TheBanyanTree: On finding a long-lost path

[Mike Pingleton]

Me too!  A wonderful description of your new home.
-Mike

On Sun, Feb 5, 2012 at 4:54 PM, Pam Lawley <pamj.lawley at gmail.com> wrote:

> LOVE it!!!!!!!!!
>
> 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
> >
>