Penguin Books Australia

Introduction: A Life in the Country

Looking over the pages of my journal that chronicle our move to the country in December 2002 brings it all flooding back to me.

'Who would have thought it! That somehow things would finally come together and we would find ourselves packing our belongings into the back of a truck and heading off to a new life. We had talked about it for years but somehow it seemed to be a carrot that always dangled just beyond our reach, something that other people did. What finally tipped the scales and sent us on our way? I suspect a number of things coming in fairly quick succession.

We had all but decided towards the end of 2001 that, if we were ever going to move, now was the time. We weren't retiring (we are a long way off being able to do that) but we really wanted our lives to change. Clive travels a lot with his work as an industrial auctioneer and valuer, but his head office is in Sydney, and he was taking longer and longer (often up to three hours a day) to do the return journey and it was slowly taking its toll. I had given up my television career the year before, much to everyone's surprise, and was hoping to make a living from writing and teaching. We both found the pace, noise and just the sheer numbers of people in the city were starting to overwhelm us, and we were longing for something quieter, more peaceful. To help us decide, we set off on a trip up the coast to revisit some places we hadn't been to in years and stumbled into what for us was paradise . . . Paradise Mullum(bimby).

We returned to Sydney all fired up to get things under way, but as is so often the case, we both got bogged down in our work again and tended to put things on hold for a bit. I was finishing my second book; Clive was busier than ever at work. Slowly, but inexorably, time was slipping past. On the weekends we looked at houses and land on the internet, yet still felt unable to commit to the Big Move. It was always next week, next month.

We were both brought up short when, in May 2002, I was diagnosed with the early stages of breast cancer. (It's the first time I've written those words, and seeing them on the page makes my stomach feel quite hollow.) I was fortunate that it was picked up very early so although I had surgery and radiation treatment, I didn't have to undergo the gruelling rounds of chemotherapy. The cancer diagnosis wasn't the reason for our move, as we had long before decided to go. However it is one of those events in life that really does focus your attention on what you are doing and where you are going, and we realised we didn't want to put things off any longer.

That was June. By the beginning of December we had sold our house; Clive had resigned from work; we had sadly farewelled our family and friends, and were heading up the highway to who knows what?

That's a scary, yet exciting, feeling. For the first time since our twenties, when we had travelled around Europe in a Kombi van, we had no real ties anywhere. All our worldly goods were in the back of a truck and it would be a few days before we could move into our rented home. It was actually rather wonderful, a no-man's land where anything seemed possible.

That first night we stayed in a motel at Brunswick Heads and walked up the road by the river to have dinner in the beer garden of the lovely old Brunnie pub. It was a warm evening and, as we sat underneath the blossoming poinciana and frangipani trees watching the sun dip behind the hills, we toasted each other and, with some awe, said the words we've

Repeated over and over since then 'We live here now'.
And so began our new life.'

Extract from Belinda's journal, which first appeared in
Scorched: Penguin Australian Summer Stories (2004)

It's hard to believe that I wrote those words seven years ago. So much has changed in that time. As I write this now it's early morning, and I have to pinch myself when I look out onto the hills and hear the cows in the distance, remembering that in our city life I would have quite probably been stuck in a traffic jam on Military Road at this hour – and feeling ever so grateful that I'm not.

I really don't know what on earth possessed me when I proposed writing this book. I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time! However, I can only conclude that I must have been of unsound mind when I suggested it, since what I thought was going to be a small book about living here has grown like Topsy into the rather large volume you hold in your hands.

In my defence, I so love the area we've moved to, and our life here, that it just seemed as natural as breathing to write about it. But now, as I read my words about birds and bees, flowers and food, people and places, I do wonder if anyone will be remotely interested. But then again, if I think of the regular phone calls we get and the questions we are asked about our move, I figure that many of our friends and colleagues are feeling much the same as we were seven years ago and wondering what a move to the country may mean.

Truth be told, like everything we do in this life, moves like ours have their highs and lows. The 'ups' for us have far outweighed the 'downs', but it hasn't all been one easy ride, and our initial struggles to survive financially put a big strain on us. Fortunately, I can write about that in retrospect now (at least

I hope so!), however for the first few years it was really hard and many times we wondered if we would be forced to sell our home and perhaps even return to the city to get by. I'm happy to say that to date this hasn't been necessary.

In many ways I find it difficult to answer the question: how is life in the country (or perhaps more truthfully worded, away from the city)? For I can feel the yearning and hopes behind it; the hope that we will say, yes it's true that life in the country is more peaceful and calm, people are more friendly, there is more time. However, it's not really possible to give such a simple answer, for it's not that straightforward. Life here is just different. Certainly not quieter (oh goodness, now there's an understatement!); richer – yes, I think so; more closely linked to the environment – a resounding yes; peaceful – well, that's definitely stretching things a bit; kinder – yes, perhaps that's the best way to put it. For us, life here is kinder, simpler and more how we hoped to live our lives. Perhaps that's the biggest difference of all: we both feel in our bones a contentment that we didn't have before.

So although this is fundamentally a book about food and cooking, it also goes far beyond that. For me it is a celebration of, and a grateful thank you for, the life we have here.

And so to the food around which much of our lives revolve . . .