Story
Ocean of Spaces
Today, the sky above Luskentyre reminds me of Morag’s byre—white clouds drifting, then bunching like fleeces teased across a blue backdrop. Her little tin structure stood firm on the machair for years, rusted and weathered, layered with stories and the practical beauty of crofting life. That was fifteen years ago.
Of all Harris’s hand-built shelters, Morag Mackinnon’s rusty-red byre at Croft No.1 was my favourite. It stood up to countless Atlantic gales until one finally claimed it. Inside, cows were milked, lambs were born and sheltered, sheepdogs dozed after long days, and in shearing season, the roof bulged with wool. A byre of memories—humble, hard-used, and full of life.
Morag is gone now too, resting in peace near the place she loved best. Walking past today, I’m struck by how quickly things have changed. Her croft, once alive with sheep and sea air, now lines up with new holiday homes—hard to imagine it would ever be that way. Once, it was the quiet heart of coastal crofting.
Still, I picture her at the gate, waving, smiling. The byre may be gone—but the memories hold fast. Just like she always did.
PRINT RATIO 3:1 CAMERA – FUJI 6×17 PANORAMIC / 105mm FUJINON
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