Crowded Crowdy Bay: Road Trip #2 Begins

Our alarm used classical music, the most polite effort possible at the far-too-early (or late?) hour of 1:15am on Saturday morning to signal the dawn of our Easter school holiday road trip.  Already, we hadn’t had the best start—my painstakingly-prepared shopping list didn’t get me very far with the grocery stores closed on Good Friday.  What??  Closed?  For a country that is decidedly not religious, they certainly take every opportunity to close up shop and have a holiday.

With coolers only partially full, we were all on the road by 1:45am.  The kids had been so excited for our middle-of-the-night mission; I doubt it lived up to their expectations as they sleepily settled into the car. 

You are likely asking yourself why on Earth we would want to start a road trip in the middle of the night.  I’m sure there is a small faction (and likely a reality show in the works) of Extreme Road Trippers; but for us, making the 5-hour trip to Crowdy Bay National Park was a necessity if we had any hope of scoring a site.  Easter weekend camping trips must be a requirement to maintain citizenship around here; we arrived at 6:30am and drove through 3 campgrounds before we were able to squeeze into jam-packed Indian Head in Crowdy Bay National Park.  Not ideal camping, but we were thankful to have a place to lay our heads for a couple of nights.

This campsite was further from the beach than I would have liked, but the hike to get there was beautiful.  My favorite color is green, and this hike offered an endless array of greens in all shapes and tones.

We passed by Kylie’s Hut, named after longtime resident and author Kylie Tennant who lived there in the 1960s.

It’s hard to come by an ugly beach in Australia—the beach was gorgeous, with the water rushing through the rock formations.

Having three boys means being a regular witness to activities which you have absolutely no desire to participate in—like this sand fight, which provided them with endless glee.

Wildlife around the campground was plentiful: a young kangaroo hung around; I thought he must be an orphan because his mother was nowhere to be seen, but he looked healthy.

This goanna brazenly meandered through the vestibule area of our tent; thankfully, the kids had remembered to zip the actual tent closed.

Camping is a wonderful way to see the country, but it also provides an opportunity to spend time with other families from different parts of the country, which provides unique insight into Australia’s culture.  We shared a campfire both nights with a great family that provided plenty of campfire guitar playing, solidifying Sam’s desire to learn how to play guitar.  And like many of the locals we've spoken with throughout our travels, this family told us about their favorite pie shop that we had to check out.  Meat pies are a big deal down here, and each region has their hole-in-the-wall place advertising 'award-winning' or 'world-famous' pies.  Fredo's Pies was no exception.

People supposedly flock to Fredo's Pies from far and wide for their crocodile pies, so I had to give it a go.  I can't say I would have known it was anything different than chicken, but it was tasty.

Bellies full of pies, we were off, continuing northward...

Callemondah: Heaven on Earth

I had the amazing good fortune of having my friend invite me to her family friend's art opening.  In heaven.  Well, not heaven exactly, but assuredly as close as it gets in Australia in my book--a property named Callemondah in the Calderwood Valley.

You see, this wasn't just any art opening; it happened to be taking place at the artist's incredibly lovely property nestled up against the escarpment about 25 minutes outside of town.  It's difficult to put into words just how enjoyable everything was about this experience--I came home and gushed about it, and then brought Sam and the boys back over the weekend.  I wanted to share it with them, yes, but really I wanted a chance to take pictures because in a moment of idiocy I had left my camera sitting idly in the drawer at home the first go-around.

And--this wasn't just any artist.  It was May Barrie, the 93-year old (you read those numbers correctly--93!) stone sculptor.  Sculpting stone, like, thousands of pounds worth.  Even after 93 trips around the sun.  After sculpting for decades, one of her pieces was chosen for the prestigious Sculpture by the Sea exhibition in 2009.  She was a mere 91 years old then.  

The art included May's work along with a number of her friends, some up to 20 years her junior.  I loved imagining this group of strong, independent, elderly ladies getting together and working with these heavy, rough materials to create such beauty--a wonderfully mangled hybrid between Thelma and Louise meets Cocoon, I suppose.

The property's buildings themselves were works of art, and inside each one was the type of space that you want to look at and run your hands along every single square inch, even the floors.  Every shelf and tabletop had something unique and handmade; I coveted everything I saw.

I'll let the pictures do most of the talking; I hope they capture a modicum of how special this place is.

I love this portrait of May, and my dream home would have a miniature wood stove just like this one in a reading nook with a cozy chair.  Even with the stone floors, this room was so inviting and homey.

I love all three of these.  LOVE.

One of May's sons built this section of the house as a young man; I could live very happily for the rest of my life in this one sunlight-bathed room with a view of the gardens.

One of May's daughters, Tori de Mestre, also an artist, lives in a building that formerly operated as the dairy.  The middle sunken section is where the farmers stood to milk the cows; I love the way that the original character of the building is retained but functions as a living space.

This small twin-pooled piece was my absolute favorite--the picture doesn't do the gorgeous rock justice, and it would look amazing in anyone's garden (especially mine!).

One of May's sons built this structure, modeled after South Africa's roundhouses, when he was eighteen.

Some of Tori's mosaic handiwork (for you, Aunt Nora!)

Inside Tori's studio...

I'm more drawn to the natural, rough-around-the-edges pieces, but this smooth, glossy one immediately won my heart with it's unmistakable stout wombat shape.

We brought a picnic lunch with us to enjoy under this perfect shady spot.

Perfection, all of it; everywhere I looked, and a definite highlight of my year so far.

Murramarang Camping Weekend, Part 2

On Sunday (let's just call it The Big Day), I counted the minutes until opening time at Birdland Animal Park in the nearby town of Batemans Bay.  We had already been to a couple of other animal parks and zoos, but I knew this park would hold a very special place in my heart.

It was fun to see a koala awake and eating; the most strenuous activity I had them seen perform previously was a slow opening of the eyes and closing, much like the "exercise" classes I held during my short-lived first job out of college as an Activities Director at a nursing home.

This particularly fluffy kangaroo was the prettiest I had ever seen, and I had to restrain myself from giving him zerbits on his belly.

I bravely walked by the ostriches, an animal that has haunted me ever since my parents cruelly forced me into a van for a drive around Lion Country Safari in Florida.  I don't know if I truly remember 'the incident' or if I have recreated the image from my parents teasing me about it for 30 years, but a) they made me sit next to the window and b) a ostrich was on the loose, running alongside our van maneuvering its thin hairy neck attempting to get inside the van (read: eat me).  If anyone has ever wanted to film a horror movie about ostriches, I've got the screenplay written in my head.  According to the website, Lion Country Safari is "The Best Value Theme Park in Florida".  That's right, folks, forget about Disney World--step right up and scar your children for half the price than at other parks!

Luckily, I escaped the ostriches yet again.  One of the park staff brought out a python we could hold, and Jackson jumped at the chance; Alex declined.

I'm not a fan of snakes, a fact that was confirmed when I held one for the picture.  Kenyon didn't take his eyes of the snake's head the whole time it was near him.

I love this picture of our friends Kylie and Issy; the look on Issy's face was how I felt.

And then.

The moment had arrived.

When the park staff brought out Bubbles the Wombat to be held (to be held!!), I swear my eyes filled with tears, but I fought them back because I didn't want to be the crazy lady who cried at the animal park.  Bubbles' hefty, stout body was placed into my arms much like my own boys were the moment they were born.  And I'm only slightly exaggerating when I say that the amount of joy I felt was pretty darn close to those days as well.

The claws, the pointy-tipped ears, the whiskery nose? CUTE OVERLOAD.

I reluctantly handed her off so other people could experience the utter joy of a wombat snuggle.

I'm already planning my next visit (and snuggle) when my parents come to visit next month.

Murramarang Camping Weekend, Part 1

We rolled into the Pebbly Beach campground at Murramarang National Park after dark on Friday; not an ideal situation but Sam and I wanted to make the most of our long weekend.  The fact that Jackson and Alex have become absolute experts at setting up their tent was a huge bonus--I think our tent bag wasn't even unzipped before the dim outline of their bodies were seen proudly declaring that they were done, and with nary a punch thrown or even a pinched word of frustration or superiority.  Seeing as though we're less than two weeks away from our next big road trip with plenty of opportunities for tent setup and breakdown, I'm psyched that this solid level of teamwork has carried over from our first big trip in January.

Pebbly Beach is a beautiful, well-maintained campground with nice cooking and restroom facilities, while still maintaining the rustic camping feeling.  Spotted gum trees meet a grassy field which runs to the ocean; it is here that we hoped to see what Pebbly Beach is known for: its kangaroos, which can be found right on the sand.

As morning light hit, I handed out slices of the berry coffee cake I'd made (to appease the rabid dragon Kenyon) and we quietly walked towards the beach, hoping to spot kangaroos.  As soon as we hit the path leading to the beach, we saw this handsome fella:

We observed for a few minutes and headed onward towards the beach.

We moved slowly and watched from afar, but as we made our way closer the kangaroos continued to nibble on the grass and plants without any signs of caution.

Even though they are used to humans, they are still wild animals, so we didn't pet them.

Okay, fine, we did pet them.  How could you not? They are fuzzy and soft and didn't seem to mind at all.

offering some beach grass to my new friend

Our friends Kylie and Josh and their two children Xavier and Issy showed up later that morning, troopers for making the drive and setting up camp for just one night (although we were thisclose to making you stay for another night, weren't we, Josh? Ha!).

It's great to have the beach right by our campsite, and we went to bed each night to the sounds of the waves.

Alex and Issy were fast friends since their initial meeting, and they enjoyed a long stint on the beach together working in the sand.

We wanted to share our American traditions of camping with our friends, so I brought s'mores fixins, or the best I could approximate in a country that doesn't make s'mores.  No graham crackers here, folks, so I used Marie biscuits.  And the marshmallows?  I don't know where to begin.  First of all, they're about 1/3 the size of their Kraft jet-puffed American counterpart.  And the strangest part is that you can't buy plain white marshmallows--all the bags come in an assortment of white and pink, and the pink is some sort of fruit flavor.  Let it be known that that's the kind of country Australia is, forcing flavored marshmallows on its consumers.  I futilely attempted to thwart the oppression and high-grade the bag for the white ones, but the fruity flavor permeates all the mallows.  If I became a United States ambassador to Australia, these are the sort of oppressive issues I'd bring to light.  Luckily, I had no problem finding dark chocolate.

Sam made sure there were plenty of sharpened sticks for the boys to play with, because camping isn't camping without flesh wounds and Lord of the Flies-esque savagery.

This campground is home to tons of gorgeous birds--king parrots, crimson rosellas, and rainbow lorikeets.  As we walked back from the beach in the afternoon, we saw this:

Another camper had brought bird food (which turns out to be a big no-no, but since we didn't know it at the time, we happily joined in for the feeding).

There was plenty of bird life outside of the parrot family as well.  Alex got up close and personal with a kookaburra while climbing a tree.

We also saw a satin bowerbird, which are known for their distinctive methods for attracting a mate.  They build a stick structure and decorate the outside with blue objects.  While I didn't get a picture of the bird, I thought this glimpse of his nest was worth sharing.

Just down the path from our campsite was a lovely gate that read 'Alexander's Cottage'.  Naturally, we needed to document our Alex's presence there.

All of this--the kangaroos, the birds, the beach, the quality time with friends--was awesome.  But the true highlight of the weekend (and surely, my year) was to happen the next day...