I wake up, open my eyes and see the blue pre-dawn light above me. Birds are waking too. I can hear them calling to each other. The ducks are chatting as well. And then during the day they continue conversing sporadically in that language of theirs. At night I hear owls just outside, so close to me. I hear the wood burner crackling. The water in the kettle heating to boiling temperature, ever so slowly. Then eventually the urgent, panicked whistle. I will have a cup of tea in an hour or so. I hear wind in the trees and their branches tapping gently on my window. I see the bright red glow of the embers in the burner through the three small opaque windows at the front. In the warm light of the morning I lie in my bed and look up through the window in the roof and watch the way the leaves and branches move in the breeze.
Have you ever given yourself the time to just sit and watch and listen, with no distractions?
Everything is worth watching. I am learning how to appreciate the most simple things again. It’s okay to feel child-like and be in awe of a leaf or a blade of grass or the squelch of mud underfoot. Slow down.
I smell wood fire smoke. I smell incense. I smell ginger and garlic, sizzling slowly in my cast iron pan. I smell mud and rain. I smell liquorice tea, a new discovery for me as I usually don’t like liquorice. I feel warm on the inside and on the outside. (Is it the tea, the fire? Is it contentedness? Or is it a combination?) There is something so comforting about being a bit disconnected. I feel like for the last few months I have been taking a big, deep breath in, and now being here, I am able to breath out with a big sigh of relief and relax.
I have been reminded of patience. I am enjoying the fact that nothing here is instant, and more than that, I can see the process happening in front of me. Chopping wood. Cleaning the ashes out of the burner. Lighting the fire. Waiting for it to heat up the truck, waiting for the kettle to boil, waiting for dinner to cook slowly. Filling up my water container. Reading and writing by candle-light. Re-using everything! (I’m collecting all the plastic I use while I’m in the truck to see how much I use and how much I can improve.) I am really trying to live more simply, more consciously, more appreciatively. It makes you realise how much we don't need things. We don’t need to wash our clothes as much. We don't need to shower so often. We don’t need screens. No TVs, phones, laptops! We don't need internet at our fingertips. We don’t need electricity. These things are useful but not necessities. There are always alternative ways of doing things.
I am enjoying this life. I have more time and more freedom. I feel more free. I felt claustrophobic in Brighton. And I also felt a bit lonely. I was surrounded by people and things to do and see. But I still felt lonely. Overwhelmed. Here, in the truck, I am alone, but not lonely. I have no expectations here. It is how it is. I am happy to just be.
I am so thankful for the experiences I have had over the last year. I am now understanding myself more. I need my own space. I need to spend time alone. I like hands on things. I enjoy chopping wood for a fire. I enjoy going to collect water. I enjoy slow-cooking. I enjoy waiting for the kettle to boil to have a cup of tea. I enjoy living out of town. I enjoy getting up half an hour earlier and driving to work.
I’ve come full circle. This is how I grew up. Simply. Slowly. It is familiar. It is comforting. And it is how I want to continue to live. I am making plans in my head. Things to do when I return to Australia. And happiness is my priority.
Black & White Snaps.
Colour Photographs.
