by feathers

Created on: May 01, 2008

Is it a contradiction to say that I live in a rural urban suburb?

As I write this, I look down my 1 acre block to a eucalyptus-green valley with flashes of red as distant deciduous trees take on their autumn colours. I can hear the low drone of cars on the main road that connects us to the city and the bell from our little school where my children spent their primary years.

When the wind comes from the northeast, we get a whiff of coal smoke during the day when Puffing Billy goes through. The little steam train is famous in Australia as a tourist attraction, and I love it when I have to stop at the crossing to let the train pass. I hang out the window of my car and wave to everyone. I wonder how many holiday videos have me on them? Smiling and happy they all wave back, even the drivers and guards.

I hear a thump thump noise and look out my east window. There's a sulphur crested cockatoo on my verandah. He comes most mornings and follows us about from window to window, impatient for the feed of sunflower seeds that he knows is coming. This morning he's got tired of waiting and he's going to undo the lid on the plastic hay box and throw it on the ground. When I do go out, there are other birds: galahs, pink and grey; crimson rosellas, red and blue; rainbow lorikeets, bright and rambunctious; and the lovely ruby and emerald of kingparrots. I tip some of the sunflower seeds into my left hand and leave the rest in the cup in my right hand. Before long I have three kingparrots sitting on my hands, eating the sunflower seeds. I love the feel of their little feet and the feather weight of them. I love the fact that these wild birds come to me and accept me as part of their day.

We have yellow-tailed black cockies that fly past, their calls so sad, magpies and pee wees and currawongs in the trees. We have kookaburras in the day laughing at us and tawny frogmouths at night, making their spooky, mechanical hoot. There are gang gangs with their bright red heads eating gumnuts and making the air smell of eucalyptus and tiny fairy wrens cobalt blue flitting through the bushes.

I can't go into our local town without meeting someone I know. A quick trip down to the supermarket for milk needs to have an extra half hour factored into it as I keep up with friends. How are the kids going? What are they up to? The simple joy of knowing that someone I read to in preps has just landed their dream job, or that I need to get out my knitting needles to make a blankie because there's a grandchild on the way.

I've lived here since my eldest child was six months old. I've lived here longer than anywhere else in my life, longer than everywhere else put together. This is the place where we've built our family traditions, and settled in to the landscape. That Sunday before Christmas when the CFA does the rounds of Selby and we hear the fire engine playing carols, all loud and distorted, following the sound of it through the twisting dirt roads until it finally arrives on our road with Santa, all red and sweaty, still laughing and waving, handing out lolly bags to all the kids. The annual Puffing Billy race when Brian and I stand on our bedroom balcony, binoculars in hand, watching the mass of human runners as they strive to beat the steam train. Possums on the verandah rail and our street mascots: an echidna and a little black wallaby.

I like it here because the people and the land and the animals all fit together so well. Because life is gentle and even the birds have a sense of humour. Tonight when I'm going off to sleep I'll hear the sound of frogs and Puffing Billy's midnight train will too-oot and echo through the valley and I'll know that I belong.

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