Walking round home: December 2019 (part 2)

I: The Boardwalk, Narooma

The morning is cool and the breeze choppy, not a day for a quick dip at Potato Point. So we head to the sheltered breakwater pool at Narooma. Even that isn’t sheltered enough. We decide to walk along the Mill Bay Boardwalk, passing the amusing murals on the public loo: a dog, leg cocked, in the doorway; a sardine leaping out of its tin; a VW filled with water in which fish frolic; an octopus squirting water into a boat.

“No”, I told my daughter when I spoke to her earlier. “Not a geology day today.” But I was wrong. The land-side of the boardwalk offers twisted chert, the same cooked sea floor material that makes the map of Australia just across the Inlet, and the Glasshouse Rocks a bit further down the coast. Sprays of grass shower down towards the water, sometimes with a scattering of white and pale pink flowers at the edge, sometimes a bright red bush.

The day is grey and the water sombre, but I learn from my granddaughter. If she can edit the weather, I can edit the water. I use my new trick in SnapSeed (create your own custom looks) to edit all photos of ripples the same way, a delicious green looking down to rocks, weed, oyster shells, and a manta ray. Leaves and grass fronds float on the surface.

Pelicans lurk wherever fishermen might come to clean their catch, and a dolphin makes one curve above water before disappearing. Often there are a number of them at the boat ramp waiting to be fed, but not today. Just a photographer with a grand telescopic lens, eyed off by a couple of shags and a very large pelican.

We warm up walking and Joe determines on a swim. A dive class is togging up and another one leaving the water. This is the pool where I night-dipped on the way home from yoga; where, standing in early morning water up to my neck, I talked to a woman who was an airline pilot (or a fantasist?) for half an hour until I was ice-berged; where my ten year old daughter launched me on the only wave I’ve ever caught. Today I chose the deck chair and watched figures on the south side of the breakwater, and Joe back-kicking out to the net.

II: Potato Point at high tide

After a flurry of low tides (a separate post for low tide beauty) we end up at the beach when the tide is high.

Piles of seaweed offer golds, buff, gleam, and crimson, with a dash of blue.

Joe braves the water, without a wetsuit, and I regret my swimmers, safely stashed in my car back at Waincourt. He strikes up a conversation with a woman who tells him that her family set themselves the challenge of going into the sea every day for a year – and did it! Mind you, her son seemed a bit reluctant, even on this day that tempted me.

On the beach three generations established themselves in a tent. The toddler tottered down to the water with his bucket, still not quite confident in his power to stay vertical. I can watch such ambulations forever, but sitting on the beach without sunscreen for long stretches is not a good idea, so we head home for lunch, stopping to look at what Joe is pretty sure is a hybrid of a spotted gum (Corymbia maculata)and a bloodwood (Eucalyptus gummifera).

At this point my world was consumed by fire-fear as bushfires edged closer and closer, and blogging lost its appeal.

12 thoughts on “Walking round home: December 2019 (part 2)

  1. Life before the fire. By pure coincidence I switched to the Reader, to rest my eyes a bit before closing down for the night. And there you were! Will life ever be ‘normal’ again, I ask myself. You must pray for it daily. God bless, darlin! So good to find you here again. 🙂 🙂

  2. Oh my Meg, has much changed? How close to you did the fires come? These are a lovely gallery of photos . Loved the murals on the loo block.

  3. Oh, how lovely to see a post from you, Meg…..but reading on, I saw it was from before the fires. But you have posted, so today must be an OK day. I constantly think of you, and wonder how you are managing.

  4. When you are fighting to keep your home and your life then blogging certainly must take a back-seat, but I hope not forever as you write so poetically and descriptively: I miss your words and images. Today must be a good day. I hope tomorrow is too. And the rest of tomorrows. I know the weather has been insanely hot again in some places, but we hear little about the fires now. I hope that means they have eased, but I know this month is notorious for them. I guess the Coronavirus has usurped Australia burning. Seems we only ever replace one disaster with another…
    Stay well Meg, my friend. And your family too xx

  5. Fires are still there about 4 km away. We’ve dodged a few bad days. And we can’t wish for deluging rain for the sake of river-and-lake health. They came right up to Joe’s place on NY Eve – it survived but half his subdivision didn’t. I’ve evacuated twice. Scary times. We’re you affected?

  6. What a terrible scary time Meg and you are still in the fire zone. Media do not give updates and I thought the fires were out. Hope you get rain soon. We on the GC were not affected, only had smoke haze and now we are being deluged with torrential rain and flash flooding. Our beautiful country is a land of extremes that seem to be getting more extreme. But I wouldn’t live anywhere else

  7. The other day was the first day I’ve even thought about blogging. These posts had been hanging round since mid-December and I was in a clear-out mood. My old posts have been oddly comforting as I revisit places now burnt out when they were flourishing – like the road to Nerrigundah we drove when you were here, one of the badly hit places. I’m beginning to contemplate a fire-post as we expect rain. I’ve lost the sick-on-the-stomach feel that anxiety induces (for the time being), but unfortunately that means I can contemplate food again! I lost about 4kg in January. Thanks for your concern and good wishes

  8. An OK day indeed – heaven! And today we’re waiting for rain – Goldilocks rain my river-scientist son insists, otherwise rivers and lakes will become toxic. It happened to his river on his burnt-out block in northern NSW: he’s worried about the endangered cod that live in it. Maybe soon a talk, but not quite yet.

  9. I was only looking through those photos the other day and wondered if that area had been affected. I can relate to the sick-on-the-stomach feeling, though for different reasons and the loss of weight. So glad you are feeling better now. And when I come over we must meet up. (as long as you aren’t contemplating another long visit to Poland that should be possible!)

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