​Although often referred to as the “Longest Day,” the summer solstice is actually the precise moment in time when the North Pole reaches its maximum tilt toward the Sun. This year, it occurs at 3:41 am on Saturday, June 21st. For those of us on the Peninsula, the Sun will rise at 4:27:39 am at its north-easternmost point of the year and won’t set until 10:22:32 pm, when it dips below the horizon at its north-westernmost point of the year. That will give us a remarkable 17 hours, 54 minutes, and 53 seconds of daylight. It’s little wonder that, after enduring the long, dark days of winter, these long summer days have such an uplifting effect on our mood and overall well-being.
 
A major reason for this seasonal boost is increased exposure to sunlight. Sunlight stimulates the brain to produce more serotonin—the “feel-good” chemical responsible for enhancing mood, calming the mind, and sharpening focus. With higher levels of serotonin, people often feel lighter, brighter, and more resilient. This is especially beneficial for those affected by seasonal affective disorder (SAD), a type of depression that often emerges with the darkness and cold of winter.
 
Sunlight also plays a crucial role in regulating our circadian rhythm, the body’s internal clock that governs when we feel awake or sleepy. As we stir in the morning, specialised cells in our eyes pick up on natural light, especially the blue in it, and send signals to the brain’s master clock. Our brain realises that it’s daytime and starts waking us up by adjusting things like hormones and body temperature. This daily reset helps our body stay in sync with the 24-hour day, helping us feel more alert, sleep more soundly, and function at our best.
 
Beyond its biological benefits, the abundance of daylight in summer invites us to spend more time outdoors, encouraging physical activity and fostering a deeper connection with nature. This combination of movement and mindful presence supports not only physical health but also mental well-being. While I certainly appreciate the physical perks, such as improved cardiovascular fitness, it’s the mental and emotional restoration that I appreciate most.
 
There is something hugely restorative and healing about spending time outside in the warm glow of summer, whether it’s a long walk in the hills, taking in the beautiful scenery, or sitting quietly by the shore, listening to the soothing rhythm of waves lapping on the shore.
 
When I spend time like this in nature, I notice that my attention is gently drawn rather than forcibly grabbed. This experience, known as “soft fascination”, describes the calming engagement we feel in natural environments. Instead of the noise and distractions of modern life, nature offers subtler, soothing stimuli – the rustle of leaves, the gentle babble of a stream, or clouds slowly shifting overhead. These quiet elements hold our attention just enough to keep us present without overwhelming the senses, allowing the mind to rest and recover. This in turn helps reduce mental fatigue and lower stress levels.
 
So ultimately, the long summer days help me sleep more soundly, feel more grounded, and experience the world with a calm sense of mindfulness. They remind me to slow down, be present, and let nature quietly work its magic. Here’s to those long and glorious days of summer – may they arrive quickly and linger long.

​Despite its appearance, cottongrass, also known as bog cotton or ghost grass is neither cotton or grass. It is in fact a sedge, which is a group of plants that are closely related to grasses. Three species of cottongrass are likely to be found in Scotland: Hare’s-tail Cottongrass, Common Cottongrass and Broad-leaved Cottongrass. All three love damp, acidic environments so are well at home in the peat filled salt marsh that is at Ardmolich.
 
Hare’s-tail cottongrass has just one ‘cotton’ head at the tip of its stem in the form of a tidy, almost spherical tuft, reminiscent of the tail of a rabbit or hare, hence the name. On the other hand, broad-leaved cottongrass and common cottongrass both have several and more unkempt ‘cotton’ heads drooping from their stems that look a bit like cotton wool that has been pulled apart. Having looked at the plants I was photographing, I decided that they were common cottongrass because of the narrow leaves and stems that they had.
 
I wandered around the salt marsh, carefully making my way around innumerable water pools and across countless tussocks until I found myself in the middle of a sea of white, fluffy seed heads gently swaying in the slight morning breeze. I knelt down to take a closer look at the tufts of ‘cotton’ and found myself with an eye level view across the top of them to the hills at the other end of Loch Moidart. It was from there that I took my first photograph, using a long focal length to compress and emphasise the sea of white that floated before me.

​With the wide perspective shot taken, I focused my time on taking a series of shots that captured the cotton grass in more detail, eventually homing in on a single plant that I was able to isolate from all the others around it by using careful composition and a wide aperture. Coming to the end of doing this, I began to wonder if this fluffy, delicate plant had been used for anything in the past and if it had any folklore associated with it.
 
Unsurprisingly, one of the primary historic uses of cottongrass was as a stuffing material, particularly by rural communities where resources were limited, and every available material was put to good use. I found references to its downy fibres being used as an insulating stuffing for pillows, mattresses, for lining shoes and even as an absorbent pad for infants to use at night instead of a nappy.
 
When it comes to Scottish folklore, one common theme appears to be the association of cottongrass with the faeries. A number of tales describe cottongrass as one of their favourite plants because they used the soft, fluffy tufts to make their beds, while other tales have described patches of cotton grass swaying gently in the wind as the sight of faeries dancing.
 
However, it is in Shetland where the clearest association of cottongrass and mystical beings exists. It is known locally as Lucka Minnie’s Oo, or wool. A witch from Shetland folklore, Lucka Minnie, was said to roam the hills in summer to collect this wool, which she’d process on a card obtained from the faeries and then use it to knit her clothes.
 
When I tried to find out a bit more about her, I came across two conflicting stories. One described her as a fearful ‘trow’ or troll who met her end while chasing after a young boy who she’d intended to eat for her dinner. The other painted her as a rather benevolent character who would guide lost travellers through treacherous boglands by revealing paths marked by distinctive clumps of cottongrass. I guess that if one were to be true, I hope it would be the latter, which I think would be a fitting tale to link with the delicately beautiful tufts that are the seed heads of the cottongrass.

While foxgloves, scientifically known as Digitalis purpurea, are undoubtedly striking plants, they are renowned for their potent medicinal properties and have played a key role in treating heart conditions. In the late 18th century, the English physician William Withering discovered that digitalis, an extract from the foxglove, contained digitoxin and digoxin. These two compounds help strengthen and regulate the force of the heart contractions and have been used to treat irregular heartbeats and manage the symptoms of heart failure.
 
In the past, digitalis has had other medicinal uses and was listed in Nicholas Culpeper’s 1652 herbal medicine guide, The English Physician, as a treatment for “the falling sickness”, or epilepsy. One famous person who may have been treated with digitalis for epileptic seizures was Vincent Van Gogh. Many art historians believe that the yellow haze that this would cause in the sight of patients receiving this type of treatment may be responsible for his “yellow period”. This was a time when yellow dominated many of his paintings, and particularly The Starry Night, a painting in which a yellow corona surrounded the moon and each star in it.

​Another myth tells of the foxglove’s bell-shaped flowers being used as little hats or homes by faeries, with children often warned against picking them to avoid offending the fairies who might live inside them and to not bring misfortune upon themselves.
 
Foxgloves were also thought to have protective properties and hanging a sprig of foxglove outside a house was believed to ward off evil spirits and protect the inhabitants from harm. While in some areas, foxgloves were planted around homes and barns to safeguard against witchcraft and to ensure the health and safety of livestock.
 
Alternative folklore suggest that the name “foxglove” comes from the idea that the flowers are the right size and shape for foxes to wear on their paws. According to this legend, foxes, known for their slyness and stealth, would put the flowers over their paws to muffle their footsteps as they hunted or avoided predators. This idea not only highlighted the fox’s cunning nature but also lent an almost magical quality to the foxglove plant, suggesting that it provided some supernatural aid to these clever animals.

Take this month’s image, which was shot on a beautifully sunny day in July out at Sanna, looking north across the bay to the Small Isles beyond. On days such as this, with bright sunlight overhead, the sea takes on an intense range of blue hues ranging from light blues of the shallow water to the dark blues of the deeper water, all caused by the way light interacts with the seawater.
 
You see, daylight is made up of many different visible colours, ranging from reds and oranges to blues and violets, with the reds and oranges having the longest wavelengths and the blues and violets having the shortest. As water molecules are better at absorbing light with longer wavelengths, they absorb much of the red, orange, yellow and green light. The bluer colours, with shorter wavelengths, are less likely to be absorbed and so are reflected by the white sand on the seabed to give the sea its blue hues.
 
In shallow water, there are fewer water molecules to absorb the red, orange, yellow and green light, so more of it reaches the seabed to be reflected with the blues and violets and give either clear or slightly blue water. However, the deeper the water becomes, the more the reds, oranges, yellows and greens are absorbed and the deeper blue the colour of the water becomes, until you reach the point where no visible light can reach the seabed and the water becomes completely dark.
 
I find something quite captivating about the aquatic blue hues of the sea at places such as Sanna and I’m sure that this is reflected in my affinity for water and for photographing the sea and the coastline. In fact, it has been documented that our affinity for water is reflected in our near-universal attraction to the colour blue and that we associate this colour with qualities like calm, openness, depth and wisdom.

The link between the two has even been developed into something called “Blue Mind Science”, the study of aquatic environments’ health benefits that was first popularised by marine biologist Dr Wallace Nichols in his 2014 book, “Blue Mind”. Simply put, Blue Mind is a mildly meditative state that people fall into when they are near, in, under or on water and some of the physical and mental health benefits include:
​

• Triggering involuntary attention, which is essential to problem-solving and creativity.
• Increasing the levels of neurotransmitters such as dopamine, sometimes called the feel-good hormone; serotonin, also known as the happiness hormone; and oxytocin, described as the cuddle hormone; as well as decreasing cortisol, described as the stress hormone.
• Acting as a source of awe that expands a person’s compassion.
• The colour, sound and feel of water lowering the pulse rate and increasing feelings of calmness.

​So, if you’re seeing red, feeling angry, anxious, and stressed, then head to the coast for some “Blue Mindfulness”. I can highly recommend it.

​This year, the summer solstice occurs on 21 June at 10:13 am. It is the exact moment when the North Pole is at its maximum tilt towards the Sun, when the Sun reaches its highest position in the sky and when the Sun rises at its closest to north-east and sets at its closest to north-west.
 
Although the summer solstice is a precise moment in time, many people refer to it as the “Longest Day” because it is the day when the number of hours of daylight are at their maximum and the number of hours of night are at their minimum. For instance, on 21 June this year, our sunrise here on the Peninsula will be at 4:27:36 am and our sunset will be at 10:22:23 pm, giving us 17 hours, 54 minutes and 47 seconds of daylight.
 
While the summer solstice marks the astronomical start of our summer, it has traditionally been celebrated in Scotland as midsummer, the halfway point in the growing season and a time when people hoped for bountiful harvests. The celebrations began as a Celtic fire festival when bonfires would be used to bless crops and beasts. Animals would be walked around the fire in a sun-wise (clockwise) direction and torches would be lit from the main fire to then be carried around homes and fields, also in a sun-wise direction, to bless families and the crops.
 
Also, people used to gather herbs at this time, and either scatter them into the fire to complete the ritual, wear them along with flowers to ward off evil spirits, or place them under their pillows as good luck charms to manifest good dreams. Birch branches were sometimes hung above doors for protection. This was also believed to be the best time to collect honey from beehives, which is why the first full moon in June was called the “honey moon”. Unsurprisingly, this became the traditional month for weddings.
 
With the coming of Christianity, many pagan midsummer celebrations were moved to the feast of St John the Baptist on 24 June, with bonfires remaining central to them. People would light the bonfires on midsummer eve and then stay up until midnight to welcome in midsummer day. They continued to gather herbs and flowers to protect themselves from evil spirits and one of the most powerful plants was ‘chase-devil’, which is now called St John’s Wort. It was used in potions and woven into garlands because people believed that this would provide them with protection.
 
Finally, herbalists continue to use St John’s Wort in medicines to this day. It contains many chemicals that act on messengers in the brain that regulate mood and there is some strong scientific evidence that it is effective for mild to moderate depression.