Posted by: Artsy Squibbles | September 3, 2006

Dark Island additional post

This version linked below was recorded with lyrics by David Silver and the melody by Iain MacLachlan. A request to return to a dream and a way of life pours out of the beautiful verse that I could never match in this song Dark Island. And though I prefer the haunting sound that a bag pipe carries, as the wind off the cliffs and cry of the gull, this piece I believe represents the style of singing common to folk music in Ireland.

As I looked for a few things of interest…bag pipe parts (say that after you’ve had a few stout draughts), I decided to add a few links for tartans and kilts in case you’re interested. Mind you …I’m a gal that likes a good set of gams…UPS men in brown shorts beware. I love khaki and camouflage kilts.
A neighbor, years back, from a few blocks over used to play his bagpipes at the local elementary school a block from our home in Southern California. If the windows were open you could clearly hear his playing some melody with a yearning one would want all students to own regardless of age. If the windows were closed, and a slight strain was heard on the wind, we would rush to open these allowing the moment to wash over us. Sometimes we would just sit at the school bench listening. But most times it was near dinner and we would be in the midst of our evening ritual, just as his wife, I later learned, was about hers. Kept him out of her way!

If you’ve read any of my past posts you will notice that I refer to the Tartan more than an average California Native. Being adopted I have no real “history” of my own and decided to design my own Tartan. Mind you the roots are growing deeper in Kentucky, a country side rich in folklore, Irish history, Appalachian Heritage, Arts and Crafts, and yes, horses. Fast horses.

Our state motto is gratefully...Unbridled Spirit. Having been a teenage runaway at one time, and having lived in Kentucky during that time, I appreciate the meaning in a distinctive way. So, gladly I grow deeper roots, closer friendships, and a more powerful understanding to the meaning of Tartan, clan, and family, the true weft and warp in a community. I f I ever design a a family crest it will contain a horse, a lamp, a quill or pen, and maybe a bakers oven.

A friend had suggested I attend a weekend event. Unfortunately I could not. This is my way of making up for that. I know that I missed all sorts of wonderful scents and sounds. All styles of music, colorful images that might have gotten me through a few tiring and mundane days. Alas, this lady must be present and accountable in her own roost for the present. This is the next best thing to California beaches and the Del Mar Race Track.

You might say that bag pipes, bluegrass music, beaches and horses are a worthy addiction of a higher quality. When I hear the sound of a banjo coming up from the river, or the strain of the pipes rounding the building at a parade, I am in and of that moment and nothing else can disturb my peace.

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