Winter - Beauty and Challenge Entwined

The farm has been transformed this week. Snow has draped itself over the hills like a thick, white cloak, and sunlight glints on every drifting peak. Freezing fog curls through the valley below like smoke, and the wind carries a sharpness that bites at cheeks and fingers. Each breath hangs in the air, white and fleeting, a reminder of the wildness outside.

“Sanctuary in the Storm”

Inside the barns, life moves differently. The Ouessant males huddle in their field arks, their small bodies puffed against the cold. Castlemilks and Kunekunes settle into their cosy shelters, the pigs tails flicking and ears twitching as they find the warmest spots amongst the straw. Daisy the donkey nudges Hobby, our gentle Eriskay pony, and they stand side by side in their rugs, as if sharing a quiet secret against the storm. Each barn is a haven, a pause from the white wilderness outside, a place where warmth, safety, and calm are offered freely.

Two days before the snow arrived, we stocked up on hay, feed, and water, preparing for the storm we knew was coming and the prospect of being cut off. Every corner was stocked. Buckets were filled. Bales were stacked high. Still, winter care is never done. Each day begins before sunrise, boots crunching through drifts, hands busy topping up water, moving hay, and offering warm sugar beet and coarse mix. Hours pass, marked by the soft movements in straw, the squeak of gate latches, and the occasional low bray or bleat. Our flocks are small, every animal known, every personality remembered, and that intimacy shapes everything we do.

Outside, the land is hushed and dazzling. Larger flocks on neighbouring farms graze fully exposed, trusting only instinct and resilience. Here, however, planning and attention change the story of winter. Shelter, warmth, careful feeding — these are the threads we weave to meet the season, not soften it.

“Frosted Flocks”

The snow deepens. Wind drifts curl into hidden hollows. On the farm, animals move cautiously across the yard, pressing close to one another for warmth. A sheep sniffs the crisp air, pauses, then turns back toward the ark. Hobby flicks his tail against a dusting of snow, Daisy nuzzles at him in reply. Frost catches on branches and fences, glinting like silver in the morning light. Inside the farmhouse, the kitchen offers its own quiet magic: bread rises, pies cool, the scent of warmth carrying through the house. Small moments, repeated day after day, become a rhythm — a pattern of care, attention, and presence.

Even the storm has its own story. Snowflakes drift in spirals, then in gusts, then settle in thick blankets. The wind hums through the barn eaves. Every night, we walk the pens and paddocks, checking, topping up, listening. Even when the world is white and silent, life goes on — breathing, moving, eating, resting. Each animal carries its own quiet strength. Each act of care shapes the rhythm of the day.

And in the midst of it all, the farm teaches patience and attention. Every fibre we gather, every yarn we spin, every garment we craft begins here — in the deliberate care of the flock, the rhythm of the seasons, the slow unfolding of winter. Winter is dazzling, exacting, alive. It is beauty and challenge entwined. Every flake of snow, every warm barn, every careful hand feeding a goat or sheep becomes part of the story we are privileged to live — and to weave into everything we make.

“Joy in the Drift” with Pyrenean Erik

As the storm passes and the sun catches on frost-laden hills, the farm exhales. The animals rest, the kitchen is warm, and the snow glitters like spun sugar. Winter leaves its mark, not just on the land, but on the hands that tend it, the animals that rely on it, and the stories that flow from every deliberate, careful moment.

And here, in the Highlands, we carry it forward — in fibres, in yarns, in garments, and in the quiet, steady rhythm of life made with attention, patience, and love.

Stay Safe and Warm

Polly x