A Few Musings On Heavenly Beverley

From the moment (a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...!) I read Karen Blixen's words "I had a farm in Africa", I was smitten with the idea of finding that paradise, that haven, that piece of earth where I could experience genuine contentment and happiness. Little did I know that I would find my own personal utopia in beautiful downtown Beverley, in Western Australia's Wheatbelt.

Beverley is a fantastically well kept secret. We stumbled over the town by sheer accident. Once I'd decided we needed our own place, without accompanying bickering offspring, I turned to Google. Of course. I investigated a sweeping arc of all the inland towns about 90 minutes or so out of Perth. Close enough to drive to the Big Smoke in the event of a real emergency, but far enough away to discourage casual visiting.

I looked at GinGin (contradictory council), Chittering Valley (too expensive), Northam (too big), Brookton (a bit small) and York (not our cup of tea). Then I discovered Beverley's website. Unobtrusive, informative and attractive. Ooh... Art Deco and Federation buildings. A main drag that wasn't the through highway. Nice looking houses and gardens. A bit of history. The Avon River. A population 1700 in the Beverley Shire (that figure hasn't changed in almost 4 years!). And about 133 kilometres from Perth GPO - no doubt there will be some conjecture about this distance! And then I saw a house online.

We drove up to Beverley on a November afternoon in 2010 after their driest winter on record. The country did look somewhat bleak. I was amused by the names of some of the properties "Flying Pig Farm", "Beverley Hills" and "Chocolate Hills" I couldn't imagine how this grey dust could be described as anything resembling chocolate. First impressions.

We immediately loved the look of Vincent Street - the main drag. There were a few empty shops, which was a bit of a worry, but even on a sleepy warm afternoon, the town was pretty and open. The streets were wide and the buildings very attractive. We were excited.

Unfortunately, the initial house did not excite. Too far out to walk into town and on a connecting road to Mawson. A basic house and no trees. We could not hide our disappointment. Fortunately, our canny real estate agent Helen (Captain) Stubing worked out our criteria in about five seconds. We couldn't afford much, we wanted to be closer to town, we needed trees and we craved some quiet. Helen made a phone call, booted the people out of their home and introduced us to the House that Rocks.

The house had potential. The colours were awful, the place was a mess, the garden was a hit and miss (mostly miss) shambles and it needed work. But we could instantly see the end result. And it had a functional kitchen, good sized bedrooms, air conditioning, some mature trees and it was the corner block on two cul de sacs. We fell in love on first sight.

We thought about the house for a few days. Actually, Michael thought about it, I just wanted it. We motored back to Beverley and stayed at the B&B. The weather was already hot. We put in an offer. The owners countered. We negotiated. The deal was done!

We then had to sell my house in Perth. It was obviously meant to be and sold in 5 days! We had settlement for 7 January 2011. Somehow, my children moved out, we packed up and moved ourselves, the 3 Stooges, the Cat and the trusty trailer up to Heavenly Beverley on settlement day.

The day before we moved, Beverley had its first decent rain in months. The town was washed clean. We settled in to camp and completed the first stage of the renovation - fencing (securely around half the property), flyscreens (installing them so we could open the windows) and floors (polishing the beautiful jarrah floorboards that had been hidden by revolting carpet). Whilst we were waiting to have the floorboards done, we attacked the garden. I weeded and hacked and transplanted and watered. We planted about 20 trees and shrubs in our first 4 weeks. The garden and a tiny green tinge of lawn responded by exploding into life.

In three years we've completed most of the renovations with minimal cash and maximum effort. Early on, we were lucky enough to meet Guy, fixer, carpenter, drummer, DesignMan and all around good guy (pardon the pun!). He has traveled the renovation road with us from the beginning. Being a framed house meant we could cut holes in the walls. So we did. Our kitchen, which used to have the stupidest, small lapsash window to the right of the sink, now sports a full length 3 metre jarrah one, flooding the kitchen with light and allowing me the pleasure of watching the garden whilst I wash up.

Every wall, door, ceiling and window has been painted. The kitchen cupboards have new fronts (cheating to create a new look) and Michael learnt how to tile. Windows that were falling apart have been repaired rather than replaced. We installed a tile fire for heating and underfloor insulation. We took down all the curtains and now only have blinds on the east and west windows. The bathroom has a new cabinet with orange tiles, blue walls and two mirrors to give the illusion of space. We've used mirrors elsewhere in the house for that purpose as well. The house is only 87 square metres!

But the established garden is now nearly 1/2 an acre. We have created micro climates under existing trees and planted for summer shade and winter sun. This summer should see the beginnings of a more mature garden, supporting and nurturing itself. And we also have an above ground pool (which comes all the way up to my thighs) for cooling off on scorching days.

The seasons in Beverley are real and distinct. Summer is bloody hot. Autumn is spectacular as our deciduous trees put on all their colours. Winter is cold, particularly on fine nights, but gives the reward of  my flowering bulbs and the chocolate earth. Spring brings the promise of new life, fields of intense yellow canola and a huge sigh of relief when I see the trees shooting new leaves! Our 50 year old mulberry tree is the keeper of the garden. The second it puts out the first spring leaf means no more frosts for the year. A very smart tree, that mulberry.

I knew I'd be happy to live anywhere with Michael, but I had no idea I'd fall in love so completely with Beverley. There are a really interesting bunch of people here. We have the Beverley Halls, the shire offices, the CRC, a chemist, a newsagent, a bakery, a beautiful dress shop, a beautician, a supermarket, a butcher, a hardware, a post office, an information office, some aeronautical tourist attractions, a new restaurant, two pubs, a cafe, a gallery in the old railway station and a fabulous new art studio. And that's just the main street.

Cross over the Avon and swing around to our street. We have absolutely fantastic neighbours, all people who chose to live in Beverley. As our end of the street is short, there are only four houses. We all like it that way. Every year, we have a street party at Christmas time. And I mean a street party. We drag tables, chairs, BBQs, children, animals and ourselves all into the middle of the bitumen under the shade of our magnificent eucalyptus tree. Last Christmas, our newest residents had such a good time, they were ringing their children to deliver more supplies to the party as they live up a particularly long driveway!

Michael has his sheds and his shops. Soon he will have his gallery, which he hopes to share with other like minded metal artists. I'll be the mouth and he'll be the creative genius behind the scenes. I'm really looking forward to this new phase in our lives. And I'm writing furiously in order to get our adventures up to (hopefully) publishing standard, so I can become a proper author. I'm sure our outback expeditions will continue too. Good to have something to keep me off the street!

Do I miss anything? Not really. I have become allergic to Perth. The noise, the crowds, the angst, the traffic all exhaust me. If I want or need a bit of shopping, I can go to Northam. The only thing lacking is a good hospital and we have to travel for some specialist medical services. But that is a small price to pay for living here - @ the House that Rocks in Heavenly Beverley.

My study - before and after!

A "Short" History of Our Shops... A Labour of Love

Once upon a time, Kate and Michael drove up to Heavenly Beverley to put in an offer to buy the House that Rocks. We signed all the required paperwork, which then had to be photocopied. Our real estate agent, Helen (Captain) Stubing's "office", which contained her photocopier, was in  a group of four decrepit shops on Vincent Street (the main drag of Beverley) with an attached "residence" out the back. And so we met the Forbes Building.

Michael was smitten on the spot. With a torch to navigate, he plunged his way into its innards. 500 square metres of building, two parcels of land with separate titles and more work needed to salvage the place than we ever could have imagined...The Forbes building had been around for generations of families living and working in Beverley. The original wooden shops were photographed in 1919 at the dedication of the War Memorial across the road. Sometime after that, the building was reconstructed in brick. Then in 1929, DH Forbes bought the building, extended and renovated it. Tenants had included a rural supplies shop, tea rooms, hairdresser, bakery, deli, dressmaker, drum depot and more recently, Helen had rented all four shops for her second hand business, prior to her moving into real estate.

The building was nominally for sale. The owners in 2010 had thought they could buy it, renovate it quickly and turn a quick buck. They had no intention of living in town and were annoyed at the intrusion of the locals who kept popping in, wanting to know what was going on.The amount they wanted for the shops was beyond our financial capabilities, so we had to walk away...

But the building kept drawing us in. Over 18 months, Michael visited the building, explored it, dreamed about it, drew it, longed for it. I thought the Forbes Building was a disaster. The amount of time, effort and money seemed insurmountable. Then it was on the market again, still more than we could afford, and went under offer. Michael was utterly miserable but was resigned to his fate.

In the meantime, Michael had put his old family home in suburban Perth up for sale. We decided to buy a little dump of a house in Beverley with the idea of renovating it and renting it out as income. And so, we waited for the sale to go through....

Except the sale of Michael's house fell through. So did our contract to buy the other cottage in Beverley. And magically, fantastically, unexpectedly, so did the sale of the Forbes Building...

We were elated and terrified. Michael's Perth house went under offer, again. We waited, Michael holding his breath, for that property to become unconditional. We were sure somebody else would snap up the Forbes Building in the interim. Part of me was willing anybody else (!) to buy the building so we wouldn't be stuck with a potential nightmare!

 I walked through it again, trying to imagine what Michael could see. Then, much to my amazement, I saw past the piles of rubble, the disintegrating walls, the doors that led nowhere, the rising damp, the smell, the cavernous cracks. The soaring pressed tin ceilings were beautiful, the wooden floorboards were salvageable and there was enough space under the main roof to hopefully renovate without the need for extension. The so called "residence" - a one bedroom solo unit - could have minimal improvements in order to rent it out. At last, I could glimpse its potential. Not as clearly as Michael could, but enough.

We put in an offer. Helen convinced the owners to accept. Somehow the miracle happened. The Forbes Building became ours in July 2012. We had an indoor BBQ to celebrate! Most of our friends thought we were quite mad.

Then the work started. Power connection. Dave the Brave, our electrician, found ancient wiring, a burnt out meter box and the remains of a long departed cat in the ceiling. The job was mammoth and expensive. But gradually, all our extension cords disappeared, each shop had its own meter and electricity became a reality. Until the roof leaked and fried the new meter in Shop 4!

Michael's trips to the roof were frequent. He cleaned and hosed and repaired and siliconed. Gradually, the leaks were stopping. The building started drying out. The cracks expanded!

Filling, bogging, plastering and painting the internal walls never ceased. Once one crack was repaired, a new one appeared without warning. The cracks also opened or contracted depending on the season. The back door  in Shop 1 jammed due to the movement of the building on multiple occasions. Michael planed that door again and again and had to move the handle and the lock because they just wouldn't line up anymore.

Some of the cracks were so wide I could put my arm inside the wall. We repaired the first two shops, painted them, polished the magnificent jarrah floorboards in one and installed a floating laminate floor in the other. A window was resurrected from behind plaster in Shop 2 and the fireplace restored. The change was jaw dropping. Both these shops were rented out.

Michael was itching to begin work on Shops 3 and 4, which was to become his metal art gallery. Fate and the building had other ideas. The external  wall had to be reinforced before it collapsed. Michael and Dan the Man, our brickie, spent 3 days in mid summer replacing broken bricks, mortaring and then rendering the wall to reinforce that end of the building.

Then Gary, a long time friend of Michael's needed somewhere to stay, urgently. They worked non stop on the residence for 3 months to make it fit for human habitation. The bathroom (Black Hole of Calcutta) was painted, tiled, received a new toilet, a hot water system and a laundry trough. The Hallway to Hell had its demonically dreadful wooden floor relaid, covered in lino and painted. Doors were fixed. A pot belly stove was installed. The ceiling stopped falling in and received a well deserved coat of paint. The windows were fitted with new panes. The bedroom window even had a flyscreen! The walls were all painted, the smell more or less disappeared and the residence became Gary's home for a year. We all agreed the place needed much more work, but at least it was no longer a complete hovel.

Ideas kept bombarding Michael's brain. We knew we wanted to renovate the wet areas to provide decent facilities for our tenants. And so, Michael's gallery creation was put on the back burner once again. This time, he needed to excavate an underground water storage tank directly behind the wet areas.

This tank was a relic of Beverley's past, used for water storage prior to the town being connected to the Kalgoorlie water pipeline in 1909. Michael  managed to put his camera through a porthole at the top and photographed the interior. We knew it was big, we just didn't know how big. And he was sure the tank would be lined with bricks, which he wanted to recover for our boundary wall.

We learnt how big when excavation began. The tank was 4.3 metres deep and 3.8 metres wide. It was lined with 2 layers of bricks. Michael, Gary and another friend Steve moved the bricks out by hand. It was an insane, monumental task and took all of March. By the end of the excavation, Michael was utterly exhausted and already very sick with "walking pneumonia".

Michael spent nearly all of April in hospital. He almost died, I believe, twice. His survival is testament to the fantastic medical, nursing and ancillary staff at Joondalup Hospital. He tottered home, still on IV antibiotics. A further 2 days in hospital at the end of May reminded us about the fragility of his recovery. A trip to his beloved Goldfields in June assisted with the renewal of his well being. Further drugs were added to his regime and for the first time since his illness, at the very end of July, Michael is feeling alive and eager.

He has started work on Shop 3 with the help of Gary. Marlene, the proprietor of the divine East End Studio in Shop 2, needs more space and we want to display some of Michael's sculptures. Our dream for his gallery has become a priority again. And so, with a bit of luck, a lot of work and very creative use of money, we hope to finish both Shops 3 and 4 and have Michael's metal art gallery up and running by December. Wow!

Come up and see us sometime, when you are in Heavenly Beverley (apologies to Mae West!).

During excavation of the water tank, March 2014.

Kate and Michael's Second Trip - Foreword April 2010

Six months passed, and not without incident, after we first boldly went where we hadn’t gone before (apologies to Captain Kirk!). We survived Christmas, New Year, recalcitrant offspring, surprising and somewhat contradictory reactions from friends (to our relationship) and the Great Storm of Perth.

And we had manged to stay together. Best of all, Michael has not been put off by my tendency to break everything known to Man. In a state of complete madness, he foolishly agreed to risk possible mass destruction of his camping gear a second time!  Hopefully, I would reward his outstanding faith in me.

There was a profound difference to this trip compared to the first one. Basically, we did very little planning. We knew we wanted to return to Linden, via Mount Palmer and Kookynie, but that was about as far as we envisaged. We had a vague idea we wanted to spend a night or two exploring the Linden surrounds - and after that?

We were better prepared in other aspects. The food box was inspected and added to, the swags and sleeping bags were aired, the tent (!) was located, 90 litres of drinking water was procured and we even bought another 30 litre washing water container. The first aid kit and our maps were checked.

Weeks of interminable waiting altered dramatically in the last frantic few days. Meals were cooked and frozen and piles of clothing and towels were stacked on my dining table.  Packing was slow, disorganised and haphazard and we wondered if we would actually succeed in leaving on April 1.  After all, we were beginning our next trip on April fool’s day!!  In spite of everything, we did it...and left. 

Bread anyone? All that's left above ground of a bakery at Linden, April 2010.

                                                                                                                                                                 

Eternal Truths.

Over the course of my life, and particularly in the last five years with my beloved Michael, I have realised and noted certain profound, indefatigable and undeniable Truths. I have pondered these Truths from time to time. They have become apparent @ the House that Rocks in Heavenly Beverley, on our travels in the outback and when we are forced to visit the Big Smoke. And so, in no particular order, here are some Eternal Truths of Life that I have learnt and remembered, mostly the hard way -

• that I don't like hospitals at all. Having had yet another skin cancer cut off the end of my nose yesterday (so attractive!) and receiving a drug cocktail to sedate me, I have no desire to visit another hospital for as long as possible.
• that getting old sucks. This is a Truth that is usually responsible for unwelcome and unwanted trips to aforementioned hospitals!
• that barbecuing myself every summer until I was sixteen has led to the appearance of so many skin cancers now, which in turn has necessitated visits to hated hospitals and insertion of nasty needles!
• that barbecuing thongs (flip flops) on the edge of an open fire in the bush in order to dry them will cause them to melt instead.
• that wrapping damper in alfoil inside a cast iron pot on an open fire is essential, if the damper is to emerge from the cooking process a golden brown colour. If this procedure is not followed, the damper will resemble a coal black, crispy football that may be kicked for some distance!
• that two fires are necessary when undertaking bucket baths in the Goldfields. The tarp is carefully placed on the ground between the two fires in order to prevent bums from becoming cold during open air bathing.
• that a plastic tarp, used as a windbreak, will melt if the chairs used to secure it blow over and the tarp ends up in the campfire.
• that dead things, such as kangaroo carcasses, smell...
• that I must be a complete idiot, as I always faithfully follow Michael to where dead things smell.
• that a campfire purely of sandalwood will neutralise the smell of dead things.
• that campfires always blow up with tremendous amounts of erupting ash when extinguished with a kettle of water - usually all over me.
• that a 25 litre water container, balanced precariously on a pile of bricks, will fall with a tremendous thump in the early hours of the morning, guaranteeing to scare the willies out of me.
• that the 25 litre water container does not like being pulled by its spout and will resemble a Dutch dyke without the little boy's thumb in it!
• that yelling "Help! Michael!" generally has the desired effect of my husband to come running to see what I've broken this time.
• that my legs are shorter than Michael's and trying to vault a barbed wire fence after him will result in great pain - for me.
• that Michael probably has enough medical knowledge now from dealing with my unfortunate but entirely predictable disasters to set up a mobile first aid clinic!
• that the unmistakable cry of "that went well!" will continue to highlight the latest foreseeable but unexpected act of foolishness.
• that laptop computers don't like red wine...!

That last Eternal Truth was revisited last night, much to my amusement, as Michael was responsible, rather than me! Which just goes to prove another Eternal Truth - that disaster is catching, rather like a cold!

In our element, in the glow of a campfire.

Seize the Day!

Michael nearly died in April. A 40 year smoker, he had tried everything to give the fags away. Patches, support groups, drugs, hypnosis. He hated the gum and  the sprays. He knew that sooner or later smoking would catch up with him, but the habit, the addiction, the longing was stronger than his resolve. Even emphysema hadn't deterred him. I was terrified.

Then his lungs gave way. Walking pneumonia followed by sepsis in his lungs, a plural infusion (two litres of fluid in the sack supporting his lungs) and pneumothorax (collapsed lung). Three hospital admissions in eleven days.  An insidious bitch who took advantage of his compromised lungs and hid when he seemed to be responding to his initial IV antibiotics. A second hospital (because his initial specialist was on leave) with a arrogant prick of a specialist who was rude, dismissive and dangerous. Three changes of antibiotics in five days, huge fevers, hallucinations and cessation of urination did not appear to bother this excuse of a practitioner.

After five days, I ascertained that Michael's original specialist had returned from leave, so we escaped.  We returned to a far superior and compassionate specialist, an excellent team of supporting doctors, caring and engaged nurses and committed ancillary staff. Even so, Michael was in hospital for another two weeks and we came home with him still on IV antibiotics. Another two days in hospital at the end of May confirmed our suspicions that Michael's recovery was going to be slow and complicated.

And so we have reached the second half of July. Michael is not out of the woods yet. He has tachycardia (rapid heart rate) anemia, sweats, nausea and hand tremors. He feels exhausted much of the time. A lurking mass in his right lung is being monitored. We don't think it's cancerous, but we have a CT in September to check its progress (or hopefully lack of progress).

In the meantime, we are determined to embrace life like there is no tomorrow. We spent two weeks camping in Michael's beloved Goldfields, we have bought a new mattress, a new lamp and we are planning the completion of Michael's metal art gallery. He is excited and eager and alive.

Today, I bought a bright, fiery orange mat for our bathroom floor. We are filling our lives with colour, with energy, with passion. I have new knickers and I'm wearing them. I pulled my red pashmina out of my wardrobe and discovered the moths had been munching it. You know what? I wore it anyway because I love the colour and I couldn't see the holes when it was draped around me.

We have stared death in the face this year but we're still hanging in there. What I've learnt is never take life for granted. And don't put anything on hold, because I may not be here tomorrow. So wear new knickers, use adored and fragile utensils, leave the string of pearls on, put on revered but seldom worn clothes and take that holiday to the sea, the desert, the resort. Do what makes us all happy.

For tomorrow may never come.

Goldfields campfire at Golden Horn (abandoned mine)

On Collecting "Ours".

We have just taken delivery of a brand new queen mattress for our bed. It is positively the most beautiful, comfortable mattress that I have ever clapped eyes upon. Not to mention heavy, as it possesses some groovy gizmo that prevents me bouncing around whilst Michael pretends he's in the Grand National. As a horse...And it's made in Western Australia, with a 10 year guarantee. We couldn't be prouder if I'd actually given birth to this exquisite addition to our bedroom!

And it's ours. Not my ancient 18 year old mattress that I shared with the ex and purchased when Vanessa was 10. She's now 28...Not Michael's slightly less ancient 15 year old mattress that we have been sleeping on (or at least attempting to sleep on when he's not jumping around). Both of our old mattresses we have shared with other people in our past lives. Not this mattress. This mattress was a virgin before we lay on it together. Nobody else, just us.

I find it really difficult to describe the thrill of receiving this mattress into our lives - another of our "firsts". The House that Rocks, our red leather lounges, Michael's new lawnmower, our camp stretcher, camp mattress and zip together sleeping bags are all other "firsts". So is the teal blue green Volvo named Ziggy with 250 000 kilometres on the clock. He may be middle aged, but he's ours. And he can go at 135 kilometres an hour with ease. I've proved that. That's why we have "No hat drivers in this vehicle" on his boot window. Our neighbouring town, York, has its share of hat drivers. Who drive excruciatingly slow. And Volvo drivers generally get a bad rap and Volvo hat wearing drivers get an even worse rap. I am out to raise the profile of our Volvo as a speed demon love machine.

Every morning we wake up in our saffron coloured bedroom looking at our fantastic, gnarly, rough barked eucalyptus tree. One of the first things we did was take down most of the revolting dirty curtains in our house. We live on a 4000 square metre corner block and both roads that edge our property are cul de sacs. So very few people come down our street. Hence we have no curtains on all our north facing windows, which include our bedroom. Vanessa once asked me, "But Mum, what if someone comes down the street and sees you with no clothes?" My response to her genuine concern was "Vanessa, if they see me, they will run...!"

Our bedroom was the first room we painted in our dinky little doer upper. We'd bought the house for its potential and its location, certainly not its looks. Our bedroom's former life had been as a pale pink abomination with green trim. OMG. And the previous owners had not opened the windows much, because when I did, the pane fell out!!! As Michael and his mate Garry attacked the makeover of the bedroom - screwing the walls to the batons and then sealing the walls so the paint wouldn't flake off - my beloved man was apprehensive about the colour I'd chosen. I asked him to trust me, and God love him, he did.

We ended up with a bedroom straight out of Marrakesh. Our bedroom glows at night, a warm, rich, earthy orange red. We love our bedroom. We go to bed at night, often holding hands. And we wake up in the morning, regardless of our sleep, in our bed with its new beautiful mattress, so lucky to be alive and with each other.

Our bedroom in our dinky little doer upper - before and after

On Birthdays...

It's my birthday...nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah!!!I am 53 years old. Whoa.

When my parents were my age, I thought they were really, really old. Actually they seemed really, really old when I was a small girl! They were quite weird in that way. When I was little, Mum and Dad used to take me to church every Sunday  in Brisbane - sub tropical climate - humid as hell in summer! Mum used to wear knickers, bra, girdle, stockings, petticoat, dress, shoes, hat and gloves to church. I have no idea what Dad wore, as I was always fascinated by watching Mum melting in the pews.

They seemed to get younger the older I was. By the time I was in my late teens, Mum and Dad seemed positively groovy. At my 18th birthday party, my Mum seemed  young, hip, interesting. There was hope yet for me, I thought.

 I married at the family home to my first husband when  I was 19. Idiot! After 24 years (I was proven to be a slow learner!) I divorced the first husband and embarked on single womanhood.

Birthdays whilst I was married the first time were very important. My children were born and survived only as a result of good luck. Six pregnancies, seven babies, three living. So they are still considered miracles by me and the days of their births remain very special.

Alex is now 23. He has autism with a congenital heart defect, intellectual disability, low muscle tone and asthma. He is a brilliant young man who lives with his brother, volunteers as a trainee chef, goes to the gym, loves computer games, cooking  and bush walking. I am in awe of him and his cheerful, enthusiastic slant on life.

Callum is 25. A graduate primary school teacher, he also works as a cafe manger and a ballroom dancing instructor. He is building a house and land package with his lovely partner Bronwyn. They are so excited by starting their lives together. I am delighted for them.

Vanessa is 28. She is in her final undergraduate year at uni as a Classics student and has been invited to do Honours next year. She never ever gives up. She has high functioning autism, a high IQ and VERY high anxiety! And, mostly, she copes. I am so proud of her, I could just about burst.

I had a couple of disastrous relationships between 2005 and 2009. By the time I met Michael, I had just about given up finding a decent man. Michael was a revelation. He wooed me, in the nicest possible way and I responded by falling in love with him instantly.

Fast forward five years and his birthdays are more important than ever. A smoker, with ongoing lung issues, he nearly died from pneumonia in April this year. I can't wait until his next birthday on 4 September. This year will be a testament to his fierce grip on survival. He is alive and a non smoker and utterly grateful to the medical staff who saved him.

Every birthday of my children, my husband or my friends is a celebration. A celebration that we have lived another year and we're still breathing. On the other hand, everyday that we wake up that we're still breathing should be a celebration !

Kate, Michael, Callum, Vanessa and Alex 2.1.2012

Kate and Michael's first trip - Foreword October 2009.

Adventure really is in our backyard.

Michael and I met online on the evening of 19 May 2009 (girls tend to remember exact dates, times and places!). We had our first face to face meeting/date a few days later, at the Whiteman Park animal exercise area, to see if our dogs got on with each other. If they hadn’t, we would have been resigned to another bout of online roulette. Fortunately, the dogs were happy together from day 1, I was smitten and Michael didn’t immediately flee, so it was a good start! The rest, as they say, is history.

Fast forward five months.  Michael was taking me on a trip to his beloved Goldfields.  I was excited and a bit apprehensive by the prospect. I had been camping, (in a past life with my ex husband and children) but that had been in tents and then a campervan generally in caravan parks. I had never really roughed it or been off road for a week or slept for more than two nights in a swag. I am also extremely uncoordinated and accident prone! Michael had been away with his son and other assorted blokes over the last nine years, but never with a WOMAN. I thought he was taking a bit of a risk. He thought it was make or break time to see if I could hack camping with him in the outback.

One of the reasons for this travel journal was to illustrate that ANYONE can enjoy this kind of adventure. This first wonderful trip was all about opening my mind to less being more – if we didn't have it with us, we did without (except for travelling mugs!).  Keeping a record also allowed me to remember the trip in far more detail than I might have otherwise. As well, I felt that creating shared memories was important for the growth of our relationship. Lastly, I’m a frustrated writer and loved having the time to give full vent to my personal view of this trip.

Planning and preparation were a must. Having enough drinking water was essential – we took ninety litres for a week – as was food (plenty of non perishable stuff) and a decent first aid kit. I cooked some meals in advance and froze them. Michael’s esky was a well insulated one, so most cold stuff stayed …cold. Michael knew that block ice was best, so we DIYed our own ice for some weeks before we left to make sure we had enough.

Google Earth was a terrific resource for plotting distances and checking places out prior to the big event.  Michael also had collected some seriously detailed maps of the Goldfields (from Landgate), which we carried with us.

 I had the time of my life. Thank you Michael, from the bottom of my heart!

Inside a shaft at Mount Palmer, October 2009.

Why we became the Beverley Hillbillies.

Michael moved into my duplex in suburban Perth in June 2010. We'd been together over a year, living in separate houses, me with my boys (Vanessa was still away for part of this time), Michael with his teenage children, who were putting more and more restrictions on our relationship. No, I wasn't allowed in THEIR house, so we saw each other at my place or elsewhere. No, they could have whoever they wanted over to their house, whenever they wished. No, Michael wasn't allowed to set up a roster of cooking or shopping or laundry for them all to follow. And good heavens no, they wouldn't participate in negotiation or compromise in any way, shape or form.

Michael's daughter had left in a torrent of abuse and attempted assault of her father and me - she threw a heavy pottery bird feeder at the front window of his house, intending it to shatter. For whatever reason, the window remained intact. Ruby the Beagle had already moved to my house in March 2010 - his children wouldn't care for her whilst he was away working. It was in Ruby's best interests to live somewhere she would be loved.

The situation came to a head at the conclusion of Michael's last job at Worsley Refinery near Collie in Western Australia's south west. He spent four days working in bitterly cold and wet conditions, mostly outside, repairing and providing maintenance on BIG conveyor belts. He also had a rumbling chest infection and was becoming more and more exhausted. 

I'd joined him in Collie on his final work day. We'd decided that as the long weekend was following, we'd stay an extra day and play tourist. The south west was at its green, lush, most beautiful best. We went on a jaunt to Gnomesville and a local winery. I took photos of Michael, which showed him gaunt, grey, stooped and pushing his smile for my camera. 

On our return to my house, I ordered Michael into bed. He looked puzzled and tried to protest. I asked him pointedly WHO would look after him at his house. He closed his mouth and surrendered. The following day, he was at my GP, being diagnosed with bronchitis and exhaustion. A week later, his breakdown occurred. 

Michael retired in August 2010. For the next three months, he hibernated at my house. There were five people, three dogs, three weiros and a cat all living in one little house with one bathroom and one toilet. Getting on each other's nerves doesn't even begin to describe the descent into disharmony. My three young adult children were bickering like toddlers, nobody had any privacy and Michael and I knew that we needed our own place.

Finally, I had had enough. I announced to my children that Michael and I were having a Change of Life and they weren't invited. I'd never been to Beverley before we drove up here to see what would become our home.Surprisingly, the kids took the situation reasonably well and we all went our separate ways...

Fast forward to now. We are the only ones who have remained where we moved on 7 January 2011. My boys, after an unsatisfactory stint living with their Dad and then in other shared accommodation, currently share a unit in Perth. Vanessa, after her third move, is now in a big Federation house near the University of Western Australia, with four other girls and two resident cats.

The House that Rocks has blossomed. We have painted, repaired, polished and renovated our dinky little doer upper. The garden was a blank canvas (!) of a some struggling trees and hardy little ground covers. We have planted and planted and planted. We have cried over corpses of shrubs that couldn't cut it. Through trial and error, we have discovered what can survive and prosper in our garden. Bands of sand and clay with temperatures ranging from -4 to 46 have tested us. Three and a half years later, we are seeing the fruits of our labour.

As I write this post, Heavenly Beverley has turned on the most magnificent winter day. Michael is pottering happily outside, Vanessa is visiting making our bed ( bliss!) and I am sitting in our snug little living room with our fire crackling. What could be better than this?

A work in progress - April 2011.

How to Win Friends and Influence People....

We live in the House that Rocks on the 100 year floodplain on the outskirts of Heavenly Beverley. The reason our home is known as the House that Rocks is because it's on stumps over a metre off the ground. Hence when the washing machine is on, the house rocks. When we open the fridge, the house rocks. When my son Alex of the heavy feet visits, the house rocks.

There is a joke in town that everybody should have a boat ( 150 kilometres from the coast!) in case of the 100 year flood. We have yet to obtain our boat. Lorna next door has a boat. Shane and Marci across the road do not need a boat, as they have built their house on the top of a raised sand pad, known as Mount Beverley.

Some days ago, I noticed that we had some water pooled out the front. I just assumed that the water just hadn't dissipated from the recent rain. I didn't actually take into consideration that we hadn't ever had water hanging around for any length of time before. I am such a blonde sometimes...

Then, Michael observed that the puddle had become rather large. In fact the water was no longer a small pool. It had spread for about twenty metres along our frontage into the other half of our block. And it wasn't still water anymore. It had turned into a bubbling, burbling stream and appeared to be coming out of a specific spot next to our mound of gravel (which is still waiting patiently to be spread on our driveway).

Michael decided it was time to ring the Water Corporation Leaks Line (!). They asked if we had property damage - is your house underwater? - and Michael replied that our house was still intact. We'll come out tomorrow and take a look, they responded.

We had to travel to Northam the following morning for appointments. The Water Corporation blokes did come. And demolished half our front garden. And ran over my solar light. And turned off the water, whilst they were repairing the leak.

Without the neighbours knowing...With no warning, Amanda (with three children under six) had no water! And Lorna had no water. And I assume Kay and Drew had no water - but they probably didn't know who'd caused this catastrophe.

The others have had a field day!!! I will never live this down. Come to think of it, I don't blame them at all. If I suddenly lost water with no warning either, I'd be looking for a culprit too.

Thankfully, I have great neightbours in our street. They may forgive me in time!!!

Before the carnage in the front garden of the House that Rocks.

First Post (as opposed to the Last Post)!

In the Beginning, Bronwyn (my divine, computer literate, intended daughter in law) set the skeleton of this blog up for me last night. Why, I hear you asking? Me, the most timid technophobe in the universe, thought I could master a blog. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!  

My superior, smart and savvy elder son, Callum (Bronwyn's man) convinced me that I was using Facebook incorrectly - in other words, using FB as a blog. Set up a blog, he said. Bron will do it for you, he said. Yeah right.

I have struggled with the blog instructions for the last four hours. I am too embarrassed to admit that I find the "help guide" gobbledygook, that I am woeful at following instructions at the best of times and that it will be sheer luck if I get anything out there in Googleland .

I am boldly going where no Beverley Hillbilly has gone before.