Monday, December 9, 2013

Coming Home

There is always something so lovely about coming home. About rounding that last corner of road and seeing the sea.
As children we always competed to see who would be first to see it, now my own children have started looking out for that first glimpse.
Although we live on the far side of the state now, it's always this little corner of the world, and this little beach shack (actually larger than our house back in Gippsland, but still) that feels like home. This place is the one that holds all my childhood memories of winter swims and then boiling hot baths, mah-jong games and hours of shell-seeking, teen revels when I'd catch the train and then the bus down with friends, arriving in the twilight for weekends of long walks, night-swims and big open fires, the place of return through all my twenties travels. I lived here for a year after my return from eighteen months working in Tonga. When I was evacuated from the Solomon Islands during the riots, this is where I came to await news of when I could return. My Beloved and I lived here for a further nine months while I studied teaching. This is the place my Beloved proposed, the place we were married, the place I spent two happy months waiting the birth of my Sprocket while my Beloved worked overseas - although I listened to family pleas and returned to Melbourne for the last few weeks. (Which I sort of regret, but I get their point that a heavily pregnant woman in a house by herself at some distance from a hospital is not the best idea, but as it turned out, my Sprocket was very late, so when my Beloved returned for his birth we had weeks of waiting.) This is where both our children were Christened.
While all the other places are transient, this is the permanent and the home.
These stretches of sand and sea. These winding clay paths through twisting trees. These changing tide marks and wild stretches of surf, these protected bays and big pools of treasures.
The night we arrived the rain fell in flurries all through the dark hours, and thunder was frequent. With my little ones curled beside me I listened to the rain on the roof, their steady breathing. Felt the kicking of the baby within me, and was perfectly content. My Poppet's name means 'night rain' and listening to the rain on the roof, its lulls and periods of intensity, while she is curled sleeping in my arms, is a recipe for happiness.
We have a week of rain forecast, warm - but wet.
I look forward to rainbows.


  1. I love reading all your family goings-on, and seeing your beautiful pictures. This will be such a treasure for your children when they are older. You write so well, it's quite magical and I feel almost there with you. Lots of good wishes being sent your way from just a bit further south!

  2. I do so hope the kids enjoy reading it when they're older! And these few days have been perfection! Good wishes returned to New Zealand! (And I'm admiring my gorgeous copy of Silvana - just stunning!)