On her life in the country

Mel Shand is an artist, author, photographer and game keeper’s wife with a long association with The Good Life Society and Glen Dye Cabins and Cottages.

Her daily life is lived close to nature and her creative work echoes that proximity.

Who better to ask about a favourite month in the country?

I could have happily written about any month of the year! Like many folk who live and work in the countryside, as the calendar rolls over I think “now this is my favourite month”.

I am Mel Shand, artist, photographer, author, play-write, mother to three, granny and gamekeeper’s wife and it’s for the last "job title" that I choose August as my month. Even more specifically I have a favourite day, which is a culmination of the year-round hard work by my husband, a single-handed gamekeeper on a traditional Highland sporting estate. 

We are a family of lions, there are nine family birthdays in quick succession from the 1st to the 12th of August, the day that not only marks the birthday of my eldest son, Fergus Leo, but also the beginning of the grouse shooting season and it’s known as the Glorious 12th. The whole of the month of August is summed up on this day.

The sun is almost guaranteed to shine and it’s an early start. There’s a lot of kit to assemble, tweed breeks aired, gaiters found, socks darned, shirts with a collar, ties not worn since the end of the pheasant season, walking sticks, binoculars, sun hats and rain hats, birthday cake, candles, matches, spare cartridges, picnics, midgie repellent, anti-venom (yes seriously, but for dogs not people), rugs, slabs of juice, beer and water, flasks, dog whistles, sun cream, waterproofs (despite the fact the sun has been shining since 6am, this is Scotland after all). 

Our picnic is very specific on the first day; farm shop sausage rolls, egg buns and Crapcake, which is what my children lovingly call my flapjacks. The sun is high in the sky by 9am along with the swallows ready for their own impending journey, but not quite yet, and for us it’s the launch of the shooting season and the excitement is better than Christmas. 

Strong coffee and bacon rolls for breakfast, arguing over tomato or brown sauce supremacy and trying to get everything into the Landie as well as my children and 12 dogs. No matter how it goes in, by lunchtime it will be a “Boorach”, there’s just no other word for it! One year, one of the terriers burgled the picnic and ate all the sausage rolls, she was halfway through the Crapcake before she was evicted. Nobody minded, tempers are sweet.

The bell heather, beloved of our bees, has given way to sweeter smelling ling, blaeberries are in full fruit and the sky is cerulean blue. The road is rough but mended, heather stems, brittle from spring burning, snap and crackle under foot, but your eye is drawn to the shimmering horizon and waves of purple as far as you can see. Breathing in heavy pollen, millions of tiny paper moths… this is why the day is so Glorious, and well named for it. The walking is hard, the dogs are hot, the birds are so fast, far fewer curl and fall than sail on round the curve of the hill. The sweat dries in the creases of your eyes and you know you will sleep well tonight. It's teamwork and family, the dogs live for this work, on a perfect day there’s a breeze that keeps the midgies at bay, and we are moving fast enough not to encounter the adder!

Whatever your views on shooting, until you’ve witnessed a perfect walked up day on a Scottish grouse moor in August, I'd say... reserve all judgement. 

This day encapsulates August for me, no matter how many other days we go out.