Not ready to leave
I thought this post should be written from end to beginning rather than the other way round as is customary.
I am not ready to leave the lovely space I have been camped in for the last 2 nights. Not ready to leave the tranquillity and solitude, not ready to return to the rat race of everyday life; not ready to leave the mist in the air as I breathe out inside my swag (it is 0 degrees outside, if not colder overnight). I am not ready to go back to the technology that surrounds us – yes I have used my mobile phone to take photographs and make notes, but that’s been it because this site has been wonderfully off-grid (except for some dodgy reception in the other part of the park and at the top of the hill and I am way too lazy to go to either). It forces you to adjust your priorities and work out what really is important. It’s not that I do not want to go home, nor to see my life partner, it’s (and I have experienced this before) I am not ready to leave this space but leave I must. Nature can be an excellent psychologist. Sometimes, also, a really good multi-night smoking from a campfire is what is required. It is a privilege to take in the breeze, the cold night/morning air, to sit and read and not be anywhere, to watch the game of chase between a bird, goanna and scrub turkey or the leisurely scratch of the small grey kangaroos as they mooch about.
As I pack the car, I jump in fright – there about a metre from me is the goanna who has done his/her patrols multiple times a day over the time I have been here and who deferred from walking through the camp earlier when it realised I was on the move. I don’t quite know who got the bigger fright. On it marched, seemingly undeterred after that moment. Back to packing the car, respecting distance from one goanna. I am blessed with some wallabies/small kangaroos coming in close (for the first time) to where I am packing the car. They are beautiful creatures who clearly feel comfortable here. The scrub turkey and the goanna have made their regular patrols to check on rowdy behaviour.
I wonder whether I could do this for a week, whether, more to the point, I need to do this for a week – the simplicity, the stepping away from technology and being contactable 24/7, not working to anyone’s timetable or demands. The last time I camped for a week was at Woodford a few years ago. I think I would like to do it, over winter is divine – cold, as the nights are.
I have slept quite well – bed about 8pm and awake, but not up, about 6.30. I take little time to go to sleep as the worries of the world are not upon my shoulders – I have deferred dealing with those for a short time.
I try to bargain with life, knowing full well that I have to go home, I have things to do and people I need to see. It’s worth the try but pack the car I must and head back through Mt Mee and the delights of the ranges once again. I love driving these areas, the scenery, the valleys and everything about them. It is a wonderful contrast, the windy roads, the cows, goats and other creatures. For me, it is a valuable re-set button, kind of a switch off and switch back on like we do with a lot of our technology when it isn’t working properly.
So, two nights of camping at Peach Trees, north of Jimna was something I didn’t think was going to happen (and I felt rushed) – things side track and require attention which takes attention off your camping plans (and your preparations), delaying departure and bringing forward return time. This followed a lovely weekend celebrating my natal day. I don my boots, which have covered a lot of ground over the years in America, Cambodia, India, Nepal and various places in Australia. They were made for walking and that’s just what they’ve done – except for this couple of days when they have taken me to the camp site, backwards and forwards to the amenities block and to and from the campfire.
I was a grouch as I set out on this trip. I am less of a grouch on the return. As I drive out through the trees, admire the ridge line, savour the valleys and look at the cows, I feel a certain amount of weight lifting off my shoulders. Nature is a happy place for me, especially this camp site. It was the first one I came to, ever, on my own and fell in love; a love that continues and has been shared.
The bird song of an afternoon and the morning is lovely from twitters to screeches to everything in between, the mating rituals and the games of chase between the birds. I savour a whiskey as I absorb this environment, admire the stars and take in the campfire. There is also the therapeutic aspect of burning old paperwork, things long past their use by dates.
Life is so fast paced, it overtakes everything. This break is a chance to step back from that. The return to pace comes as soon as you leave the seclusion of the camp site and head to the top of the hill then it’s patchy through to about 5km from Kilcoy. There is something special is watching the campfire, reading a book and taking time. The temperature drops as the sun slinks behind the trees and the ridge line. It is something you don’t normally notice in suburbia – the immediacy of the season – the end of Winter.
I love the crisp mornings and the cold evenings, the campfire, the simple aspect of life here. It won’t pay the bills but it will reset the mind for a while. I love the aerial warfare, the sound of wind as it travels through the trees, the lack of people, the lack of noise and music – we don’t need social distancing rules because no one wants to be camping on top of another. I love the basics of a toothbrush and toothpaste and deodorant, no product, no need to be presentable for work. It is a privilege to simply sit and read and take time. It intrigues me though that as high as the planes are overhead, and the times we are living in when there are less of them flying, you can still hear them.
I love the changing colour of the sky as night falls, turning to lavender then darkening to the diamond studded black velvet of night. I love the way the fire chatters if you listen to it, and the kangaroos as they move about chattering to each other.
So, I fill my cup over a couple of nights. I toast the simplicity. I return to the turbulence of life and resolve to try and take things slower. Let’s see how that goes.
