In Scotland’s wild highlands,

Where dark rivers twist and bend,

Above the kirkyard of Balquhidder,

We visited Kirkton Glen. 

I was there to visit the graves,

Of ancestors long since gone,

To see the land from which they came,

To this place I’d felt drawn. 

It’s known to be a “thin spot”,

And has been since ancient times,

A meeting place of Heaven and Earth,

Recorded in Gaelic rhymes. 

I’d heard the stories of the ghost,

Who haunts the mists and fog,

On the hillsides above this kirkyard,

A Highlander and his dog. 

But we laughed nervously, about such notions,

And began the upward climb,

There was so much we hoped to see,

And we were so short of time.

We marveled at the woodlands,

Dark pines and heavy moss,

The heather all about us,

A place where one could be quickly lost. 

The land seemed so foreign,

But magical to me,

I felt I’d not be surprised,

At what ever I might see. 

So upward we pressed onward,

Along the dark and muffled trail,

My mind had drifted far,

From ghostly dogs and the spectral Gael. 

When up ahead on the mountain,

Though hiking steadily down,

Is that a pale old gentleman?

Is he preceded by a hound?

He drew near to us,

Though he paid us no mind,

I said to him, “Excuse me, sir,

If you would be so kind.

I have a silly question,

I would ask of you my friend,

Would you by chance happen to be,

The ghost of Kirkton Glen?”

He looked at me in startlement,

And quickly he replied,

“Why no, sir! I’m not,

I’m certain I haven’t died.”

“How would ye know o’the ghaist?” he asked,

“Tis a local legend told,

To frighten wee bairns about the fire,

When night draws nigh and cold.”

I told him of my interests,

Of traditions preserved by kin,

I discussed the local kirkyard,

And my ancestors buried within. 

I told him of Kentucky,

My mountain home across the sea,

And all my folks who’d settled there,

From the first right down to me. 

He said he was the caretaker,

Of the church down below,

And that we must sign the registry,

After our hike, before we go. 

We bade him “good day”,

On to Creag an Tuirc we did go,

And gazed on the stones in the kirkyard,

Some four hundred feet below. 

And I thought of the old caretaker, 

We had met that day,

“I’m not a ghost.”

Is exactly what a ghost might say. 

1. Kirkyard- A Scottish term for a church yard, especially one used for burials. 
2. Balquhidder- A village in the southwest region of the Scottish Highlands near Callander in the Trossachs area. It is known for being the burial place of Rob Roy MacGregor. Pronounced like “Bal Kwitter”; at least in my east Kentucky vernacular. 
3. “Thin spot”- In some Celtic Gaelic traditions a “thin spot” is an area where the veil between the spiritual realm and the earthly world is especially thin. Some traditions hold that the distance between the earthly and spiritual is three feet while places known as “thin spots” are thought to be thinner. 
4. Ghaist- One of many Scottish ways of saying “ghost”. I was tempted to say “ghosty” but this has alternative meanings I preferred not to get into. 
5. Creag an Tuirc- Pronounced something like “Crayg un Toork” and meaning “Rock of the Boar”, Creag an Turic was the rallying place of Clan MacLauren.