Medicine bottles

Dead sturdy, they are.

These medicine bottles were buried deep down in the ground along the edge of The Pentlands for years and years, turnips pushing them asunder. Sheep shitting atop.

A plough turned them over one day in a park on Goodtrees Farm ( nr Balerno, Midlothian).

I rescued them. Cleaned 'em out, scrubbed 'em up. Sat 'em on a counter in The Borders for a bit.

Then off they went across the Atlantic to the Canadian Prairies. Then they moved with me to Toronto for umpteen years. The Big Smoke (our pet name for Toronto).

Fast forward to 2016 ... that's them sat on the chimneypiece in a cabin on a rock in the middle of the Pacific!

Haven't they had a rare life?!

I must boil them up in the stock pot one of these days ... see what they render after all these years. (Altered States). eeek!