Only, they were skirts. And only sort of.
And there were lots of them.
Hundreds upon thousands of people, in full Scottish regalia, show up to celebrate the Highland Festival in Alma each year, eager to soak in all the Gaelic flavor of this occasion…from bagpipes, shortbread and tartan, to highland dancing, sheaf tossing and Celtic music.
But the highlight, I’m almost embarrassed to admit, was the sheer quantity of men. In skirts.
They were musically inclined. Tattooed. Pierced. On motorbikes. Some sporting ties, and yet others, beanies. They were young and old, and everywhere in between. Clean-cut and roughed-up.
Men. Loads of them. In skirts. With drums and daggers in socks.
You know…the “usual”.
And yes, yes, I know…they’re not skirts. As the black shirt above so aptly puts it…
”It’s a kilt! If it were a skirt, I’d be wearing something underneath”.
{Bwah ha ha ha}
Alma is known as “Scotland of the USA”. Highly appropriate seeing this is the little town that my parents have started their Vineyard church…seeing my dad is thoroughly Scottish, by heritage…and considering my maiden name is ‘Douglas’.
We fitted right in. Despite not donning an inch of tartan anywhere on our bods. Tsk tsk.
Our tartan is pretty though, let me just tell ya!
And then there were the Kyloe. Gorgeous, shaggy Highland cattle who love to “moo”.
{I promptly forgot about men in skirts}
Who knew cows were this fabulous?
Seriously.
Between the Kilts and the Kyloe, I’m thinking the Highland Festival will be on our to-do list every May.
Especially if I am rewarded with eye candy of this caliber: a smiley 10 month old {kilt-wearing} babe strutting her stuff in this amazing contraption…
{oh, be still, my beating…uterus}
