July is such a strange unsettling time of year in education. The kids know they’re about to move on, and it’s all Sports Days, parties, leavers’ assemblies… I’ll take September any day. I try to stay grounded by digging in the dirt. Today we planted out yet more tomatoes, watered everything in sight, and harvested carrots and strawberries. I practically burst with pride at our homegrown snack.
I seem to have spent most of this week talking earnestly about the importance of moving on, and how you should never go back. Well, yes, metaphorically, that’s all very well, but it turns out the one thing I’m desperate to do is go back. I’ve spent the last week or two googling bits of Scotland, but nowhere seemed quite right. It only dawned on me today: that’s because I already know just exactly where I really want to go.
Tiree is still there right under my skin. I
want need to go back there: to swim, to walk, to know for myself all of that tiny island. I’ve tried to ignore the urge, thinking about all the other places I could visit that I haven’t seen yet. But somehow this afternoon I found myself firing off a whole bunch of emails enquiring about availability for August.
Sometimes it’s just meant to be.