I went below!
Apropos of the last post on Notorious, the caravel…
We attended the Wooden Boat Festival and I went aboard this amazing replica.
Lack of space is the most intense sensation – I had thought caravels were so much bigger.
At the marina the other day, in the little coastal village of Triabunna, looked up and saw rigging that seemed so anachronistic.
Being drawn to all things medieval, had to blink twice thinking mind was slipping as I write Gisborne: Book of Knights.
Saturday was Australia Day and we were meant to spend it on the water. That was the plan. But it showered and blew and so it was cancelled. But today…
The north corner of Chinamens Beach, Maria Island…
Wake up and get straight into swimsuit. Sky is pale blue, maybe smoke haze from Victoria.
Down to the beach to favourite pozzie in front of pine trees. Smells resinous in the warmth.
In water by 10AM. Glorious. Walk through waist deep shallows in boat channel, moving out of way of incomers and outgoers. Then just dive in and swim a few lengths between the marker poles. Float on back like a star. Hair drifting out, rocking with the odd tiny wave, can hear the odd tic-tic-tic sound of ‘under the sea’.
House – my fave place in the world, and the sky is blue.
Porch’s warm and the perfect place for a dry white before dins.
The garden survived the torrential ‘Tornado’ rains of Friday…
Snowball Tree.
I’ve known Jane Nicholas for a number of years since I met her when I enrolled in a ‘how to’ class for stumpwork at our local embroidery shop, A Stitch In Time. In the course of conversation, she found out that I was a book and paper-artist and our friendship developed on a number of levels because we have similar backgrounds and we both deal in forms of communication and creative expression. I felt the ringing of those kindred spirit bells, – a sure sign there is a good friendship in the offing.
*This is a reprise of an article I was invited to post on English Historical Fiction Authors*
Convict carved milestone.
If, like me, the generations of one’s family in Tasmania can be traced back to Settlement, then it is a fair enough assumption to believe there exists a convict somewhere in the family tree. My great great grandfather was such a man.
We left House (our miniscule cottage by the sea) to live the split life of city/country, about 6 weeks ago. Since taking up the urban lifestyle (the farm is only 30 minutes from the city and 30 mins from House) we have rushed.
A stitch in time saves nine they say.
A week ago, I attended a masterclass of stumpwork embroidery in a shop called A Stitch In Time.
In fact I saved no stitches at all. I had hundreds of stitches to accomplish before the piece I was working on would be finished.
