowhall, with its eighteen-plus-inch thick walls, is at least as old as 1861, as residents are listed in the census of that year (further census research will surely prove it’s much older?). The island’s road routes are as old as the hills, the beaches stunning, and farmers have been farming here for millenia.

Threshing machine inside one of the sheds -
wonder when it was last used?

The pattern of daily farming life with Jessica and Danny has rhythm and ritual: meals are at reliably predictable times, tomorrow’s agenda will likely be formed out of what happened today plus awareness of the weather rather than any pre-set appointments or commitments, and the variation of the seasons guides what is eaten and what chores are to be done. The modern world deals so much in the ‘short to medium’ timescales – on Friday, next week, next month etc. I find it extremely refreshing to coexist in a reliable structure that prioritises what’s happening right now and bears in mind what must be in place in a few months' time. These are timescales I’m more comfortable with.

Cookie, are you happy to see me?

Let’s not forget the many modern conveni-ences that are part of Sparrowhall life: a vehicle to take us to the shop, a heating system so we aren’t reliant on open fires, a hot shower, a washing machine … these are all marvels I am grateful for. But part of my marvelling is that so many people take them so much for granted, and you can’t do that here. There is no microwave, and I’ve not missed it one bit. I rely heavily on my dishwasher at home, but Danny whisks away the dirty dishes so quickly I have barely managed to cut in and do some of my share.

The polytunnel greenhouse

We’ve done (or I've witnessed) many things that would be familiar to residents centuries ago. We’ve both made fresh bread, and Jessica has set several batches of yogurt to set. Feeding all the animals is all in a day’s work. We’ve also turned the compost heap, sat talking into the evening over tea or Jess’s homemade apple wine (which is delicious and won second prize in the agricultural show this year). Cucumbers have been picked from the greenhouse and begun pickling, and poorly or injured livestock have been diligently tended.

Freya the three-legged cat eyes me from her perch

We’ve taken walks on local beaches, and gone inside a pre-historic burial cairn set above the beach. This morning in a rare moment of calm sunshine, we got up early and walked the sea ridge round the local lighthouse, accessible only at low tide, surely the most remote place I’ve ever been, and surrounded by ruined stone walls and dwellings at least a century or three old. I wasn’t brave enough to venture into the sea for a wild swim with Jess and her friends, but I’m sure residents of Sanday have been enjoying such frolics since humans first turned up.

Inside the Quoyness Chambered Cairn

Bold cold women wild swimming!

So what has actually happened at Sparrowhall while I’ve been here? Glad you asked.

Jess sitting on top of the Cairn

After settling in on Saturday, it was baptism by fire into the world of sheep farming on Sunday. I’d helped with lambing on a farm once before in 1997, but herding sheep was a whole new ballgame. The task was to herd all the ewes and their lambs into one part of the field so that we could wean them … essentially separate the lambs from their mothers as they are now 12 weeks old so very much ready. Although I tried valiantly to channel my inner sheepdog, I am not up to the task. Three of us herding them was far from easy, and one or other of them would bolt and refuse containment on several occasions. Only after a couple of breaks and change of tack, by herding them into a larger pen in the neighbouring field, did we succeed … apart from the bolshy little ram who had other ideas. “I can’t get hands on him! Ever!” said Jessica. So he got to stay with his sisters for a few more days, at which point Jess managed to snag him while unawares and reunite him with his brothers, father and uncle in the other field.

Danny armed with lobster pot

Our catch!

That evening we let two lobster pots down into the ocean off the side of the dock at the south end of the island. By Monday night, we had four little crabs, too small to collect, but one nicely sized crab, about 7-8 inches across, who spent his night in the frig. Tuesday Jessica spent over an hour ‘picking’ him for his flesh (after boiling) – I had no idea crabs commanded such labour intensity! But our dinner of crab sauce over pasta was probably the best seafood I’ve ever had, and cost little more than pennies and effort.

There was also the incident with the duckling …. This duckling was hatched from an egg from a local farm, and incubated by one of the chickens. She also mothered it very well, and when I arrived I saw this duckling following her adopted parent everywhere. But a couple of days later, the duckling had been attacked by the chickens and did not look long for this world. It is a farm after all, so death is all part of the deal (and honestly I feel the general human population are far too insulated from death anyway). The poor duckling’s neck had been lacerated through the skin, exposing all the musculature, air/food pipes etc. to the air and the elements. There was brief conversation about stitching it up, but it was felt that further pain and trauma would kill it in any case. After a few minutes pondering, Danny remembered that battlefield medics often used superglue to close up some open wounds. So between three of

Lucky ducky

us holding the duckling, covering its eyes and managing the closure/glueing procedure, the wound was closed and the duckling let loose in its pen while we crossed our fingers and hoped for the best. I’m pleased to report that as of this afternoon (Friday 23rd and a few days later) the duckling is very lively, looks none the worse for wear, and eagerly squeaks whenever anyone passes as it is so unaccustomed to solitary life. Once the younger trio of ducklings is older (they’re only about ten days or so) then this duckling will join them and find community once again, away from the barbarous chickens.

One other casualty while I’ve been here has yet to prove she is recovered. Titchy Boo, the

View atop the Chambered Cairn

smallest of this year’s lambs, took poorly on Tuesday and has been the subject of several telephone consultations with the vet on mainland Orkney. Lots of B1 injections, some antibiotics and Lucozade later, she’s looking better and finally ate enough to pass some poo this afternoon, so let’s hope she makes a full recovery!

Sanday lighthouse

I’ve also learned a number of things I never knew I didn’t know. For example, the basics of waterglassing eggs, an old tried and tested method for preserving eggs using pickling lime solution. The chickens are on the seasonal wane with their egg production, but Jess must have about 70-odd waterglassed eggs ready for use over winter. Jess also makes her own mayonnaise, which I had attempted once before, but also her own ketchup and soured cream. I’d never thought of looking up how to make these, but am now much more inclined! Jess is a fountain of knowledge about all things culinary, and I’ve spotted at least two kitchen tools in her frugally furnished kitchen that now appear as obvious essentials. I use lemon juice daily, and while I have found it economically practical to buy it in plastic bottles, the joy of juicing a lemon by hand will probably prove irresistible once I return to ‘civilization,’ where anything you might want to add to your food comes … in a plastic bottle. Of all the enjoyment I’ve had here, I can’t emphasise enough my unexpected excitement in reconnecting to food-making methods that are closer to the raw ingredients, source location, and direct means of production.

So in summary, Sparrowhall was a fabulous way to welcome fifty … reconnecting to a world that feels a lot more real to me than the one manufactured by most westernised humans. It’s reminded me that connection to nature is invaluable, that modern conveniences are often not as convenient as we think (and often costly), that simplicity and minimalism are a recipe for the kind of calm existence so many ‘civilised humans’ long for (in spite of their seeming addiction to ‘convenience’). And fresh raw local ingredients make the best food.

Near full moon, gorgeous and orange.

Thanks for having me Jess and Danny. Thanks sheep for baa’ing and chickens for clucking, and ducks for quacking and ducklings for cheeping, cats for meowing and grass for growing, and yogurt for setting, and eggs for cracking and apple wine for ferment-blurping, and bread for baking. And, I suppose, thanks wind for blowing … I needed some cobwebs clearing.

It appears I have been remiss with regard to updates on the duckling front!

About two months ago, we got some duck eggs from somebody else on the island and put them under a hen... One egg hatched on the day it should have, and we waited a few more days, and no more ducklings, so we decided the rest of the eggs must have not been any good. Here is the duckling now, about a month old.

So then we got another lot of eggs from somebody else -- and Saturday was hatching day -- and nothing happened -- and so we waited just in case -- and on Wednesday we were rewarded with FOUR lovely adorable little duckies! Now we are kicking ourselves because we are thinking that if we'd given the first lot of eggs another few days... But we will know for next year.

SAD UPDATE: The day after my original post, I went out to check the duckies in the morning, and one of them is dead... So only three little duckies from the second hatching now... :)

In other news, my bay, which I brought with me from Wales and then left sitting in a pot in an exposed area for two years -- it survived all that, but once I put it in a sheltered spot from the wind in the ground -- it died... So here are some bay cuttings I've taken from the bay in the Community Garden. Fingers crossed they root and I will plant them out next spring.