‘Deep in the forest a call was sounding, and as often as he heard this call, mysteriously thrilling and luring, he felt compelled to turn his back upon the fire and the beaten earth around it, and to plunge into the forest, and on and on, he knew not where or why; nor did he wonder where or why, the call sounding imperiously, deep in the forest.’ – Jack London, The Call of the Wild
Often called ‘Europe’s Last Great Wilderness’, Highland Scotland holds great emotive power for those who know it well as much as for those who do not. We have a strong impression of the place: its mountains, lochs, coasts, the bothies. One of the most iconic images of the Highlands must be that postcard scene of a sloping hillside above a sea loch, on which is perched a small, whitewashed cottage with a red tin roof, seen from behind as if approaching home. It conjures the twin (mutually exclusive) emotions of wilderness and domesticity. ‘Golly’, the spirit says, ‘isn’t that a wild and desolate place’, adding: ‘Wouldn’t it be something to live there, in that wee house’. (Or, more probably, to go on holiday there for a bit.)

Everything is wild these days. If you need to buy something to do with gardening, the natural world or the outdoors, chances are that the company selling it will be a Wildthis or Wildthat. Just search for a local florist on Google and the results will confirm the spread of the contagion. But flowers, grown in captivity – that is ...