Kidspot Top 50 Blog Your Way To Dunk Island
Sometimes getting away from it all means taking the kids and the dog. It means finding time when we are all free of work, study and school… for us, this had not happened for a few years. Then, the stars aligned. Hubby’s Grandmother celebrated her 90th birthday, meaning we would all be in the same place at the same time. We finally managed to have a family holiday together. This involved a trip to Tasmania and the chance to return to the family shack. While holidays with kids and a dog in tow are not all sleep ins and lazy days with a book in one hand, a beverage of choice in the other, we did on this trip manage just a little of that…
On a table just inside the front door of our house sits a piece of gnarled, weathered wood. It is, I suppose drift wood… but it wasn’t collected from a beach.
On mantle pieces, book shelves, desks, table tops are the flotsam of memory. Stones, shells, feathers, wood. Items collected from holidays, walks, friend’s homes. The wood at the front door is part of my more recent collection. Most days I glance at it, some days I stop to touch it’s smooth curves and smile at the memory it evokes…
Early on a March morning, as most people were tucked in bed, our house was in a state of quiet excitement. The car was packed, the note was left on the table for the friend feeding our cat and fish, bottles of water carefully upturned into the pot plants. We were ready. In the dark, cold morning rain we set off… Hubby at the wheel, Green Eyed Girl and Blue Eyed Boy snuggled in the back with their iPods, DS’s, books, and an excited puppy, somewhat bewildered at his new doggy seat belt indignity. We turned onto the road and headed towards the city and the boat that waited to carry us across Bass Strait to Tasmania. We were heading home. Well to one of them. It gives me a great sense of happiness to tell the kids how lucky we are to call two places home.
Upon arrival in Tasmania some nine hours later we headed in to Devonport for supplies before hitting the road to our first destination. The Shack.
The Shack has been holiday home to family and friends for the past nine years. Technically my parent’s retreat, but a family home away from home for us as well. As we neared The Shack, on empty dirt roads I had an overwhelming wave of feeling, part nostalgia, part relief after a very stressful and busy term one. We arrived late at night, in the bitter cold of the Tasmanian Central Highlands. The four of us quickly swung into routine. Hubby getting the power on, checking the pump and hoping the water pipes were not frozen. Kids, unpacking what they could from the car, me, getting the fire roaring.
The next four days followed a pattern of quiet relaxation. Strolls to the river, walks along the dirt road, building fires outside and cooking toast over the coals. It was a time of nothing much… and that in itself was perfect.
I have an absolute love for the Highlands. It goes beyond the harsh beauty of the land, beyond the pull of nostalgia. Beyond the tie to family and country. It has become part of who I am. Part of what I am made of. My father is a fly fisherman and while we spent many years at the beach, (often living in walking distance to one) my history is tied to the lakes and rivers. Tied to button grass and the ripple of a trout rise. Following my father’s footfall as he edged along a lake. Waiting with sisters and Mum, a book cast aside for smooth stone fossicking. The boredom of last years magazines re-read yet again. This is a holiday to me. I am happy that my children too find peace in the quiet that this kind of holiday can bring.
On this particular trip there was the added excitement of Hubby’s birthday and our wedding anniversary, having cleverly married the day before his birthday, we always remember both. On the last full day before heading on to Hobart we celebrated Hubby’s birthday. We packed sausages, onion, bread and condiments in an esky. Long sticks with wire sausage holders on the ends, fashioned from a coat hanger came too. We headed to the Great Lake shore. We saw no one. The clear blue of the Tasmanian sky welcomed us, only to be chased away as grey clouds raced across on the bracing wind.
We scrounged for wood to light a fire. Kids, off in separate directions, a challenge for the dog to keep both in check. The lake was choppy due to the wind. But we still managed to skip stones. The sun that broke through cloud drifts made the water sparkle. It was one of those days where the small bickering bothered no one. The quiet was so welcoming and calm. I could feel the stress from the first part of the year blow away on the wind.
With the fire going we cooked our sausages and feasted on them with soft onion, mustard and swiss cheese. After lunch the kids walked along the shore, the sky flashing promise of blue between the grey. I am not sure really what had more beauty in it, the blue or the grey sky.
As we packed the car, while the kids and the dog played along the lake edge, I picked up a piece of wood, I placed it in the front in a spare cup holder, and there it remained until we returned home, a perfect reminder of our day by the lake.
This is my entry for for Kidspot top 50 bloggers. While you’re here, I’d love to know what makes family holidays memorable for you? Oh & PS… If you like this, then just a quick click here and one more on the thumbs up would be much appreciated… thanks x
Today my girl turns nine… nine. She is my baby, how did this happen? I remember the day(s) she was born. Yes, it took 26 hours for her to finally make an appearance. I remember too, that she was born at exactly 2am. Her big brother, sleeping at home with his Granny, fell out of bed at exactly 2am. Her Daddy and I fell asleep sometime around 3am, snuggled in the birth centre bed together, him, her, me.
