Power, Memory, and Music in a Wooden Hut

On the edges of Scotland’s low hills, where rain lingers and the air smells faintly of woodsmoke, lies a settlement called Carbeth. The cabins here were first built in the 1930s as a retreat for Glasgow’s working class. Life in this woodland corner has always moved to a slower rhythm—no mains electricity, no running water, only the persistence of nature and human effort.

Among these cabins stands one that carries the story of two brothers. It once belonged to Alastair, who spent countless weekends extending its walls and shaping its rooms. When he passed suddenly in 2017, the hut fell silent, left in the care of his elder brother Alex, a musician. For years, Alex could not bring himself to step inside. He described the sight as “a rotten tooth in a beautiful smile”—walls sagging, rafters full of wasp nests, ashtrays frozen in time.

Only during the COVID lockdown did he finally decide to face the silence and begin the restoration. What followed was more than renovation: it was a reanimation of memory—powered, unexpectedly, by a set of Jackery portable generators.

The First Spark

Alex’s first purchase was the Jackery Explorer 1000. For a hut without electricity, it was more than a machine—it was a companion. Suddenly, he could charge his tools, boil water for tea, and cast light into the gloom.

That first warm mug of tea amid sawdust and broken beams felt like a new beginning. “It was as if a support system had opened up,” Alex recalls. “Things that once felt exhausting suddenly became possible.”

He paired the Jackery Explorer 2000 Pro with two Jackery SolarSaga 200W panels, keeping them on-site so the Portable Power Station stayed charged. For evenings, the Explorer 500 powered the bedroom TV, while the Explorer 1000 supported his musical activities.

From Music to Woodwork

The restoration was no small task: walls were torn down, floors ripped up, and the roof sealed against Highland weather. At first, every nail felt like a test of Alex’s inexperience. But little by little, he poured the intensity he once gave to songwriting into woodworking—sanding timber, reclaiming old planks, fitting stained glass.

When the Explorer 2000 Pro arrived, it transformed his efforts. He could now power an electric log splitter, essential for heating the stove through long Scottish winters. “I’ve got back pain, so swinging an axe was brutal,” he says. “Now, in three days, I can split enough wood for months, and even share with neighbours.”

Most of all, it changed the way he prepared for winter: with an electric log splitter connected to Jackery, what once took forty-five minutes of axe work for twelve logs could now be done in fifteen minutes for thirty-six logs. In just a few days, he could split three days’ worth of firewood—over the course of a winter, more than 400 logs.

Each repair also felt like a conversation with his late brother. As Alex stripped back layers of veneer, he saw Alastair’s hand in every beam: weekends spent hauling supplies by bus, the care poured into each corner.

“He is with me when I’m there,” Alex says quietly. “Laughing at me, drinking with me, holding the ladder.”

Inside the hut, Alex created a small museum of Alastair’s belongings beside his music area. A sign outside still reads “Alastair’s Hut.” To Alex, every wall he rebuilds is a continuation of his brother’s vision—not a replacement.

A New Model of Living

Alex once toured full-time with his band, Trembling Bells. As the group evolved, their paths often diverged. Yet Carbeth—and the steady presence of Jackery—kept their rhythm aligned, offering a shared space to reconnect.

His former bandmate Lavinia also owns a cabin there. Shared weekends of work and evenings by the fire rekindled their bond. Today they play together again—songs carried on portable power, echoing through the stillness of the woods.

With Jackery, the cabin has even become a kind of studio. Alex powers amplifiers, microphones, and recording gear, blending birdsong, the thrum of wind, and the resonance of wood-panelled walls into his music. “It’s like the environment itself has become a canvas,” he says.

Now, Alex spends nearly every weekend at Carbeth, arriving Friday and leaving Monday. Mornings begin with coffee in a stained-glass alcove; days shift between gardening, repairs, and writing; nights gather friends around a bonfire, guitars in hand.

The hut has become a synthesis of what Alex values most—creativity, community, and continuity. “It’s a living expression of my 42 years,” he says. “It’s social, it’s personal, and it feels like me.”

At the centre of this rhythm sits Jackery—solar-fed, emission-free, portable, and silent. It has enabled refrigeration, Wi-Fi, and light through winters once thought impossible to endure.

Looking Ahead

Carbeth itself remains a collective experiment, guided by community ideals of affordability and mutual care. In that way, Jackery fits seamlessly: low-maintenance power aligned with sustainability and shared use.

Alex often lends his units to neighbours, and has even bought some for friends and family. In Carbeth, the Jackerys have become symbols not only of convenience, but of connection.

As for the future, Alex resists making plans. “It’s like Leonard Cohen said,” he muses, “‘the path is wide and without direction.’ The hut will evolve as I do.”

What began in grief has become a practice of renewal. Jackery has not only lit the hut, but also lit a way forward—for Alex’s creativity, his community, and his family.

The cabin is no longer a derelict structure but a handcrafted home, where memory and music weave together. And in the quiet glow of solar power, Alex has found a rhythm that feels, at last, like living.