TheBanyanTree: On finding a long-lost path

[NancyIee at aol.com]

Oh how I  envy you your dream, especially the one you'll soon be living. 
Everyone needs  a dream, even at 17. Who knows, one day . .it may come true.   
Congratulations on a dream coming true.

 
NancyLee

On Sun,  Feb 5, 2012 at 5:47 PM, Robin  Tennant-Wood
<rtennantwood at gmail.com>wrote:

> About a  thousand years ago, I guess I was 17 at the time, I read an 
article
> in  a magazine about a bunch of young people who were living communally 
on  a
> farm in the Bega Valley. At the time I was living in subtropical  Brisbane
> and I don’t think I even knew where the Bega Valley was  except that it 
was
> somewhere way, way south where there was mist and  rain and cold weather.
>
>
>
> The photos in the  article showed the group sitting on the back steps of
> their wooden  farmhouse against a backdrop of blue-green mountains
> enshrouded in  fog. The grass was deep and green and black and white dairy
> cows  grazed somewhere in the background. Another photo showed a small
>  orchard of apples and stone fruit, with a wooden post-and-rail fence
>  surrounding it to keep the wallabies and cows  out.
>
>
>
> Where I lived, mangoes and pawpaws and  bananas grew in people’s backyards
> and at night the flying foxes  shrieked and bickered over the fruit.
> Bougainvillea and poinciana  splashed crimson and violet against the
> backdrop of the d’Aguilar  Range and the brown sluggish river, and unruly
> rainbow lorikeets got  drunk on the fermented flowers of the ubiquitous
> umbrella trees that  grew throughout the city with their voracious root
> systems that  buckled roads, knocked over fences and destroyed underground
> sewerage  pipes. Rain came in torrential downpours and then stopped, 
leaving
>  steam rising from the roads. To me, at 17, the quietness and soft  
colours
> of a valley somewhere in the south of the country where each  season was
> distinct looked like the most idyllic place to  live.
>
>
>
> I was a romantic at 17. Aren’t we all? I  was just about to start art
> college and wanted to be an artist or  writer, or both. That image of a
> farmhouse in a valley with  mist-crowned mountains, soft colours and 
gentle
> rain engraved itself  on my consciousness as the place I would live.
>  Someday.
>
>
>
> At around the age of 18 I realised  that being an artist or writer (or 
both)
> was going to involve a  considerable amount of starving in a garret.
> Romantic I may have been,  but I also inherited a formidable streak of
> pragmatism from my parents  and starving in a garret did not match their
> ideals of a work ethic.  So I went to teachers’ college and shelved, for a
> while, my idea of  writing.
>
>
>
> Last April I went overseas for a week  as part of a university research
> project. When I got back there was an  email from the owner of the house 
we
> had been renting in Canberra for  10 years. He had just accepted a job
> overseas, he wrote, and would  need to sell the house. I emailed back: 
would
> it be possible for him  to delay selling until Roger and I got the house
> we’re building out of  town to the point where we could move in? Yes, he
> agreed; but when  Roger and I talked about it we decided that maybe, 
after a
> decade in  town, it was time to move anyway. We began to cast around for a
>  suitable place to live. Suitable, in our case, was somewhere with a bit  
of
> land, close to our own property so we could proceed with our  building and
> also close enough to Canberra for me to continue working  at the 
university,
> and where we could take our animals: one dog, four  cats and seven 
chickens.
>
>
>
> Sometimes you just  know you’re on the right path in life because 
obstacles
> disappear and  the path starts to look like a highway. Within weeks we had
> been  offered a house near Araluen, about a 90 minute drive from Canberra
>  and less than an hour’s drive from Innisfree, our own property. A friend 
 in
> Canberra offered me a room for a couple of nights a week and my  Head of
> Department approved my request to work on campus three days a  week and 
work
> from home the rest of the  time.
>
>
>
>  A week later we drove out to the  Araluen Valley to have a look at the
> house we would be renting for the  next year or so. Nestled at the top end
> of the valley with mountains  rising on three sides and a creek running 
past
> the end of the  property, the two-acre block with a large rammed-earth and
> stone  construction house was perfect. The house itself is surrounded by
>  trees, mostly deciduous, so in winter the earth walls of the house  
absorb
> what warmth there is in the sun and in summer it is in shade.  The yard 
has
> a large vegetable plot and an orchard of apple, pear and  stone fruit 
trees.
>
>
>
> As I write this, seated at  the table in my temporary study, the valley is
> enshrouded in mist  hanging low over the blue-green mountains and the 
leaves
> of the trees  outside the window are already turning yellow and orange,
> bright  against the softer palette of the background. An unusually early
>  autumn, but it’s been an odd summer.
>
>
>
> To the  south from here is the Bega Valley, and just over the hills to the
>  west is the Deua Valley, where our own property, Innisfree is steadily
>  approaching the point where we will be able to move in later this year.  
We
> have mist-crowned blue-green mountains there, too, and a small  orchard 
with
> a fence to keep the wallabies out (although it doesn’t)  and a creek.
>
>
>
> Funny how the path we set for  ourselves at 17 sometimes really is the 
right
>  one.
>
>
>
> cheers
>
>
>  Robin
>