Time to relocate again. After all, I've been at my daughter's for two weeks. Now it's time to visit my son and his family on Mt Tamborine. There are two routes I can take. The main one through Cunningham's Gap where there's a danger of the mountain slipping or the road falling from under you. The other one along the Mt Lindesay Highway, otherwise known as the goat track. I opt for the goat track which connects with the end of my daughter's street. It's six months since I've driven any distance solo and I'm eager to set out.
Robert Macfarlane is in my mind as I drive off. In The old ways, he describes in meticulous and miraculous detail his experiences as he criss-crosses England and beyond. I've tried now a few times to figure out how I could emulate his writing to conjure up place.. Today I'm going to try again, leaving the camera to its own devices and depending merely on words.
I drive through straw-coloured rolling hills, with patches of grass copper in the early morning light. Occasionally I glimpse the pale blue line of the mountains of the Great Divide. Smoke from winter burn offs smudges the clear air. The road attracts a dapper, black-and-white-suited wagtail; crested pigeons strut across in front of me unphased by my approach; a kookaburra swoops kamikaze. I'm soon driving on intermittent gravel. Tractor tracks gouge the dirt until they turn into a property gate, and the road is barred with tree shadows.
Soon the landscape closes in. I pass a failed fantasy planting in drooping ruin and then a thriving plantation of eucalyptus saplings, and then the tiny township of Legume. Here Margaret Drabble joins me, vividly present after a previous trip when J and I discussed The needle's eye intensely, through mile after mile of wind blown grass. Today there's an occasional wattle on the hillsides bursting into bloom.
Mt Lindesay makes a brief appearance in the distance, all definition lost to light and only its shape remaining: the same light picks out the spires of cypresses on thickly wooded hills. Beside the road, mile after mile, the delicate silhouettes of windmill grass. Shadows turn into potholes, and potholes are shadows. The bitumen is narrow, and the side of the road is carved away into a ragged drop. Fortunately, I have it pretty much to myself.
In Woodenbong, I stop for a while. This country contains layers of my life, each one blurring the clarity of previous layers. I visited this part of the world with an early boyfriend whose family had a dairy farm. I remember dense pine trees enclosing a circle of light; my hat, worn for reassurance; a sudden awakening from romance when he ignored me after a dramatic fall onto concrete. Later we came here to a Mt Barney cabin for a family weekend: long walks through grass tree country; an escaped calf; vast mountains of food. An early morning drive on another occasion with J through freezing air: a gloved picnic by a creek; early morning light hitting the hills ahead of us. These pieces of my past crowd my memory.
Mt Lindesay's shape becomes clearer; I hear the sharp call of the whipbird, and the song of bellbirds accompanies me as I drive around corners thick with treeferns. And then there is Mt Lindesay again, layered like an austere, slightly skewiff wedding cake; or a forbidding impregnable fortress; or maybe just like Mt Lindesay, indescribably dramatic.
I resist the call of the camera for a long time, but it finally becomes too insistent, and anyway I am suffering from phrase-making fatigue. I pull over and discover a gate I can easily open, just a chain wound round and slotted through itself. I walk up the track until I am face to face with the mountain (from this angle not at all reminiscent of any kind of wedding cake) and take those photos I'd forbidden myself.
The journey becomes less interesting after Rathdowney, and more car-infested. I am honked by an impatient carload of young men, and collect an unwelcome tail. However, I'm nearly there. I turn off the Brisbane road to the Mountain and soon I'm driving steeply through national parks and rainforest palms to the final familiarity of my son's place.
There doesn't appear to be anyone around. Then I hear a voice calling me, and my Most Beloved Senior Granddaughter emerges from a hammock strung between two trees near my caravan home, where she's been reading. My Most Beloved Senior Grandson erupts from the house, nearly as tall as me now, for a big hug. He says “You smell just the same, Nanny Meg”. I meet the budgerigar, Toggles, that he was longing for when I saw him last at Christmas, and the new hens. And I finally get an explanation of a huge pile in the drive, nearly as tall as the house, covered with tarps and surrounded by old surfboards. It's a skate ramp, waiting to be installed in the back yard.
My strategy for describing? I know my memory can't hold more than a few things at a time, so my journey was studded with pulling-off-the-road-and-jotting, whenever I had three phrases I needed to record. I'm dead certain this is not how Macfarlane proceeded!
restlessjo said:
I enjoyed the read too, but I have to admit, I was craving a photo. I couldn’t visualise that mountain till I saw it. I think with your Australian posts much has to do with the fact that the landscape is very alien to me, and not easily imaginable. And I was longing for a photo of the ‘wild land’ that we spoke of, Meg. Is that coming soon? 🙂
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morselsandscraps said:
As I said to Jude, I wondered if the description would work for someone who doesn’t know the Australian landscape. I’m glad my camera insisted! I wonder what you, as reigning haiku queen, would make of Mt Lindesay?
Visited the wild country yesterday, so (inadequate) words and photos coming. About 8 hours driving and I was wiped out – and I was only a passenger.
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restlessjo said:
Goodness! To us mere mortals 8 hours driving is a nightmare. But us Brits have no concept 🙂
If I have to write a haiku for Mt Lindesay as my prize I think I’d better resign my title 🙂 Looking forward to your post. Give me a nudge if I’m a slowcoach. I get bogged down in the ephemera sometimes. Hugs, Meg!
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morselsandscraps said:
Wild land post is drafted, but I need to check a few facts, and it’s state of origin football tonight, so I’ve retreated to bed before asking. Just back from another long drive – only 90 minutes, but I expected it to be twenty – dropping off two teenagers off the mountain in the dark. Climbing over a gate was also involved! I’m proud of myself.
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restlessjo said:
I won’t even ask about the football. I’m afraid it has the same effect on me that tennis does on you. Proud of you too 🙂
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Sue said:
Excellent phrase making, Meg! “This country contains layers of my life…” – love it! Like Jude, I think you have a natural gift for description, and this was a great post to read. Love that last photo as well. I like your discipline, making your writing brain work. I find myself unable to write at present, but over 2 years ago when I started this blog, the intention was Words….. it’s nearly all Visual now!
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morselsandscraps said:
My intention was also Words (I like the capital!) when I started. I google synonyms far more than I’m willing to admit. What I liked on this trip was making a phrase and having time to test it before I moved on. Thank you so much for your appreciation.
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Sue said:
You are most welcome!
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pommepal said:
You have captured this country so well Meg, I was with you, captivated with your descriptions. I, also, cannot hold phrases in my mind for long. I think of them in the night, then they slip away when I sit in front of the computer and I rely on the photos…
“Pieces of my past also crowd my memory”, (I love that phrase) as you mentioned Woodenbong. What a name. In 1986 we travelled in an old, rusty Mitsubishi L300. It was late afternoon and we were looking for a camping spot. Every where was closed but a woman came over from the service station (that was also closed) and invited us to park round the back. She even opened the old shop and I bought an icecream. Then we sat around with her and her husband and swapped stories. They were moving out the next day heading north to find work. As I read your post the memories I thought I had long forgotten flooded back. Thank you Meg for a delightful journey I shared with you.
If you have time and are down my way I would love to meet and have a coffee maybe…
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morselsandscraps said:
I love this chain of memories, something I’ve noticed myself with posts in the blogosphere. And what a lovely Woodenbong story you tell. And a bit more of your adventuring life you share. I’d love to have a coffee with you, but it all depends on whether my granddaughter has to go to school on Tuesday!! And then of course whether you’re around then.
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pommepal said:
OK it would be lovely to meet but will wait and see how it pans out.
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Olga said:
I just love your flow with descriptiveness. Glad you succumbed to the camera. Such lovely photos.
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morselsandscraps said:
Thank you. I guess I need to combine the two without depending on photos to do all the work.
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Heyjude said:
I don’t care how you do it, you do it so well! Some people have a natural gift for description that makes photography redundant. I could see that mountain and hear that whipbird and smell the smoke and eucalyptus and see those grandchildren flocking around you like little birds themselves. So how long are you at Mt Tamborine for? I take it J is still house/animal sitting. And are you going to visit Pommepal?
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morselsandscraps said:
I’m wondering whether your familiarity with the Australian landscape means I’m evoking rather than describing. Jo’s comment suggests this may be the case. I of course relished your comment anyway, and preened. Thank you.
On Tamborine till 15th. I’d love to see Pauline, but as always when I’m embedded in family it’s hard to leave. Monday I’m spending with my niece and her two, and I probably won’t catch up with two Broken Hill friends either.
And yes, I’ve left J with the animals, and a car he doesn’t want to drive to town, so I’m not staying as long as I initially planned. I thought we might need respite after a lot of cohabiting, but we’re enjoying each other’s company.
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Heyjude said:
That might be part of it, though I don’t know the area you describe. But (and yes I am well aware that we were taught never to begin a sentence with but OR and) you have also used this descriptive method in Warsaw without photographs and I have never been there. Except I have. Through you.
Nice that you and J are enjoying each others company especially after so long co-habiting in Warsaw! Maybe you have reached a point of not needing two separate abodes?
And I am very jealous of all the travelling you are doing… 😀
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morselsandscraps said:
Always two abodes, thank you very much! And thank you too for the comment about my descriptions of Warsaw – but rarely without photos!
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Heyjude said:
😀
I’m sure early posts didn’t always include photos. I am going to have to investigate now. Well not Now now as it is way past my time for bed 😉
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morselsandscraps said:
Are we placing bets? Mostly the ones without photos were kid ones I think. And kids an’t landscape!
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Heyjude said:
I’m looking… watch out for a rash of comments coming your way 🙂
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Lucid Gypsy said:
I commend you Meg, like you I’ve become too dependent on my camera considering I’m supposed to be a writer. This is a delightful read full of images and atmosphere.
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morselsandscraps said:
Thank you for encouraging my foray back into words!
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