A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned seeing a painting that transported me to a magical time. I got sidetracked by doppelgängers and the like, but now I'm back on track to share the experience with you.
Here's the painting that jarred loose the memory.
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"Summertime" by Joseph Farquharson
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I would have found this painting by the Scottish artist evocative anyway because I love trees and I love reading outside. What got my juices flowing is the fact that the tree the young woman is leaning against reminds me of one that's in the gardens of Dunvegan Castle on the Isle of Skye, so it's fitting that Farquharson is a Scot. Let me show you the tree.
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Tree in the Dunvegan Castle garden
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Denis and I spent a week in the Laundry Cottage, a snug stone house across a narrow finger of Loch Dunvegan from the castle itself. It was a thrill to open the curtains every morning to see the sun shining on the castle walls. I watched rabbits at play, oyster catchers looking for food, rainbows arching high over the castle... that entire week was magic.
One of the things I enjoyed the most was the time I spent exploring the gardens. A little robin followed me all over the kitchen garden that had espaliered fruit trees on its stone walls. The kitchen garden was a lovely sun trap. But the magic didn't really start until I found myself in the major part of the garden.
There were waterfalls. A stream running down a ravine that led to the sea loch. Lovely early spring flowers. (Primroses and daffodils to name just two.) The ravine ran down the middle of the garden and was crossed by small bridges. After I had explored my fill, I found a sheltered bench and sat down to absorb my surroundings. I had a book with me, but I got very little reading done. The occasional paying guest would wander through, and I shared the space with a busy gardener who smiled and let me enjoy the tranquility.
It started to rain, that soft Scottish rain that you hear about. I've learned the hard way that there are two types of "soft Scottish rain": one is the sneaky type that you don't even feel until you're drenched. The second type is sneaky, too, but it's so slight that there's no real reason for you to take shelter. In fact, the only way you notice it at all is if a tiny rain drop speckles a lens of your glasses. Fortunately, the rain I experienced that day was the second, and I stayed where I was.
I fell in love with that tree in the Dunvegan Castle gardens, that big, old tree with its carpet of daffodils in the dappled sunshine. Those hours are held fast in my memory, and it takes very little to bring them to the surface.