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SANCTUARY

SANCTUARY

Sanctuary, it conjures up so many visuals; a sun room full of lush green ferns and some green tea and a green chair, maybe a green cushion. Healesville SANCTUARY; full of wombats, kangaroos and feral kids in the gift shop or my house, full of wine, food, a shoulder to cry on and a feral child. 

When you move to the country, everyone from the big smoke wants to pay you a visit. Having a freshly born baby helps to facilitate this. They come up, bring a quiche (no joke, it must be in a manual coz we had 3 visits over 3 weeks and quiche loraine was on the menu), some wine, give you sympathetic looks as you try to breast feed and then they piss off. This was in the beginning……

Now we get “those” calls, you know the kind “hey, how are you guys? was thinking I might come stay for the weekend, my girlfriend hates my guts right now” or “ hey, how are you guys? My kids are driving me bad shit crazy and I need to drink copious amounts of alcohol, pronto”!

We are so desperate for the company of Melbourne folk, needing/wanting to suck in as much of their cynical, black hooded, brooding Melbourness that we eagerly welcome them with open arms. We have a fire, we have comfort, cosy rooms, lovely sunsets, laundry facilities and really large trucks that drive past at 5am come one, come all!

I spend a lot of time sprucing the place, fresh country vibed linen, a wattle bouquet on the bedside table and a guest towel, folded just like a fancy motel without the special soaps. Paul always does something special with meat, we stock the plonk and beg our child to sleep through the night so we can let loose.

More often than not, when our friends arrive they’re usually sporting a really fabulous hangover, dishevelled, they come on in, drop their bags in the guest wing not taking a second to acknowledge the domestic goddess that I’ve become. They crack open a beer and start to indulge us in the previous nights antics. We sit back, scoffing “huh, don’t miss those days”, though deep down we secretly wish we were back at the Tote drinking disgusting beer and crying in the gutter with a cold souvlaki. They ask us how parenthood is treating us “couldn’t be better, the babe is an excellent sleeper, she’s so advanced, we are perfect parents” (imagine to our surprise, 3 hours later our child decides it’s the night to scream the house down, ALL.NIGHT.LONG). As the night wares on more wine/beer appears and the woes of loveland unravel in front of us. It all gets a little tragic, and I’m always quick to say get rid of the hideous girl, because I’ve never met her and she’s all the way back in Collingwood. “Get rid of her, move to the country, open up another cafe and all your dreams will come true”. The embers fade and the friend is passed out on the couch. 

In the morning, we pat our little friend on the head, feed and water them, take them on a little driving tour of Newstead, we’ve become quite the tour guides “here’s the pool, here’s the fish n chip shop, here’s the pub, here’s the other pub and heres the supermarket”. We then send them back from whence they came from via the VLine, making promises that we will do it all again really, really soon. In the back of my mind all I can think about is how annoyed I am that they didn’t sleep in the guest room and appreciate my towel handiwork! 

In the instance that friends with kids rock up, we are always grateful. Yay, finally other children to occupy/exhaust our child and there is no place else to go! These are nice times because more often than not at least one of the parents is missing out on the good times back in the big smoke so you don’t feel so excluded. You show the kids the baby goat down the road and they beg their parents for one when they get home(the traps been set). It’s amusing too because the conversation always ends with the city folk talking of how they could TOTALLY move to the country, they start looking at houses on their smartphone, and you eagerly encourage them, opening up your laptop showing them even more properties that could be their dream home, “please hand me the calculator I’ll do the number crunching for you and have you a mortgage by Monday”.

But it does get chaotic, 5 kids running round the house, all of you trying to have a really lovely country weekend, the children wont go to sleep because they are scared of the huntsman watching over them in the spare room, OR the worst scenario where your dear friend is coming up and you’re so excited by the prospect of drinking too much wine together because it’s been that long and they surprise you with another pregnancy. STOP CONCEIVING, IT’S BAD FOR YOUR HEALTH AND MY NEW FOUND DRINKING HABITS!

The night ends, the sun rises. You’re exhausted and the house has been turned upside down and you kinda hope that the house will be evacuated by midmorning. Children will ruin anyones spirit, so often the feelings are reciprocated and your guest are ready to leave by 9am. Once again you make those silly promises that you will endeavour to see each other oh so soon. Closing that door, you fall in a little head and take a big breath then look at the calendar to see who’s coming up next Saturday

 

** I’d like to quickly add those friends who insist on going for a day trip to Daylesford. They walk into every single shop and drag you into them too, because it’s not like you haven’t seen that god awful rainbow fibre glass horse in that whatever it is shop a million times already, there is a reason why it hasn’t sold yet!

 

 

MARKET

MARKET

Fiona Buchanan - ADSUM FARMHOUSE

Fiona Buchanan - ADSUM FARMHOUSE