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I arrive at my weekend B&B to find my host in unaccustomed shorts and thick gloves heading up the hillside clutching something purposefully and carefully in his hands. I whizz over to see what it is – a small goanna, beautifully marked and vibrating with panic. It's already put its jaws around J's thumb which he had to expose to untangle it from the garden netting. I refrain from delaying its release by grabbing the camera and it races up a tree out of reach of galumphing humans, even if they are only trying to help.
The afternoon is very warm and the river reserve J has been shaping for a few years has been slashed by council (at last) so we pack seats, insect repellent and wine and head down to one of our favourite places under a huge old casuarina to watch the long long day draw to a close. We can hear the murmur of small rapids – there's a lot more water in the river than there usually is at this time of the year. A young kookaburra half-laughs above us and then arrows across to the other side of the river.
The sun is sinking and provides us with another pleasure as it back-lights a red spider spinning its evening web racing down, up and across in a very business-like way.
The next afternoon is very hot, so we turn to the river. We walk down the track where I used to wash carrots and beetroot in market-gardening days, and cross towards a developing island. We pass a small eel heading in the opposite direction to hide very effectively in the weed. I'm not wearing my glasses so I have to take J's word for this. Today I lose my balance in the deep sand and topple straight in: none of my usual dithering before immersion. The water is almost blood-temperature and no one else is about.
We sit in the water in the shade, chatting in a desultory way and looking for schools of tiny fish. When we've cooled off, we dress and return to our wine spot. It's been a busy day (three beaches will have a post of their own.) As light fades I sprawl on a cushion and look up through the branches of the massive casuarina, river wrack caught in its branches from the last flood, a good 40 feet from riverbed. The fine tracery of needles and nuts against the sky is replaced by the tracey of branches as I look higher. There is no sign of last night's spider or its web.
On Sunday J spends the morning with water: transferring water between tanks; drenching the garden to tenderness; and trawling through boxes of fittings in search of the appropriate nipple as he refines the fire-fighting system. There has been a small bushfire on Nerrigundah Ridge, alarmingly close and putting paid to summer complacency.
At lunch time we head off to an art exhibition at Bingi where a friend is exhibiting exquisite botanical drawings. The Priory is on a hill with 360 degree views to the sea and over Tuross Lake to the mountains of the Great Divide, and the wind is rioting, slowly spinning a shark sculpture. J was last here in the early 1980s for a clearing sale, nosing around to see what he could find of use in our new poverty-stricken rural life. No sign now of the old sheds and paddocks. They've been replaced by a manificent house, marble floored, and a garden inhabited by sculptures and statues. The artist, Barbara Romalis, is trying to place a delicate pottery nativity scene and can't find a base to her satisfaction. J scrutinizes the paintings by Peter Mesenberg, and pronounces them excellent beyond envy.
My bush weekend is drawing to a close. After lunch we return to the river, startling a foot-long fish (bass or bream?) and loll and idly splash and talk about the magic vastness of geology and other smaller matters.
I return to my beachside home to prepare for the imminent arrival of my Queensland family: son and his partner, two grandchildren, a dog, two kayaks, two motorbikes, eight or nine surfboards, pushbikes, camping gear, and maybe even the bread maker. My resident son amuses – or is it bemuses – me with a video gone viral of Kelly Slater's home-made surfing wave, ending a very pleasant Australian weekend.
You describe a delightful weekend in the Australian bush with such insight Meg, no need for photos you conjure up mind images. I’m sure overseas people would love to join you in your patch of paradise. Enjoy your busy Christmas when the family descends on you I’m sure it will be filled with fun and laughter.
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I’m gathering you’re away from home and familiarities for Christmas. How was that?
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Change is sometimes as good as a rest!!!
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Glad you were carrying wine and not the camera when you fell in, Meg! 🙂 You are one of my blessings, sweetheart. I’ve had so much pleasure from your writing and your photos this year. What a carefree, happy world you describe. The thought of that North Sea racing across my freezing toes 😦 Christmas love to you and yours, darlin’ 🙂
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I wasn’t even carrying the wine – left it safely in the car. I’ve already drowned one camera on our first boating adventure.
Thank you so much for calling me one of your blessings: I snuggled up with the delight of that when I read it at bedtime. However, you make me think I may need to add a bit of darkness in 2016, since the bulk of the world isn’t carefree.
I love the places you’ve given me since we met – Polish, English and Portuguese – and your generous spirit. Maybe the ease with which you walk 13km will brush off if I follow you long enough.
I hope your Christmas Day was all you wished it to be. Have a Boxing Day hug and my profound thanks.
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It may sound silly but one of the delights of our day was watching our son eat, and eat, and eat! He’s lost so much weight lately that it had become a worry. But he can still eat for England (and Australia too 🙂 ) Hugs right back at you, Meg 🙂
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This sounds absolutely idyllic Meg, I really enjoy your excellent writing, I felt as if I was right there 🙂
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You right there. That WOULD be a treat! Idyllic is indeed the word, so far from all the horrors of the world.
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Such a blissful afternoon by and in the river, Meg. Wishing you all the very best for the holidays and New Year.
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Every weekend I feel more and more blessed in my locale – and during the week too of course. I’m looking forward to your 2016: may it be the usual cornucopia.
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Love this xx charis
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Familiar territory to you, eh?
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