Muckross On The Edge

 

A very special place for my sister..the artist Rosie McClelland and therefore for me.
This is my attempt to put those emotions into poetry.

Travelling tracks
on the high edge of Europe
to Kilcar and  Muckross
uber ancient rocks
jutting hard on navy waves
endless ocean.

The edge where
swooping  valleys leave
masculine sliabhs to
drop away to Amerikay
green rock pools
sustain
burnt orange lichen.

And
wind blown clumps of sea thyme
nestle
in stoney crevices
here.

Broad limestone pavements
worn flat by tide and time
yield
to white-flecked endless forces
skimmed
by long-winged gulls.

Muckross
hanging rocks
face ocean
have stories to tell
futures  to sell
to the mountain people.
Hard lives
on elemental edges
sedges and turf
not enough to keep them
by Port or Tellin.

There strangers in long boats came
stealing wives and children
took their lives
took them for service.

Of many kinds.

[@rosiemcclellandart ....sliabh pronounced...slieve]

"Mrs. Milliken's Garden"

There is a little town in Co. Down on the shores of Strangford Lough,

called

Greyabbey. 

In some ways it's a "nothing grand"  kind of a town.

But in other ways, it's a mystical place, where once you have been,

you can never forget.

And in this little town is a little shop.

Not just any old shop,

but an art shop extraordinaire.

This is Milliken's art emporium.

What? ...I hear you say. 

That little shop in that little town?

YES!

We went last week my sister and I.

Rosie had canvases to collect, so I tagged along with her.

The front door had a notice on it...similar to our own shop...

"if not open ,come around the back...

we may be in the garden!"

So we trundle around the back to find a world that compares with Venice or Florence or Rome!

I once shared a holiday with someone who when confronted with the walls of Venice, remarked that they could do with a good lick of paint.

One can only sigh!

Here at Milliken's are ancient doors and windows for produce long ago discontinued.

Doors above,

where bales of who knows what would have been hauled in for the winter.

Useful doors for useful places.

....and nothing going to waste...

And who wouldn't long for such a door as this,

as an entrance to the office each day.

But that is not all.

I spied the garden and swiftly sneaked a photo of the archway leading into it.

As I turned to go, not wanting to intrude any further,

a voice with at beautiful Co.Down "burr" to it , cried from a window,

"Go on in there girls!"

and next thing... Mrs. Millington came towards us across the yard,

and beckoned us to go through the arch and into another world.

Mrs. Millington is the gardener.

Although as she said,

"At ninety two it's not always possible to keep it at the level of maintainence that I would like."

"Rosydandrums"

That's it... I shall never call them any thing else in future...

so much more descriptive...

don't you think?

She sat in front of them giving us the names of each one.

Structures so full of flowers

 that it was nigh on impossible to walk through the perfumed paths.

"A white lady" close by.......

...a wonderful glimmering white clematis.

A working garden...where wheelbarrows...

and washing...

sit side by side with rhubarb and "tatties".

And the birds are not forgotten.

Mrs. Milliken stood in the heart of her garden.

And we were loathe to leave such a feisty, gracious and knowedgeable woman.

But we had places to go and things to do.

So we picked up the canvases and took them to the car

 and entered the normal world and it's hurly-burly once again.

Sweet memories. 

Car rugs and throws!

I can be a bit obsessive over some things.
( family nods vigorously)
I'm known in the local charity shop as "The Cherry Picker".
But that's o.k.as it means that they get my money.
I love the chase of the charity shop bargain, and my big obsession of the last few years has been....

........tartan car rugs and knitted and crotcheted throws.

I counted up recently and stopped when I got to well over twenty!
There is something so comforting about a rug over the knees.
Some of my family being ever so much younger than I am, love it as well!
That in itself is very comforting.

I find it hard to throw away a beautiful piece of woven or knitted fabric. This one above is a Donegal weave bought for me,  after much raising of the eyebrows may I say, by my sainted mother over 40 years ago.
I even have a square of Donegal Tweed from the master weaver, in Kilcar I think, which my sister Rosie made into a poncho in the '70s. It's over printed and not available any more so quite a rarity.

So what is it really about these rugs that draw me in to the second-hand and charity shops.?

It can't be just about the snuggle value.

Is it the Scot in me that longs for the highlands and islands?

Apparantly one ancient relative came from Skye around the same time as Bonnie Prince Charlie.

That's only apparantly, you know!

Maybe it's a subconscious need to keep warm in these northern climes When the chill winds whistle around the house and the draughts creep under the doors of this old building.

We collect the wools and knit and crotchet them in bright pattern to cheer up the worst of the cheerless times.

These are the two latest treasures to be added to the pile. Bought a couple of weeks ago and washed and already adding comfort to the chair that I sit in to write my blogs!

I'm not fussy about the quality of the yarn used to produce a rug such as this one.

In the same way that a painter would use mixed medium to produce a desired  result,

I love the fact that this creative person grabbed any type of material available as long as it gave the combination required.

Of course that often leads to an unstable finished piece....I like that...life can be rather unstable...cope with it!

Oh and by the way, I like cushions , nearly as much as rugs.

I'll get round to that one day!