Escape to the South Coast: Summer 2012

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (Sonnet 18)

by William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Well, what have we been up to since Christmas Day?  So long ago it seems.  I need to think.

Ah yes.  The spontaneous trip to the Shoalhaven coast to pop in on relatives on Boxing Day. 

We simply upped and orffed.  Packed the kids, clothes and inflatable beach toys and box of turkey sandwiches for the inevitable roadtrip.  After calling on some old school friends of the Strong Silent One's in lovely Cambewarra, we de-camped to the in-laws empty house. 

Next day we headed off to join the rest of the gang at the tiny beachside village of Currarong.  The children played with their cousins in the rockpools searching for sea creatures and weeds to create an aquatic version of Masterchef in between games of backyard cricket and failed fishing expeditions.  All a bit same-same for me, so I'm looking forward to the possibility of escaping to a different part of the coast by ourselves later in the month.

  
When we did manage to escape on our own expeditions, we set off to previously unexplored locations such as the Illawara Fly - a hair-raising tree-top walk which includes a scarifying, spiral tower precariously balanced on the concrete and steel platform and a gut-clenching cantilevered contraption which sways in the breeze especially with the holiday crowds tramping and bouncing over it.  I found it more alarming than the Tahune Airwalk in Tasmania, but the single bush walk for accessing the site was quite disappointing by comparison.  (Tahune has a far more extensive web of walks to add on to the airwalk.) 

The Illawarra Fly

On the way home we had a brief detour to the Carrington Falls where the Kangaroo River plunges over the escarpment.  A picnic lunch in the rest area followed by a short bushwalk is my idea of holiday heaven.  Not so for the Strong Silent One, who I suspect may have preferred to have stayed with the rest of the extended family to watch the cricket on telly.  But being the trooper he is, he indulged us.   It was a very pretty site with well marked paths and lookouts over the falls.

  

Carrington Falls

Flushed with success, we headed down the mountain via the Big Potato at Robertson in the South Highlands, a pretty historic agricultural town was the setting for the film, "Babe".  In keeping with Australia's fascination for kitch, roadside 'Big Things', this improbable, rusty ediface is a must-see ... along with the local pie shop and my favourite kooky Winter retreat, Fountaindale Manor. 

The Big Potato, Robertson, New South Wales.

Our final pit stop was the typical Aussie seaside town of Kiama for ice creams (and coffee!) and a stroll along the esplanade to the famous Blowhole - an impressive water spout which occurs when large waves enter the mouth of the hole and compresses the air within the inner cavity. 

After oggling the site along with the teeming hoards of international visitors and holiday-makers like us, we headed back to the car for the journey home...

and pizza for tea.

Boxing Day

To Mrs K____, On Her Sending Me an English Christmas Plum-Cake at Paris

~ Helen Maria Williams 1761–1827

What crowding thoughts around me wake,

What marvels in a Christmas-cake!
Ah say, what strange enchantment dwells
Enclosed within its odorous cells?
Is there no small magician bound 
Encrusted in its snowy round?
For magic surely lurks in this,
A cake that tells of vanished bliss;
A cake that conjures up to view
The early scenes, when life was new;
When memory knew no sorrows past,
And hope believed in joys that last! —
Mysterious cake, whose folds contain
Life’s calendar of bliss and pain;
That speaks of friends for ever fled,
And wakes the tears I love to shed.
Oft shall I breathe her cherished name
From whose fair hand the offering came:
For she recalls the artless smile
Of nymphs that deck my native isle;
Of beauty that we love to trace,
Allied with tender, modest grace;
Of those who, while abroad they roam,
Retain each charm that gladdens home,
And whose dear friendships can impart
A Christmas banquet for the heart!

***

Charly and I got a bike for Christmas.  A turquoise beauty of sturdy contruction.  Today we shall have a test ride, eat fruit cake and wear-in Ro-Ro's new cricket gear.  I suspect the Boxing Day cricket commentary will be our sound track.  But at the moment, not everyone has roused themselves and there is peace before the day unfurls in a riot of colour, sound and movement.  The remnants of Christmas Day are strewn about the floor and in our memories.  We are blessed. 

Lights

 

The property in the Canberra suburb of Forrest in Australia is illuminated with 331,038 fairy lights making it the Guinness World Record holder for the Most Christmas Lights on a Residential Property.

Crazy!

We were there.

In the queue.

So hallow'd and so gracious is the time

Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 1 ~ William Shakespeare  Marcellus to Horatio and Bernardo, after seeing the Ghost Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad, The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. *** A blessed, quiet day at home to celebrate Christmas.  We baked a turkey for the first time ever and it was a roaring success.  But we now have a surplus of exquisite macadamia and dried fruit stuffing which was just not going to fit in that bird's cavity.  The children couldn't stand the suspense waiting for official present opening time.  We dragged it out as long as we could (until a reasonable hour for drinking champagne) and carefully opened each gift one by one.  We spent the rest of the day playing with Lego, giving phone calls and pottering about until the rains came in the late afternoon.  Then we snuggled up to watch Home Alone.   We were too relaxed to grapple with reading and absorbing the instructions for some new board and card games.  That will have to wait until another day in this glorious stretch of holidays.   Image: By me.  A nativity display in a garden adorned with Christmas lights somewhere in Kambah - the deep suburbs of Canberra.

Books Bought and Borrowed: The Nutcracker

One of our favourite Christmas classic books is the Young Reader's edition of The Nutcracker from the story by E.T.A Hoffman and illustrated by Don Daly.  We scooped up a sturdy hard-backed copy from the Sydney Opera House shop after the Australian Ballet's astounding performance of the same ballet a few years ago.

It's a longer version than might suit a single bedtime reading, but comprises five easily digestible chapters.  The book is unusually typeset in two columns which, as it turns out, is ideal for reading out aloud so you can scan ahead and adjust to the appropriate theatrical voice or facial expression.  The illustrations are a major treat; rich and detailed.  The sort of book you should read sitting snuggled up side-by-side with a child so they can absord the impressive full-page pictures while you bring the story to life.

The Three Drovers
Across the plains one Christmas night Three drovers riding blithe and gay, Looked up and saw a starry light More radiant than the Milky Way; And on their hearts such wonder fell, They sang with joy. 'Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel!'
- * -
The air was dry with summer heat, And smoke was on the yellow moon; But from the heavens, faint and sweet, Came floating down a wond'rous turn; And as they heard, they sang full well Those drovers three. 'Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel!'
- * -
The black swans flew across the sky, The wild dog called across the plain, The starry lustre blazed on high, Still echoed on the heavenly strain; And still they sang, 'Noel! Noel!' Those drovers three. 'Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel!'
- * -

Words by John Wheeler.
Music by William G.James.

School's Out!

Dashing through the bush in a rusty Holden ute,
Kicking up the dust, esky in the boot,
Kelpie by my side, singing Christmas songs,
It's summer time and I am in my singlet, shorts and thongs.

Oh! Jingle bells, jingle bells jingle all the way,
Christmas in Australia on a scorching summer's day,
Oh! Jingle bells, jingle bells, Christmas time is beaut,
Oh what fun it is to ride in a dusty Holden ute.

Engine's getting hot, we dodge the kangaroos,

The swaggie climbs aboard, he is welcome too.
All the family is there, sitting by the pool,
Christmas day in the Aussie way, by the Bar-b-cue. Oh!

School's out.  Summer holidays have begun.  We celebrated with an early evening scooter ride up and down a dodgy path by Lake Burley Griffin.  Tried skipping stones across the water's edge while dodging legions of black swans.  The pressure is on this morning to go to the pool or Big Splash.  I'm busy sorting school supplies, surveying the volumes of art works which have come home and contemplating the menu for Christmas Day.  Too late for cards, so I may have to compose an apologetic email to relatives and friends.  Still got up early this morning primed to make school lunches.  Seems quite bizarre not to have to set up the factory line of sliced bread and carrot sticks. 

Half-decorated by the children.