When I married a half-Scottish man, I didn’t just gain a husband—I inherited a whole new homeland. A place where the hills roll like a Highlander’s accent, the lochs stretch deeper than my weekend Netflix binges, and the weather… well, let’s just say Scotland keeps you humble.

I now feel completely at home in Scotland. And by “home,” I mean I’ve learned to carry a raincoat, umbrella, sunglasses, thermal socks, and sunscreen—all in one handbag. Because if there’s one thing Scotland loves more than whisky, it’s delivering all four seasons before lunch.

Let me paint the picture. You wake up to a misty, romantic fog that whispers poetry through the glens. You step outside, and the wind slaps you in the face like a disapproving aunt. Ten minutes later, the sun peeks out like, “Just kidding!” and bathes the hills in golden light. And then—hail. Just... hail. Because Scotland said so.

And yet—and yet!—despite its weather having the temperament of a toddler mid-tantrum, this country has wrapped itself around my heart like a wooly tartan blanket.

The scenery is jaw-droppingly beautiful. We’re talking castles perched on cliffs like they were designed by Disney after a few drams of whisky. Glens so green you’ll question your TV’s color settings. Sheep posing for photos like they’ve signed with an agent. And the air! It’s so fresh it makes you want to apologize to your lungs for every city you’ve ever lived in.

The people? Oh, don’t get me started. There’s a warmth here that totally contradicts the weather forecast. Scots are the kind of people who’ll roast you mercilessly in conversation but also hand you a hot cup of tea, a scone, and directions to the best local pub.

Marrying into this culture means I now understand the importance of a good whisky, the sacredness of the Sunday roast, and why people cheer when someone wears a kilt in subzero temperatures (it’s bravery. Or maybe madness. Either way, we respect it).

So yes, Scotland has horrible weather. But it also has soul. It has spirit. It has a soundtrack of bagpipes, the scent of peat smoke in the air, and a heartbeat that echoes through the hills.

And if home is where the heart is… well, mine’s somewhere between the Isle of Skye and a cup of hot tea in a bothy with questionable WiFi but excellent banter.

Scotland, you wet, windy wonder—you’ve got me.