(From the Canadian Boat-Song, originally in Gaelic, attributed to David Macbeth Moir, 1892. The most well-known lines are these: “From the lone sheiling of the misty island, mountains divide us and the waste of seas; still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland, as we, in dreams, behold the Hebrides.” Everyone of Scottish ancestry knows them. )
I am safely in Chicago, though stupendously jetlagged and rudely culture-shocked. My bag, however, is in London. The airline has promised to deliver it to my door.
At one point on my grand tour of Lewis, Angus pointed to a jet trail high, high, high in the sky and said, “It’s going to America.” I had to fly down to London from Glasgow, and after a long wait, change to a flight for Chicago. It went back up over Scotland, and out over the Western Isles. I was on the wrong side of the plane; I saw what looked like South Uist and Barra, having the same glorious weather Lewis gave to me; but I waved, anyways.