A winding river going between bright green grassy fields with pink and yellow flowers. There are lots of different types of trees and some white houses dotted around. In the background there are green hills. The sky is blue and there are very few clouds.

Amulree, Scotland

From Arlene Jackson

Transcript

If I could be further out in the world, it would be here, deep in the Perthshire Hills where Amulree sits. It’s not a town or even a village, but a stopping place, a hamlet, cradled between grand, green hills which are draped in heather.

In August, the colours of the heather are breathtaking: ochre, burgundy, purple and amber. I am well in this place, a young townie in awe of the natural world, on my first long spell away from home, working a summer job in Amulree Hotel.

It is one of only three buildings on a single track road where wandering sheep act as speed cops and pheasants pop out from the hedgerows before fanning their traffic light plumage. I sleep deeply here, a benefit of the mountain air, I am told.

The mornings are fresh before I light the coal fire and the sweet, welcoming smoke unfurls from the chimney. I work hard, buttering toast to add to huge, fried breakfasts for overnight guests, cleaning rooms, making beds, stopping to look out of the windows at the dark, still loch in the distance.

Bus loads of tourists pile in for a high tea and the kitchen is a whirl of hot steam but cool tempers, until the rush is over and the rural calm returns. When my work is done, I walk and I walk and I walk.

At night, myself and the chef walk under the moon to the secret loch for a midnight picnic made of local cheese and a remaining half bowl of trifle. If he takes two steps ahead, he vanishes into the country black night.

I learn the value of a bright moon and the need to slow down. On my day off my Mum arrives, having driven almost four hours from the city just to see me for one hour.

If I could return I’d take my own daughter. We’d share a table in the bay window which looks out over the River Braan, chatting over scones with cream and jam before making our way to the tiny, white church a hundred metres or so from the hotel and with a unique view over and across the Glen.

Our silence would be comforting. We only need the rush of the wind and the call of the capercaillie and grouse to welcome us, knowing that all we needed and wanted from the world is right here.

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