Last year I was still the newcomer, bracing myself against every gale. This winter, the rhythms of Rum — and a few stubborn snowdrops — have begun to feel like mine, says Elle Duffy.

There are snowdrops in the garden.

Just a few, mind you. They’re sitting next to my gas bottle, bundled together beneath the kitchen windowsill, sheltering from the rain. I’m sure the sight of snowdrops isn’t very fascinating to everybody. They bloom every year. But before now, before living more than a stone’s throw away from busy Argyle Street, I’d never noticed them. Never slowed down enough to take sight of the grass, never mind a few fresh flowers pushing their way through it. For me, the sight of these tiny flowers mark the beginning of the end of my second winter living on the Isle of Rum.

I remember writing something similar last year, marvelling at the ease at which I navigated my first few months living here. It was relatively simple, bar a few storms. The ferry was touch and go, our shopping stuck on the mainland every so often, and our Christmas dinner was very nearly a raid of the freezer for a festive chicken nuggets and chips.

There was a novelty back then. Everything felt new: a few days without a boat had us........

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