The road through Gippsland rose relentlessly out of Leongatha. Soon we crested the top of a hill and an amazing vista lay away to the right to be marvelled at, should you happen not to be driving.
I was driving but I snatched a glimpse or two in between not running off the road.
Corner Inlet is so far below, you look at it like a cat looks into a bowl of water. Beyond that, Wilson's Promontory stretched up and away again, a line on the horizon going up and down like a crazy graph.
We dropped into a valley and the vista disappeared. The road curved around a few more hills, nearing the coast. We turned left at Toora and rose again into the hinterland. Wilson's Promontory appeared again - in the rear mirror - and fell away as we completed a long, slow descent into a valley. We crunched along a long, dusty road and pulled up outside my sister's place just after lunchtime.
*
The converted cow milking shed was much the same as it was last Easter.
A new concrete floor, a skylight, a few more rugs, some more paintings.
Outdoors, paving here and there, bits of garden in between - herbs, vegetables. Corn over the back, growing high, nearly ready to pick. The beginnings of an orchard further down the hill - apple trees, an apricot, nectarine, some plums. The grapevine goes in soon. When they get time.
Lisa showed us around the garden. Tamzin followed. Tamzin is three. She has golden ringlets down to her shoulders.
Brian appeared, waving, out of the shed where he was trying to dismantle a hundred year old scarifier. It weighs a ton. There must be enough scrap metal in it to make a dozen cars.
*
Some time during the afternoon: 'Would you like an apple, Tamzin?'
'No. I'm fine!'
Later, 'Tamzin, have a glass of milk?'
'No. I'm fine!', shaking her golden curls. And smiling.
'I'm fine' is her latest expression.
*
We placed some chairs around a roaring fire for a dinner under the stars. The full moon sailed up the sky like a galleon made of Waterford crystal.
Sausages wrapped in herbs - vietnamese mint, sage, etc - from the garden, then wrapped in foil and barbecued on the grill over the fire. Spring lamb chops studded with garlic rosemary. Salads; a large dish of pasta with semi-dried tomatoes, anchovies and chili (one of the best pasta dishes I have ever tasted) and some fresh bread my brother brought in from the bakery in Foster, the next town.
Red wine, desserts. Coffee came out. Someone made it, don't know who. It was nice by the fire.
*
T. and I slept in a tent pitched on the warm grass on the hill. The moon moved across the sky. I woke for just a moment in the middle of the night in a bright monochrome world.
*
Saturday was the art show at Mt Best, a tiny hamlet perched in a forest close to the top of the mountain, with impossible views over the inlet and the promontory. From Lisa's place in the valley, we had to drive upwards for half an hour to get there, twisting and turning along a narrow dirt road.
The art show opened at one o'clock with a refreshingly short and to the point speech by a local councillor. There was wine and cheese. And teas and scones and sandwiches. We looked at the pictures and children tore around outside and climbed trees and came inside for drinks when they were thirsty. Lisa sold a picture.
*
After lunch - quite a big lunch - on Sunday, Easter Sunday, we left, calling out to Tamzin, 'Hey Tamzin, want to come home with us and live at our house?'
She shook her ringlets, smiling. 'No. I'm fine!'
I was driving but I snatched a glimpse or two in between not running off the road.
Corner Inlet is so far below, you look at it like a cat looks into a bowl of water. Beyond that, Wilson's Promontory stretched up and away again, a line on the horizon going up and down like a crazy graph.
We dropped into a valley and the vista disappeared. The road curved around a few more hills, nearing the coast. We turned left at Toora and rose again into the hinterland. Wilson's Promontory appeared again - in the rear mirror - and fell away as we completed a long, slow descent into a valley. We crunched along a long, dusty road and pulled up outside my sister's place just after lunchtime.
*
The converted cow milking shed was much the same as it was last Easter.
A new concrete floor, a skylight, a few more rugs, some more paintings.
Outdoors, paving here and there, bits of garden in between - herbs, vegetables. Corn over the back, growing high, nearly ready to pick. The beginnings of an orchard further down the hill - apple trees, an apricot, nectarine, some plums. The grapevine goes in soon. When they get time.
Lisa showed us around the garden. Tamzin followed. Tamzin is three. She has golden ringlets down to her shoulders.
Brian appeared, waving, out of the shed where he was trying to dismantle a hundred year old scarifier. It weighs a ton. There must be enough scrap metal in it to make a dozen cars.
*
Some time during the afternoon: 'Would you like an apple, Tamzin?'
'No. I'm fine!'
Later, 'Tamzin, have a glass of milk?'
'No. I'm fine!', shaking her golden curls. And smiling.
'I'm fine' is her latest expression.
*
We placed some chairs around a roaring fire for a dinner under the stars. The full moon sailed up the sky like a galleon made of Waterford crystal.
Sausages wrapped in herbs - vietnamese mint, sage, etc - from the garden, then wrapped in foil and barbecued on the grill over the fire. Spring lamb chops studded with garlic rosemary. Salads; a large dish of pasta with semi-dried tomatoes, anchovies and chili (one of the best pasta dishes I have ever tasted) and some fresh bread my brother brought in from the bakery in Foster, the next town.
Red wine, desserts. Coffee came out. Someone made it, don't know who. It was nice by the fire.
*
T. and I slept in a tent pitched on the warm grass on the hill. The moon moved across the sky. I woke for just a moment in the middle of the night in a bright monochrome world.
*
Saturday was the art show at Mt Best, a tiny hamlet perched in a forest close to the top of the mountain, with impossible views over the inlet and the promontory. From Lisa's place in the valley, we had to drive upwards for half an hour to get there, twisting and turning along a narrow dirt road.
The art show opened at one o'clock with a refreshingly short and to the point speech by a local councillor. There was wine and cheese. And teas and scones and sandwiches. We looked at the pictures and children tore around outside and climbed trees and came inside for drinks when they were thirsty. Lisa sold a picture.
*
After lunch - quite a big lunch - on Sunday, Easter Sunday, we left, calling out to Tamzin, 'Hey Tamzin, want to come home with us and live at our house?'
She shook her ringlets, smiling. 'No. I'm fine!'
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