We don’t have a star or an angel at the top of our tree. Instead, it’s a multicoloured dreamcatcher, crocheted with tiny stitches and three dangling feet that rest atop the branches. When I first visited my son in the NICU, around ten hours after he was delivered via emergency c-section, it was in his incubator, clutched in his tiny fist. “It’s to give him something to touch other than his wires”, the nurses explained to me. Not that it stopped him, mind you. He found the cables much more entertaining.
It might be an odd thing to put at the top of a Christmas tree, but it actually forms part of a tradition that has made decorating so much more special. With a name that sounds a little too rude to put in print, it comes from my husband’s side of the family - each year, someone picks something to take the top spot of the tree.
It could be something completely random, like the cheese and crackers soft toy that I chose three years ago, or it could be something special, like the ceramic heart chosen in 2021 in the same shade of blue as my engagement ring. It means that every year, when we haul the box of decorations from the top of the cupboard, it’s a trip down memory lane. And the other baubles represent a bit of us, too.
Read more Elle
- It's simple. If we want rural Scotland to have a future, we need families
- Festive planning by ferry: the realities of an island Christmas
- As a new mum, my Scottish island does what it always does: It shows up for us
- Motherhood hit harder than I expected - but something unexpected has saved me
I can’t remember ever buying a matching set of decorations. Instead, it’s a mismatch of single ornaments from a bunch of different shops. Some are chipped, some don’t have hooks and are hung precariously by a bit of string. There’s no real theme to them, and to me, they are everything.
This is our eighth Christmas together. Eight years of clinking our glasses, eight years of searching for the perfect gift, eight years of tree toppers. And it’s our second on the island that we now call home. It means, of course, that we are once again spending Christmas away from our families on the mainland. And there’s a quiet sadness in that. Choosing to leave the island at this time of year is never a small decision. It involves a near constant refresh of the ferry app, contingency plans for weather that may or may not cooperate, and the knowledge that once you go, getting back isn’t guaranteed.
Christmas becomes something logistical as well as emotional, and sometimes, it can be a little much at this time of year, even if it means foregoing the warmth of a family meal or crisp morning walk. And so instead, we carry with us the traditions of our childhoods, even when we can’t carry ourselves home for them - our alternating tree toppers for one, and my Christmas morning bowl of cereal for another (somehow, calling them ‘Rice Christmasses’ is enough to make them a holiday staple).
This year, though, there’s also a sense of relief in staying put. With countless mainland trips for scans and our difficult hospital stay in November with more uncertainty than we’d bargained for, the idea of long journeys and packed schedules feels overwhelming. Here, the pace is gentler. Our childhood traditions live quietly alongside the new ones we’re forming on Rum, and being here at Christmas no longer feels like simply missing out.
Read more
- I spent a year watching Scottish theatre - here are my highlights
- There's only one thing wrong with Christmas - but we could fix it if we wanted
- This brash panto drifts a bit too near the knuckle to be entirely family friendly
- 'Colour everywhere you look' 40-year retrospective of New Glasgow Boy is 'beguiling'
Our island has filled in the gaps in ways I didn’t anticipate when we first moved. People notice when you’re not going away. They ask where you’ll be on the day, what your plans are, what will be on your table. And this year, that tenderness is amplified by the fact that it’s our first Christmas as a family of three. Our son won’t remember any of it, of course, but we will.
We know that we’ll likely begin our Christmas day at the 4am feed - perhaps we’ll clink together a mug of tea in the wee hours, and decide if it’s worth going back to bed or not. We’ll remember how strange and wonderful it felt to wake up knowing that Christmas morning was no longer about us alone. We’ve wrapped packets of wipes, a new play gym, and clothes knowing full well that it’ll be up to us to unwrap them and give our exaggerated reactions to a newborn who has no clue what’s going on.
I think about how different this Christmas could have been. About the uncertainty that defined so much of this year, and how fragile everything felt for a moment. I think that’s why the dreamcatcher feels so right at the top of the tree this year. We may be far from the families we grew up in, but we are not alone. This island, with its small population but big heart, has become part of our story. And I feel so privileged to have been able to share it with you this year. I hope you all had the most wonderful Christmas, surrounded by everyone and everything you love.
Elle Duffy lives and works on Rum
Share