“What festivals do you celebrate, Miss Fairbairn?”
Fairbairn blushed “Oh aye, Tweedale keeps a busy calendar. In the spring we’ve our Common Ridings, like most o’ the Borders folk. We saddle up, ride the old marches, and make sure the land’s still ours — or just enjoy pretending it matters as much as it used to. I rode in them every year since I was wee — my da insisted on it. It’s grand, though. Horses, pipers, banners flying… all set against the green hills and the River Tweed shining below. ”
She smiled a bit. “And since the river’s the heart o’ the valley, we fold in our Fly-Fishing Festival the same weekend. You’ve never seen half the village gathered on the riverbanks arguing about whose cast is bonniest. There’s casting competitions, fly-tying contests, salmon stalls, music… it feels like the whole valley comes alive.”