To Melbourne and back.

I was on the Peninsula airport bus making my way to Tulla to catch my flight 'home' to Michael and the van waiting for me in Perth. Mum had dropped me off early at the bus stop and after making our loving, but hasty goodbyes standing in the rain, Mum left me alone. Being buffeted by the wind with sprays of horizontal falling rain reminded me of the joys of Melbourne's weather. I pulled my rain coat around me and stamped my feet to warm them while I waited for the bus.

Driving along Nepean Hwy Gold 104.3 informed me it was 9 degrees. As we approached Elwood we wound our way along tree lined streets, whose trees were stranded somewhere between a waning Autumn and an approaching Winter. As we made our way into St Kilda the rain became heavier and heavier, drenching the streets and those crazy enough to be on them.

I smiled inwardly knowing that in a few hours I would be watching the sun go down over the Indian ocean after a sunny Perth day of 21.

We drove along the Esplanade and stopped at the lights as we turned into Fitzroy Street. I glanced across at the St Kilda Pier deserted and standing alone in the rain. I looked down at the water gushing into the gutters and as I raised my head I locked eyes with a man all bundled up in his rain coat, holding a take-away coffee and he flashed me a knowing smile - seeing the airport bus sign displayed along the bus - knowing I was leaving a wet and soggy Melbourne and he remaining behind. Perhaps he was thinking that anywhere has gotta be better than this. I returned his smile and felt so warm inside. His smile stayed with me for ages and I thought that it doesn't matter where you are, if you can smile at a stranger and make their day, then life is pretty bloody good.

Mum and I had a great catch up together and made good use of our time. We did: coffee, op-shopping, lunch, a visit to historical Beleura House and lots of keeping warm in front of our favourite shows on TV - not to mention all that great home cooking - gotta love that lamb shank soup of Mum's.

Mum and I.

Mum, June and I at June's place after her birthday lunch.

Beleura House Mornington.

My lemon tree that Mum is sitting for me.

Some of my growing shell collection.

Our current front yard - Burns Beach sunset.

Out and about with cousin Di at Hilarys.
 



The first time in 28 years

The first time in 28 years that I have given my feet a drink in the Indian Ocean

The first time in 28 years that I've downed a can of the local brew

The first time in 28 years that I've looked out my window to see gorgeous sunsets every night.

The first time in 28 years that I didn't know what I would be doing when I eventually came home.





Backing up a minute!

Well we are in Perth, Alana has gone home for a week, and I'm just laying back in this little caravan park with only about 15 powered sites and about 100 permanent units. Bill the unofficial concierge of the camp kitchen says "you can fly under the radar here". He is right, it's a perfect spot right on the beach (not many  left around these days) to wait for Alana to get back and to spend some quiet time.

But backing up a bit, I haven't told you about The Gloucester Tree when we were  in Pemberton. It stands just out of town a ways and draws a few people to climb up it's trunk to a spotting platform way up high. There is a couple of these trees around that are or were used for fire spotting. They are impressive to say the least.



Hello down there!

At the start of this trip if you mentioned the bird life. I would have taken it with a grain of salt. Feeding off Alana's enthusiasm for the feathered creatures, I'm finding myself enjoying them to.

I just love seeing that look on Alana's face.

Meet Sid Vicious

and Molly

don't know this ones name

the prolific 28parret taking a bow

the Texas apple core massacre

I'll finish off this blog with a couple of forest shots, as they certainly were the dominating feature of this area.

I always said that Alana was one of those bloody tree huggers!

a more contemplative, introspective shot of myself.

Mothers Day musings

On our journey we are exploring many different landscapes. Time and distance do their work on the inner terrain of our minds and hearts, and this gives way to deep reflection. Recently I wrote the following piece, a snapshot of the bittersweet musings of my life as a mother. It seems fitting that I post this entry today, Mothers Day.

How deeply does the imprint of DNA embed within our psyche unalterable motivations? Murmurs and shadows of predestined factors that conform us to a portrait of who we are, despite all our painful quests to contradict them.

Retrospect is both a gift and a curse, and coming at mid-life when honest reflection and realistic self analysis can serve in transforming us into the wizened crone - or so we hope.

Looking back we see the landscape for what it is, not what we hoped it was or wanted it to be. We can't fool ourselves anymore. Mid-life is a time to be both brutal and gracious to our ageing self - honest and forgiving.

Motherhood. An institution with as many faces as there are mothers. Womanhood. A multi-prisimed wonder embodying motherhood as a dazzling centrepiece, a pivotal expression of worth and value - its failures and successes are the very children of life.

Yet we do fail. And our successes are often discovered only when our beloved children become aware that they, like their mothers, are also victims of victims, and each of us in turn must own our own lives and become adults, facing the realities of life as we emerge from the bubble of childhood, realising that life is difficult.

How easy it all sounds. Accepting, accepting, accepting. But it is not easy. We long for our children to forgive us, as we struggle to forgive ourselves. Forgiving our self over and over again as we muse on how different we would do it if we had the chance to do it all again. It takes time to acknowledge the debris, and then to realise that that debris has become our children's pain.

We hold fast to the mother mantra - 'I did the best I could', which paradoxically is more often than not, the truth.







"...I am large, I contain multitudes." Walt Whitman

From the sandy shore to the forest floor

Autumn finally caught up with us. Out came the warmer PJs and runners replaced thongs - raincoats replaced sun hats. Overhead huge banks of cumuli nimbus moved across the sky, dropping upon us as we ventured further into the south west of WA and into a low pressure system.

But what the heck, a bit of wind and rain has never stopped me beach combing and exploring natures moods before - I'm not about to let it now.

After leaving Experance we hop-skipped along, free camping, for a few days, stopping in at different spots until we came into Albany. As we came into the Albany region the landscape changed from dry scrubby bushland to rich lush green pasture spotted heavily with fat and happy cows. In Albany we caught up with Rachael and Glendon once again and spent a couple of days exploring the local environs together before we set off toward the southern forests of WA.

The only landscape that can equal the joy of the coast for me is that of the forest. I had read about the tall timbers of the south west, including some amazing old growth forests, and I have not been disappointed.

After three days of solid rain we left the coast in search of the giant Tingle trees that mark the beginning of some magnificent forest touring, travelling west from the beautiful town of Denmark along the South Coast Highway. We enjoyed the tree top walk (Valley of the Giants) and the forest floor walk. We loved to be immersed in the presence of these ancient giants.

Valley of the Giants tree top walk

Giant Tingle tree

Life on the forest floor

We free camped in Karri forest rest areas for three nights until we came into a lovely town called Pemberton. We are set up here for a few days, doing day trips into forest walks and waterfalls and generally soaking up the lush Karri forest surrounds.

Forest floor walk (Valley of the Giants)

Finally the clouds have cleared and with them the rain.

Big Brook Dam

Karri tree





When we leave here we head to Perth to have the van serviced and a few issues seen to. From there I head home to Melbourne for a week (found some cheap flights) to catch up with Mum for a belated birthday and Mother's Day. Mike will hang about Perth while Winnebago sort out the van.



The Next Wave

It's good to catch up with a good mate on the road. I've caught up with him again in Albany and once again Alana and myself are in the easy company of Glendon and Rachael.

Whilst corralled in by our respective motorcamperhome and caravan we have been having one of our late afternoon get togethers, chatting about the day and revisiting our journey so far. Glendon and I were musing on the subject of waving at passerbys from the opposite direction and came to the conclusion that mainly caravaners wave at fellow vaners while motor homers wave at mainly motor homers. Heavily laden bicycle tourists don't wave at anybody (fair enough). Euros in hired Camper vans are still trying to work out what side of the road they are driving on, so they don't wave at anyone. Truck drivers, well I can't tell you who and what they wave to on account of me hanging on white knuckled to the steering wheel while coming within a bees dick of being blown off the road by the passing speed and spacial awareness precision of the monstrous B-Doubles thundering by.

A slight variation to this waving etiquette is a game called Chicken. Which is when you see who sticks their hands up first, trying not to be the first to do it.

Glendon has a very funny piece in his blog on this phenomena of waving while travelling out on the road. Read it and weep, with absolute hilarity.  Here is the link. I will provide below the images of what the waves are.

                     

     The one finger pointed with hands remaining on the steering wheel wave

: Couldn't really give a hoot about you, just feels that he should acknowledge your wave with the barest effort. 

The two finger pointed with both hands on the steering wheel wave.

: A retired ex goal umpire.

The one finger pointed followed by the rest of his fingers with hands remaining on the steering wheel wave.

: He is a little slow in the reflex department.

The full hand off the steering wheel wave.

: A good bloke!

The Royal wave

: Usually given by gigantic $250,000+ motor homers to smaller insignificant little pleb like motor campers like mine.

Sea Urchins and Cowrie Shells

For a long time I have loved them. Not from a distance, but in my hand to touch and for my eye to marvel at. It borders obsession, but I like to think of my tenderness toward these natural wonders as a joyous connection. They connect me to the miracle of nature's design. Their shape, markings and texture simply arouse a childlike glee inside me.

These vacated homes of deceased sea creatures are lovingly preserved in my ever growing collection. I've never really spoken of my 'habit' to many people. Not that I'm embarrassed to have such capacity for childlike joy, it just never comes up in conversation. But if you come walk with me on Point Leo beach (Westernport Bay, Vic.) at low tide, you will find I lose interest in your company instantly and head off on my own to seek out the objects of my desire. I don't mean to be rude, I just can't not put my head down and scour the shoreline. I've tied to not look, but it just doesn't work.

It is not just urchins and cowries that find their way into my collection, I love all shells and sponges and other unusual things that the deep is done with, but urchins and cowries are my favourite.

You can imagine my happy state when I found pink, orange and red urchins on the beach at Robe in SA. Point Leo offers me grey, darkgreen, off white and the odd purple, but never red, orange or pink. And my beloved cowries where there too.

I have spent many a meditative walk along the tide line on many of the beaches of SA and now WA. I am lucky to have the great opportunity of experiencing many moments of joy, searching the beaches of the whole country. So I guess there will be lots of posting boxes of my treasures home to Mum's place. Leaving them on the beach is not an option.

"It is the child that sees the primordial secret in Nature and it is the child of ourselves we return to. The child within us is simple and daring enough to live the Secret..." LAO-TZU