I can see the mountains from my bedroom window.
In the warmer months, the hillside is green, lush with free-flowing grass and dotted with bruising heather bushes. Red deer graze lazily, and the herons nest in the tall trees.
There’s a waterfall that slices through the middle of the hills, delivering both the island’s water supply and electricity source in one fluid downpour. Out here on the Isle of Rum, water is never in short supply.
This island sits in Scotland’s Inner Hebrides, a cluster of islands to the country’s west. Fewer than 50 people currently live here, and I’m one of them.
I didn’t grow up on Rum, and before I moved here two years ago, I never would have predicted that this would be my life. Now, though, I don’t plan to leave.
I fell in love with Rum the first time I visited
Elle Duffy
When I was younger, I yearned for a life in the city, a job in broadcast journalism, and an apartment with a partner and a cat.
As of 2024, all of those dreams had come true. I’d been living and working in Glasgow, cutting my teeth on televised reports and producing my own evening news programs. Every day, I went home to my husband and my fluffy black cat, Midna.
But one day, when I was sent out on a work assignment to film on a tiny island out west, I returned home with a Rum-shaped hole in my heart.
In the months that followed, the island stayed there in the back of my brain. When I saw a newspaper story advertising an opportunity for a couple to run the island’s hostel, my “what-ifs” grew much louder.
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My husband hadn’t touched Rum soil before, but it didn’t take much to get him on board: He’d seen my photos and was similarly enamored.
On a random Tuesday afternoon, we learned that the job was ours. In just a few short weeks, our flat was packed up, our cat in her carrier, and we boarded the ferry, not entirely sure what awaited us on the other side.
We had to adjust to island life at first
Life on Rum forced us to change, and quickly. We were used to the convenience and ease of living in a major city with a population of about 650,000, but out here, life was completely different.
Our days were suddenly dictated by the weather in a way they never had been before. A strong gust of wind in the wrong direction can make the ferries stop running, leaving us cut off from the mainland for days at a time.
Food deliveries, doctor’s appointments, visitors, and our ability to run the hostel smoothly are weather-dependent — here, everything hinges on whether the island’s only ferry runs.
Ahead of our first winter on Rum, we spent tons of time making sure our cupboards and freezers were well stocked. We bought enough teabags that we’re still working through them, almost two years later.
No matter how much planning we did, though, we learned that things could always go awry. With time, we figured out how to slow down and grow more flexible.
Now, I feel I belong here, largely thanks to my community
Elle Duffy
Everyone on the Isle of Rum lives within the village of Kinloch, a one-mile stretch that holds our only shop, the primary school, visitor accommodations, and our homes.
Living in such close quarters means it’s impossible to be invisible. We were scared at first: What if our new neighbors didn’t like us, or what if we didn’t like them?
When we first arrived, though, we were put at ease. The entire island turned up to help us unload our moving van in the two short hours between ferries.
Making friends was surprisingly straightforward. When you see the same faces every day, there’s a natural familiarity. The island comes together regularly for community meals, seasonal parties, and social nights in the village square.
It was because of this tight-knit community that we felt ready to have our first child. There are only a handful of children in the primary school here at the moment, and when we moved, it had been several years since the last baby was born.
So, when I became pregnant a few months after moving, and gave birth to our son, Cailean, almost a year to the day since we stepped off the ferry on that blustery October day, it felt special.
He’s nearing his first birthday now, and we’re nearing our second anniversary living on this wild island. There have even been more children born on the island since then, and our baby group is in full swing.
Of course, island life isn’t a perfect permanent holiday. It can be tough: The weather can be brutal, and not having on-island healthcare can be inconvenient.
Sometimes I miss the spontaneity of living in a city — but I don’t miss the feeling of constantly being in a hurry.
Two years ago, I thought moving to Rum meant giving things up. Really, though, this Scottish island has given more to me than I ever imagined it could.