The Scotland Problem

 I feel like most people who read these days have some understanding of the massive impact that the Outlander series has had on the literary scene. I loved the first book, then found the subsequent books too sloggy and slow-paced. However, I am MADLY in love with Jamie Fraser, the king of men (and the *completely fictional* main character in the Outlander series). Before I even set eyes on those books I’d fallen MADLY in love with the idea of Scotland. I’m not sure if it's due to the idyllic setting it offers to the medieval smut that I adore or if it’s genuinely the magic in the landscape. The beauty of that country convinced Queen Victoria to love it and buy Balmoral for herself and her family, calling it "the proudest, finest country in the world".

I just have this feeling that if I ever get to visit Scotland I will not want to leave.

There's this show that comes on UK television called Escape to the Country, where families who live in UK cities want to buy homes in the country and the host takes them around to a few houses to scope out. For a while it was streaming on Hulu. I remember binge watching that show and marveling at the age and beauty of the homes in the countryside over there. The inglenook fireplaces, the heavy beams, the Tudor facing, the stone garden walls, the deep green grass and the quaint villages scattered throughout the English, Scottish, Welsh and Irish counties. I remember in particular an episode where the couple was moving from the city to Argyll & Bute (two counties in western Scotland)…and the views of one of the homes made me cry. Like how can I have such an ache for a place I’ve never been?

Eglinton Castle tower ruins

I discussed this deep-rooted NEED in my bones and woven into my soul with a friend who lived in the UK, who has since, sadly passed. He said that he fully believed in blood memories and asked if any of my ancestors came from Scotland. I answered an enthusiastic YES - my family were

Montgomerys and they came from Perthshire and Ayrshire. A few minutes later he sent me an image of a ruined castle tower. He said “This is what remains of Eglinton Castle in Perthshire. Your clan’s traditional seat. It’s a thing of beauty!” 

I cried. And I think of him often.

I can’t imagine a more beautiful thing than lying in a field of heather, the scent wafting through my hair, the cold green grass between my fingers.

I can only dream of it. For now.