Overwhelmed by his presence in the house, I found my perspective on our relationship starting to shift. I wanted to reach out and feel the weight of the speckled eggs in my palm. There are plenty of cliffs to roll off in Shetland, a group of wind-scalped islands where the North Atlantic and the North Sea crash together, as well as other wild delights, like the precious mosses and orchids threading through the craggy peat bogs.
Just over the hill, a low orange glow served as a reminder of a very different island treasure: Sullom Voe, one of the largest oil and gas terminals in Europe. I stood by the trestle table staring at the strangely static greenish-blue eggs. A closer look revealed they were not what they seemed; in fact, they were not eggs at all. They were ceramic plates so cleverly designed that the slightly concave base appeared to curve outwards. It took a moment to re-adjust my focus. The plates were among a small exhibition celebrating the life of my father, the acclaimed potter and proud Shetlander Bill Brown.
It was February and he had died a few weeks before. While the wind and ice-edged rain slapped the hills around us, safely inside we listened to his favourite fiddle music, shared funny stories and looked at photographs of the man we all knew in different ways. I learned a lot about Dad that day as artists, neighbours, childhood friends and family members mourned his loss.
I had travelled from Devon with my partner, Josh, and four-year-old daughter, Esme, to attend the funeral. Our physical distance matched an emotional one. My parents split when I was very young and my dad and I were never close. I was raised by my mother in Edinburgh and saw Dad only on weekends and some school holidays. Later, I moved abroad and saw him just once a year.
There was affection and a distant sense of pride, but no strong sense of attachment. After retiring, he built a house and a pottery on the land once worked by his forebears. He reforested the slopes of the croft with native trees — hazel and blackthorn — and hacked a tattie patch out of the dull green hillside.
