I’m currently traveling to Edinburgh on the train,
entertaining the seemingly incompatible; watching deer in the most intimate of
environments while typing about the experience on my laptop (in the safety of
the carriage) and simultaneously uploading it to the Internet through my
smartphone.
If traveling on two wheels is one of the most rewarding ways
to traverse the west coast, the train certainly rivals it. On the bicycle you have to work for every
yard, feeling as though you may be consumed by the landscape at any point for
daring to come before her exposed. In
sharp contrast the train cuts through the landscape in stealth; piercing its
heart; leaving it to pour out; in flashes, intimate moments of nature. I seldom
see deer on my bike, yet I know the furtive nature of the train will often reveal
them. In this scenario it is the
landscape that is exposed.
This is the longest stint I have been away from Edinburgh
since moving to the Isle of Skye, and while I am excited to be going to see
friends and family I am a little nervous.
The west coast has permeated my skin and its way of life has invaded my
way of life. Only this week I caught
myself commenting on the roads getting very busy with all the tourists. I heard my six-month mirrored self staring in
disbelief. Busy? Really?
You have lived here six months and more than three cars pass you on your
bike and suddenly it’s busy?
Yes choc a block thank
you very much, they are disturbing my peaceful cycle to work, in fact I can’t
hear myself think. What’s more I no
longer go into the Co-op at peak times as there is simply to many people in the
que. Tourists eh!
What has happened to me?
I have forgotten the traffic lights, junctions and traffic
jams of the city. The thick traffic and bullying
busses are a distant memory. I have
forgotten what busy is.
And this is why I’m nervous about going back to
Edinburgh. I fear I have forgotten what
busy is. I am assured by the pace of life here, captivated by the open space
and infinite horizon, I’ve become attuned with going to sleep while it’s still
light, waking up to the noise of the Cuckoo, and cycling through the sea salt
breeze. In Edinburgh I will be going to
sleep to streetlights, the Cuckoo will be replaced with car horns and sea salt will
give way for asphalt.
This week some of the volunteers and staff went through to a
fashion workshop in Inverness as part of the Go North programme. It is an event
put on from a predominately fashion perspective, so it was interesting to
contrast on the unprecedented pace and ephemeral nature of an often-fickle
industry. At Rag Tag we make clothes,
love creativity and fashion for that matter, but we also would appear to have
conflicting values. We strive for sustainability,
make items to last and our underlying purpose is to aid in a recovery process,
which doesn’t meet deadlines.
The one thing I learned from the event, which sticks out
most in my mind, is this differentiation is not only ok, but an asset. It is paramount
to be yourself and reflect who you are in what you do and make.
I’m sure many of you will have seen the film Local Hero by
the Scottish Director Bill Forsyth. It’s
a fantastic film, one that depicts west coast communities with both affection
and accuracy. Forsythe seems to understand (even imply) the stereotype, but he
also takes us beyond this to a richer and more intricate portrait of these remote
communities, revealing the unique beauty of both people and place.
We are not a London based fashion house or Edinburgh
Boutique, but a social enterprise based in a remote west coast community.
People often look to the London for inspiration, searching
for the next up and coming thing or the season’s trends. However creativity not only exists beyond the London,
but also before it. We live in a place
with a deep, dark and wonderful past. We
have a rich heritage full of crofting and craft (our very shop is a converted
steading) not to mention being situated in the most epic of landscapes sculpted
by an ancient geological phenomenon.
Rag Tag n Textile is unique, our location is unique, our
heritage is unique and I assure you the people are most definitely unique. Our
products can’t help but (and should) reflect this; who we truly are; our location;
our ethos and most importantly our recovery.
I'll never forget my first visit back to Edinburgh about 8 months after moving up here. A city girl all my life, I stood in the rain on a very busy Seafield Road, waiting for a bus, wondering how I had ever lived that way, and for so long (25 years)! The noise of the traffic and the crowds on Princes Street were overwhelming. I couldn't wait to get back to the peace and quiet of Balmacara. The return train journey to Kyle on a summer's evening was a revelation! Good luck!
ReplyDeleteI should probably correct that 25 years to 49, as the above makes it sound as if I'd lived in Edinburgh all my life and that I was only 25...!
ReplyDeleteHe made it back safe, Ali and is now on holiday for a week! xx
ReplyDelete