We are currently in Tasmania for nine days, with our base in beautiful Launceston.
I haven’t brought my laptop with me so am typing this on my phone, which is a bit tedious.
We are here mainly for Launceston’s Festivale which began yesterday – Tasmania’s version of our WOMADelaide.
Held in City Park under magnificent old spreading oaks, ash and flowering magnolia, I was astounded by the number of people that just kept increasing. Thousands wandered, or sat at tables enjoying wonderful fare and local wine and beer, in perfect weather.
There were two stages – far enough apart to not have one intruding upon the other, where renowned artists and bands performed.
On arrival, we found an old wooden and cast-iron park seat where we sat with our wine – listening to the music and watching the people – such an entertaining way to pass time. I am always interested in seeing how people relate to each other. When fleeting like this, it’s in their body language, facial expressions. New lovers, oldies who have been together forever, fraught young parents trying to keep little ones happy and contained, couples who have had an argument, war vets, high-flyers, cancer victims, end-of-lifers, disabled people with their carers, happy singles, unhappy singles. Every one has a story. I could make one up about each.
We will go in again today, and then tomorrow we will hire a car, and do some day trips. This is my fifth visit to the isle (over a period of fifty years) but I’m sure there is still much that I haven’t seen. Leigh lived here for four years and has specific places dear to him that he wants to show me.
Launceston, as many will know, is such a beautiful and unique city. As we walked from our accommodation near the park, down into the city yesterday morning, the joy of travelling filled me to the brim again. The garden-perfumed fresh morning air filled my lungs with my deep breaths of it. And the old European architecture – perfect moments.
This is a short blog but I will write more of this trip as soon as we get home in a week. Also I have some ideas brewing around ageing that I want to write about.
So until then, take care, keep cool. Nice to have escaped South Australia’s prolonged heat wave for a while. Mid twenties every day while we’re here.
I was unable to publish the above blog on my phone, try as I might. There was just no option to do it. Very frustrating as I really do like to put up something every month.
Home now and back to my computer where I can see my happy little ‘Publish” icon at the top of the screen.
Now, on the vagaries of ageing –
There are the common and to be expected factors like moving a little more slowly and carefully. It was not more than three years ago that I could still run up the twenty metre incline to my house, or at least walk it briskly. I’ve been doing it for more than fifty years, and I still feel strong, from swimming, so why should I be slowing down? I give myself a little gee-up. ‘Come on old girl, walk faster,’ but my legs won’t obey.
I used to be on the move all day, take a little break for lunch and then work until five, when it was time to relax with a glass of red. These days we sit down for lunch at 12.30 and watch a movie, or an episode of a series. After that, sometimes a blissful little nap, and then much lighter activity in the afternoon – at this time of the year, likely to be shifting sprinklers, office tasks and finally attending to the chooks.
Only in the last twelve months or so, have I lost the confidence to wear heels. All my beautiful shoes, sandals and boots with heels, sit on their shelves, neglected, except for special occasions where I may only have to walk a little way from the car into a home or restaurant. Potholes in a footpath, or uneven paving bring on caution, bordering on trepidation. Heaven forbid I should trip and fall.
I see an old man or woman crossing the street and as I pass realize it is someone I went to school with.
My treasures – all the pieces I have bought for my home over the years, are gradually becoming less important to me. The art gallery-type environment I have created still exists, and always will, but all the extras tucked away in cupboards – the pieces I have always been unable to part with in case I need a change, are now going to be offered to family. This smacks of a feeling of wondering how much time we have left, doesn’t it?
Friends are pulling up stakes and leaving their long-term large homes and gardens, in exchange for smaller ones. On a morning like this one, with not a breath of wind, an overcast summer’s day ahead and my park-like garden all green, damp and alive with birds, the idea of ever leaving is not to be contemplated. While there are two of us and we can afford help, it doesn’t need to be.
While we were in Tasmania, we visited Brickenden – a historical property near Longford. It has been managed by the Archer family for seven generations. My property here has seen five generations of the Grocke family – probably soon to be six once my grandchildren start their families.
Some of the old farm buildings have fallen and much of the vintage machinery has gone, but I have kept some interesting bits and pieces, now housed in what I call my museum shed. At this stage it doesn’t look like another generation of us will live and work here, so perhaps the history I have managed to preserve will be valued by future owners, whoever they might be.
The property was established in 1889 by Friederich Willhelm Grocke and his wife Helena. They built a two bedroomed stone cottage, and proceeded to have nine children over a period of twenty one years. Otto was the youngest of them. Friedrich died when Otto was sixteen. All of his sisters had left home and married, his eldest brother had a farm of his own. So Otto and his mother were left to manage the farm. It would seem like a mammoth task to many, but these two were strong and capable people, and took it on with enthusiasm and confidence. Otto married Lin when in his late twenties.
Lin, a city girl, was unprepared for what lay ahead as a farmer’s wife, but she established her role and excelled in it.
Lin and Otto had two children – Jenny and Warren. Warren and I were married in nineteen sixty seven, and I too was unprepared for what lay ahead of me. But I adapted, and for fifty-four years we had an amazing and adventurous life – documented in depth in my memoir ‘So Big The Land.’
Will post this now as it’s a week overdue.
Warmly,
Sue
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Sue
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