On the Isle of Skye sheep are immensely clever. Instead of complaining about the constant mist or downpour, they stand quite comfy in the lee of vertical rocks where they enjoy the view of rolling hills and pasture, dreaming of lunch. They softly gaze toward the distant Cullin peaks which remain forever mysterious, hidden in fog.
I traveled to the Sleat Peninsula in southern Skye two years ago, determined to learn more about the rocky path my grandfather’s family had taken to arrive in America in the 19th century. Unfortunately, handwritten archives and artifacts lodged at the Armadale Castle, a home of Clan Donald, gave few clues to Robin Macdonald’s grandparents’ journeys.
Instead it was on those rocky lanes of Skye, in the faces of the ubiquitous sheep, that I found essential connections to my family history and to my deepest sense of belonging. In my experience, when you touch a piece of yourself that transcends centuries, topography, genetic matching, you know you are touching one of your ThroughLines. It’s not a question, it’s a truth you can count on.
