Tribute To The Ruins
I was riding around the UK for a week, hunting for hidden gems. In Scottish Highlands, I found a strange place on the map called “Wag o’ Forse” – just a couple of photos of rocks. That was enough. I headed straight in.
First obstacle – the road leading to the area is blocked by the gate with a lock. “Where is my freedom to roam?” I thought and jumped over it, leaving my bike behind.
After walking for a few minutes, I could see something distantly in the field, but the path was blocked by a stone fence with a barbed wire on top. But I'm not a lamb, I am smarter (I want to believe), and can overcome this little difficulty. I partially disassembled the fence (and put it back later). Nothing could stop me now. Except for barbed wire, which made a couple of scratches in my gear. Apparently, I’m not as flexible as I thought.
What I found were the faint ruins of an old village. Just outlines of walls left.
I wandered around for a bit, and not too impressed, sat down for a short break.
And I started to think about the people who used to live here. Many centuries ago probably, when there were no other houses around, just the field, a distant lake and a forest. These people have chosen this particular place, brought thousands of stones in, worked hard and long, collaborated, supported each other, were united by the shared goal. I bet they had an amazing time doing so, driven by the purpose, simple, primal: build a shelter for themselves and the family. The faint ghost of these people came up in my imagination: struggling, smiling, loving, caring. And I felt a bit of it myself.
Then I looked around. Ruins. The time has not been kind to the product of their work, which made me a little sad.
I sat there for a minute, looking at the magnificent views, at the scattered rocks, feeling this strange connection to the people I have never seen. I really wanted to do something, to act, and couldn’t think of anything better to do than build something too. A small house. A small echo. I only had an hour, and could not take much risk: nobody knows where I am (I hardly know myself), no phone signal, if I break a leg – it would be an “interesting” day.
But still I wanted to do something, and something I did. A little tribute to these people long gone.
Maybe it’ll last a few weeks – until the next storm knocks it down. I’m definitely no builder. But the process felt so meaningful, so grounding. Working with my own hands, building something, leaving something behind. I miss it in my daily life so much.
Who knows, when will the next person come? What will they think? Will they guess who built it and why, or just ignore and move on, or maybe even knock it down?
It doesn’t really matter. I’ll probably never see this place again, but it’s in me now. And maybe – just maybe – another person would build another hut beside mine.
If you ever feel like reaching out — whether you have something to share, or just want to talk — I’d be happy to hear from you, stranger. This isn’t about followers. It’s about finding kindness and similar minded people in a loud world.