We are so lucky to live as far from the madding crowd as we can be without falling off the world’s edge – the proverbial pimple on a pumpkin.
My island is edged with a ruffle of cliffs, beaches, inlets, coves. The land embraces the rivers with shades of green from dull khaki to vivid emerald. Further inland still are the richly damp rain forests alive with mosses, giant man-ferns, hidden lakes and waterfalls, and all encompassed by the chime and tinkle of birds.
There is scope to escape. To ignore what happens elsewhere. To ignore even what happens beyond the village in which I live. We are a parochial people. And how glad I am of that!
Is it bad to be provincial? To have a narrow outlook on life? The world being what it is, we can’t keep the news away, but we can keep it at bay. Someone very wise once said to me, ‘Keep your goalposts close.’ And that’s what I tell my family and myself – narrow the field, make it easy. Weed the garden, till the soil, sow some seeds, plant as many trees as you can (we have planted over 1000 and many more to come) and watch things grow.
Sometimes though, I find myself wanting to shout from the treetops: ‘World! Read your history books! Look what happened!’ But I suspect I’d be shouting into a void. I wonder if the world has been dumbed-down by ever-present social media. That the world’s reactions toward what is happening globally have been dulled by over-exposure. That’s how it happens. Apathy. It’s all there in the history books.
So what does one do? In 1939, this poster was released by the British government. It spoke of great stoicism and strength, of moral imperatives, courage and compassion. And never was it more needed than right now. To me there have to be better choices – my family, my friends, my environment, my democratic vote when our national elections come round later this year. This is Australia, where like Canada, democracy is still alive and real.
Here on the pimple on the pumpkin, far from the madding crowd, I’m planting the flag for my family and for those in dire straits around the world. I unfold our Australian flag, an old national ensign which I found on the beach after a storm, and which had obviously blown off the stern of a motor cruiser. My husband hauls it up our make-do flagpole where it flies with two koi kites. We use the kites as telltales for wind direction (it’s blowing nor-easterly before a southerly change) . One day when I win the lottery, I shall arrange for a proper flagpole and have a giant koi kite undulating in the wind. One day…
We have an autumn clean – lampshades, lightshades, floors, bathroom, damp dusting, cupboards. The cottage is small and it’s therapeutic to scrub and get rid of summer dust and I find I’m going through a bit of a minimalist phase, so flotsam and jetsam is discarded. Outside, the cottage wooden walls are power-hosed and scrubbed, the windows cleaned. Maybe there’s symbolism in the cleaning – who knows?
I walk the dog at one of our beaches and where one has to climb down a cliff to enjoy it. Our grandson called it the Pirate Beach when he was a little chap because there would be a map and an X marks the spot and usually, Cap’n Jack Sparrow would have hidden a bag of gold chocolate coins for him to find.
Whilst on the beach, I take mindful time, to build a cairn. I concentrate on nothing but balance as each rock is chosen and then positioned. And isn’t balance what we all crave?
The pup digs a hole. It’s his thing – he does it in a strange pouncing way. His bestest late cousin was odd on the beach as well, as you know, collecting grey oyster shells of a certain tint and size. Ah, we all have our eccentric little ways, don’t we?
(The black lead trailing behind him is 5 metre training longline, as we’re working on recall. With varying degrees of success. Today, he was utterly brilliant!)
We pick all our fruit from the orchard as the long summer has taken its toll. I cook a pear and raspberry cake. Made with almond meal, it’s beautiful – tangy with our raspberries and vaguely sweet with the pears. Welcoming autumn, wanting autumn. It’s been an odd week - very chilly at the beginning, requiring a trench coat to run about doing city business, but back to mid-20’s, shorts and swims at the cottage, for the last part of the week. But the deeper water has cooled a little and as I dive in, I come up with an icecream headache. When I dry off, two fingers of my right hand stay bone white for twenty minutes. I’ll enjoy these swims in just a swimsuit. Not looking forward to climbing back into wetsuit, boots and gloves for the winter.
As I write, I look at our puppy. He is now half his adult size. Every part of my day is involved with puppy care, except when he’s sleeping. I’m reborn as a kennel maid and our house is a dog kennel. Hence the house-clean with a fragrant candle burning on the wicker chest.
(Post first attempt at stripping and trimming his coat in husband’s workshop - the pup hates it. But the breeder has offered to trim him at a dog show tomorrow, thank heaven, when she brings Fang’s dad down south. Notice the little heart above Fang’s nose?)
My little boy knows nothing of world politics, of Oval Office shenanigans and of alliances and tariffs. Every day is a new day for him.
But perhaps not so much for the old kennel maid. In the face of tariff wars and buying Australian and supporting my own country from 42 degrees south latitude, the choice of music for the week is Australian to its core. It’s an ad for QANTAS, our national carrier. When I was a bright young thing in the very early 70’s, homesick and waiting at Fiumicino Airport in Rome for a flight to London, I saw a QANTAS jet land, its kangaroo logo red and vibrant in the morning light, and I just burst into tears!
PS: Housework:
My website contact button is apparently now working. For those interested in joining the Postcard Club, can I please ask you to contact me via www.pruebatten.com again. I offer my apologies and will spend time looking for luscious postcards as punishment!
I had slipped out of the Substack reading habit for a wee while it is so lovely to read that you have yourself a new wee doggie. He looks to be a wonderful character.
I hear you on the need to take a step back and largely ignore the news, we have to give ourselves a break don’t we. I agree with your thought that we have become immune to things and that apathy rolls in, me thinks that is a desired outcome.
Doing what we are doing is doing something we are preserving ourselves so we are strong and ready for when there is a need for us to step up. We can be part of a quiet revolution and eat your wonderful cake.
I hear your frustration, Prue, and your relief at being farther away from the chaos than some of us. You are not wrong to be grateful for that. Gratitude could go a long way toward shifting much of what is wrong here and elsewhere.
I am just so sorry. I did not vote for this. More than half of this country did not vote for this.
When you wrote Pimple on a Pumpkin, I thought it might be a reference to a certain someone. Maybe it was.
Fang is precious and determined. We need more of that. The cake looks incredible. The cairn is a beautiful reminder of something we can do.
Thank you, Prue.