This post isn't about food. Just thought I'd get that out of the way.
Believe it or not, there are often things that happen in my life that don't involve food. Not many, mind you, but occasionally something non-food related happens. And up until now I've never felt the need to post about anything other than food.
But today is different.
Do you have a place you go, where your soul feels free? A place you know so well, that even when your eyes are clouded with tears, you can navigate your way there, because you've been there SO many times? A place you go to to heal? A place that is nurturing and whole-making and safe?
A place that is intrinsically entwined with more that half your life's worth of memories?
I went back to my place today.
After 16 weeks, here is what is left of Bronnie's farm at Taggerty.
Here is the remains of the house I helped build, the place where I took Furry and his kids early on in our relationship, to show him where my heart felt freest.
Here's the remains of the stone cottage where I probably conceived my first child.
Here's a view back to the orchard, where my first husband and I built a wattle and daub cottage.
Here's the grove of trees that used to have my hammock in it. It's here, one Summer day, I came up with the name of my first child. I swear I heard her name whispered to me on the breeze, by the fairies that used to live at Taggerty.
Here is what remains of my first kitchen where I cooked for bulk patrons for the very first time. I cooked 40 doz scones in a wood fired Aga, in a converted cow shed, wearing a crinoline dress with a baby possum on my head.
When something as dramatic as this happens, there is a shift in the memory paradigm. You know where you are, but nothing fits in with your memory map. It's like looking at two overlapping slides that don't quite meet.
It's not much, in the grand cosmic scheme of things and nothing at all compared to what others went through 16 weeks ago. But today I realised that Taggerty doesn't know me any more. Its memories of me have been wiped clean. And the laughter that echoed around the fireplace at the stone cottage, and Combat Wombat and Dribbles sitting on my lap outside the Shop and Attilas in the Mist and SBBS chasing silkies and garlic yabbies and the Delarge Garage are all places I can't go back to.