TALE ~ OF ~ TWEED
In my farmhouse there is a Harris Tweed jacket hung pride of place. I was 12 when my grandfather gifted it to me. Its both precious, durable and becomes my friend, protecting me from the elements and, it seems the world.
This was the beginning of my love affair with the far Western Isles. My mind wandered when i could not, to far way places, islands on the edge, to a land where mother nature is teased and blended into texture and warmth.
The years pass, and I travel, I return to the land, I have a child and pass the jacket down to her. The cycle continues.
The jacket draws me north to discover Harris Tweed for myself. Two weeks to blow with the wind. I tramp the barren wastes, climb the mountains, and walk upon white beaches feeling the spirit of the birthplace of this old jacket. I soon realise that like the warp and the weft of Tweed the island and the islanders are woven together, they are one in strength, courage and colour.
The jacket now rests quietly on the farmhouse door. I smile at it, my childhood dream came true and a new one began.
Tweed found me and I am happiest in its company