Back in November 2017, I sent my dad a message.
“Where would you live if you could live anywhere?” I asked.
“Kintyre,” he replied, “Nobody ever thinks of Kintyre.”
Now, every morning when I wake up and look out of the window, I see the ocean, which is never the same twice. Sometimes, sea mist rolls in and settles on our little village, obscuring the view. On clear days, I can see the island of Cara three miles out, its craggy mull facing south. People say that Cara has a brownie living on it – but that’s for another post.
Gigha lies a bit further north, with its secluded gardens, art gallery, post office and wind farm. If you wander down to the beach not far away, you can watch the little ro-ro ferry bobbing its way back and forth between Tayinloan and Ardminish. When the sea gets rough, Gigha’s inhabitants are left trapped on their six-mile-long island, reduced to a hopeful line of twinkling lights in the darkness of night.
Sometimes the ocean in front of me sits calm as a pane of glass, reflecting the sky like a mirror. When the wind kicks up, things get choppier and early on bright summer mornings, joyful little sailboats appear not far off shore. When the westerly gales roll in over the winter, the water turns a deep shade of green and covers the sand completely.
So, here we are, living out on the edge of the world. And it’s beautiful.