These words are beautifully expressed by
‘At home, I am aware of the successive waves of newcomers crushing what used to be charming (area). I feel threatened and saddened, and my empathetic side sees a chapter of our nation's history dying in a region I adore. Back home, my grieving is palpable.
Sociologists, and now psychologists, talk about solastalgia.
It's a phrase developed for those suffering from the effects of climate change. Loosely defined, solastalgia means mourning for the loss of the home you continue to live in. More formally, the International Journal of Environmental of Environmental Research and Public Health reports that solastalgia is "the pain and distress experienced by those witnessing their home environments destroyed or changed in unwelcome ways.’
Solastalgia is "homesickness at home."
The term has since been adapted for those in rural areas who are seeing what they love diminished by the migration of urban wealth from the post-pandemic work-from-home crowd. Singular and once quaint small towns and regions are being swept away.’ Tom Ryan
I understand what Tom means. I mourn for what our little coastal town of 500 people becomes in holiday-time.
But I need to put it into perspective to make it work for me.
In the Pacific Ocean, there are dozens of islands, many countries, which are being consumed by water and weather, being subsumed by First World resistance to climate change. The islanders have every reason to feel solastalgia.
In my case, what are 13 weeks of population inundation in 52 weeks of any one year? I still get 39 weeks of quietude and beauty and if nothing else, those 13 weeks have taught me adaptation. Isn’t that the first law of survival? Adapt or die?
In respect of the Pacific Islanders, I don’t believe they should have to adapt any more than they have been forced to. I have very set views on climate change and won’t often express them here except to say First World governments will reap what they sow. What turns around, comes around. Trouble is, we’ll all suffer in the process.
But back to the coast…
I’ve returned.
But with an open mind. If it gets difficult, husband, the Terrier and I will go to the city for another week or so until the rest of the locusts migrate back to work. To think thus saves my sanity. Isn’t it odd that one can have utter silence and peace in the city of all places? That’s ‘cos everyone and his black labrador or golden labradoodle, his big ute or brand name SUV and attached large boat or jetski moves to the coast!
But thus far since our return, it’s oddly quiet. We passed a mass exodus on the highway and the streets close by us are mostly denuded of caravans, cars and tents.
The jetties are empty of casual fishermen and the moorings are hardly full. Our walks are uneventful, so we’ve been left a little confused – happy, but confused.
Where are they all?
Oh, who cares where they are as long as they don’t return.
My Time:
Delicious.
I’ve made no plans, no resolutions. Amazingly, I’ve gone with the flow. For an uptight bod like me, I haven’t bent the river. I’ve just existed and felt no guilt for doing so.
Harder for husband and son who have watched bands of humidity creep across our lucerne harvest as it tries to dry enough for baling. But Friday has been a fine, sunny day and the images below are of baling as the sun set on a fab day.
Hopefully by the end of the weekend, all will be gathered in, even if husband and son have to work through the night to cart it. The Gods of Weather are apparently sending 30+mls of rain on Monday so its rather urgent.
And so I spent Friday swimming with the family whilst my husband was in the city attending appointments.
The whole blue lagoon was ours and ours alone. We swam back and forth, becoming crusty with salt. When the tide turned, I grabbed my $2 noodle and floated along with it whilst grandson chased me along the bank with an ancient and rusty Tonka truck.
Then, on a walk with my grandson, I found a jewelled-coloured Christmas beetle, rescuing him from a skateboard ramp to release him in the bush.
We finished the day with scallops, flake, squid rings and chips eaten outside on the patio, and I felt to my marrow that this was my first day of summer.
Reading:
On Kindle – The Keeper of Stories by Sally Page. I’m only one chapter in but I suspect it will be as good as the one below.
In print – still with Jilly Cooper’s Tackle. Good Golly Miss Molly!
So Late in the Day by Claire Keegan. A woman’s view of a man’s uneducated courting of his future wife. Suffice to say, he learned nothing. But worth remembering that there are many men who aren’t ignorant, who are gentlemen and respect women.
Listening:
From Audible – The Book of Beginnings by Sally Page. I absolutely love this book. The premise of the story is so simple and delightful, and the characterisations are beautiful. In addition, I just want to find a little stationery shop and spend an hour looking at papers and cards, pens and inks. I need to go to Flywheel in New Norfolk or walk the stationery trail in Melbourne . And then I need to become serious about writing cards and letters to people who might return the favour in the style of the old days, last century! Who else is game?
Watching:
Oh-my-gosh, we’ve just watched a super English movie (when are the Brits not good at what they do?) with Benedict Cumberbatch called The Courier. A true story and it had us glued to the screen.
An excellent series from the UK called Payback. We wanted to binge but rationed ourselves to two episodes a night for the series. It’s good!
All these quality shows are streamed by Britbox of which we’re devotees. Quality productions all the way.
Receiving:
From one of my most long-term friends, Willie, a Christmas present that rings every one of my bells. She knows me well, does Willie.
A poloshirt the colour of blooming daffodils after a hard winter, and an Irish short-story that is a polar opposite to my own experience.
Doing:
Sitting on Willie’s back verandah in the spasmodic sun, in old cane seats with jewel bright Marimekko cushions that I sink into for the duration. Three chocolate Labradors roll about at our feet, and I have a glass of chilled San Pellegrino water which reminds me of a Roman holiday when I was a bright young thing. She cradles a vast cup of tea, and we talk gardens, food, health, dogs and family and we know it’s the beginning of many summer talkfests.
***
Coming back to the coast in summer means that I spend more time with friends on the beach. I love every moment of that shared time but I’m an introvert by nature and I caught this little piece from the BBC online.
With that in mind, I also found these apt quotes:
…solitude (is often required) to restore me to the sense that I am a person…
Vita Sackville-West
Letter to Virginia Woolf
8th December 1925
I am not anti-social; I have a deep affection for my friends and family, feel deeply for suffering humanity (also for suffering animals!) but at times I have a desperate need to be absolutely alone.
Edward Weston
Letter to Ansel Adams
3rd December 1934
These wonderful thought-streams come from https://lettersofnote.com.
I hope I haven’t given the impression that I just want to live on a desert island without contact or input of any sort from anyone. Not at all so. Life has great meaning and I absorb every dimension and I’m grateful for the kindred spirits I’ve met everywhere in the last few years.
Forgive me my oddities and in the meantime, I look forward to talking with you all next week, if not before.
Comment away freely!
Music for this week? The theme from The Courier, the movie I mentioned above, is very reminiscent of Shostakovitch’s Second Waltz. I love it! What do you think?
We, too, live in a small community that has been transforming bit by bit. The sweet protected "beach" my kids and I enjoyed is now crawling with tourists every summer weekend, the surf-tumbled bits of glass gone, gathered up and hauled away. Cars line the streets and trash is left behind willy-nilly. Covid brought the greatest influx of new faces and attitudes. Certain waterfront areas are now thick with ostentatious new homes that block the view from those who live on the other side. I wish I could understand the constant need for bigger, glitzier, more, and even more importantly, the disrespect for the spaces and places they're choosing to live and recreate. But your Christmas beetle isn't worried about all that, and the colors so glorious. I appreciate the opportunity to be reminded of a less judgmental perspective. Thank you, Prue.
Good grief...Vita Sackville-West must be my kindred spirit! Her quote describes exactly how I feel as I'm growing older. I find myself withdrawing more from the world's bad news and finding happiness within my family and our own neck of the woods. We're not a vacation destination, so I don't have to deal with all of that!
I still enjoy learning (and experiencing, when possible) other places, people, and cultures. But, they must be of my own choosing, in my own timeframe. I'm becoming 'set in my ways' and perfectly content to be so.
Your stories about the beautiful island you call home are so enjoyable and as Ma Bell used to say: It's the next best thing to being there! As always, thank you for sharing.