What Spending a Winter During Lockdown on a Remote Scottish Island Has Taught Me

Since spring 2018 I have been living and working on a beautiful, remote island off the Westcoast of Scotland. It is a unique place to live. During the summer, thousands of people come to visit, attracted by the island’s unique history, wildlife and beaches. On a calm summer’s day the scenery is reminiscent of the Caribbean due to its white,sandy beaches and turquoise water. There are many days where I feel so blessed to live here that my heart jumps with joy.

The island is about 1 mile wide and 3 miles long. To reach the mainIand, you have to take a 10 minute ferry to get to the larger, adjacent island, from where you can catch a bus for 1h10 min to get to the main ferry port, from where you can catch another ferry for 1h. There is a permanent population of about 150 people. There is 1 small grocery shop on the island.

Probably the question every islander hears the most is: ” And what do you do in the winter?” Well, my honest answer is: “I try to get away.”

Winter weather here is relentless. It is not uncommon to experience rain and storm (ranging from 35-80 mph) for weeks without a break. You can see the effect of the weather on the face of many islanders. Due to the heavy storms, the ferries are cancelled A LOT. The concept of ‘making plans to get away’ very quickly gets exposed for what it is as soon as October starts: a joke.

My partner and I share a one bedroom flat in a house built in the early 19th century. Is it interesting for you to read about the lack of insulation in old buildings and the struggles of sharing a very small space during an seemingly endless period of seriously bad weather? Probably not, so I’ll skip that bit. Anyway: I usually choose to spend a big chunk of the winter away, simply because I am not Scottish and hard enough to face what a winter here throws at me (yes, this can be taken literally at times – you become used to the sight of various objects not obeing to the rules of gravity anymore). But there are also some things that spending a whole winter here during lockdown has taught me.

The causes of suffering according to buddhist teachings are attachment, aversion and ignorance. These apply to island living in the winter.

1. Attachement: Dreaming of things, that aren’t here. Cinemas. Theatres. Cafes. Museums. The possibility to arrange an appointment on the mainland and being more than 50% sure you can turn up.
2. Aversion: Rejecting what is: Rain, rain, and more rain.
3. Ignorance: Not seeing the beauty of what is right in front of you, because you think you have seen it in exactly the same way for months. The grey, the rain, the storm, the seeming monotony of things. The treeless, deserted landscape, flooded fields, 50 sheep for every human you meet.

Remedies

Curiosity. Remembering that no day is the same as the day before: the shapes of the waves change every day, depending on wind direction, swell, the tide… There’s not a pattern that is repeated by the clouds. So many shades of grey. Hills on the neighbour island covered in snow, snowfree, visible or hidden behind thick fog.

Discovering a young atlantic grey seal on a walk, looking you straight into the eye. The kindness of your partner. Seeing the first sun ray in 3 weeks fighting its way through a cloud. Watching birds at the birdfeeder. The first snowdrops.

Patience. Spending several hours putting the panels of a polytunnel back up after a storm, even if you have just repaired it 2 weeks ago in the same manner, and in the knowledge it won’t be the last time.

Acceptance. Looking forward to a trip to the mainland. Once again, not being able to go because of ferry disruptions. Not being able to get in touch with people because the internet is off again. The relief that comes with letting go of resentment, wishing things to be different as they are. What is here for me to discover, right where I am?

Examining Views. These are problematic when there is an inner ‘must’ involved:

‘ I can’t stand this anymore.’

‘I must get away from here.’ ‘I must see the sun again.’

Fear accompanies the ‘must’.

If I let go of the ‘must’, possibilities open up. Self righteousness has a saturating effect on body and mind. When it is replaced by acceptance, patience and gratitude, body and mind soften and become receptible to what this moment offers.

When the tourists return in the summer, they tell me on calm sunny days, that this is the most beautiful place on earth and how lucky I am to live here. As usual, I smile and respond: ‘ Yes, it is rather special.’