The journey to South Uist is one that always brings mixed emotions for me. Riven by uncertainty over where a ferry will sail from, the constant fear of cancellation, unscheduled diversions and last-minute overnight stays makes Uist an Island you have to want to get to.

Yet on the other side of the Minch, and the moment the car deck alarm sounds to let you know the link ramps are being lowered to let you off the ferry, an instant air of calmness suddenly falls over me and it makes all that uncertainty fade away (‘til the next time of course).

The space and freedom of South Uist is something I always took for granted as a kid. The huge skies and vastness of empty space that now have this magical, peaceful feel were always there. As a kid I didn’t need to think about it – it was just where I lived and played. It is a place where I was completely unburdened by the realities of the grown-up world, and where everything just felt safe and easy. Growing up on a working croft there really was always something to do. I don’t think I or any of my siblings ever saw it as work, it was just life, and a good life at that.

The byre to be mucked out, cows to be fed and milked; sheep to be dosed, shorn, dosed again, buried – Jeremy Clarkson is right – sheep just want to die. Seaweed to be gathered to fertilise the machair soils; potatoes to be planted and eventually harvested (you can keep your jersey royals – those that grow on the machairs of Uist are simply the best in the world). All of that before you got to the cutting, drying and lifting of peat, the........

© Herald Scotland