Sorry, y’all. I had a grant due. Now, where were we?

A Day Out in Pitlochry

Pitlochry is Scotland’s answer to Gatlinburg: quality shops and just a hint of the entire town being based on shopping, although if you really want to hunt down some cultural attractions or good music, you can.

Our day started well and got better: Fiona got kippers for breakfast! We had the nicest lady working the table, and she made sure Fiona felt special getting the special delivery. (You need to know that Fiona hadn’t been offered kippers, her favorite breakfast food, once on the entire trip! Even when she asked for them specially – nobody had them. And that kippers were kind of a running joke, because Fiona has been on this tour many times. One year, she asked for kippers instead of sardines from the breakfast menu, and the waitress said, “I think that’s my decision.” The phrase stuck as an inside joke for successive tours. So when the very nice waitress put the plate of kippers in front of Fiona, Lulu said, “oooh good decision!” and the group broke into laughter.

Moulin hotel (where we stay every year) is a half-mile walk from town so everyone made their way to where they wanted to go on their own terms. I went for a walk, and met a lovely woman out with her seven-month-old lab puppy, Luna. The dog was very shy (a rescue) and the woman was only too happy to stand and chat while Luna slowly grew comfortable enough to ask for petting.

Turns out the lady knew the previous hotel owners. Bridget (Romanian) and her husband Peter (Polish) had owned the hotel since we’d started using it for Jack’s tours, and when we found the tense lady in control, we assumed, sadly, that BnP (as we called them) had been yet another economic victim of COVID.

Not the case, this lady told me! The tense woman was one half of a team who bought the hotel from BnP when they bought a more boutique and upscale place closer to their home in the country! Tense woman had recently divorced her husband; he owned a hotel down on the main street, and she had the Moulin.

Well, that explained some of the tenseness. Plus it was good to hear BnP were doing well. And get to pet Luna.

Walking on after this conversation, I heard voices coming from the small canyon that housed the stream running past the hotel. A human head popped up from the ditch, followed by Mr. Fox. Hey ho, another day, another Mr. Fox filming adventure.

In town I was very much looking forward to meeting an old friend, Bun. We had in 1998 formed a non-profit in Scotland called Storytelling Unplugged, which offered many years of fun and profit before I moved away. We had lots to catch up on; she has gone more into fiber arts and I’m not writing more than storytelling, but creativity in life is not that different in its vibe, even when it jumps genres.

Together Bun and I walked to the Black Castle of Moulin, a ruin from the 1300s, decimated by the plague. It used to be surrounded by water, although now that would be nettles and sheep. You had to walk through a pasture to get there, and since it was young lamb season, we encountered several annoyed mamas.

We enjoyed the chatting more than climbing around the lump of stones, although I realized later I had once seen lousy movie based on this castle. The castle survived plague because it was remote, until a messenger from the king arrived to warn people of the dangers of the plague—and gave everyone the plague. Black Death is the name of the film, and I don’t recommend it; it’s a nasty kind of horror steampunk faux history flick.

The group was touring the distillery in town (you should have seen Harry’s face light up when he heard the schedule) so Bun and I caught up with them that afternoon out in Birnam.

Jack was also visiting an old friend, Pete Clark. They’ve known each other for decades and used to play in a band together, Heritage. Pete and his wife Teresa (Tree, as we call her) and their dog Logie took us to the Birnam Oak, an ancient tree (but only 2,000 years so nothing like the Fortingall Yew). He also showed us the statue of Neil Gow, Scotland’s best unknown fiddler (he’s getting more famous by the year though). Pete had a lot to do with the statue getting made.

Pete always fiddles a few tunes for our groups down by the Tay, the river that runs past the Birnam Oak and its younger sycamore friend (only a thousand years old and thus known as The Young Pretender.)

Bun and I found the group easily; the Tay runs beneath a busy road, and as we approached the viaduct, we heard fiddle music. So did some of the drivers with open windows (not all that common in Scotland) and the foot traffic people, who were clearly puzzled at what was going on down there. Oddly enough, no one followed Bun and I down the steps. Maybe they thought Pete was a water spirit whose music would lure people to their deaths in the Tay.

Maria got a lovely picture of me nestled up to the Birnam Oak. I was thinking of all the upheaval in the world, and what the tree had lived through, and how nice it is to be planted by the still waters and pursue peace amid turmoil. The picture kinda shows that, I think.

After the walk we headed back to the hotel, Bun and I hugging a fond farewell. There is nothing like catching up with an old friend, picking up right where you left off and chatting away. Pete and Tree came for an after-dinner concert, with Alan and Jack and I joining in. Tree is an excellent traditional dancer who showed the group a few steps, but no one had enough energy left to try them.

And there was whisky–mostly for Jack and Alan and Pete who had a lovely long man-musician catch-up–and there was sleep, and that was day nine.