Winged Hearts and Other Weird Moments

Today was another Twilight Zone day, in which I kept feeling like I've been here before, have lived in this region in another lifetime. Especially at today's destination, Drumlanrig Castle.

The weather turned cloudy as I rode the 246 Stagecoach bus to the castle. Gray, heavy air that made the green hills look greener than usual. The bus drops visitors off on the main road out of Dumfries, about 1.25 mi from the castle. The paved drive in passes through a thin forest like many I've seen in the Pacific Northwest; I recorded some lovely morning birdsong here.


The forest opens into bridge over a river and then sheep fields and follows a long straight drive to the castle, with more forests around the north side of the house. Acres and acres of property.

Drumlanrig (meaning "hill long ridge," describing the estate's land) has three family names associated with it. The most well-known is Douglas, Duke of Buccleuch (buuk LAY). Specifically James Douglas, a close friend of Robert the Bruce, king of Scots in 1329. This was the time of the Crusades, but Robert the Bruce, who always wanted to go on a Crusade, died before he could leave. In steps friend James, Duke of Buccleuch, who carries The Bruce's embalmed heart into battle in his name. (Embalming and toting around hearts seems to have been the order of the day.)

The combat didn't go well for the duke, who, on receiving a mortal wound, is said to have flung the boxed heart ahead of himself into battle and yelled, "Forward, brave heart!" The cry of "Forward" continues as the family motto, and the Buccleuch line adopted a particular symbol--a winged heart with a crown--as its family motif. (This "brave heart" is not the same one as in Braveheart the movie. That was depicting Wallace, another Scot just a little earlier than Robert the Bruce, who helped bring about The Bruce's rise through his own efforts at rebellion against the English.)

I toured the home, which like most estates here is stuffed from baseboards to rafters with centuries-old furnishings, astounding artwork and portraits, figurines and cabinets and clocks and mirrors and candelabra and other treasures from all around the world. This one houses a Rembrandt, Old Woman Reading, which is marvelous to see in person.

Everywhere at the estate are images of the winged, crowned heart: woven into wool carpets, carved along stone eaves, etched into fireplace woodwork, worked into candlesticks, tapestries, and upholstery.

The guided tour starts and ends near a tea room--a converted kitchen, still housing some of the old cabinetry and pots. Their celery/potato soup and fresh-made organic bread makes for a welcome lunch break. Shopped at the gift shop and at the stableyard-converted-to-craft-stores, buying some yummy orange-cranberry jam and crunchy mustard for Norman and Jean. Also got a major-garlicky, melted buttery still-warm focaccia-like roll to eat in hand as I wandered into the onsite wildlife interpretive center.

Much of the Drumlanrig acreage is wooded, so it's a natural site for wildlife viewing. They've installed a forest blind where I watched native red squirrels ("SQUEER-ells" here) and lots of birds at the feeders--titmice, siskins, woodpeckers, finches.

An on-staff woman ranger and a local fellow--over 6' tall, late 40s, with multiple silver piercings in his nose and lips, clown-red hair, tattoos, a tan, and leather jacket--helped me ID some feathers I'd found and photographed earlier in the trip. Magpie and wood pigeon. We got to talking and they treated me to the last cup of coffee at the stableyard snack bar (where the gingham-covered tables are set up in former horse stalls), which was closing for the day.

I had spent much of the day at Drumlanrig, and got back to town in enough time to check out Internet access at the library--two hours per day free with a temporary library membership, plus lots of computers to use. Score. Set up an appointment for tomorrow.

Closed the evening off with a lovely Italian pizza dinner with a friend named Anja who lives near Dumfries. She's a German import into Scotland whom I met at the TTEAM training a few weeks ago in Farmborough. The restaurant she recommended was popular and way crowded, so we had a drink beforehand at a local pub. Lots of laughs, and over our pizzas (mine with anchovy paste, no less), she explained the nuances of World Cup scoring and football rules with great knowledge and humor. You can even ask me what offsides means, and I could explain it!

And the Twilight Zone moments today? They piled up as I walked Drumlanrig. I've been using a winged heart as part of my signature on cards and letters for a few years, yet have never consciously known of its connection to this place. Hmmmm. The tea room at the castle is in an old kitchen, maybe the 1800s part of the house. I felt a strange flash of recognition upon walking in, as if I had once worked there. Hmmm. Last night's nearly fruitless search for a pub ended me up on Buccleuch St, at Robert the Bruce, direct connections to Drumlanrig. Hmmm. At the craft store of one painter in the castle's stableyard, I saw stacks of canvases, all turned away to the wall. My eye fell on the only canvas with a title written on the back: "Sense of Belonging." Hmmmm.

Coincidences? Synchronicities? Past-life overlaps? Collective memories? Fertile imagination? Selective attentiveness?

Whatever I call it, there's a theme at work for me in the Dumfries area, and I'm not doing anything consciously to create it. The best I can do is acknowledge and accept it and tell my rational mind to be quiet, already. As Hamlet has said, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

I'll leave it at that.