my life on a croft

There was nothing wrong with today. In fact, today was a perfectly good day as far as days go. I didn't sleep in, but I took my time getting to work. I ate my breakfast, checked my email, listened to the weather channel read from their book of silly weather puns. I was in a good mood even though Heather Tesch was "keeping a close watch on the freezing rain in downtown Atlanta." At work, I did everything I had set out to do. And when I stopped at the market on my way home, my grocery bill was ninety-three cents under budget. Yet I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by this feeling that I have been misplaced.

I went through this period of unrest not too long ago, during which I simply could not think of a single thing that didn't sound entirely pointless. Science? Pointless. Relationships? Pointless. Even TV was starting to feel pointless. I was walking down a very dark road, you see. I have since snapped out of my disquietude, thanks to nothing in particular, but the other day my friend described to me a future for herself that sounded every bit as pointed as I could ever wish a plan to be. It wasn't my dream, but it was the first thing I'd heard in months that I could say, "That's it, I want to do THAT!"

My friend was going to acquire a sheep and llama farm. She would have sheep and llamas that would never be killed, only hugged and sheered, and then she'd turn their hair into yarn and sell it. Happy sheep. Happy llamas. Happy yarn. I hardly gave her a chance to finish her plan before I was begging her for a job. Would I drop everything to go live on a farm and hug llamas? Heck yes, I would!

Then yesterday, I happened upon this , a photo journal on the BBC website about life on a croft. For anyone unawares, crofting came about around the turn of the 19th century as a result of the Highland Clearances in Scotland. Tenants on clan land were no longer needed for clan armies, as they were outlawed by the Crown, and were no longer as profitable as sheep. Many emigrated, but those who did not, took up small plots of farm land (crofts) near the coast. Crofting communities still exist.

After looking through this photo journal, I've decided I am a misplaced farmer in a scientific world. On a day-to-day basis I see such things as this:


A toolbox workshop? And a "no no nano" seminar? This is not me, this is not my thing. What do I want to see? This. Every day.

So all day today, I was on that croft. Looking out over the sea as I fed my sheep. Sitting by the peat fire, learning how to spin wool from Grannie as she told tales in Gaelic. Collecting seaweed from the shore to fertilize the garden. I'm wondering, can one get a 'job' on a croft? If I said "Hey, need help for three months? Got a bed?" would anyone take me up on it?

It's nice to dream about a life like that. It would be inappropriate to call it a simple life. Perhaps less complicated would be more apropos. Perhaps not, what do I know. It has a similar romantic draw to it as life as a lighthouse keeper - something that not many people do or have the fortitude to do. On perfectly good days like today, it just seems more worth it than what I'm doing.