Heavenly Beverley

Tuesday, 12 January 2021

A Mad Dog Or An Englishman? Decisions, Decisions...

Four o'clock in the East End Gallery yesterday afternoon. An hour until we closed up, walked the sixty-odd steps homeward bound, put my feet up, poured a gin and lemon, was entertained with the arrival of Jan, Greg and Jodie (with Zeus), and then contemplated the last few days whilst watching the telly.

With the arrival of 2021, I removed all the Christmas decorations in the Gallery. We farewelled photographer Peter and partner Ann from the Station at the conclusion of their Artist-in-Residence stay. The beginning of 2021 also seemed like the perfect opportunity for a rejig of the East End Gallery...When will I ever learn? The upheaval of one hundred and fifty square metres took three days before order was restored. Worse was to come. Due to unforeseen circumstances, one of our artists' works needed to be taken down, leading to yet more mutinous muttering by Michael up a ladder. All as a heatwave gathered strength over Saturday and Sunday.

Today, we were finally able to fling the house open. Breeze instead of airconditioning. Ceiling fans were all that was required to keep the air moving. We decided on a spot of gardening, which turned into an enterprise bigger than Ben Hur. The transplanting of Michael's Ficus into a bigger pot ended up with some major pruning of both roots and foliage. The root ball had become totally snarled and knotted, hence the drastic operation. Once the roots were trimmed, the tree itself had to be reduced in size. Eventually, after three hours, the operation was complete. The planting of a lemon Cyprus was a doodle after the struggle with the Ficus! And then, we were able to apply the brakes and replenish our garden with some leisurely watering.

I think most people have noticed the opportunities being offered for a less frantic life. Slow TV. Slow hobbies, such as walking, pottering in the garden or reading. Slow lunches or dinners. In some ways, COVID 19 has done us some favours. Many of us were forced to stop.

Getting older also marks the return of delight at simple (and slow) pleasures. Taking boots off at the end of the day. A drink together or with our tribe. Dinner at the pub on Friday night to celebrate Gem's birthday. Chatting to new guests in the Gallery. Welcoming old friends back. Laughing at Stella and Pip's rowdy games. My new steam mop (!). The bliss of bedtime. The relief of a cool change after days of unrelenting heat. The dismissal of (most) set timetables. Appointments still have to be attended at the appropriate juncture.

Michael has been at his McGyver best. Yet another repair of my Gallery vacuum cleaner head. Figuring out how to cold bend two mild steel rings for his Mandala so he didn't take his eye out when he released the clamps.

We survived yet another weekend of pretty extreme temperatures. We are now enjoying cooler days. We love the long daylight hours. Summer in the Wheatbelt does have its advantages. And was I a mad dog or an Englishman for labouring away on hot days? Whatever I was, I have no doubt I will continue to do so until our West Australian summer is over.

Peter and Ann's farewell at the Station Gallery -

The East End Gallery - 8 January 2021...

McGyver at work with my vacuum cleaner -

With his mandala -

Wire snail by Celeste -

Thursday, 7 January 2021

Still Our "Love Shack"!

This is the story of us.

Four homes, three moves, two locations and quite possibly a partridge in that bloody pear tree. Actually, an ornamental pear tree was one of the corpses we wept over at the House that Rocks, our first abode in Heavenly Beverley.

We started living together in my dinky little duplex whilst still in the Big Smoke. Needless to say, even that bit was unplanned. We had returned from his complex job at Worsley Refinery, outside Collie. Michael had spent four days in the bleak winter weather outside and developed a bout of pneumonia. So I ordered him into bed and he complied. That's how I knew how sick he was.

Michael's physical and mental health collapsed over the next couple of weeks. We needed a place of our own. Michael longed to leave the Big Smoke, an opportunity he had only dreamed about during previous years.

02.01.2021. The second day of 2021. The second day of a new decade. The second day of a year that I have finally mastered saying "twenty twenty-one" instead of "two thousand and twenty-one". The day my beloved Michael and I began our tenth year of marriage. We are two-thirds of the way through our twelfth year of unexpected bliss. And, at a pinch, a sequence of numbers could also be used as the first name of Elon Musk's next baby.

07.01.2021. Our tenth anniversary of arriving in Heavenly Beverley. We felt like kids playing hookey from school. We had found the House that Rocks with its dust bowl of a garden. We renovated the house, turning it into our home. We transformed the outside into a green and welcoming space.

True, there have been the odd few days of chaos and catastrophe, but I can only count on the fingers of a single hand when I haven't woken up thanking the universe for bringing Michael into my life.

Andy from "Masterchef Australia" could be forgiven for describing my darling man as a "cracker"! I certainly do...

Unfortunately, the sheds at the House that Rocks didn't quite fulfil Michael's quest for his artist's workshop. Too hot in summer, too cold in winter, too dusty in autumn and too many mozzies in spring.

So we bought the Forbes Building in all her glorious/hideous decay and set about renovating her. After eight years we still have problems with damp and leaks and cracking. But the building is not going anywhere. And she is now beautiful. Our dilapidated set of shops are now rivalling DH Forbes' 1929 vision of a stylish and attractive row of premises.

The Hovel - two rooms and a wet area - provided us with a shelter of sorts for the six months after we sold the House that Rocks until we moved into Station House. Washing of dishes was the most unpleasant task for most of our enforced stay. My outdoor sink area was blazing until March and then freezing after May. I fell in love with my internal kitchen and the dishwasher a nanosecond after we gratefully departed the Hovel for the last time, into Station House...

In three and a half years, we have recreated paradise. We stumbled over photos of our potted garden resident under the shade of a large eucalypt at the rear of the building from January 2017. The incy wincy Golden Cane Palm is now over two metres tall. The Frangipani has trebled in size. The Lilly Pilly likewise. The Ficus has become so top-heavy that it falls over in a stiff breeze. A new much larger pot is on the shopping list. We have eight pots of Strawberry plants all producing delicious berries. They began as a single rescued pot from Michael's sister, Sandra. Our main courtyard's perimeter is jammed with as many plants as possible. There is only just enough room for our table and chairs.

The front courtyard has the frame of our old outdoor table perched vertically against the front wall. Most of our plants are behind the picket fence to protect them from the fiercest of the Wheatbelt elements. Two Chinese Tallow trees and one riotous pot of Seaside Daisies are hardy enough to be on the outside, along with a single garden bed of tough-as-nails Gazanias.

The final rear courtyard is in shade most of the day. After an initial struggle, the Crepe Myrtles are booming and covered in pink flowers. Cottage garden plants line the fence with the neighbouring Morning Glory vine loving our watering and giving us a vertical green border.

After six very long months, Michael's hand and wrist have finally allowed him to return to his beloved metal sculpture. "A Miner's Gamble" and "Discarded Dreams 2" are above the fireplace in the main Gallery. "Flowers" was sold to Michael's brother. And his agricultural mandala is taking shape. This is a major piece, which hopefully will grace a wall in town. If not on a public building, then on the western side of ours.

Now, we have launched into 2021. What's the plan? Winging it, as ever. Love and laughter. Cuddling and conversation. Living each day the best we can. Since Michael nearly died in April 2014, I take nothing for granted. Starting every morning with a check-in. Holding hands when we walk together.

And just to prove we are still very much the Beverley Hillbillies in our Love Shack, yesterday Michael accidentally shaved off half his moustache with the beard trimmer. Thus, he was forced to complete a highly unlikely process and become clean-shaven for the first time in ten years... I haven't stopped laughing yet and every time I look at his face, I am momentarily overwhelmed by the his naked lips!

Happy new 2021. Stay tuned...