Hiraeth...

... for Knots in the String.

It’s a beautiful, wistful word.

It whispers of mists, of myth and legend.

When we first moved away from my island home, the longing for home was so strong that I was almost sick with it, pining for a place where I had roots that went back to convict times. I had a history there and it mattered.

When we moved, I lost my anchor. I was cast adrift. Nothing was familiar and so it became a heart and soul endeavour to find places that were reminiscent of home and enabled me to stand for one moment or two without that longing.

Most often it was close by the sea, but very occasionally it might be the country, a horse, riding, the sound of bird.

But if a plane flew over my head toward my island home, I would be poisonous with envy of the passengers. The funny thing is that earlier in my life, on overseas trips, I never felt that longing. I was just so bound up with seeing greener pastures I’d read and heard about that hiraeth never entered my life.

But then I grew older and something inside me changed. A yearning grew for what had been, and a longing for it to return.

My children possessed hiraeth from an early age – despite trips overseas and studying and working off the island. Everything was coloured by the need to return.

It’s well known that all Tasmanians come home in the end. In my mind, I see an old woman pulling in the cobweb filaments by which we are anchored, winding them onto a giant reel where they can be used again for the next generation of adventurers.

And so we come home.

We step onto our shore and breathe the crispest, cleanest air one can imagine. We see forests flowing down to rocky coasts, vast boulders and white beaches and coves with aquatint water, and we know we’re back where we belong.

Husband and self travel a few times a year to small places around this island that we either have neglected to experience, or which on a previous visit rang little carillons, enticing us back. I love those trips, immersing myself in our bush, our sea, barefoot on the beaches, standing still amongst the trees and soaking up bird call or wind whiffle. Luxuriating in rather excellent rentals and making a lifetime experience together.

But…

I miss my home. I yearn for it and when I first see Maria Island, when I first glimpse the Tasman Sea and Oyster Bay as we wind to our coast cottage, and then when I see the waters of Spring Bay, my breath lets go that little bit more, my heart warming, my soul easing.

My Time.

We went away to the most perfect piece of coast this last week. Bay of Fires.

Hiraeth was with me, but whisper-faint as I ducked my toes into white sand and swam in azure winter water. The water was fresh and cold but like a glass I could see through into another world and I felt in place, like I almost belonged. I dabbled in rockpools and walked beaches and rocks with my soulmate and with the terrier.

Let the pictures tell some of the story:

At night, I stitched more of the Brenda Kinsel bag as the waves chuckled along the shoreline.

Lying in bed at night and listening to the waves across the road at Bay of Fires. It’s a song that seeps into my very bloodstream and I sleep.

Reading:

Kindle: CJ Archer’s The Medici Manuscript. Still enjoying it.

Print: Gyles Brandreth biography of the late Queen. I suspect that this will be a long read as it’s such a thick book. Brandreth is a diplomatic biographer - a respectful man whose style I enjoy.

The most haunting and poetically written piece by the winner of Alone Australia – Gina Chick. How she learned about herself, about country and how she will be forever changed. It’s a piece I will keep forever.  

Listening:

Sons of Rome by Simon Turney and Gordon Doherty and read by Jonathan Keeble. Brilliant. So enjoyed it that I’ve purchased Book Two - Masters of Rome.

Watching:

*The last of this series of Rogue Heroes. Legendary!

*The last of Chelsea Flower Show. I have such dreams.

*Mr. Malcolm’s List. Quite good in a very Austenesque way and well-acted. It did smack a little of Pride and Prejudice but I’ll let that one go to the keeper.

*A beautiful little video about selkies and the sea. See below. In an obscure way, it exemplifies hiraeth…

These days, I never feel hamstrung by this enigmatic yearning. It’s a comfort if anything, and that’s something I can’t explain. It’s not a longing for tangible possessions in place or country. It’s just a craving for my spiritual place by the water. Sea is a constant in my hiraeth. It’s immeasurable and unquantifiable and so I try not to examine it too much, for to do so is to disembowel its wonderful mystery.

I am the selkie of my own little myth and I slip on my sealskin when I return to my home and take up my place in the watery legend of my life.

It’s enough…