A "dreich" day and tattered silk

by Eirinn Norrie (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find United Kingdom

The best thing I’ve seen while traveling the world is a tattered piece of cloth. It hangs on the wall of Dunvegan Castle, a rectangular, shortbread-colored structure in the north of Scotland. I hadn’t wanted to go to Dunvegan. The dreary conditions—or “dreich” weather, as the Scots say— meant that my original plans to see the spectacular coastal cliffs would result in wet feet, minimal views, and sheer disappointment. Visiting Dunvegan was a quickly pulled together Plan B, and a short drive later I was there, staring up at the castle that seemed to pale in comparison to the intricate historical fortresses I’d visited the week before. From behind the rain-spattered glass of my car window, I thought that the day was going to be merely a trudge through a mediocre building, followed by a better day tomorrow. “Let’s get on with it, then,” I thought, and headed inside to wander through a little piece of history. I was sure I’d be done in thirty minutes and on my way to a warm black pudding for lunch. But my tasty lunch would have to wait. I found myself rather fond of Dunvegan Castle. It was oozing with history and secrets, from the carpets worn down from years of muddy shoes to the gold-rimmed frames holding oil-painted portraits of people who meant nothing to me, but once upon a time were the world to someone else. I was fully enamored with one particular item hanging on the wall: a yellowed silk rectangle that looked like a dog had used it as a chew toy. I don’t know how long I stood there, staring lovingly up at the split, fragile fabric. It seemed like a strange item to place on display in a castle. And for some reason, it seemed oddly familiar… “This is my home,” The words tumbled subconsciously out of my mouth, my eyes glued on the flag. “This is my castle.” Noticing my fascination, a castle worker interrupted my ogling and jumped into a long and well-rehearsed spiel about the history of the cloth, which was called the Fairy Flag. It was a gift from the fairies, they— the infamous “they”— say. It is often considered the most valuable possession of Clan MacLeod, who called Dunvegan home. It is a protector that can be used three times to keep the Clan safe. I thanked the worker and moved on, enjoying the rest of the castle. The ripped flag had changed my entire view of Dunvegan castle, which was now my favorite castle in all of Scotland. It’s funny how one small feeling can change an entire outlook. I returned to my bed and breakfast pleased that the dreich day had rerouted me away from the cliffs and towards Dunvegan, my self-proclaimed home. My home? Did I really just think that again? I could hear my husband loud and clear in my head: “Eirinn Norrie!” he said, using my full name for emphasis. “We are not going to save up and buy a castle… Don’t get any ideas!” (A girl can dream, right?) A few weeks later, I was back in Dundee, Scotland, my parents’ hometown. Although I moved to America when I was eight, I am technically Scottish, and visiting has always felt like I was connecting with my home and my roots. There it was again: the word “home”. And suddenly it struck me. “Mum, what’s my Clan?” I asked. She didn’t know, but Google did. A quick search revealed that Norrie was a surname associated with Clan MacLeod. Dunvegan, therefore, is the “home” of my Clan. Dunvegan Castle may not be my actual home, but I will always feel a special connection to the square-like structure that lies in a beautiful and remote part of Scotland— and its Fairy Flag. There may be thousands of places on my bucket list and millions of beautiful “Instagram-friendly” locations I have yet to explore, but no place will ever touch my heart like Dunvegan Castle. And I found my Clan home thanks to dreary weather. Dreich days can lead us to exactly where we are supposed to go, whether we intended to go there or not.