I’ve written about my unease of being alone in the home, especially at night, in another post. I’m conquering that fear, but every now and then, it raises it’s ugly head. More so when I’m feeling a bit tired or vulnerable.
Constantly ‘shifting gears’, professionally, makes my spirit hungry for other things. Sometimes satiating this hunger happens just by chance when I least expect it, like my last trip.
Usually my trips to the Wheatbelt region are so predictable but this time, there was no room at the inn, so to speak. All the small motels in town were full, so also the B&Bs and there were no spare rooms available for overnight Hospital staff. The secretary heaved a sigh of relief when she found a rental home and I could almost hear the plea in her voice when she asked if it would be okay for a night. I agreed readily. The alternative, of driving there and back in a day after work, was more daunting. I attended a meeting before leaving Perth and it robbed three hours of my time, adding to my day’s angst. I drove when it was nearly dusk, something I avoid doing in rural areas.
The house was in a part of town I’m unfamiliar with and my GPS took me in circles. I found the home eventually. It was an old home with beautiful wooden floors, fireplaces, etc. Inside, it had travelled through a couple of centuries in decor, but it was clean. Unfortunately, several rooms were not on the same level, some with just a few inches drop which, after jarring my back, made me more cautious where I was stepping. I checked all the doors and windows as I always do and once I felt safe, checked out the fridge. There was no milk! It was getting dark and cooler. I knew I would be wanting a coffee in the morning, so I got in my car and headed back to town.
The streets were deserted. Even the sun had left the sky. I have never seen Narrogin in this light before. It was a moment that ended my frenetic day.
I was uneasy in an unfamiliar home. I reassured myself the floor boards creaked loudly. Being a light sleeper, it was my only security alarm. I fell asleep eventually. I woke early, as I usually do, and was delighted to see a back garden was unlike the front garden. It was very reminiscent of Perth gardens of yesteryear. Contemporary gardens in the city require less work but oh so sterile and boring! This garden was lush with grapevine, shrubs, flowers and trees. It had a presence. 
A pink geranium, the colour of hope, bloomed.
There was serenity and peace in the face of garden sculpture.
As I enjoyed my coffee in the quiet a shower of tiny birds descended, like autumn leaves on the lawn.
Inland thornbill
Silvereye
Young Australian Ringneck parrot
I was so enjoying the morning, I left my ironing to the last. Soon it was time for work but the iron and ironing board were nowhere to be found despite the owner telling me it was in the house. Fortunately, I had taken my iron with me. (Having been caught out before in a Wheatbelt motel without an iron, I carry one in the car!). I improvised using a towel on the kitchen bench top and got my clothes ironed. When I stepped into the shower, there was no soap. That would have been a problem for someone else, but not me. As I’ve started to be mindful about reducing waste, I tend to carry my own soap knowing full well, if soap is left in the shower, it gets discarded. I got to work 45 minutes late.
There have been some wonderful things happening career-wise but also some directions that I may choose to opt out of. Prior to coming to a decision, the vortex within has been unsettling. While enjoying the garden, I dearly wished I had someone in my life to bounce off when the shower of birds descended and brought this message:
You’ve had one of those days
haven’t we all?
see me stand before you
small and stretched tall
In those moments of quiet
you know this is true
there are those with ‘loved ones’
who are more alone, than you.
I opened my laptop and found an email from someone who had written the kindest words to me. Although I told her, she will still never know how much that meant to me, in that particular moment in time.
The message I have today to share is this. Never be afraid to be kind to someone.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
In response to RDP – Friday – Afraid
The talk of the day among locals was how high the river had risen every time they checked their phone either in the office or cafe. A colleague suggested driving out to Nine Mile Bridge where there was a small lookout over the River, so I went with someone familiar with the area at the end of the day. Their excitement was contagious, but we looked on in awe for different reasons. 
My excitement was embedded in the fact this water was the rains that came from a cyclone further north. Muddy red, it carried the heart of the Pilbara mining region, a link that generated a visceral response. With the Gascoyne River being the longest river in Western Australia (nearly 900 kms or 500 plus miles) from Ranges to the sea, it is a spectacular sight to see in motion, the power of it made me step back and away from it.
The night before we drove out to a cattle station I could not sleep with excitement, and like an unsettled infant, woke every two hours. The instructions we were given were literally the proverbial ‘mud map’. There was no phone coverage either for the last part of our journey. My colleague brought her esky and we filled it with sandwiches, fruit and lots of water. We wore casual clothing and sturdy shoes. We grinned at the road ahead and left town early morning all set for an adventure on roads neither of us had travelled before. Just as well we took food, the station was expecting floods and everything was placed on higher ground. 
The road we turned off from the major highway was signposted. The ink ran dry from there on. We saw some petrol tins on wooden stakes, no doubt, meaningful to someone but for us it left more questions than answers. Every few kms we hoped we were on the right track, and track it was, unsealed and deeply corrugated as rain had come through the area but not yet reached Carnarvon. The last 20 kms was an especially bone-crunching drive as we bounced in the cabin, our voices becoming high pitched or subdued, every time a jolt took us by surprise. 
The family was expecting us and told us if we did not show up at the homestead within the designated time frame they would come out to look for us. I wasn’t sure if I felt reassured by this! We were, in Australian vernacular, beyond the black stump. We did see some cattle along the way. It is mustering season so we were somewhat reassured, although we could not see anyone or hear any mustering choppers, there were people around some where in this vast landscape. No landmarks to guide us but the straight track, we reasoned, it had to lead to the cattle station and it did. Eventually.
The homestead was a lovely period building, brick, fibro and tin but being a private home, I did not take photographs. The high ceilings kept the temperature cool indoors and the rooms were dark. We could not see what we were doing so we sat on the verandah under a tin roof for several hours. It was hot and beads of perspiration slid down the length of my spine. I could not help noticing there were several shovels scattered around the verandah. With no garden in sight, the owner confirmed, they were kept handy and within reach, for killing snakes! If nothing else convinced us, this did. We were in the outback.
It is difficult to put into words what the outback feels like. It is harsh and unforgiving country. Yet it is brimming with life of what one can see and it feels like one can experience the unseen. There is a spiritual ambience to it. It floats among twisted trees, swirling waters and skims sandy banks, with a softness that is tangible. This is ancient country. It envelopes one if you let it. It is not a landscape one sees. It is a landscape, a country, one experiences. It is now part of me as I am of it.
Later that evening, back in Carnarvon, we walked to the local pub so we could have a drink or two with our meal to celebrate our adventure. Sunset looked promising.
We walked back to the hotel along the Fascine after dark, where the sunset a couple of hours earlier had been beautiful. I slept fitfully from exhaustion and excitement.
A Shared Space 
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