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The late ABC journalist Mike Hayes once ran a successful radio program and newspaper column from our little village called ‘The Prickle Farmer’. Mike shared his stories of his family – the city slickers, trying to make a new life in the bush. He told tales of his early days in Gundaroo and moving on to small acreage. I guess its Mike’s stories that have inspired me to record our own tales.
I first visited Gundaroo when I was about six. I have vivid memories of bumping over a dirt road in the back of my cousin’s car. My legs stuck out straight on the big bench seat and it seemed as though it took forever, but I suppose the journey from Canberra was actually about an hour or so. Everything took forever at that age.
We arrived in a world of the past. Old grey buildings, friendly faces and women in calico hats selling amazing old world sweets - bullseyes, humbugs, acid drops and aniseed balls. Gundaroo was holding one of its then famous festival days. I remember lunch - my first ever taste of damper, a thick, slightly doughy bread with a rock hard crust which was dusted with flour. I can still recall the texture and flavour as it was devoured, slathered with butter and golden syrup all melting into the warmth of the bread, my hands and, inevitably, all over my clothes.
The village was filled with beautiful green parrots and crimson rosellas. I remember the smell of the crisp air which was perfumed with eucalyptus and the patterns that the clouds formed in the strange yellow and purple coloured sky. It was a sky that was different to the one of my childhood home in Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs.
All these memories are vivid, it was a family day out that I have never forgotten. Little did I know at the time that this memorable place was to one day become my home, but perhaps, somewhere, these memories played an unconscious part in our ‘tree change’.
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