“What do you mean, Peg?” Annie asked.
“Don’t you get it?” Peggy laughed. “We’re looking for the Gunns and the Roses. Get it? Gunns and Roses—like the rock band, Guns N’ Roses!”
“Oh, good grief!” Alice interjected. She waved a hand at the intersection they were approaching. “This is where we turn right.”
The women followed her around the corner. “How far until we turn left?” Peggy asked Alice, still snickering.
Alice squinted at the map in the bright sunlight, and then shaded it with her free hand. “Looks like there’s an historic Highlands encampment where we need to turn. It’s after the tents thin out.” The ladies passed a Clan Campbell Society tent, and then a beer tent. As they continued on their way, the tents and small buildings were further apart, and the trees closer together.
“There’s the encampment!” Annie exclaimed, anxious to hear what Wally and Ian had discovered. Just ahead, in the shade of several lush trees, was a makeshift tent—tan canvas material stretched over six poles, with only the two middle posts tall enough for a man to stand upright underneath the covering. In the corner stood a barrel—used as a table—and a rocking chair was nearby.
Outside the tent several men were gathered in a variety of dress representing different periods of Scottish history and positions in society. A man in red regimental coat and a Black Watch tartan kilt stood ramrod straight, a pipe dangling beneath his blond-gray mustache. As the women passed, he removed the pipe and acknowledged them with a bow. Only the twinkle in his eyes gave a hint as to his personality.
The Stony Point friends all nodded to him, directing a quick smile his way. Emily was more interested in another Highlander in shades of khaki and moss green, standing at ease with an old rifle at his side. Though his clothing may have been considered boring by a young girl, his hat was the object of her attention.
“Mom, is that a beanie he’s wearing?” Emily had turned her face away from the man to ask.
Peggy nonchalantly ran her gaze over the entire encampment but made sure to get a look at the man her daughter indicated, especially the green hat festooned with a jaunty red feather. Then she bent close to answer, “It’s called a tam-o’-shanter.”
Emily grinned at the name. “That’s a funny name! Why’s it called that? I don’t think Daddy would wear a hat with such a silly name.”
“You’re right, Em,” Peggy said, chuckling. “He wouldn’t wear that any more than he’d wear a kilt without pants.” She paused to think about her daughter’s question. “Um, I don’t know why it’s called a tam-o’-shanter.” She turned to Alice and Annie. “Do either of you know?” she asked.
Annie shrugged and shook her head, but Alice’s face lit up. “I do, Em! Blame it on Robert Burns. More than two hundred years ago, he wrote a poem with a character named Tam. The hat’s named for the poem, Tam o’ Shanter.”
Emily considered the information Alice had just shared. Then she told them with a giggle, “If Mr. Mayor ever gets a border collie like Kyla’s family, he should name it Tam.”
“That’s a brilliant idea, Em!” Annie told her. “Tartan and Tam have a nice ring to them.” Seeing a pathway leading to the left, she turned to Alice. “Is this where we turn?”
Alice looked ahead of her to see if there were larger intersections close. Not seeing any, she answered, “This should be it. I guess the only way to find out is to take it and see where it leads.” They turned onto the pathway, which wandered between two copses, providing them with a cooler walk in the shade for a while.
Before long, the trees gave way to a wide expanse of fields, perfect for athletic competitions. The first cordoned area was marked “Field A” in thick red letters. “Here we are. Good signage sure helps,” Alice said as she started looking around for the men.
Peggy craned her neck to look over the spectators at the action on the field. Seeing a high horizontal pole set between two upright posts—like the ones used for pole vaulting—in the middle of the field, she smiled. “Looks like Wally got his wish about seeing some of the Sheaf Toss competition.”
“Are you sure?” asked Alice. “They use those poles for the weight throws too.” She peered at the bar, noting its height. “Hmm, it’s set pretty high. It probably is for the Sheaf Toss. The weight throws are quite a bit heavier than the sheaves. I doubt anyone could throw them so high.”
As if to prove her right, the next athlete strode up to the apparatus with a pitchfork in one hand and a stuffed burlap bag in the other. Glancing up at the horizontal bar, he positioned himself between the two upright posts. Satisfied with his placement, he tossed the bag onto the ground.