On whim we packed a picnic and hit the highway to get to the Organ Pipes National Park before the sunset. Once we had descended down to the valley floor, we were careful not to walk too far in any direction lest the fantasy of being miles away from the city be broken.
Sitting up with a gasp at 4am we heard rain rocketing down on our tin roof as loud as gunfire and we rush outside to make sure our newly rendered garden beds didn’t bear any rain shaped bullet wounds. We were lucky, it had dried just in time.
With a backdrop of grey morning we began to set up the garden for the Edible Gardens Open Day. As the sky darkened Kelly from our local council and the volunteers from MINTI (the Flemington Transition Group) began to arrive with 50 fliers in hand to give out, 50 we laughed, perhaps 30 people will come to have a look. Between 10:30 and 4pm the skies cleared to a glorious blue day and over 200 people passed through our front gate!
It is quite surreal to see 80 people at a time crammed into our small garden, with a bemused sense of unreality we explained our design to the group. The overwhelming sense of good will they offered us with their smiles and eager questions was beautiful. After our rush to get our garden ready, which the bees resented giving us two stings the day before, it was delightful and relieving to see everyone having such a good time (and no stings!). Even the render stood up to being walked on by children and adults alike, being used as a motorway for toy trucks and as a springboard for gymnastic tricks (children only).
My uncarefully laid plans of showing the time-lapse of our garden to a small huddle of people was unrealistic, so I will share it with you here and hope you get as much a kick out of it as me. After the first few viewing I had way too much fun watching minor details like our sunflowers growing and dying and where the neighbours’ cat is going to show up next!
As I sat daydreaming on a fallen log, dangling legs over rushing water, hours passed and the warm light faded and cooled. Little did I know that somewhere upstream those same rippling waters were casting a spell on my boyfriend and from that day onwards he would be a fly fisherman.
CONTINUE DOWN THE RIVER…
We didn’t expect to ring in the New Year wondering whether three men in a pink dinghy were going to drown in a spontaneous burst of drunken cray-fishing. Luckily they didn’t, their children’s toy boat good humoured enough to keep afloat it heavy load, a held breath away from being inundated by each tiny wave.
Picnics on the beach next to strangers in fading light soon lead to lively conversations with a beer in the hand. Full bellied contentment, squint eyed games of beach cricket and frisbee lit by fireworks with Gracie dogs collar held tight.