Nonfiction - Memoir
2021
Finished on May 18, 2024
Rating: 4/5 (Very Good)
Publisher's Blurb:
This is a story about uncovering the things that really matter, and discovering what makes us feel alive. It is a story about finding that inner strength and resilience, and never giving up hope.
Eight years ago, Kathleen Hart was diagnosed with breast cancer. Further complications led to a protracted recovery and months spent in hospital, where Kathleen had to learn how to walk again. While recuperating, she came across a small whitewashed cottage for sale in Wigtown, Scotland. Driving hundreds of miles on nothing more than a few photographs and an inkling, she bought it that very same day, and named it Devorgilla after the formidable 13th century Scottish princess.
Devorgilla Days is the story of how Kathleen left behind her old life to begin again in Scotland's book capital. From renovating her cottage to exploring the seemingly quiet, but actually bustling town, she encounters a whole community of book lovers, beekeepers, artists and writers - and Lobster Fishermen. Kathleen starts wild swimming, a ritual that brings peace and clarity to her mind as her body heals. And, with the support of her virtual worldwide community who know her as PoshPedlar on Instagram, she rebuilds her life again.
Heartwarming and deeply moving, Devorgilla Days is an inspiring tale of one woman's remarkable journey, a celebration of community, and a call-to-arms for anyone who has ever dreamt of starting over.
I thought I read about Devorgilla Days on a friend's blog, but I can't locate their review, nor can I find any mention of it by my friends on Goodreads. Hmmm, it must have been shared by someone on Instagram, which is where I've gotten a lot of recommendations lately. I'm sure the beautiful cover art caught my eye, as well as the subtitle ("finding hope and healing in Scotland's book town").
Kathleen Hart's memoir is somewhat reminiscent of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift from the Sea. Both memoirs are personal introspections, as well as observations of their surroundings, yet rather than a solo retreat on Sanibel Island, Hart buys a small cottage in Scotland, where she lives alone, recovering from numerous illnesses and setbacks: Pneumonia, breast cancer and a mastectomy, multiple reconstructive surgeries, pleurisy, a slipped disc, three attempts at a discectomy, and, (as if that's not enough!), a tumor in her chest, which required open-heart surgery. She really has had everything thrown at her! And yet, despite her terrible luck, she recovers, finds joy and friendship in her new community, and takes daily swims (weather permitting) in the frigid Wigtown Bay. Remarkable!
Hart's writing is engaging and uplifting, and I enjoyed a glimpse into her not-so-solitary life in Scotland. Once settled, she learns to be "her own best friend," but it isn't long before she's joining a variety of groups, finding new activities to occupy her time: Beekeeping, a knitting group called Knit and Natter, Scottish country dancing, watercolor painting, Gaelic lessons, and of course, swimming.
The wind blusters across the cool water, ruffling its surface, and splashes of briny spray sting my face as I sweep, kick, thrust out into the bay. Miles to the south, the craggy silhouette of the Lake District is vivid against a peachy sky. It's very clear today; even the terrain is visible: valleys, cliffs, scree, all glowing golden in the last of the light. It's a wonderful sight, romantic and alluring, and it could be anywhere in the world. I conjure up the peaks of a rugged Antipodean island, or perhaps a mountain range in Mongolia. It looks close enough to swim to. I propel myself forward, towards the horizon--horizons give me hope; they are a glimpse of the future. Across to the west, on the opposite side of the bay, the heather high up on the Galloway Hills glows and shimmers like an amethyst, glinting in the final rays of the sun. The cairn is silhouetted gold, like the halo of a Russian icon.
A severe cold spell is forecast, with fierce storms on the way, so I make the most of the session, swimming slow steady laps across from the breakwater to the harbour wall. The sun is very low now, cradled by a dip in the field, and casts silvery spangles over the tar-black water. A crow waddles across the beach, picking his way through large mounds of seaweed, searching for his supper. The hills and mountains have softened now, bathed in a soothing amber hue. Two swans sweep by, rhythmically beating time, wings not quite clipping the surface of the water. I can hear the swoosh, swoosh as they head into the harbour. I float a while, suspended, letting my mind go quiet, treading water, cupping my hands and pushing ripples out to sea, wondering where they will land, these mini whorls of water. Perhaps they'll reach Dublin, maybe New York.
My skin is tingling with the cold, my fingers white and aching, and I can see lights glowing in the cottages across the estuary. The sun has set. It's time to get out.
Devorgilla Days is less about a community of bookstores (twelve!) and more about a community of kind-hearted neighbors. It's less about Hart's physical ailments and more about her keen sense of awareness of her surroundings and the natural environment she inhabits. I loved this book and am now one of her many thousand Instagram followers (@poshpedlar). Her curated photographs and cheerful quotations are beautiful and inspiring, as one would imagine. I wish her good health and happiness!
