Story telling from Australia
I had no idea when I wrote ‘Until the Next Time’ that it would be ‘The Last Time’. I began this weekly blog over three years ago to share the challenge and joy of gardening in Broken Hill, a mining town on the edge of the desert in Outback New South Wales.
Broken Hill is a fascinating place. Summer temperatures can soar to 45 degrees and winter nights can drop below freezing; dust storms can obliterate the noonday sun and rain – when it comes – falls in torrents; I’ve seen kangaroo and emu wandering the streets and I’ve seen locusts and other pests arrive in plague-like proportions.
I loved it.
We no longer live in Broken Hill (although who knows what the future might hold) and I’ve found it increasingly difficult to summon the enthusiasm to blog about our concrete back yard in Sydney, so this will be my last post, for now at least.
I’ve met some wonderful people in this extraordinary blogosphere, whose stories and writing have inspired me, and I feel humbled and honoured that others have chosen to read my weekly musings.
But all good things must end, if only to make way for other good things, whose shape and form may as yet be ill-defined and only vaguely understood. The two fiction projects I’m working on – one nearing completion and the other no more than a raw start – need more time than I’m giving them, so I’m bidding farewell to blogging.
I will miss the humorous, wise, affectionate, knowledgeable and heartfelt words of people whose posts have regularly entertained me over the years, and I may yet come back.
For now I leave you with pictures of bulbs flowering in England. I planted them for family during a visit last November, tucking bulbs that looked like dry shrivelled nuggets of nothing into loose soil on a cold winter’s day, not knowing what would happen. And now look at them.
Big writing projects – the ones you struggle with yet come back to time and again – can sometimes feel like they’re buried deep underground, where it’s dark and lonely and the soil is cold. Yet the germ of an idea can eventually flourish and surprise you.
Thank you for keeping me company over the last three years, and may all your writing projects flourish.
I’m sure I will see you all again one day.