JULY
9
THIS
morning we slept a bit too long on uncomfortable bedding. It was the first
night of the newest Ashes cricket series, from Cardiff. A restless night.
Eventually we got dressed and went for a renewed tour of the farm, visiting the
animals that provided our entertainment last night. S and I were looking at the
ducks and geese. Tiffany shouted out from the house ‘you can let them out!’ I did. Then S had a horrible feeling we had
misheard and wondered how we could get them back behind the wire again. ‘But
it’s ok’, I said hopefully. ‘Foxes only appear at night.’
We
left Sarsfield mid-morning en route to Lakes Entrance. Last time we ventured
here a few years ago, disaster struck. Our house became flooded in our absence
because of the behaviour of an errant rat. This time, we cross our fingers.
The
road to Marlo and Cape Conran is pretty. The fields on either side of the road
are marshy and green. There are a number of farms dotted around, and by the
look of it, they are mostly dairy farms. We stop at one point and humans and
cows lovingly gaze at one another across a small ditch. The crossword keeps us
busy. We are briefly stumped on a word starting with ‘O’ in reference to
‘threatening.’ It is the final word, and when we think of ‘ominously’, we have
completed it.
The
eastern beach at Cape Conran is rugged and pretty at the same time. A looks
everywhere for shells which is par for the course, and S indulges in her new
found love, handstands. I find any number of weird formations out of sea weed
and sea and beach debris, and large sticks which I hurl into the water. The
tide is coming in so we have to head back, but not before we explore the
slate-grey jagged rocks at the beach’s edge. I imagine I am Ingmar B and I am
on Faro.
We
drive, calm and contented, toward Marlo. There is something about the name of
the town. But we don’t really see much of it- just the pub which overlooks a
pretty estuary. The girls memorably have their first ever taste of alcohol- a
minuscule drop of red wine.
Wending
our way back homeward, it is starting to darken. A comments from the back of
the car that she likes the orange sunset strip in the sky. We stop, looking for
adventure, at one of those dairy farms we passed much earlier. The friendly
farm woman is milking her cows, by machine. Some metal implement squeezes their
teats, as they chew on cow feed passively. There is much bemusement about the
cascading of cow waste. It’s a good country education for all of us. The cows
rotate on their metallic roundabout contraption, then peel off.
The
final stop is the supermarket in Orbost. The night sky envelops us all around.
We are home at the cottage, satisfied. The cricket is back on.
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