Jon Stewart Reflects on White House Correspondents’ Dinner: ‘Like Most Things in America, It Was Interrupted By Gunfire’

~Chew upon that observation.~

Soon to turn into blueberries.

I have become a fan of Darrell Kerby, former longtime mayor of Bonners Ferry and fellow ZAGS lover, and his thoughtful Facebook posts.

Always beautifully written, they offer knowledge, wisdom and helpful perspective.

Darrell Kerby

Darrell, his wife and another couple, all lifelong friends from Boundary County, are on a month-long trip which has included two weeks in Ireland and two weeks in Scotland.

I have never been to Scotland---have only seen it in the distance across the water from Ireland, but Darrell's observations make the country a tempting destination.

Hope you enjoy his thoughts below and his carefully crafted use of the language as much as I did.

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Today we make our way to Fort William for a three‑night stay at Inverlochy Castle—our final base in the Highlands before we close out Scotland with an overnight at the storied Caledonian in Edinburgh.

The great cathedrals and castles of Europe did not pass Ireland and Scotland by. Their landscapes are marked by fortresses, tower houses, and grand estates—some ruined, some restored, many still standing with a kind of stubborn dignity.

After the catastrophic defeat of the Highland clans at Culloden and the deliberate dismantling of the clan system, many strongholds were destroyed or abandoned under the authority of the Hanoverian crown.

Yet Scotland, resilient as ever, still holds hundreds of castles: some rebuilt, some reimagined, some preserved as they were found.

The country does not lack for stone, memory, or pride. Inverlochy Castle, where we will settle for the next three nights, is one of Scotland’s most atmospheric retreats.

Queen Victoria visited in 1873 and wrote, “I never saw a lovelier or more romantic spot.”

The castle sits beneath the shadow of Ben Nevis, (the highest mountain in the United Kingdom) surrounded by quiet lochs, ancient woodland, and the kind of Highland stillness that feels almost ceremonial.

Inside, it is all polished wood, soft carpets, and the gentle hush of a house that has seen centuries of private conversations. It is a place that invites reflection—whether you want it to or not.

And reflection is beginning to arrive. After nearly a month across Ireland and Scotland, we can feel the first flicker of homeward thoughts: family, responsibilities, the familiar rhythms waiting for us.

But I suspect Inverlochy will hold those thoughts at bay for a little while. Places like this have a way of occupying the mind fully, insisting that you stay present.

As we near the end of this journey, I find myself thinking about what travel actually does to us. It rearranges our sense of scale.

It reminds us that history is not an abstraction but a landscape you can walk across. It shows how cultures endure, adapt, and reinterpret themselves. And it reveals, again and again, that the world is both larger and more intimate than we imagine.

Ireland gave us warmth, story, and a sense of welcome that felt almost ancestral. Scotland has given us depth, shadow, resilience, and a kind of quiet beauty that works its way under the skin.

Together they have offered a month of learning, laughter, and the kind of shared experience that becomes part of a family’s internal mythology.

We’re not finished yet—but we can feel the arc bending toward home. For now, though, Inverlochy Castle awaits, and I have a feeling it will command our full attention.

All of the above and in the photo below spent their first night outside last night.

All of the above and below did just fine.

Since they had been in the house, I draped a sheet over the tomatoes and the geranium, but I think they would have survived the night even without the sheet.

We have a week's worth of warm weather ahead, so it feels safe to put a few things in the ground.

In addition, the tree blossoming was just beginning when we had some really cold nights. Blossoms are still appearing, and from what I can see with the apple trees (even the new one), they're loaded with blossoms.

Maybe---just maybe---we'll have a good fruit year.

That would be nice.

It's a pretty scene that will never be the same.

After the Fourth of July activities here at the Lovestead, these four poplars just south of the house and some others will be taken down.

They are dying, and sloughing away, with big strips of bark and limbs constantly falling to the ground. Also, at least one limb did some damage to our roof last December during a wind storm.

It's sad to see them go, especially with this annual springtime scene. If all goes well, the periwinkle patch may be saved and I've asked that the stumps be left, maybe in different heights for some landscaping possibilities.

Our little trooper.

Foster can't safely do a lot of things any more because of his blindness and poor hearing, but he makes the most of each day, especially at meal time.

He loves being under my feet whenever I work in the kitchen because that means there might be a handout.

He's the most polite begging dog I've ever seen as he picks Bill as his target each evening for some free bites. That, of course, is after I have fed him.

For as little as he is, that boy has an appetite.

Outside, he either goes for walks with me two or three times a day or stays tethered to a long rope which offers him space for sniffing around and safety from any potential problems.

And, of course, like any good dog, he sleeps.

I really admire this cute little guy.