The Ring of Joy

Auchallater, Braemar, 1962 — Late Afternoon. Catherine Smith turned the silver ring slowly in her palm, its surface catching the soft light of the low afternoon sun. It had once been a spoon, now reshaped, awarded for her first-place Cherry Peel cake at the WRI, a victory earned after long hours of measuring, stirring, and testing each fold of sugar and fruit. She traced the curve of the ring and felt the memory of flour-dusted mornings, the oven’s warmth, and the quiet satisfaction of perfect crumb. Happiness, she realised, is not fleeting applause but the deep glow of work well done, the joy that comes from giving your best to something and seeing it flourish. Sliding the ring onto her finger, she felt that satisfaction settle warmly against her skin, a permanent reminder that effort and care can bring a quiet, enduring delight. A true story.