A House Among the Fisherfolk

In the medieval port of Pittenweem your servant has restored him a little old house of stone. It may have its ghost; one devoutly hopes so. Would that every reader of this page might save some pleasant archaic dwelling from the bulldozer’s maw!

Standing upon sand terraces above the rocky southern shore of Fife, Pittenweem —near the mouth of the Firth of Forth—looks into the North Sea. By the sea, the burgh has lived since the Dark Ages: by fishing, smuggling, even piracy. The snug ancient harbor still shelters forty craft. My house— which cost me $280, with another $280 for the ground behind it—has its back to the harbor, and from my close the most wonderful tarry wynd (lane) in Scotland twists down the hill, among red-pantiled roofs, to the nets and lobster-pots of my fisher neighbors.

RK

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Russell Kirk

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In the medieval port of Pittenweem your servant has restored him a little old house of stone. It may have its ghost; one devoutly hopes so. Would that every reader of this page might save some pleasant archaic dwelling from the bulldozer’s maw!

Standing upon sand terraces above the rocky southern shore of Fife, Pittenweem —near the mouth of the Firth of Forth—looks into the North Sea. By the sea, the burgh has lived since the Dark Ages: by fishing, smuggling, even piracy. The snug ancient harbor still shelters forty craft. My house— which cost me $280, with another $280 for the ground behind it—has its back to the harbor, and from my close the most wonderful tarry wynd (lane) in Scotland twists down the hill, among red-pantiled roofs, to the nets and lobster-pots of my fisher neighbors.