The sky above, the heaving earth below

A day ago , by Richard Lutz

FROM RICHARD LUTZ

A rainbow anoints a little farm tucked among the Scottish hills. The remote compound looks west towards the winter sea.

It’s not far from Kilphin Glen, a deep gorge close to the border of two counties- Ayrshire and Dumfrieshire. Bridges crisscross the waters pouring down from the 1000 foot shoulder of Smyrton Hill all the way to the curving coast.

Here, in this winter of ice and rain, the earth of the ravine heaves and moves. It’s heavy with water.

The ground is sodden. One bad step and you’re on your back, muddy and wet or sliding down a bank. The wooden bridges need attention. They are rotting.

This one is so decrepit that one person at a time attempts it. It moves, wiggles, shivers. The glen is studded with hardwood including redwoods and giant bamboo. Peeking through the empty branches is a sky filled, if not with rainbows then with scudding grey clouds.

Kilphin is loosely translated from old Irish Gaelic as the religious cell (Kil) of Finn (Phin). You run across a lot of towns and villages with the ‘Kil’ prefix in west Scotland. It’s where monks and hermits retreated for early Dark Age solitary meditation- think of Kilmarnock, Kilwinning, Kilmartin.

And of course there’s Kilwhannel Farm-as seen above- blessed with its rainbow. Though there’s confusion here as Whannel is actually an old local family name. Maybe the Whannel clan forefathers were contemplative folk and retired to a cave or hut to ponder the word of god or the world of godlessness. Maybe not…

Nearby, a bridge stands that’s a tad more substantial than Kilphin’s wobbly structures. It’s carried cattle and forestry and farm traffic over Crailoch Burn for centuries. Still does.

It’s a packhorse bridge, probably constructed three hundred years ago and not mentioned in any guidebook, architectural catalogue nor historical document. It’s unchronicled, its builder (with a keen eye for a nifty mock Norman arch) forgotten, never recorded. It’s rock hard, no wobbliness here. Stone-crafted and made to last.

Up from Crailoch Burn as it turns and twists under the narrow bridge, there’s a slim burst of winter sun. It’s enough to hint at a promise of spring. There’s snowdrops:

and guarding a wooden gate….

early daffodils, near a hamlet called Auchenflower and not far from Lemons Glen.

Other gentle names dot the terrain: Mains of Tig, Lady Knowe, Balrazzle, Falterscob. All of them tiny. All of them- farms, manor houses, minuscule hamlets- all tucked into a quiet corner of Scotland by the sea. All buffeted by rain and wind, all warmed eventually by a dim winter sun. And maybe, just maybe, lit by a rainbow.

top bridge photo by Billy McCrorie