It all started with a massive storm, last week Back Up the Track around Maree way, headed down to Quorn and across the pastoral districts south of here. I sat in the darkness of my kitchen, damp with November humidity, watching the silent electrical lightning display through great looming black clouds outside.
The wind picked up and was literally howling and whipping at the kitchen windows. I scurried around my little house stuffing tea towels under doors keeping out the now heavy rain. I wanted to feel the wind after a humid sticky day, the chance to open up my home to clear out the hot still air. But the wind refused to come in nicely, it was doing nothing of the sort.
Would the roof stay on? Would the neighbor's roof stay on?! Locally the favourite building material is corrugated iron. The stuff surrounds me and as the storm blew in I imagined sheets of it flying through the air, whipped up into a tornado tunnel ....oh, there goes Dorothy and Toto! Yet, no tornado came. I was wearing the wrong shoes, clearly.
Since that night, I've been panicky about coping against the reality of natural disasters - will my house be too hot in summer? Will I have enough water in my tanks? Can I afford a new air-conditioner, or should I get insulation? How many jobs do I need to win before I build a veranda? Should I fill up with cheap petrol here or the next town? Can I live off the contents in my cupboard a little bit longer?Should I get a paid job like normal people? Would life be easier that way? Why am I doing this business thing again? What would I do if a bush fire came through? Will I get poisoned if something dies in my tank? I was beginning to feel very, very small.
I need a New Girls' Guide to Country Living! (will probably write it myself ) My optimism was sky high two weeks ago. And then I fell flat, body tired from driving, of thinking, meeting strangers, explaining my business, on the hunt for jobs, from working without being paid.
Being self employed in a remote town and owing my own home is testing my limits and blowing old ones away. Emotionally, financially, psychologically, physically, creatively.
My conversations with others are better, slower, more paced and more present. Humour is everywhere. I'm enjoying others' company more, given I spend so much time at home on my own, which apart from the odd occasson I don't mind. I'm laughing more, I'm happy when I go to sleep, and I'm happy to wake up. I'm happy to leave the house and I'm happy to return home. I'm happy to have a beer at 2pm and wear the consequences.
It's this happiness that doesn't delete the worry, but is an old familiar feeling that keeps me here. I wonder if I leave it will come with me too?
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| Don't be fooled, this big sky is pretty scary filled with lightning at night |
The wind picked up and was literally howling and whipping at the kitchen windows. I scurried around my little house stuffing tea towels under doors keeping out the now heavy rain. I wanted to feel the wind after a humid sticky day, the chance to open up my home to clear out the hot still air. But the wind refused to come in nicely, it was doing nothing of the sort.
Would the roof stay on? Would the neighbor's roof stay on?! Locally the favourite building material is corrugated iron. The stuff surrounds me and as the storm blew in I imagined sheets of it flying through the air, whipped up into a tornado tunnel ....oh, there goes Dorothy and Toto! Yet, no tornado came. I was wearing the wrong shoes, clearly.
Since that night, I've been panicky about coping against the reality of natural disasters - will my house be too hot in summer? Will I have enough water in my tanks? Can I afford a new air-conditioner, or should I get insulation? How many jobs do I need to win before I build a veranda? Should I fill up with cheap petrol here or the next town? Can I live off the contents in my cupboard a little bit longer?Should I get a paid job like normal people? Would life be easier that way? Why am I doing this business thing again? What would I do if a bush fire came through? Will I get poisoned if something dies in my tank? I was beginning to feel very, very small.
I need a New Girls' Guide to Country Living! (will probably write it myself ) My optimism was sky high two weeks ago. And then I fell flat, body tired from driving, of thinking, meeting strangers, explaining my business, on the hunt for jobs, from working without being paid.
Being self employed in a remote town and owing my own home is testing my limits and blowing old ones away. Emotionally, financially, psychologically, physically, creatively.
 |
| This plant is called Pimpin Mallee and he's a treat to watch growing slowly, next to the compost and the rubble. |
My conversations with others are better, slower, more paced and more present. Humour is everywhere. I'm enjoying others' company more, given I spend so much time at home on my own, which apart from the odd occasson I don't mind. I'm laughing more, I'm happy when I go to sleep, and I'm happy to wake up. I'm happy to leave the house and I'm happy to return home. I'm happy to have a beer at 2pm and wear the consequences.
It's this happiness that doesn't delete the worry, but is an old familiar feeling that keeps me here. I wonder if I leave it will come with me too?
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