In Inverness-Shire, Scotland, near a tiny hamlet named Blarmafoldach, stands a stone cairn erected 200 years ago to commemorate a battle between the Macdonalds and the Campbells. Today, as then, a passing Macdonald adds a stone to honor his clan’s victory, but a Campbell dourly knocks one off.
Knowing I was to visit that part of Scotland recently, my friend Jean Macdonald Porter gave me a small stone from her rock garden, and asked me to add it to the cairn and to bring back a photo of it. The road out to the cairn was wild and rough, but I took along as companion and photographer a friendly girl from my hotel.
At the cairn she snapped the picture as I placed my stone on it. Then she handed me the camera. “Now,” she said, “to borrow your vernacular, I’ve got news for you. My mother was a Campbell!” And triumphantly she knocked off the topmost stone.
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