Dùthchas: Deep breathing to regain your wind energy

 

 As I write this, there is a gèile shaking my windows at about 65mph, definately over the national speed limit. In Orkney, where there is more of a Viking Norrœna lineage, they would say, 'it's blowing a hoolie.'

Gales are common in the Western Isles, and will usually cancel ferries and last for two to three days at a time. At least one trampoline can be seen rolling across the A857, unless it's bin day. Yet within this common Hebridean experience lies a lesson as well: breathe.

The Gèile is a long distance runner, it has to pace itself, draw breath, inhale energy to continue. If you listen carefully, every other minute there is a calming of the wind. As if it is pausing to consume more air; breathing in; hesitating before huffing it. It's a very human experience; a connection we can all make to our elemental selves. 

The ebb and flow of the wind is not unlike our other island element - the sea. Standing at the seashore, the waves roll in, breathe out. Then, they retreat, breathe in. Out and in. Out and in. In steady, consistent, giant waves - the lungs of the world - on display within the element from which we all evolve.

Singers use breath to fill a room with the sound of the song, puirt à beul. It is the source of vigour. We can use this wind. Stress and anxiety, at work or at school, can be slowed simply by breathing. Breathing slowing in through the nose, collecting new oxygen energy, and out through the mouth, 'releasing the bad', liberating the stress. I always envision Michael Clark's portrayal of John Coffey in the Green Mile (1999) here. With one great breath he expels all of the evil, all of the bad feelings and sickness of the world from his body and he is fine. Pure energy in, and powerful waves out.

In and out. In and out. In and out. In this way, we are breathing with the Earth. Pausing to inhale when we need energy -

and finding our 'second wind' to keep our power moving.  Be like the gèile: breathe. 

Dùthchas: Stone markers of desecration

    

There is something about rock foundations and mountains that transcend our lives. For millenia, Eastern temples have been built in mountains; people climb mountains to find wisdom, the answers to Life's questions. Mountain pathways are the source of pilgrimage for walkers around the World; drovers walked their holloways for centuries; and they are a visual representation of the original foundation from which all life flows, something indestructible. 

Witnessing something that has survived seismic shifts, wars, migration, flood and famine is to behold a solid part of the world. Holding on to something still, something steadfast feels safe. That is something very rare in 2025 as I write this. I think that is why so many visitors to the Outer Hebrides and Scotland stop at stone ruins, take photos, and reflect.

There is a stone croft house just down the road from my own. Not a cyclist or walker passes without a photo. It overlooks Loch Erisort on the Isle of Lewis - decaying corrugated iron roof, partially caved in, and a tree sprouting through the chimney. Visitors find such ruins aesthetic, an artistic expression of the land. But for us, they are reminders of violence, starvation and death. The stone markers of a family who once lived and loved in the village, now gone because of poverty. Those houses are the graveyards of families who were torn from their homes to make way for sheep. The household ruins depict lives lost. These photos are bones across the landscape of the Hebrides, a reminder of the desecration of colonisation.

And yet, still, the stone remains - our Earth's origins; witness to our genesis.

Dùthchas: Branches, Sheep & Keeping Gifts Safe

 

Dùthchas celebrates and describes our deep Hebridean connection to the land where we grow through work and play. The rolling crofts and rocky, heather hills where I live are family - to learn from, love and care for. A natural part of love is also protection. 

It's February here in Lewis, and despite the re-appearing sun, the tree branches have sealed their leaves and flowers in tight. Unlike the daffodil, known for its 'courage' to risk a second snow, or an icy death if it emerges too soon, a tree's roots run deep. It knows it must trust, be certain of the Spring before it can chance its delicate flowers, its raw gifts with the world. And so, for now, all it displays is a hard, outer shell. Its budding flowers and soft leaves remain reserved inside until it can trust they can be shared and grow, flourish without harm or damage from wintery weather.

It is the same for the hens on the croft that do not lay eggs during the month of January, for their bodies instinctively know that their young cannot survive in a hostile environment. Even the sheep do not give birth until late in March here, the lambs developing a thick coat quickly.

As humans, we need to take heed of Winter's lessons too: the most delicate, precious parts of yourself are not for everyone; they should only be shared with those few you trust. Healthy growth begins in a warm and welcoming environment, in safety. Yes, we need a resilient bark to survive a greedy world, but the parts of us that are sacred, our hopes, our happiness, our intimate dreams, should be protected until we know the weather will nurture and care for them. This is the Hebridean reserve. These small leaves of ourselves are the gifts we pass on. Like the Willow here on the croft: wait to trust. Wait for the Sun before sharing. Protect the colourful parts you most believe in as a human being; this way, when you do open yourself to a world you trust, you are sure to thrive.

Dùthchas: the Three Veg Sisters

 

[painting: Moses Ludham]

Dùthchas: the Three Veg Sisters 

In this entry of Dùthchas: Learning from the Land, I draw from the lessons of the Anishinaabe, and 'The Three Sisters', in Canada where I was visiting over Hogmanay. Winter is a time when I am planning, or dreaming about, my garden for the Spring: thinking of better weather, which seeds to order, and where to plant which vegetables for an Autumn harvest.

This is something we have all been doing a lot more of recently since the Pandemic, and with fluctuating global food security. In Canada, the three traditional vegetables used to sustain life are known as, 'The Three Sisters'. They are: Corn, Squash, and Beans - all full of both proteins and carbohydrates for energy and survival.

Corn, Squash and Beans are known as 'sisters' because, grown together, they enjoy a healthy, symbiotic relationship - each supporting and nurturing the other with their unique gifts. Corn, for example, grows tall and straight, providing a pole or support structure for Beans to twist around and wind up to the sun. Beans, while growing, replace nutrients into the soil and roots for the Corn; and Squash (or sometimes Pumpkin) uses its broad leaves to provide a living mulch for the other two, preventing the growth of weeds, and sustaining the moisture in the soil to keep the three safe. 

Individually, it would be difficult for any one of the sisters to live alone. Together, they combine their gifts to survive and thrive. In our jobs, or at work, the same is true. If we are always hiring the same type of person, never seeking out the opposite of our own gifts, we will not truly flourish. We need people who are organised, linear thinkers; good with forward planning and growth to support the structure. We also need creative vines of thought, ones that bend and flow with small seeds of nutrients and ideas, capable of taking different directions around the structure. And we need those that will protect our roots from invaders - colleagues, or a sister, that will spread her leaves so that the family or organisation feels safe.

Look for the symbiotic sisters in your own life: Who acts as the support structure for your growth? Who is the creative vine of ideas and dreams in your life? And who would lay out her leaves to protect your roots, be your base so that you feel safe to grow? Which sister are you?

These are the relationships that enrich and challenge our own growth as humans. Want to evolve? Look to your sisters.