Found this letter written by me to my mum – in 1986. She was living in her cottage by the sea near Pennesahaw, Kangaroo Island. The island was a much more isolated place then. Little tourism. Just this big, beautiful, rugged place of farmers, fishermen, the odd teacher, nurse, policeman, publican, shopkeeper etc. Basic infrastructure.
My beach-combing, nature-loving mum adored her place in the bush – a mere fifty metres from the beach. An anomaly was that she was gregarious by nature – loved her family and friends and yet had taken herself away from them all to heal quietly and naturally from cancer.
We would all visit her from time to time and write regularly. Before computers, letters were hand-written of course, put in an envelope and posted. She’d go into town once a week (about twenty kilometres) to collect and post mail and buy a few staples from the grocery store.
But before I put up the letter, I will share a little something I once wrote while staying with her.
On my first morning, after a comfortable flight across the passage, in an eight seater aircraft, the sea had grown wild. I could hear it from the cottage and wanted to see what it had become. I left the little house nestled in its cosy hollow, climbed the sand-hill between it and the beach and saw waves in fury crashing onto the rocks. It was both frightening and exhilarating at once. I stood there leaning in to the buffeting wind and breathing deeply the wild, salty air. I walked on the beach playing cat and mouse with the lashing sea.
That night, the winds intensified until nothing short of a savage storm raged, bashing at the cottage relentlessly as it shuddered and trembled. The small colony of fairy penguins that lived under the house were in intense conversation all night.
Next morning we heard that havoc had been wrought on the island – trees down, houses unroofed. I think Mum’s cottage had been anchored by its sturdy limestone fireplace and chimney.
The morning after the storm, the sea was a little calmer – waves smacking onto the rocks in a dying foment. Skies still grey, air all salty spray. This is a place that stirs creativity. I have known normally non-creative people to have discovered artistic expression here in this pristine, spiritual place.
I love to watch the edges of Nature in silhouette against an evening sky. Feathery tops of Ti-trees, denser clumps of Narrow-leaved Mallee. The spectacular reddened sky behind them.
By the third day the storm had finally died – the sea now lap-lapping at the shore. Two cormorants stood on rocks and aired their wings like drying sheets.
I walked on the beach and periodically pushed gently into the bush – gleaning bush tucker of ground-berries and the delicious salty, native spinach that was Mum’s staple green. Something caught my eye. Soaring not far above me was a majestic sea-eagle, an enormous bright grey sky as its back-drop.
The damp bush chirped and rustled with tiny wrens, robins and silver-eyes.
That night we sat by the large open fire, sipping our sherries, and talking the talk of pioneers, artists, poets.
So, sending my mum news of home – my life on our farm on the mainland, was something that kept her in touch with what she had come from.
One of my letters sent news of the day.
Dear Mum,
Here is the precious book at last. ‘Age and Vitality.’ I think you’ll enjoy it too. Much of it is about the way we perceive old age – some of us anticipating failing eyesight, hearing, mobility etc., but the book talks of how that perception can help bring those things on. Our expectations should be for the positive opposites of that.
I’ve just finished breakfast and all is quiet here. Warren got up at 1 AM to go baling. So no machinery sounds around here – just a mopoke and a family of crows carrying on. Clear blue sky, sun warm, no wind. The big old walnut tree is dressed in its summer green and doing its job of shading the house. The shells of the nuts will begin to dry soon and it looks like there’ll be a bounty to harvest this year.
At this time yesterday I walked down to the vegie garden and picked a basket full of tomatoes. Then a brisk walk down to the lucerne patch by the river to say hello to Ziggy, who is finally free of her tether and happy to integrate with the other sheep. She came frisking and frolicking up to me as she saw me approaching, and was still happy to have a cuddle. But this time she didn’t try to follow me home. She meandered back to the mob grazing contentedly on the lush green pasture.
The gum trees along the creek are so beautiful – many of them flowering now. The grass is soft and inviting. If I was a kid I would have laid down on it and looked up at the clouds. I walked over to the orchard and picked a large perfect peach. I bit into it, and sucked the sweet juice between my teeth. Nectar from the gods. I picked a few more, placed them in my outstretched jumper and headed back to the house, collecting my basket of tomatoes on the way. Then back down to the chook house to collect six brown eggs.
I have bought some anemone and ranunculi bulbs and want to plant them today. Also some stock seedlings. Their gorgeous perfume always reminds me of our first house and the joy of watering them when I was three.
I am going back to painting classes next month. Will pick up my brushes and pencils again soon to refresh a bit beforehand.
We spent a lovely afternoon at Mintaro on our way back from our holiday. It is the dearest little village – all pepper trees, winding lanes, stone cottages with their old-fashioned gardens and dry-stone walls. Crinkled galvanised sheds and long-gone businesses with faded signs. I hope they leave this town just as it is. Martindale Hall was magnificent but eerie. Strange to see this huge grand edifice sitting way out there in the country, surrounded by hundreds of acres of farming land.
Well Mum, must go now. Going up to water Lin’s garden. They’re away for another week. I have some washing to do and will then go out to plant my bulbs and seedlings. Will post this letter this afternoon and hopefully our holiday photos will be ready to pick up.
I want to go to town one day this week to see Dave Dallwitz’s exhibition. Maybe Thursday.
Hope all went well with changes to your bathroom. Keep enjoying your little patch of paradise as you keep your mind and body active. (I know you do, and you’ll love the book).
Lots of love and caring,
Sue
I am so pleased that I have kept all these bits and pieces of writing. Reading them takes me back to days when life was simpler. A slower way of life. A country life.
Maybe these have rekindled some of your memories.
Missed my deadline yesterday to get this blog up in April. I was away for the weekend with two of my girlfriends at a seaside village on upper Yorke Peninsula. In this town of fishermen’s shacks it looks like time has stood still. As we walked around, my soul was singing. I believe these places should become heritage listed. I will put some pics up on Instagram.
Warmly,
Sue
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