On a January morning in 1938, Pitmiddle’s last resident, James Gillies, closed the door to his cottage for the final time and walked away through the snow. High on the south-facing slopes of the Sidlaw Hills in Perthshire, the village is now little more than a jumble of half-ruined walls gradually being reclaimed by the land.

My children pick around the overgrown stones like explorers discovering a lost civilisation, before scampering back through the gate and over the grass to our cabin in a neighbouring field. Called the Pitmiddle Hut, it’s the latest addition to Guardswell Farm, which spans 81 hectares (200 acres) of countryside halfway between Perth and Dundee (an hour and a half from Glasgow or Edinburgh). “People gradually moved away from Pitmiddle’s way of life,” says Anna Lamotte, who runs Guardswell with her husband, Digby Legge, often aided by their four-year-old daughter and a smiley 10-month-old in a vintage pram. “Villagers each had a pendicle, the small area they could farm, a system of outfields, infields and ‘kailyards’ – a Scots word for a kitchen garden.” Anna and Digby grew up on farms and small-holdings nearby, and today they rear cattle, sheep, goats and chickens and tend to the vegetable gardens, alongside welcoming guests to stay.

The Pitmiddle Hut sits in the old village’s pendicle field and the slim volume Pitmiddle Village and Elcho Nunnery in our cabin inspired the names of Guardswell’s huts: the Pendicle with its wildflower roof, the Infield with a stargazing window above the bed and shepherd’s hut the Kailyard. They can be rented alongside two cottages and a large farmhouse, all clustered around the Steading, once a dilapidated barn that is now a smart events space for weddings, craft and cuisine classes including cheese-making, and a popular monthly market. It’s also home to a small shop (stocked with the farm’s meat, eggs and Diggers cider), smart washrooms and a cosy room filled with games and wellies.

All the existing cabins were made for two, but as Anna and Digby’s family grew, and couples who married at Guardswell returned with first a dog then a baby, a bigger hideout made sense. The Pitmiddle Hut is a 10-minute stomp uphill and has a mezzanine bed up above the kitchen for grownups and a second bedroom for children to pile into the set of bunks and a double bed. The two are linked by a central indoor-outdoor space, with sliding doors for sunnier days. It’s the end of March when we stay, and the thick blankets (made with wool from Digby’s parents’ farm) and douglas fir planks lining the cabin give it a deep cosiness.

As a somewhat reluctant camper in a tent-loving family, it’s an ideal balance. We build fires in the Esse Bakeheart stove to cook dinner and keep the wool-insulated cabin toasty (there’ll soon be an outside kitchen and a firepit for toasting marshmallows too). My son dashes in and out fetching ingredients from the giant coolbox on the deck. The hut is off-grid, but uses solar-power for lights and the single induction hob. There’s a proper loo, but it’s a walk down to the Steading in the morning for a shower. It quickly becomes our favourite part of the day, saying good morning to fluffy Shetland cows, dinky Hebridean sheep, donkeys Ollie and Hugo, and cheeky pygmy goat Jimmy, who once escaped his pen and crashed a wedding. It feels as though we have the farm to ourselves.

There’s no wifi, no TV and, on my phone at least, blissfully little phone signal. Instead, a basket beside the kindling is filled with Uno, playing cards, drawing pencils and a watercolour set. My daughter washes a page with streaks of blue sky and green fields that are framed by the hut’s huge picture window, before taking a nature scavenger hunt sheet around the farm, checking off pine cones and primroses.

It would be easy to simply roam here for a couple of days, foraging for wild garlic, helping feed the animals and exploring the Big Wood at the bottom of the farm, counting the 198 steps cut into the hillside among the trees. But with all of Perthshire on the other side of the Sidlaws and Fife across the River Tay there’s plenty to get stuck into, from sandy beaches at East Neuk to Highlands hills just beyond the foodie town of Dunkeld, where the Taybank pub and Aran Bakery make a delicious detour. We swerve the Munros and instead stride out on the nearby Scone circular, starting at Old Scone Church, rebuilt stone by stone in 1805 when the village moved a couple of miles east from its original site next to Scone Palace, and climbing through gorse-thick moorland to MacDuff’s Monument and the Lynedoch Obelisk with their sweeping views to Perth beyond.

We get back to the farm just as some wet weather blows in and hole up in the boat-turned-bothy called Girl Linda’s cabin at the top of a field. Scooping up a bottle of Diggers cider and apple juice from the hut, we run for it, the kids screaming into the wind. We light candles and the tiniest wood-burning stove – the valley below now so lost in mist that it feels like the River Tay might rise up and sweep us out to sea. We play Monopoly Deal as the rain whips against the portholes, before rousing a sing-song with the boat’s motley crew of instruments – bongos, guitar, glockenspiel and a giant metal triangle. “Let it go, let it go, I am one with the wind and sky …” My daughter’s favourite, suddenly apt.

We wake on the final morning to milk-glass skies and the rhythmic whirl of two woodpeckers in the trees as the sun rises through a fringe of woodland below us. There are recorded Guardswell morning meditations to start the day, a gentle prompt to pause. But stillness is low on my children’s agenda, so we throw on boots and fleeces over pyjamas and head for the swings on the hill above the hut. Pitmiddle’s simple way of life might not have survived against the advances of the modern world, but for a few days its slower rhythm feels within reach.

Accommodation was provided by Guardswell Farm. The Pitmiddle Hut sleeps six (two adults and up to four children) from £220 a night (two-night minimum), guardswell.co.uk