Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived by the sea. One day, her family moved to a small place that was a little further, by foot, to the sea, but it was still near the sea. Then this family travelled to a far away, colder country called Ireland, where the girl retained in her keen memory images of her great grandfather's dairy farm in Co. Kerry and her first encounter with a horse at this farm. This experience would serve to ignite a very strong and stubborn desire in the girl's heart and mind that would buoy her through the remainder of her childhood and into an adolescence of wistful hope without foreseeable means of realisation of the dream. The girl's parents decided to come back to Australia and prepare to move to this Ireland place. For reasons never explained to her while she was a girl-child, instead of moving back to the cold country the family remained in Australia and moved to another house in a place called North Dandenong. They lived here for fifteen years, where the girl and her sister went to school, played netball, joined the school swimming and athletics teams, and the girl woke every morning of her birthday or Christmas to whip open her bedroom curtain, hoping to see the horse she dreamed of tied up waiting for her to spend the rest of her youth with.
It took the girl many years to realise, finally, that her parents and sister were just not interested in giving her a horse, not convinced she needed her desperately wanted riding lessons, and most certainly had no interest in selling up their little life in North Dandenong to live on a farm, further away from traffic and school bullies who taunted her for her near-obsession with horses and her non-compliance with peer-pressure.
One year, when the girl was a little older and a university student, her family and her took a break over Easter. It was a surprise to all of them, as they had never left home for Easter before, as her mother preferred to dedicate this time to contemplating the religious festival. They took off to their favourite place called Buchan, in East Gippsland, Victoria. The family had spent many summers camping here and had always wanted to wake up to a crisp autumn morning here. They booked a simple and cosy cabin in the town, and very quickly were very happy to be there.
That first night, the girl's family went to dinner at the pub and walked past the real estate agent's window. There was a farm for sale and some other properties that had a wonderful feeling about them. The family had been talking about moving, and although the two girls were aching at the thought of moving from their happy and humble home, the possibility of living in this quiet hamlet was enticing, and the older girl was bursting with hope.
The quiet Easter break became booked with farm viewings and the chance to attend an auction, but no-one minded, because they were together and they were doing something that the parents had wanted to do many years before, a little while before the girl was born; follow their hearts. The first farm was an easy ten minute drive from Buchan, into a valley, through grazing country and down the driveway of a cedar house that had been well-loved and wanted someone to love it to its former glory. The property was lush and had ample acreage, and it was decided that it would require too much work for first time farmers, so it was passed over.
The next property was inspected prior to auction set for the following day. It was also a large grazing property, sat atop a hill overlooking much of the Buchan Valley and the house was quite liveable, with an attached, self-contained unit. The family was keen on this property, as the expected sale price was not unreasonable and the house was adequate for immediate living, with much room for personalised improvement.
The day of the auction itself brought much quiet excitement, and all four of them dressed, breakfasted and left the cabin with giddy reserve to the farm. All four of them sat together amongst the crowd and listened to the auctioneer as he did his work with the potential buyers and began the bidding process. The girl's father raised his hand a few times later into the bidding and the family suppressed any outward displays and crossed all fingers in the hope that the remaining bidders would recede and leave them with the farm.
Sadly, bidding continued, and the girl knew that it had surpassed the family's set highest bid. Forlornly, they walked back to the car and spent the rest of the afternoon in glum silence. The girl broke open her books for the study she had been hoping to get done whilst away, and distracted herself from the morning's disappointment in this way.
There was just one appointment left, and it was for later that afternoon. They met the agent in town and followed him to a property out and away from Buchan, driving for another twenty minutes before reaching a property on five acres, with a forest setting behind the creek that formed the property's boundary. The family sighed a collective sigh of appreciation at this most appealing setting. On this day the mist set into the trees and the crisp air nipped at their faces. Before them sat an enchanting creation of two mudbrick, hexagon shaped connected structures. They were taken through the 'antechamber', where the owners had collected trophies and also kept some saddlery, into a passage way that then took them into a larger hexagon with a centre post and open plan ground floor. A spiral staircase invited their eyes upwards and onto a loft area that served as a study. The girl had already created an image of herself, deeply entrenched in books, with a small electric typewriter (for that was the more prevalent form of word processing in 1994 for less affluent university students) with which to create story and rhyme, on weekends of retreat from the busy metropolitan life.
The tour continued outdoors to a deck overlooking the gully to the forest. From here, the girl imagined herself riding out on her horse to follow a forest trail, in Drizabone and moleskins. Such thoughts of a long-held dream caused tears to prick her eyes, and she surreptitiously swiped them away with a brush of the hand. Following the agent, the family was shown where the household bathroom was sited, and the girl could no longer contain herself. She exclaimed at the perfection of a rustic, vintage enamelled handbasin and corrugated iron lined shower that faced directly out onto the forest she dreamed of exploring on horseback. This was the bliss she knew she wanted. At that moment she knew there to be no other perfection, no other aspiration.
The family returned that night to Buchan for dinner abuzz with discussion about how this property would fit in with the family's lifestyle, given that the revised plan was for a weekender and holiday property. It was decided that the family would drive out the following morning and put an offer on the property. That evening was spent admiring the hexagon shape, the appeal of the loft, the forest outlook and the girl was able to convince her parents that she would be so happy to call that house her own she would gladly have outdoor showers, even in the depths of a Buchan winter. Of course, her family chuckled and believed she would renege and eventually lobby for the installation of an indoor washing area.
The family woke up and the girls were keen to make the journey to that hexagon house, willing to miss breakfasting in order to make the offer. The parents, however, did not want to appear to be as keen, believing that it would give too much power to the seller, as if the property market played by the same rules as in the city. Breakfast was had and the girls bid on all the patience they could muster to not force their parents into their car seats to drive out of Buchan town.
It was late morning when they did set off to that geometrically pleasing abode, and the girl's belly was busy with acrobatics inspired by thoughts of idyll and tranquility that had occupied her imagination since childhood. The passing scenery was more vibrant in autumn colour this time, the winding roads more enchanting for the promise of pastures they might call their own and the morning fog veiled a knowledge the girl did hunger after, a feeling so close yet without name, scent or texture.
The car ambled through the gates, and a late fog was lifting lazily above grassy paddocks, the agent's car parked at the front of the house to confirm the appointment arranged. As the family's car crawled to park further inside, another car came into view by the side of the dwelling. The girl's stomach gnawed, despite the pancake breakfast. Her fingers almost sounding that name, almost identifying the scent and very nearly grasping the texture of that elusive dream; reaching, reaching and stretching to seek relief in satisfaction. She thought herself too whimsical, shaking the feeling that her senses were supernatural and able to reveal truth. She disembarked with the others and approached the agent, who had, by now, emerged from the side door of the house.
The agent walked over hurriedly and his expression revealed an anguish that recalled in the girl the senses she had suppressed only moments before. The weight of knowledge that had yet to be confirmed crushed her hopeful heart. As he spoke the words she flailed wildly inside her head for a way to reverse the reality he retold now: "older couple", "arrived early", "signing cheque book now", "missed only by minutes". Words captured in syncopated form that held enough power to extract her breath, induce a momentary dizziness and then generate a silent, great piercing cry of loss and shattered hope. The girl wished to run into the house and demand that this new offer be retracted, instructing that this was no place for an older couple when a younger family simply needed it in order to thrive and fulfil dreams and ideals.
Of course, she did not. She preserved her composure and retreated to the warmth of the car, defeated and sensing the opportunity of a life she deserved and desperately wished for slip from her visual foreground, she replaced it with the small, humble life in North Dandenong, as it had existed before the journey to Buchan had been made for that hopeful Easter. She recollected her reality and drove it forward into thoughts of assignment due dates, exam timetables and social arrangements, as her mother formulated philosophical statements designed to soften the heavy blow to a rare moment of family unity in planning an unexpected aspiration. The girl berated herself for allowing the whimsy of country life, deciding that she ought to have known it would never happen because girls from patchwork backgrounds like her own didn't just get farms or horses, or horse riding lessons, let alone a hexagon-shaped house where a writer could unleash passionate prose and breathe space and freedom.
Life carried on for the girl, and from time to time she would remind the family of the opportunity lost and reconciled by ministrations of "what was not meant to be", and the pain subsided, replaced by a dull longing, until years would pass between rememberings of this bittersweet occasion in their lives. Indeed, it became necessary to forget, and it would be not far off before the family did make a move to the enchanting Dandenong Ranges, where the girl continued to study at university, take a job, make new friends. She did get a horse, on her twentieth birthday, and her heart soared once more, this time held aloft by the knowledge that the horse was real and could not be revoked by cruel coincidence.
Many years later, when the girls had grown up and out of the family home, to establish lives and families of their own, the unrealised dream returned and haunted her. She had a family now, and there was talk of fusing two dreams into one, where they would imagine and work towards life on a farm. The impossible became more possible until one day it could be denied no longer. The decision was made and irrevocable steps took place that led the girl and her family to a farm in the south of her State where cooler winds blow and sweeter rains fall from the sky.
One day in February during a hot summer, she set foot on a property that sang out to her and held her close in its warm air. She had a name for where this new place was and there was a definite waft of blue gum in the air for scent. In her hands she held the galvanised chain for the gate that opened to the future she never ceased to believe could exist. This was where she could bring her horse and raise her own family in the way she had dreamed of so many times in the past. Life on the farm could begin slowly because now that it was tangible to her, she knew it could not be snatched easily from her.
In fact, this story, the farm story, is in its infancy, despite the paragraphs that have just been retold, and more stories await. For now, though, dear reader, whilst a simple shed life materialises and plans for a strawbale home atop a hill await her, the story of the hexagon house and its outdoor shower is recalled fondly, and the girl knows that her mother's comforting words did hold true. Such great disappointment could only mean that greater things were afoot.
And now, under clear skies or drizzling rain, a shower made up of an army-surplus canvas shower, a packing pallet for a base and strategically erected corrugated iron serve to signal to the girl, to me, that my time has come. I'm here. And it's the beginning of the rest of our lives.
