2.

The taxi arrived right on time. It seemed like only yesterday Hamish, the driver had dropped me off. And now it's goodbye, I sailed with the tide in the morning. Where did 2 weeks go? I gathered up my things and said thank you to her folks for a wonderful adventure. I had to pass by her bedroom near the stable in their rambling, centuries old farmhouse. When I reached her doorway, there she was coming towards me and with outstretched arms we embraced in one of those magical, first young love moments. Her hair still had the sweet smell of fresh hay from the time we spent together earlier in the mow.

She had grown up in this little town in Ayreshire on the west coast of Scotland. She lived in a house that went back 10 known generations of her family and was now farmed by her brother. I'm not sure even the locals could pronounce the name of the town. Actually, most conversations in town seemed to involve mostly shrugs and grunts.

A beautiful child, she was the perennial winner of the Loveliest Lass of the Linklands at the local fair. A competition scheduled between the herding dogs and the caber toss to be sure and get a good turn out. The linklands are a narrow stretch of rather poor, thin soil and scrubby vegetation separating the fragile interior land from the often hostile sea. Aside from it's ecological purpose of a barrier/buffer strip, it's only other use was for coastal real estate development and golf courses. This fact flashed Pound signs in her father's eyes. Although not a sporting man, the thought of sea side condominiums replacing the worn and sagging docks and freeing the local fisherman of their rather dismal existence gave him the warm, fuzzy altruistic feeling that real estate developers were known for.

But, the condos had yet to leave the napkin they were sketched on. His actual occupation was owning and operating the town pub. Conveniently located next to the town health clinic, it had the friendly, homey appeal that kept a steady stream of customers. He had a fairly lucrative contract with a nearby bus company to provide "Hamely fare an' a dram" to the glassy eyed patrons of the "Burn's Country Motorcoach Tours". Although a mass feeding, the sheppard's pie with bashed neeps was actually quite tasty and the watered down whisky would appeal to any good Scot's sense of frugality. Her mother, a good, kind woman would lovingly pack a lunch for anyone going down to the beach for a picnic, carefully wrapping the simple sandwiches tightly in foil to keep the blowing sand out and with a wink would fill their canteen with "a wee samthin tae tak the chill off".

It was this atmosphere and a powerful thirst that drew me into this place. I was in the waning weeks of my "summer abroad" program from school in the states. My assigned project was to study the effects of muirburn, the burning of heather to affect regeneration, on the red grouse population. But I confess a good part of the time was studying the effects of fermentation on barley. I had taken a taxi down as far as Hamish knew where he was going and assured me it probably wasn't too long a walk into the next town, whatever it's name was. It was a typical dreary cold and wet day. My feet were soaked from the five mile trudge and my eyes burning from the coal smoke pouring from the chimneys. The flickering light over the pub sign caught my bleary eye and the sandwich board with soup and stovies on special drew me in. While warming the rest of my toes with the scotch broth and my brain with a second pint, a sparkle of light caught my eye. There she was, polishing the silver in front of the fire, the soft light of the flames highlighting her incredible beauty and her delicate touch revealing her gentle nature. It was all too much. Bold from drink and toes warmed by soup, I suavely approached her and blurted out "how do you pronounce the name of this here town anyway?". I only remember her giving me a shrug and a grunt before I hit the floor. Apparently my feet were not as thawed as I had thought and the effects of two pints and quickly standing had been my downfall. Literally. Fearful that a litigation crazed American could be the end of the family business, her folks had carried me over to the clinic where they were advised the best thing would be for her to nurse me back to health and get me back on my way with no ill feelings. With that kind of care there was no real reason to "get better" in any hurry. We strolled the farm together and she showed me the ways of her world. We were able to work on local pronunciations, the subtleties of the shrug and the intonation in the grunt long into the nights and practice them during the day while learning how to open local seafoods. Although I wasn't really sure some of the words she used were real, I was smitten. But there was a problem: Wee Donald McNish.