Aftermath
Scotsburn.
Rural Victoria.
Saturday, 19th December 2015.
It’s a scorcher of a day, early summer. A searing blue sky. The wind is roaring through the trees, racing across the farm lands, making the fences hum, whipping everything into a crackling, irritable frenzy. The air is bone dry, charged and hot.
There’s a total fire ban in place in this productive rural area.
It’s really too hot to be doing anything much outdoors – and because of the fire ban, there are a lot of jobs that won’t get done today. People around these parts know what can happen on a day like today. And it’s going to be another hot one tomorrow. All in the frantic lead up to Christmas.
Some will have already acted on their bushfire plan, even though there are no fires – listening for warnings and updates, planning an escape route, packing the car, organising pets, checking livestock, contacting family and neighbours. Some will have already left their homes, as part of their fire plan, to return when the heat and wind have gone.
But one lone property owner, apparently a hobby farmer, is slashing a paddock, defying the requests of neighbours who’ve asked that the slashing cease. It’s an activity that shouldn’t be happening on a day like today.
It’s madness.
A rock hidden in the long, dry grass, then a spark as the slasher finds it.
A small fire jumps into life at maniacal speed and, fanned by the wind, grows out of control, racing across the paddock in no time at all.
There is just not enough time to warn everyone, it is all happening so quickly. The day darkens to a weird colour, plumes of smoke and ash, fuelled by a very hot fire, fill the sky. Everything roars.
Families, friends, neighbours are looking out for one another, calling, sending mobile messages, frantically knocking on doors, grabbing whatever they can to leave, if that’s possible, or setting about defending their property.
There’s a lot of confusion and agonising decisions.
The authorities have quickly swung into action but what a task. The fire is out of control and there are so many properties to defend, people to save and roads to keep clear of fallen trees. And all the time, the need to watch the wind and work to contain the fire.
Many stories of courage, friendship, neighbourliness and strength are being played out through the trauma of this event as the fire rages on and the wind whips and turns. Through the night and into the following day.
The fire blazes away hungrily until late in the afternoon of the following day, at which time it is ‘brought under control’.
But not before 4,600 hectares of country – mostly farm lands, some plantation, some forest – is burned and 12 property homes are completely destroyed, with 2 more badly damaged. 23 sheds are also lost.
Not to mention the contents of those homes and sheds, the years of collected and cherished life, the farming equipment, vehicles, livestock, lovingly tended gardens, chooks, veggie patches, beloved pets, native animals, Christmas presents….
No human lives lost but so many damaged.
This is a relatively small fire. The impact, though, is huge.
Immediately, a relief centre is established in a nearby town, where those who have not been affected by the fire come with donations of food, clothing, bedding, kind words, hugs… providing support to those dazed, shocked, haggard victims emerging from the remains of the burned lands. The community is pulling together, all are shocked by what has happened.
And the smell of smoke and scorched life is everywhere.
Thankfully, I have never had to live through anything like this. These are just my words about this fire but they are based on what I have heard and learned from some of those who did live through this.
On Christmas Day 2015, one week after the Scotsburn fire, the Wye River bushfire tore along the Great Ocean Road, destroying 100 properties, mostly holiday homes. There was a lot of publicity about that fire, more so than the Scotsburn fire, which destroyed not only homes but livelihoods as well.
For white Australians, there is no such a thing as a productive bush fire. But it appears that the native bush and indigenous Australians have thrived on it.
Working for BlazeAid, over two months on, Andrew and I are living with the aftermath of the Scotsburn fire.
We’re meeting people who have lost their homes – some who’ve come away with the clothes they escaped in; some who’ve had to destroy badly-burned livestock, a gut-wrenching activity for a devoted farmer; some who are having to completely re-fence and replant acres and acres of pasture; many who are methodically decontaminating their properties, dams and water tanks of ash, debris, dead animals and fire retardant so that they can return to their homes and bring back saved livestock; some who are still battling insurance companies who appear to be dodging the payout.
Some are staying in borrowed houses, some in temporary accommodation provided by insurers, some in modified shipping containers on their land, still dazed and struggling to live as normal a life as possible under these most difficult of circumstances.
Amazingly stoic.
I’d like to tell you a couple of stories that have come out of this fire. Names changed.
FRED
82 year old Fred lived on his own in a two story wooden home, surrounded by a white picket fence and a lovely garden, perched on a rise of lightly timbered land on his few acres, not far from town. The home, which he and his wife had built 30 years ago, was full of antique furniture, inherited and collected over many years.
Fred is a real gentleman, slim, quiet, reflective, with intelligent, smiling eyes and a firm handshake.
On the morning of the fire, Fred had done what chores he was able to do before the heat and wind became too uncomfortable. He settled down indoors, where it was cooler and quieter, to do some paperwork, read a little and then, of course, take a nap. He didn’t have his hearing aids on.
As events unfolded outdoors that day, he slept on, blissfully unaware.
Until… someone was knocking at his door, loud, persistent knocking, that thankfully, eventually, just in time, woke Fred. He tells me later that if that person hadn’t persisted in their knocking, he wouldn’t have been around to tell me his story.
Fred had time to grab his wallet and leave. Everything. He left everything but kept his life.
When we arrived at his property to help rebuild his fences, he showed us what was left – the lovely sweeping drive with the burned remains of the garden and sculptures either side; the brick footprint of the home – you could see where it had stood but there was nothing but deep grey ash and rubbish left; the white picket fence and dry stone wall eerily still standing, not touched by the flames; the shed, still standing, with the burned remains of the tractors and equipment behind it. His much loved ex-army, tank of a farm vehicle was fortunately spared.
In searching the remains of the home after the fire, Fred had found an old tin, still pretty much intact, that felt quite heavy when he kicked it with his foot. On opening it, he found a stash of fifty cent pieces, probably a couple of hundred dollars worth, he reckons. All he can think of is that his wife, at some time, had been putting them away for a rainy day. Well, they’re still in that tin, for a rainy day. If only Fred could have made rain with them that terrible day…
Fred is currently living in town in a small unit paid for by the insurance company, who have treated Fred very well. You would think that this would be the case for everyone traumatised by such loss, to be treated sensitively at the very least, but not so.
Fred is staying on, rebuilding, after seriously considering his options.
He is so thankful for our BlazeAid help, at least his fences are up again. He is currently working on the plans for his new home. I feel sad with the thought of how he will furnish it.
He enjoys a cuppa with us, smiles a small, twinkling smile, handshakes all round, then waves as we go, our job done. I look back as we drive out that sweeping drive and see him slowly walking back into his shed, alone in that stark-that-once-was-beautiful landscape, and wish that I could stay and have another cuppa, just to spend a little more time with this gentle but unstoppable soul. I could learn so much.
STEVE
Steve and his wife were preparing to leave for an overseas trip to spend Christmas with future in-laws (their daughter is set to marry a German). Expected departure date was the week prior to the 19th December.
At the last minute, for some inexplicable reason, Steve cannot locate his passport. Unusual for someone (apparently) so organised. Anyway, it was far too late to obtain a replacement and, after some logistical manoeuvring, it was decided Steve would have to miss out on the trip. And stay home alone.
On the day of the fire, Steve did what he could around the property and, as the day was too hot and windy, decided to retreat indoors where it was cooler, to watch a movie. He closed the normally opened curtains – Steve said they NEVER close those curtains – to watch the movie. Part way through the movie, Steve thought he heard a faint siren, almost dismissed it, then thought that as it didn’t appear to be part of the movie, he’d better check outside. He went to have a look through the curtains.
What he saw shocked him to his boots. The fire was fast approaching the front paddock, on it’s way up to the house.
After first racing to check on his elderly neighbour, Steve made the decision to leave. Unfortunately, the road out was blocked with fallen trees, so Steve had no choice but to return and defend the house. I can’t remember now whether he had the help of fire authorities – some of the people trapped within the fire zone were unable to be reached by the authorities – but whatever the case, Steve (and possibly others) managed to save the house and himself.
He recounts the story to me, shaking his head in wonder at the chain of events which led to him saving their home, which would have almost certainly been damaged, if not destroyed.
He looks at his wife cheekily, saying it’s not a bad thing to be a little disorganised every now and then. His wife looks at me, very close to tears, telling me of the anguish she went through, being so far away at the time her husband was fighting for their home and his life.
I’m not sure whether he has unearthed his passport.
And I wanted to ask whether they’ve taken the curtains down, but didn’t.
Margie
Margie’s family are passionate about old cars. So much so that if you had ever driven past their property, you would have seen four or five lovingly restored vehicles, from the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s, happily residing near the front gate. On proud display.
Margie and family put their fire plan into action early on the day of the fire, before the fire had even started. They agreed that as the predicted weather conditions for that day and the one following were so ominous, they would leave their wooden, forest encircled home – being undefendable – and move to a safer place until the weather conditions had improved.
They are so glad they did. Their home and property happened to be in the direct path of the hottest part of the fire. It was completely destroyed, along with the beautiful old cars at the front gate.
Their son’s lovingly restored Kombi was fortunately with him and lives to tell another tale.
Margie and family were thankfully provided with temporary accommodation in the form of a friend’s vacant house. They have made the decision to return and rebuild and are currently in the throes of moving back to live on the property in a couple of converted shipping containers.
Hearing this story, being an old car tragic myself, I shed a quiet tear for those silent scorched sentinels at the front gate.
************************************************************************
So I hope that, like me, you can, through these stories, begin to appreciate the aftermath of fire, the loss, the damage, the impact on community, and the time it takes for everyone to get back on their feet.
But it’s in times like these that the strength of community is tested and in this instance, it was not found wanting. This community has pulled together and continues to support one another. I’m so lucky to be here.
If you’d like to be part of BlazeAid, visit their website here to see how you can contribute, either through giving your time or a donation.
Korumburra – good and not so good
Did you enjoy our jaunt along the coast from Phillip Island to the Prom? Yes? Good.
Well here’s a few more photos from that (Inverloch) week, of places we visited and things we did which didn’t actually involve lots of sand, sea and blue sky.
Andrew and I do love the coast but there are a few things that will entice us away from it – three of them being a farmers’ market, an agricultural show and the history of a place. We found these three things that (Inverloch) week – and here they are.
Coal Creek Farmers’ Market – Korumburra (a beautiful twenty minute drive through rolling South Gippsland countryside from Inverloch)
These wonderful farmers (their meat has been delicious) actually have developed an education centre, to get the message out there, the one about respecting and caring for the animals and the land.
Buying our sourdough – stoneground organic flour, wood fired. Cannibal Creek Bakehouse. Very cool guys. This was the biggest loaf they had. Even the little munchkin in the blue hat was impressed. Woah……
And if we wanted spuds, we had to wait. And wait. And wait. But it was worth it. So many to chose from, again so fresh. Yay! It’s spud season!
Coal Creek Heritage Village – Korumburra
We came to Korumburra for the farmers’ market but whilst we were there, we found this amazing village.
This heritage village has been built around the mine poppet head and coal mine workings in Korumburra. Since 1974, original buildings from around the district have been acquired and faithfully restored to show the diversity of rural life as it was at the turn of the century. Sixty three buildings tell the story of coal mining, dairy farming and local commerce in the South Gippsland area, from first settlement in 1820 to around 1920.
All of this has been achieved by a not-for-profit organisation, largely staffed by passionate and committed volunteers.
Free entry. Wow, to everything about this place.
The General Store is the most beautiful place. This holds a huge collection, meticulously gathered and exhibited – with only a few items for sale. Visually, stunning. We loved it.
Korumburra Show
Whilst we were at the farmers’ markets, someone mentioned that numbers were down because everyone was at the show.
I asked (with growing excitement) ‘What show?’
Oh, only the Korumburra Show.
‘So, is that on today?’ (voice rising hopefully)
Yep, just down the road.
SCHWEET!!
There is nothing I like better than a local show. I was brought up on ’em. Wauchope, my hometown on the northern NSW coast, produces the best annual agricultural show north of the Sydney Royal Easter Show – no bull.
Korumburra Show 2016, though, was something a little different……
As we came in the main gate, this is what we saw. And it was pretty quiet. I thought ‘Hmmm.. an empty main ring (which is actually a footy field now I look at it). They must be getting ready for the grand parade, or the next round of show jumping… or something’.
We wandered around the ring to the Buskers Festival – an open busking competition on the back of two large trucks.
That was just too exciting so we headed for the Exhibition Hall.
Hmmmm… pretty quiet, very low key
A photo for Mum, who loves golliwogs
A ‘decorated bra’ category? Now I’ve seen everything. Dare I say, could only happen in Victoria….
We headed back to the busking…… too exciting. So we went looking for a cuppa, which proved hard to find as the local Lions Club had packed up for the day. At 3.30. Good time to stop making cups of tea. Not.
Then we found this dog competition thingo – I thought we were going to see sheep dogs or something excellent like that. But no. It’s pretty hard to explain but essentially two teams of three dogs (all sorts) raced against each other, one at a time, over obstacles to grab a ball and then run back (to delirious owners) with it. I have to say, not my thing. But these peeps were enthusiastic. Although not as much as the dogs. They clearly LOVED it!
So we went back to the busking and found that, in the absence of some competitors (whose names were continually being called over the loud speaker to no avail), this gorgeous fellow had been called in to entertain the (now dwindling) mob
By now we realised that there were no ring events, no grand parade, no cows, bulls, sheep, show-jumping, no woodchop, not much really, except for the sideshow alley. You know, ping pong balls down clowns mouths, pluto pups, fairy floss, dodgem cars, the whizzer (or whatever it’s called these days), more pluto pups, more fairy floss. Apparently there had been an animal nursery, for the youngsters, but, like the tea-makers, they had packed up and gone home early.
I recalled the amazing Bream Creek Show, in Tasmania, that I wrote about on this blog on 18 May 2014. Apart from the Wauchope Show (the Royal of the North), the Bream Creek Show was the best. Please go back and have a read, there are some great photos too. That’ll remind you what a good agricultural show is all about.
Phillip Island, the Bass Coast and Wilsons Promontory
Friday 19 February 2016
Wow, that’s quite a heading. A big slice of Victorian coastline.
These are the places Andrew and I explored the week we stayed at Inverloch (about a week ago now). We have vowed to return to this area, because a week was just not long enough to do it justice, as you will see from the photos.
So, travelling from Melbourne – I’m not a feathered migrating flyer now, I’m actually in Roxy with Andrew and we’re driving, with KK happily bouncing along behind – if you take the main drag south east out of the city and head down the coast around Western Port, through Grantville, you eventually end up at a place called San Remo. If you turn right (you are now heading kinda West), you’ll travel along a peninsula of land (i.e. water either side) and then cross over a bridge to Phillip Island.
To be more specific, spectacular Phillip Island.
Rugged coastlines, idyllic beaches, nationally recognised surfing reserves, protected wildlife habitats (remember the Little Penguins at dusk? seal and whale watching? sea bird rookeries?), amazing walking and cycling tracks, water activities, fishing, and of course, (what I know Phillip Island for) the Grand Prix circuit. It’s all there, as well as boutique shops, galleries, a chocolate factory (why oh why?), cafes etc, even (and this is pretty random) a National Vietnam Veterans Museum.
We spent only a few hours there but will go back, particularly for the walking and cycling. And the museum.
Phillip Island facts and figures (source – Phillip Island Official Visitors Guide)
People – 10,000 permanent residents; penguins – 16,000 breeding pairs; birds – 346 species; koalas – 50; seal rocks – 25,000 seals with 6,000 pups born each year; area – 10,000 hectares.
Cowes Jetty, Phillip Island
Western Port, Cowes, from the jetty (on a glorious day)
Picnic lunch, Cowes
Point Grant, Seal Rocks and the Nobbies – an amazing sea-bird rookery
Looking along Summerland Peninsula, with the Little Penguin viewing further along in the distance
The Pinnacles, Cape Woolamai
Leaving Phillip Island and San Remo, heading east along the coast, we are now entering the Bass Coast. We pass through the towns of Kilcunda, Wonthaggi and Cape Paterson.
The waters are protected by Kilcunda-Harmers Haven Coastal Reserve and the Bunurong Marine Park. The coastline is rugged, the beaches glorious, although, as they are all cliff-bound, most can only be reached via a large number of stairs, a truly breath-taking experience.
Bay Beach, Cape Paterson
The Oaks, Cape Paterson
Shack Bay, Cape Paterson
Heading down to Eagles Nest
Eagles Nest
Eagles Nest
A pensive Andrew at Eagles Nest
Eagles Nest
We are now passing through Inverloch and along the shores of Anderson Inlet. You’ve seen enough photos of these places so we won’t get out of Roxy, we’ll keep going.
Next stop – Venus Bay, then on to Cape Liptrap, Walkerville and Waratah Bay.
Venus Bay Number One Beach – such a romantic name, but honestly, from this photo, it could be anywhere in the world…
Cape Liptrap
Walkerville Beach with a spectacular sky
Hamilton Beach, Bear Gully Campground, Waratah Bay
Walkerville Beach looking across Waratah Bay to Wilsons Promontory in the distance
Waratah Bay from Sandy Point (Wilsons Promontory getting closer)
And so on to the Prom.
We spent only a few short hours at the Prom but again, we have vowed to return. As you will see from the photos, it was incredibly busy the day we were there. Walkers, campers, families, overseas tourists, buses, motorhomes, trailers, cyclists, aaaaargh….
It is such a magnificent place, wild, rugged and beautifully forested, it was unfortunate there were so many people around. But we did only visit the main, easy to get to places. The majority of the peninsula, the best bits, are accessible only via foot, with backpack.
We drove in via the bituminised road to Tidal River, which holds the main campground. There are numerous walks, some easy, some more challenging up over the mountains, some taking a few hours, some overnight to more remote camping areas right around the Prom. It was so busy at the places we visited, we had to wonder what it would be like at those harder-to-get-to places on the other side of the Prom. It was interesting to note that the carpark for overnight hikers, situated just outside of Tidal River, was absolutely full. There were a lot of hiking peeps out there somewhere….
There is a special energy about this place, almost haunting. You can understand why people are drawn to it.
We got our toes sandy and that was about all.
Next time.
First stop, Squeaky Beach – with Andrew commenting that the sand really was squeaky
Squeaky Beach was popular, being a very short walk from the carpark
When we turned around for a last look at Squeaky Beach, the sky just exploded… and took my breath away
The walk back to the carpark, Squeaky Beach
Glennie Lookout between Squeaky Beach and Picnic Bay, looking out to Norman Island and Bass Strait
The walk down to Picnic Bay – longer, steeper, less people
Picnic Bay
Picnic Bay
That’s all I have for you at the moment. That is, with respect to this part of the world.
I have so much more, bubbling away in the background, soon to be shared.
Catch ya again soon!
Blazeaid
Monday 15 February 2016
Just a quick post to let you know that we’ve arrived at our first Blazeaid camp, situated about twenty minutes drive out of Ballarat.
There were devastating fires in this area in December of last year. The Blazeaid camp has been running from that time and will apparently run for another few weeks, although there has been a recent spate of smaller fires in the area just last week and the volunteers have offered to stay and help any property owners needing a hand.
We arrived this afternoon to a very warm welcome from the crew. Most were still out on their various fencing projects, some had arrived back at camp ready for a shower and a sit down.
(We actually had to head back in to Ballarat to purchase a doonah, as the nights are apparently a little on the fresh side out here and we’ve come armed only with a couple of lightweight blankies.)
We were treated to a hearty dinner (thanks to the local Country Womens Assoc – CWA), a hilarious briefing, and then a chinwag. The bonding within the group is clear. These guys – from Victoria, Queensland, NSW, all over – are working hard, but having a great time. A lot of them have worked at numerous Blazeaid camps – they told us that once you’ve been to one, you want to come back for more. It’s so rewarding. As my Mum said, that’s a real win-win.
The chinwag was interesting. I learned a lot about Freemasons – thanks to Bob – and we also learned about a local Marmalade Festival (in nearby Buninyong) which was held about two weeks ago.
When you’re travelling, you just never know what you’re going to come across.
Anyway, apparently, about six years ago, a group of Aussie CWA women decided it was time to give the Brits a run for their (marmalade making) money and challenge them to a marmalade-off. It’s become an annual event – part of the Grand Jam tour (I just made that up…) – and the Aussie contenders (from all over the joint) are judged at Buninyong each year (hence the marmalade festival – I really couldn’t ascertain whether anything else happens at the festival other than jam judging, so I wouldn’t go booking your flights for next year’s festival just yet).
Would you believe (according to the CWA aficionado we were speaking to) the Australians are up three rubbers to two. The current year’s lot of Aussie marmalade – that is, the best of the best from the festival two weeks ago – has been bubble-wrapped to within an inch of it’s life and is in the air on it’s way to England for judging as we speak.
One of the winning entries this year was from Tassie (of course!). A cumquat, strawberry and chilli marmalade. Wow.
And all Andrew wanted was a simple Seville Orange marmalade. He’s a connoisseur, it’s in his (Scottish) blood. Fortunately, this CWA contact has advised she can supply him with a sample of one of the festival entries – for a donation, of course! He awaits, toast ready.
The Blazeaid camp as we arrived and set up this afternoon
I think there’s going to be some wickedly funny stuff to come out of this adventure. I’d love to do portraits of some of these people, they’re just so interesting. Stories everywhere, I love it.
I’ve also got lots of photos from our week of exploring around Inverloch and the Bass Coast last week. I’m working on getting them out to you. I just need more hours in the day.
Oh, one last word. I wanted to introduce you to the newest addition to our entourage. If you’ve read this blog from our previous travels, you would have met Nick – our dancing Santa. Sadly, he fell off his perch and has retired back to the North Pole. We now have Pukka the dancing duck.
Pukka at Blazeaid (dancing in the near-dark actually)
Inverloch
If you were a migrating bird and you flew in a direct line south-east out of Melbourne CBD, you would eventually arrive (approx 170 km later) at Wilsons Promontory, the southern-most tip of mainland Australia.
Apart from the built-up (city) human inhabited areas (which you probably wouldn’t have enjoyed very much), you would have flown over fertile rural lands, glorious nature conservation reserves, sparkling waterways, small coastal and rural settlements (that weren’t so bad) and on to the amazing Wilsons Promontory National Park.
Most of the area you’d have flown over since leaving Melbourne is known as the Bass Coast Shire, which incorporates Phillip Island and the towns of Wonthaggi, Cape Paterson and Inverloch, nestled on the shores of the expansive Anderson Inlet.
After that, if your wings are still up to it, you’re flying over Gippsland, part of which includes Cape Liptrap Coastal Park, Waratah Bay, Sandy Point and on to Wilsons Promontory. My guess is you’d make the wise decision to stop for a sleepover on The Prom (as it is affectionately known around these parts) before continuing on to who-knows-where in your compulsive migratory quest.
Being a bird, you won’t have a problem finding a spot to rest on The Prom, not like for us humans, who want to flock (no pun intended) to the Prom and therefore have to cast ballots to determine who gets to camp where in the very limited camping spots available. And then have to pay through the nose for the privilege of roughing it in this most extraordinary place. I’ll be showing you more about The Prom in a future post. I know you’ll like what you see.
But I’ve really digressed here. Not sure where the migrating bird idea has come from, just a way of explaining where Andrew and I are at the moment.
Needless to say, we actually drove south-east out of Melbourne, the day after we visited the Flemington Farmers’ Market, and headed for Inverloch. As you know, we’d visited Inverloch to see some cycling, and we knew we had to go back.
The GPS, God love her, took us off the main drag and through astonishingly beautiful undulating rural areas (dairy, beef and sheep), with wild apple trees growing along the roadside, until we crested the last hill and the Bass Coast world opened up before us.
Soz, no photo at this point. I was too absorbed, didn’t even think of it.
Arriving in town, we booked in to the Inverloch Foreshore Camping Reserve, which runs along the western shore of Anderson Inlet to Screw Creek and Townsend Bluff. We chose an unpowered site right at the very end of the reserve, a bit of a walk from the showers etc but also a long way away from the closest camper. Most people seem to prefer to camp close to the amenities, which is fair enough. Can be a bit noisy and smelly though, but whatever floats your boat.
We were completely secluded in our end-of-the-line camping spot, with a beautiful view across the inlet and direct access to the Screw Creek Nature Walk (which turned out to be a great running track). Preferred these (natural) amenities to the campground amenities….
Let’s have a look.
We’ve been getting up early for sunrise Yoga out on the sand in front of our campsite. Pretty ok.
Andrew reckons we’ve got the best camp site, looking out over this. And would you believe, no mozzies or sand flies. Not sure where they’ve gone, probably hassling the other campers around the amenities.
Screw Creek emptying into Anderson Inlet
Screw Creek Nature Walk
Echidna, trying to hide from us, Screw Creek Nature Walk
A beautiful tree on the nature walk
Andrew enjoys the tree
Views from the top, Townsend Bluff, Screw Creek Nature Walk – with a little lens flare…
So what is there to do in Inverloch, apart from marvel at the natural beauty and smile smugly at the other mossie-bitten campers? No, I didn’t mean that.
As there is so much water around, with a protected inlet as well as open surf beaches, Inverloch is the home of water sports – stand up paddling, kayaking, wind surfing, kite-surfing, normal everyday-ole-surf surfing, fishing (although it’s called angling here). Inverloch has it all, unless you don’t like getting wet and salty. But then there’s the walking and cycling, so much of it and so good.
Or you can go shopping in the vibrant shopping area (satisfyingly devoid of Woolworths/Coles/Aldi), enjoy a coffee at one of the many cafes, eat organically.
We had lunch at Jjajas Farm Gate cafe (see the website here). This place is truly inspirational. The French-Italian family have approx 7 acres under cultivation on the edge of town, where they are growing organically and selling produce directly to the public or using it in the delicious meals offered in their cafe (which is licensed). Three generations of family working hard, clearly passionate about what they are doing. Highly recommended.
We also bought a lot of our groceries at Green Heart Organics in the main shopping area. Heartening to see a town this size supporting the organic industry.
A lot of our time has been spent just lolling about the campsite, exercising most days (via a walk/run/Yoga sesh) and enjoying the beauty of this place. We have done a lot of exploring around the area, which I will tell you about soon.
KK and Roxy are loving it.
Our very own campsite walkway to the inlet – looking through our kitchen window
And this is what we see when we emerge from that track (full-tide) –
Tonight, the colours in the sky were beautiful as the sun was setting –
Andrew in the kitchen is also a beautiful sight…
I’m just sorting through my photos – I have many from the last few days.
Talk (and share photos) again soon!
Up, up and away
9 February 2016
For a few months now, Roxy and KK have been at us to get going again. Back on the road, out there, meeting people, sharing adventures, learning.
So here we are.
Last Wednesday, I flew from Port Macquarie to Melbourne and met up with Andrew, who had ventured across Bass Strait on the Spirit of Tasmania the previous night. Heroically finding me at Melbourne airport (the parking arrangements nearly did him in), he looked remarkably fresh from the overnight experience, I gotta say.
It was a wet, misty Melbourne day, slippery underfoot. But that didn’t matter a tote. We just got on with it.
And we’ve had the best time. Melbourne has been good to us, fed us good grub, smiled and laughed with us, showed us inspiring art and clever design.
For what was left of soggy Wednesday, we happily wandered Lygon St, found a great little cafe (El Mirage) and had a delicious, long lunch (highly recommended); set up camp with KK; then relaxed (on our all-encompassing tilt-back-till-you-almost-fall-out camp chairs) with a bottle of bubbles followed by toasted cheese sangers for dinner (still full from lunch). A lovely mellow day.
Thursday smiled on us with brilliant sunshine. We cruised into town on a tram (love ’em), took in Federation Square, the National Gallery of Victoria, a timber furniture design exhibition at Craft Victoria and enjoyed another delicious, long lunch, this time at the Seedling Cafe on Flinders Lane (very highly recommended). We finished off the afternoon with a drink on the Yarra waterfront watching the college kids rowing. Another memorable day. Another cheese on toast dinner.
Friday we took a tram to St Kilda, at which point I started taking photos.
It was a big sky day, full of sunshine. After a delicious Japanese lunch, we took in the pier.
And the sun worshippers.
We wandered past Lunar Park, not open but smiling none-the-less.
At this point, we decided it was time for a snack. I found a table whilst Andrew took stock of the window (stock) and barged his way inside to purchase. Well, not quite. Andrew’s not the barging kind of person.
He was there one minute, then gone.
He emerged with tea for two, a very large piece of chocolate-coffee gateau and an apple something-or-other (with pastry and cream) – too good. I was so excited I forgot to take a photo until all that was left were the crumbs for the (feathered) cleaners.
And so, back home to KK later that day, sun-kissed and foot-weary but not so full that we couldn’t manage a plate of steamed veg for dinner (with melted organic butter and delicious mineral salt). Sleeping like babies, feeling so relaxed.
It is all about the food for us, as you may have noticed.
But we are also into fitness. Read on.
We’d heard about a cycle race that was taking place south of Melbourne (Jayco Herald Sun Tour), that featured some well-known international cyclists, so we decided to spend Saturday travelling down to see the third stage of the race – from Traralgon to Inverloch, a short 146 km, with some hills. We decided to set ourselves up at Inverloch to watch a sprint and then the stage finish.
From what we’d seen in the plethora of tourist brochures that were floating around in the car, Inverloch was definitely worth a visit not just because it was hosting a stage finish.
The breakaway group setting up for the sprint, at the roundabout just out of Inverloch. They still had a loop of 30km to go, along the beautiful (possibly windy) Bass Coast between Wonthaggi and Inverloch. They were definitely hoping to hold off the main peloton for a stage win.
Of course, if we’d set ourselves up on the OTHER side of the road, we would have captured the sweat and grimace of this small break-away group. But they’d just come through a roundabout and you never know which way they’re going to go….These guys had broken away from the main group many, many miles ago so were doing it particularly tough.
The peloton casually arrive, no need to sprint but definitely in hot pursuit of the grimacing breakaway group
Andrew pretty happy with proceedings. The two women behind him, with arms raised, were particularly entertaining. I’m thinking the cyclists were glad those two had chosen the wrong side of the road as well…
Then on to Inverloch itself and the finish line. We did not pay as much as these green-capped people opposite us, who were set up with wine, shade, etc and the luxury of space to view the finish. But were they on the right side of the road for the best photos?
And here they come! The breakaway group had been caught in the last few kilometres, and we’re seeing the superstars now with heads down, getting the job done. And yes, we again were not on the right side of the road and I had to elbow my way in to get these (not so good) photos…. what can you do….
Nothing like a tight, lycra-clad, out-of-focus bum, don’t you think? He’s flying up on the inside, sprinting madly.
There he is about to finish, still a little blurry but has definitely passed a few rivals….
This guy and his mate toddled in about a minute or so after everyone else. He sat up, looked at the time displayed overhead, put his hands up to his helmet and uttered a word I couldn’t quite hear (although would it have been duck? Like, he was thinking he and his mate wouldn’t make it under the banner?) I guess he didn’t get an ice cream from his team manager afterwards…
After the race, bikes packed away and ice creams consumed. Ready to travel to the next town for the final stage the following day.
We were a little tired after all that cycling, so we walked down to the inlet. And saw why the tourist brochures had made such a fuss of this place.
Looking out through the mouth of Anderson Inlet, at low tide. I have never seen so much sand in one place. The surf beach is around to the right. Inverloch has it all.
We visited the Tourist Info and wandered around the streets, consuming our own ice-creams (double scoop with waffle cones of course). The place was abuzz with the cycling but the town was vibrant, energetic, young, surf oriented.
We loved it.
And vowed to return on Monday…..
But after such a day, what could we do to amuse ourselves, as we had one day left (Sunday) before leaving Melbourne?
Of course, there was the washing, the getting organised to leave etc etc. But before we did all that, we took ourselves to the Flemington Farmers’ Market, as we do not like to miss a market when there is one to be had. They are the most uplifting of places to visit, peopled by passionate, humble producers, and then you come away with glorious, farm-fresh (organic if you’re lucky) food that you have connected with. It’s a no-brainer.
Some of our haul. (Notice the purple cauliflower? Not very big, quite expensive, but extremely nutritious). When we got home, we were hungry for lunch. So we sautéed the zucchini and flowers (whole) with chopped up garlic in butter, adding some left over, chopped up, lamb and rosemary sausages, with a hint of lemon. Then followed that with peaches, blueberries, grapes, yoghurt and a healthy drizzle of raw honey.
A fitting way to end our Melbourne sojourn. We kept the best (food) till last…..
And so, on to the beautiful Inverloch and surrounding Bass Coast (next post). Don’t go anywhere! (Well, without asking me first…)
Freycinet to Bicheno – just one small part of the glorious Tassie east coast
Dear KK gypsies reader
Inverloch Bass Coast Victoria
8 February 2016
I notice that the last time I published a post on this blog was June 2014, when I was feeling sad about losing Rik Mayall.
We were in Tassie at the time, after completing travels in WA, NT, across the Nullabor, SA, Vic and NSW. You were with me all the way, reading, shaking your head, hopefully enjoying our exploits (or at least my retelling of them). Faithful.
There have been floods of (life) water under (and over) the bridge since June 2014. In 2015, whilst I was living in Adelaide with my beautiful daughter, I attempted to publish this last unfinished post (about our travels along the east coast of Tassie), with my apology for the delay (typed in italics and left here for you to ponder over). But alas, it didn’t happen. I’ve decided to leave the apology in place, haven’t added anything to the original unfinished post and am now writing ANOTHER apology, kinda.
It is now February 2016. I have recently started another blog – robstablogsta – from our new home on the north NSW coast (my heartland). But as we are now (as of five days ago) on the road again, I’ve decided to BRING BACK KK GYPSIES!
I’d say you’re pretty confused with all of the above – collateral damage from poor communication on my part. Soz. But I’m short on time at the moment – the outdoors is calling! – so I hope you can digest this and move on with me.
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Adelaide SA
March/April 2015
Before you read this post, a comment from me. I’ll try to keep it short…
Faithful reader (this is bended knee stuff, a place I have been before – if you remember), I have left you hanging in KKGypsy (blog) waste-land for over twelve months now. I sincerely apologise and hope that you are ready to take up the (blogging) journey with me again.
I’m just a tad behind in sharing our news. Actually, I’m amazed that WordPress hasn’t ditched my whole site in disgust, but lo!, as I tenuously signed in today, determined to get this sorry old blog back on track, there it was, waiting, with just a few small WordPress format changes to dazzle (and challenge) me. And even more surprisingly, there are still a humbling number of readers each day (mind you, no dizzying heights of fame here, I count five hits a day pretty good), testament to the fact that we all love to travel, even if it is vicariously through the hands of a small-time blogger!
Freycinet to Bicheno – Andrew and I travelled this part of east coast Tassie in March/April 2014 and I started the draft of this post not too long after that. I now notice that I didn’t actually finish it at that time, so I’m going to have to rely on memory. Dangerous stuff. In fact, the safest thing to do would be to not even try, just throw in some photos – if they can be found – which will tell some of the story, and move on. I think we’re all ready for that.
I’m writing this from Adelaide, South Australia, where I am in residence with Catie (daughter, whom you have met in previous posts, although she is now older, wiser and somewhat over me…..). There is much to share about where I’ve been in the interim, that (currently) wordless void between east coast Tassie and South Australia. I need to tell you, I am working on it, enjoying the therapy of it, and as a bonus, it may make for an interesting read.
In a (Tassie walnut) nutshell, we stopped travelling, rented a non-movable, unKK-like southern Tassie home, bought a block of southern Tassie land, put KK under dust covers, started designing a home to put on the block, worked with the locals developing a community garden/improved village market before I upped stumps and moved to Adelaide, leaving Andrew to fend for himself in a freshly uncovered KK on our newly-purchased block.
That was five months ago now – our time apart is happily drawing to a close and has yielded much story-telling fodder. In a couple of week’s time, Andrew, Roxy and KK will be crossing the strait and joining me in Melbourne so that we can continue our travels.
Please, READ ON!
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Tasmania May 2014
At the risk of becoming too snug at Snug, we thought we had better up stumps and move on. Summer was fast fading and the nights were cooling down (for us usually mainland-dwelling softies, it was getting decidedly chilly around the nether parts), although we were told on more than a few occasions that ‘no, this has been a very warm year…’
Hmmmm…. so what happens in winter????
Nothing that we have to worry about now. So let’s go have a look at the much-talked about Tassie east coast!
Hooked-up and on the road again, through Hobart, over the bridge and along the Tasman Highway, don’t turn off to Richmond – been there, loved it, done that, for now. Through Sorell, for all things fruit and on…..
Just a word here – you may be wondering why I haven’t written about Hobart? You’re asking – have we visited any Hobartian icons other than MONA? We’ve been in the area long enough, after all. (Like, come on guys, what HAVE you been up to?)
Well, the truth is we haven’t done a lot in Hobart just yet. But it is, in our opinion, a really cool city, with much to do – small, stress-free and easy to navigate, picturesque (extremely hilly, great for keeping fit) with many views out over the water and back towards the majestic Mount Wellington; so much of the history encapsulated and palpable in the beautifully preserved buildings (which Hobartians are clearly very proud of). Many amazing old pubs and cafes which have identified, preserved and utilised the old stone and timber work in the interior design. Salamanca markets, Battery Point, Constitution Dock, the historic Cascade Brewery, MONA, the list goes on. If you’re impatient to find out more, read about Hobart here, otherwise…sit back and take a ride with us on our journey to Bicheno and back.
And back? Well, yes… because Bicheno is as far as we have been up the Tassie east coast, not even halfway along that beautiful, diverse stretch of coastline – a coastline vastly different to the wild, windy west coast.
The reason why we haven’t yet made it all the way round Tassie (and you know we’ve been here since Australia Day 2014 – all those months ago) is a whole nother story.
Suffice to say (quaint little saying…), I plan to do a separate photo essay on Hobart, with photos taken (over time) of the places we have visited. It’s an extremely photogenic city – think I’ll go purchase another memory stick for the camera….
So where was I? Oh yes, here we are on our way to Bicheno, just leaving Sorell. Out of Sorell, the highway becomes narrower, travelling through rural countryside and then into hillier areas – beautiful. Coming along beside the Prosser River, towards the town of Orford on the east coast, the highway becomes very narrow – on one side, the roadside drops away down an embankment to the river (there is a barrier to stop us toppling over the edge and into the river – Roxy andy KK sigh with relief) whilst on the other side, an equally narrow lane for the oncoming traffic and then a sheer rock face.
Solar-powered, ever-dancing Nic, sitting on the dashboard, actually drew his arms in and stopped dancing….
As we entered this section of challenging ‘highway’, there are signs telling us that this stretch of road is frequented by large trucks and is subject to random rock falls.
It all makes for a good story doesn’t it? And I’m milking it for all it’s worth. It is, after all, a fairly short section of road and is quite spectacular. I don’t have any pictures so you’ll just have to take my word for it.
*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&
RIP Rik Mayall
Today we hear the sad news of the passing of Rik Mayall – the british comedy actor most famous (I would say) for his role as Rick in the 1982 British sitcom ‘The Young Ones”.
I knew him equally as well for his role as Lord Flasheart in Rowan Atkinson’s ‘Blackadder’ series.
I think the following best describe the genius that he was –
‘the self-mocking master of alternative comedy’ and ‘he was just pure wiry, energetic, unpredictable humour poured into the shape of a human being’.
So Rik, thanks for the laughter that brought me to tears and hurt my tummy on so many occasions. It’s a great gift to give someone and you gave it to so many of us!
Bless you.
Take it easy wherever you are.
Richmond – a potted history of Tassie in one small town….
Richmond is a small town (population less than 1,000) about 25 km north-east of Hobart, in the Coal River Valley.
As with many Tasmanian towns, Richmond has a rich history, both light and dark. It’s home to one of Australia’s most iconic bridges. Of course, relative to European history, our oldest surviving bridges and buildings are just young things…..
The heritage listed Richmond Bridge, the oldest bridge in Australia still in use. The foundation stone was laid in 1823, with the bridge built by convicts using sandstone quarried at nearby ButchersHill and brought to the site using hand carts. It was completed in 1825.
Close up of the sandstone construction of the bridge. I can’t begin to imagine the back-breaking, spirit-crushing manual labour that went into the building of the bridge.
In the very early 1800’s, coal was discovered in the area and hence the name of the river/valley. Subsequent land grants encouraged settlement in the area. The bridge was then built to allow access from west to east and further exploration across to the Tasman Peninsula. Richmond became an important military post and convict station, with the subsequent construction of a goal, court house, barracks and a watch house. It then developed as a stopping off point for travel across to the east coast so the number of inns, businesses and accompanying services flourished (you know, wheelwrights, saddlers, stockyards, tanneries – those services which we don’t really have much use for these days…).
In more recent years, having developed as a quiet rural area, there has been more emphasis on arts, crafts, vineyards and tourism. Many of the original buildings have been preserved and/or restored – it is a peaceful, charming place to visit. You can view their well put-together website here.
A rural vista from the edge of town
Classic simple architecture
Ye olde school house
St Luke’s Anglican Church, circa 1834. Note the clock, which maaaaaybe wasn’t there in 1834….
I’ll have this little cottage
Cheerful
Richmond Gaol circa 1825
An interesting way to display keys from the past. Hmmmm….leads me to thinking….I’ve moved so many times over my lifetime, I have a collection of keys from previous abodes that I just didn’t take back…. maybe I could do something like this??? But then again, these old classic keys actually look good. It probably wouldn’t work with a bunch of Yale keys that have been cut out by some young guy at Bunnings…..
Isolation cell. There are some pretty gruesome stories about what occurred at this gaol – best left for you to find and read them, if you need to…
See you in a couple of weeks Andrew. You’ll probably have that brochure read by then….. er, that’s if you’ve got a torch with you…..
Aboriginal injustice. What it must have been like, for both cultures. Sadly, there was no knowledge of the real damage being done (by the just arrived Europeans) to these people and their (ancient) society.
We can look back and learn but we can only dwell on, and live in, the now.
That’s a bit heavy – think I’ll go and get a cuppa.
See ya soon!
Day-trips from Snug – The Huon, Tinderbox and Hobart’s Museum of Old and New Art (MONA)
So the after-party man (that would be Andrew) came back into my Snug life… and away we went!
Well, we didn’t ‘went’ anywhere, we stayed on at the caravan park at Snug (it was, after all, pretty good there – flushing toilets, hot showers, beautiful view….) and ventured out on a few day trips around the area. We took some photos…. but not enough. I’ll give you what we have, a meagre offering, but I can tell you that you need to see it in the flesh and take your own memories. Just do it!
We went for a drive south of Snug, through Flowerpot and Middleton and around the peninsula – on a very calm day. This is the D’entrecasteaux channel – looking across to Bruny Island. Beautiful.
I think this is Verona Sands – heading around the base of the peninsula towards the entrance to the Huon.
And, because it was such a calm day, the reflections on the Huon River were impossibly clear….
It’s all about the apples in the Huon – the Willie Smith Organic Apple Cidery and Museum lures you in with a cheeky wink. A must do!
Looking across the Huon Valley to Sleeping Beauty mountain north of Huonville. Can you see her?
We visited Cygnet (trendy but lovely) and Huonville (nothing special really… maybe we just didn’t give it a chance?) and then down the western side of the Huon to Franklin (where we enjoyed a beautiful festival) and Geeveston. (This small town has a big heart – and a great website, here. There have been so many small places that we have visited that don’t have a website to spruke their beauty. Well done Geeveston!)
It was all really beautiful – lush, with apples, apples and more apples for sale by the roadside, everywhere. Apparently very cold and foggy in winter…. But if you want apples, and rosy cheeks, then come live in the Huon. I don’t think you would regret it!
Across the water from Snug is a place called Tinderbox, right out on the end of a peninsula which I have yet to learn the name of. It’s another beautiful place, with people living on large blocks in the middle of the bush. This is what it looks like right out on the end.
We’ll have the lovely old house on the hill thanks – it’s got quite a view. Wait a minute – it’s actually a vineyard – it just gets better!
The house
The view and their ‘private’ beach
On another day, we travelled into Hobart to visit MONA – the Museum of Old and New Art. I’m guessing just about everyone has heard of this amazing museum, which is the largest privately funded museum in Australia and houses antiquities as well as modern and contemporary art from the David Walsh collection. From what I’ve heard, David Walsh is an eccentric genius mathematician guy who has used his unique and scary skill to make lots of money gambling, to the extent that he has been banned from entering gambling establishments. He’s that good at stealing the profits.
The museum is world renowned and is an experience like no other. You’ve got to go see it and form your own opinion. We spent the better part of a day there, and didn’t see all of it – not because it’s that big, you just need lots of time to absorb the art. It has put Tassie on the world map and has probably brought many tourist dollars to this parched economy. Read about it here.
Only one scratchy photo from our MONA adventure, but it’s a goodie because it tells me a story I don’t want to forget. Spied these guys sharing lunch on beanbags out front of the museum cafe. They ordered one delicate salad wrap between the three of them and proceeded to carefully and lovingly share it, with lots of laughter. It looked like they were used to carefully passing something around between the three of them – something a little smaller than a salad wrap. Maybe the salad wrap had that something special, an art-enhancing sauce or something.
Three boys and two beanbags at MONA
David Walsh has also been instrumental in initiating a winter festival in Hobart – called Dark Mofo – celebrating the winter solstice and the fact that from that point on, the days are getting longer for the next six months. It’s a reason to celebrate long and hard in Tassie, that’s for sure! Check out the website – there’s still time to book a flight and come on over!
Now here’s a story about a camper we met at Snug. We’ve been fascinated by many campers that we’ve met on our travels – amused, engaged, sometimes happily befriended. This camper was different. I’m putting this story in more for our memory (as this is, after all, our travel journal) rather than for your edification and/or amusement, because you know sometimes I forget that this is my travel diary, I’m so absorbed by telling you the story!
Warning – this is a story without an ending. If that’s not your cup of tea, then maybe you should stop reading now and go do something more worthwhile, like make a cup of tea… I guess you could say that about this blog in general, couldn’t you? Not nearly as thirst quenching as a cup of the finest…
We pretty much had the whole Snug unpowered campsite area to ourselves – particularly the high vantage point up the back. Other motorhomes, camper vans, tents etc were camping down on the waterfront ( though it was a bit boggy in places) and were coming and going as the days went by. However one day we were joined on our high ground (grassed that is, not moral) by a slim, well-dressed, well-spoken, long (grey) haired woman (in her late sixties, she told me later), travelling on her own in a small five door sedan (was a late-model VW actually). Her wardrobe consisted of (as it turned out) various beautiful designer blouses (only one each day, mind you) underneath the same woollen jumper and a trendy padded vest, leather pants and knee-high boots. Her long hair was tied back into a ponytail. She was elegant and would have been a really beautiful younger woman. She now looked very worn down by life and her heavily made-up eyes were sad.
When she first arrived to set up camp, we were down on the beach. I came back to KK noticing that a man (a park resident) was helping this newly-arrived camper set up a small tent beside her car (it was a ‘chip-packet’ style of tent) – it was evident she hadn’t set up very often, she wasn’t sure what to do.
Her car was absolutely chock full of ‘stuff’ and was riding low on it’s suspension.
She came over to us when she was set up – wanting to tell me her story. She was an articulate woman and spoke as if she were a woman of means, well-to-do. She was single, child-less and had recently lost a very dear friend (as it turned out, a benefactor). That friend had provided her with a home for many years and had apparently supplemented her income. She had retired from work (as an air hostess) but had frittered away, with enjoyment, quite a sizeable inheritance and super payout. After losing her friend, for some unexplained reason she was home-less, trying to survive on a pension. All she owned was the car and what was in it. Her siblings didn’t want to know her and didn’t want to help.
Why was she travelling in Tasmania when it appeared she came from Victoria? She was ‘on the run from the Vic authorities’ after ‘amassing’ unpaid parking tickets and fines. She had a two week period of grace to right the wrongs before losing her licence in that state, but it was evident she didn’t want to, or couldn’t face up to it. So she came to Tassie, where her licence was evidently still valid, where she had friends and time to think about what to do next. She appeared unhappy on a number of levels, constantly mentioning that no-one wanted to help her – even her friends, whom she felt were now avoiding her. She admired our set up – KK and Roxy gleaming, positively beaming in the soft Tassie sunshine – and our togetherness.
I had an uneasy feeling about her but at the same time, my heart went out and I felt for her. But there were a few inconsistencies in her story that I failed to understand. I felt maybe she wanted something from us, although she did not ask specifically. Apart from offering sympathy, advice and a cup of tea, I was unsure as to what I should do. Providing a share of our meals was all I could really offer but you know, I didn’t even do that.
She stayed beside us for a while, each day heading off somewhere in her laden car, leaving the tent zipped up and her camp chair, draped with her towel and washed smalls, set up and awaiting her return. She would be gone all day, coming back late in the day to cook a meal in the camp kitchen and retire early into her tent. Sometimes she would come over and talk some more – I continued to encourage her to face her problems and turn to friends/family/organisations for help. I don’t really know what she thought about that – but her visits stopped. I noticed her talking to other campers – and then one morning she was gone. After a night of rain, we got up to find her packing her things and heading out. She waved a small wave as she went on her way.
She came back about a week later, with a new tent which looked more robust and less chip-packety. Camped in the same spot, not far from us. However she didn’t engage with us and wouldn’t meet my gaze. I overheard her mentioning to another camper that she’d had to replace her previous tent because it had leaked. Poor thing – must have been a miserable night that wet night we’d had. One morning there was a bit of a kefuffle because she lost her car keys – somewhere between doing her laundry and having a shower. Quite a few of us were helping to look for the keys – unsuccessfully. Later that day, she was off in the car again so I guess the keys were found.
By now, the aforementioned period of grace (with the ‘authorities’) must have been drawing to a close. But a few days later, we moved on.
I often wonder what happened to her – how I could have helped, should have helped? Or whether there was another whole story that I just didn’t get. Either way, sadly the sun wasn’t shining in her life – and I didn’t even get her name.
Who was being tested here?
Hope you enjoyed your cuppa…..
KKgypsies 