The nearest I have to a “hometown”.

I was there all too briefly last weekend. But how wonderful to be able to have lunch in the sun, on the terrace at the Kimberley, a few yards from the shore. Buckie crab (shlurp).

The Kimberley

To walk off lunch across the E’ee and along the Back Shore. To get the socks and shoes off, roll up the jeans and go paddling.

Back Shore - on a busy day

To catch up on village and family gossip with Dagmar, Linda, Jacquie, Michael and Bryan.

To walk past my grandmother’s cottage – again (bit of a pilgrimage, that).

Its not a real hometown. I wasn’t born there and I’ve never lived there. But, having moved around a lot in my life and never having felt settled anywhere, it has been about the only constant. Somewhere I can go anytime and always feel at home. Back to my roots.

dusk, December

dusk, December

There is a point on the Grantown to Forres road when I instinctively feel “I’m back”.

The place – well, it was a fishing village. Then the RAF came to Kinloss and “incomers” arrived. After that, the Findhorn Foundation crew arrived in the 70s. More incomers. Around the same time it became more popular for retirement/second homers and the sailing crowd. More incomers.

So a mixture of communities, but it retains its character. I’m not sure how many true Findhorn folk are left, apart from cousins Liz & Mike. And Mike is only there in summer, and mostly just weekends. An exile.

in summer sun

The song that brings it back to me when I’m down south “in exile” is by the Waterboys – Mike Scott is a Findhorn groupie.

Maybe he had Findhorn in mind when he wrote this?

Anyway, could be a beach bum’s theme tune.

© iain taylor 2011


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