Down From The Mountain and One Whole Year

One year of blogging for this gal! It's quite an achievement isn't it. Sometime, around 1999, I lit a fire out back of a house I was sitting in Sunrise near Byron Bay, and slowly and ceremoniously burned every one of the diaries I had kept since 14 years of age. There were 30 of them so it was an all night affair during which I'd catch a glimpse of an entry now and then and read and cry or laugh and bid the event farewell. It was a very cathartic thing to do at the time, especially as I was transient and was literally hauling my past around with me in a small van. I have no regrets but now and then I think it would be fun to read them and have them to show my kids. I suppose this blog will satisfy that to a degree. Keeping a diary has been my sanity. Blogging too though in a different way. A diary is a no-holds-barred, repository of deepest emotion and truth. I never once thought anyone would read them. Never intended it in the moment. Whereas here we are writing and revealing as much for others as ourselves. Much more inclusive. Much more fun. Less therapy!

We have just come Down From The Mountain, from a glorious Easter weekend of 'roughing it' in our super duper new tent and self-inflatable mattresses (slept like well fed babies). Not nearly as many people as the line of cars heading in the same direction threatened. We were to meet friends there but missed each other to the effect that we camped 2 km from each other and had to drive over to visit each other. The family camped opposite us were so gorgeous, our children frolicked together and we played music and talked around the fire at night. And all the other stuff that keeps the soul right and wholesome and connected to all that is important.

The Hilton


The joyousness of being grubby for daysobjects of nature to stare at for long periods of time

The benchmark for future Back Door Step
The locals
The View from the Loo
The physical challenge of a wash in the icy river.

Camping karma yoga
The stuff that calls us there to begin with. Fire and stars and songs.
I love the village atmosphere of camping and the laying down of barriers and borders (as Martino called it 'the United Nations') and usual neighbourly 'politeness' and the freedom to roam and the willingness to share a warm toilet seat and the opportunity to stop everything (except knitting and snacking).

It always feels very strange to be in doors after a camping trip. Nice to be home but the pull to live in the country is much stronger!