Moving to another hemisphere hasn’t changed who I really am.
I’m still the girl who thinks, “Hey, I’m house sitting. If I don’t touch anything then nothing bad will happen.” After which time I nonchalantly wander into the garage to check on a load of laundry. After which point I nonchalantly notice the water covering the floor…and nonchalantly imagine myself crumpling in a corner to cry. This household disaster, despite keeping me up until 4 AM, did not stop the Bongers from taking me to Phillip Island for the weekend.
Phillip Island is a popular holiday destination for Melbournians at a mere two hours from the eastern suburbs. To my mind, it was the perfect place to go before my first year of overseas ministry wraps up. Ian’s parents came, too, and we all stayed in a little holiday house just a few minutes walk from the beach. (Have I mentioned that it’s still bizarre, and wonderful, to live in a place where I’m so near to the beach? Growing up, the beach seemed like a mystical land.)
Cowes is exactly as I’d imagine a holiday town to be, the way it is in the books about summer, where children named Maggie or Margaret or Sal would spend summers in Maine or Virginia, in cabins or little houses from which they could easily walk to a water source, or woods, or center of town. OK, slightly more commercialized. But only slightly. Josie and I walked to the grocery store, one evening we all visited the night market, visited shops on the main street, saw pelicans and rays at lunch time, and even went fishing at night.
We visited Forrest Caves, a surf beach. Wooden steps and official signs tried to smooth the rough edges, but the wind spoke clearly. “Still wild.”
We visited The Nobbies, a national park. It’s easy to overlook the funny name. This is the kind of beauty you wouldn’t mind getting lost in, or falling into like a dream.
I am happy.