“Family is found…whether it be blood or circumstance or choice, what binds us does not matter. All that matters is that we are bound.”
― Taylor Jenkins Reid
33.9535° S, 115.0630° E
Indian Ocean
Margaret River WA
8:00 am tomorrow, 77 degrees
Light winds
Blue sky
Fluffy clouds
The heat of the day is tough to be out in, so we go for swims and walks and jogs early morning and later in the afternoon and lunch and rest midday. Margaret River is south of Perth. It’s a small ( 7-8,000 pop.) surfing, winery, farming and vacation town full of children, parks, trails, bike paths– and it is eminently walkable. It’s delightful. The winter (that would be summer, actually) school vacation ends Feb. 1, so this is the last blast of freedom for the boys, and their sister Lila will start Kindergarten soon. (More like our pre-school, she is four.)
It’s hot and sunny and I feel a tad guilty as everyone at home is shoveling, and Pearl cracked her tooth and had to fly to the vet in Juneau. (She’s much better and enjoying JJ and Eliza’s families.)
So far we have hiked, biked, swam at many beaches, watched basketball practice, a movie outside at night at a winery (on blankets, with a picnic), spent a Sunday afternoon at The Beer Farm. Yes, that’s its real name. A farm for beer.There is a great sense of humor and lots of everyday laughs. For instance, electricians are “sparkies”, carpenters are “chippies”, and Americans are “sepies”– since septic tank rhymes with yank. Really. The Beer Farm brews beer, serves great food, has a slip and slide, live music and yes, dogs are welcome too. (Well, good dogs.) It is a busy place on Sunday afternoons.
Today is lunch at a winery, and then we head to Perth for a three-day basketball tournament. The boys are playing and Christian is a coach.
As we bike around town, drive the dirt “tracks”, swim at stunning beaches where the kids surf and splash, listen to our granddaughter’s Australian lilt, smell the peppermint trees and rosemary hedges, taste the fruit, and the fresh everything—from local breads and produce to the cream in the coffee– I think of our parents visiting us in Alaska. It must have been like this for them. It’s all so different. I used to worry that they didn’t understand why we were there, or maybe they didn’t approve. Now I know differently. They no doubt were pinching themselves—is this real? Who knew we’d ever have family, have grandchildren, in such a wonderful place. Who knew one of our children would grow up and start a new life so far away and we would be invited to share it, even if only a few weeks a year—
What a wonderful world.
