The first night here we had a mattress on the floor of the lounge room in front of the fire. All our stuff was in boxes. It was exciting, like the thrill of a sleepover as a kid. I remember waking during the night watching the flickering flames illuminate both the room and my partner’s face as she slept. I felt such a sense of achievement. It was ours.

The house stood in the middle of 2 acres. The property was surrounded by trees but the block was pretty much bare. Our nights and days filled with dreams of how we’d fill that canvas.

The neighbour from over the road came to introduce himself while I was cutting grass.

“Do you like beer?” He’s in jeans, dusty boots and has a work shirt which indicates he probably works with machinery. I can tell from his belly that he loves beer. His face is kind. He tells me “I don’t smoke, I don’t swear or gamble but I spend my money on beer and chooks”. Luckily I like a beer and love chooks. Pete operated machinery on the Hume bypass. Building roads, connecting people. It’s funny to reflect on 15 years where his speciality is still connecting people even though the road building stopped a few years back. Somehow Sunday nights became our nights, other locals had theirs and there was footy training two nights a week so we all knew Pete wouldn’t be home Tuesday & Thursday nights. His dance card was always full but there was room for more to join for a beer around the fire drum in his shed. When his old friends bought the house next door to me Saturday nights were at theirs, Sunday at his. A round robin of VB. The conversations always involve chooks, stories of Chiltern past, the town news but NEVER gossip and never anything too deep. 30 years separates us, but that does not matter.

The gardens we planned, planted and built, the ‘Chook Palace’ would house 30 chooks. A bit of avian overkill for two people but I’d sell the eggs at work. $2 leave the money on the fridge.

The trees grew, the years flew. The constant was Pete’s bright green F100 starting up in the morning. I’d grown so used to it that I’d only notice when it didn’t start. That silence was loud.

She and I grew apart and I took over the dream. Love came, and went, one more stayed, then left.

Two unconditional loves lived and died here. When the first one left we made a promise the night before that she would send me a sign to show me she still loved me. So I look to the stars each clear night and talk to her and see her Diving stars.  When the second one left two years later she gifted me with the song of the Grey shrike thrush. I smile each time when I hear her start the day with song and serenade me during my forest walks.

I mark the time here by the height of the trees. How amazing the bay tree that was only 10cm high when I planted it is now well over 6 metres. How did that happen? I was sure it’d never grow. I don’t remember the middle growth years, just when it was small and now as it towers beside the Chook Palace.

My place is held at the back by the ironbark forest. It’s always been there but I’d only take the occasional walks. I left it largely untouched until the past couple of years where I’ve wandered, wondered, healed, loved, searched, found. I’ve connected to it now so much that when I don’t get to bathe in her, I get anxious, restless. She calms me. Clarity. It took a pandemic to fully connect with the endemic. I’ve taken others, usually from the cities and towns, to feel her magic. To release. Heal. I feel happy and satisfied when they tell me they feel better.

Kindreds. Some are in my town. I love knowing that we are only separated by a few hundred meters. This is comforting since I don’t see them much at the moment. We will soon meet in the forest to share discoveries of colour, texture, shape, light. And I like knowing that any given time, one of us are most likely in the forest exploring, observing, searching.

My home while bricks and mortar represents my resilience and triumphs and my strengths and loves, and all the things around it- people and plants are what makes it home.

For years I searched elsewhere for magic but it was here the whole time. Clichéd? Yes. True? Definitely.