In this place; lucy’s living guide Tasmania, and in many other little blips of paradise on maps worldwide, there is a lot of signage. This blog for example, mapped in a worldly ‘blogosphere’ is a guide. Seriously; more signage! More distraction! Read this! Do that! Muuuum! Hold on.
Here is a place to explore ideas; a natural, ‘homely’ nook in an endless screaming screen.
The aim of this blog, in its online world with more wasted signage than the real one, is like waving a dainty handkerchief to your neighbour from the hills hoist. Like a smile.
The effect of that interaction will tickle some people in the right spot and cause others to squirm in great discomfort. Not being crass in communication, or deluded about the importance of your topic matters because in the case of this blog; it’s mostly writing stuff that everybody already know’s in a way. A patronising tone is forever wrong.
This ‘unwavering gaze’ of a blog; lucy’s living guide may state the obvious and report that same kind of ‘schizz’, like food for the soul that appears in magazine articles and newspaper pull out section’s elsewhere but hopefully it says what it does: a bit different.
Other times though, ideas are less flitty. They step out of the boundaries that you want to make; en route to a wild place. There are trails that extend from this blog to new places.
lucy’s living guide has regional Tasmanian flavour; reveals the intricacies of lesser known places/ Peoples hiding on a map. Years might fizz by like shooting stars; days turn to night. There is no practice time for anything. Sometimes even breathing can become stilted with the stress of making it to the tick of the clock or to the shrill of a child’s call or work deadline. There is an extra breath born from this blog. Each reader might feel it swell in their chest.
I had this day all of my own, and my computer was inside. Outside was calm and bright. I decided to ditch the planned model and went wild flower photographing and hand-written note jotting, on the isolated beaches; rock scrambling off the track in the Rocky Cape National Park.
All that shrubbed hillside rolled down to wild flower clumps and stones. Sand, shells and weed laced sea. Thank goodness I had a rickety wooden sign tell me I was on the ‘coastal route’ to Rocky Cape as I might have been in another blogosphere had I been glued to the stool at home. The guide was clear, Backyard Walks of Wynyard- Waratah. I picked it up at the little post office and with the sun shining, the idea was sown. A greater idea than any that traipsed across the keyboard on that day. Greater still because it is like a breath to this blog now.
Our family has genetic make-up which has instilled in us a somewhat challenged disposition to staying on a signposted track, particularly if there is a wild coastline alternative.
Off route, on my track this morning I found evidence of other “off- rooters”. There were shell middens of some wild folks from years back and a more recently cleared space with a stone fireplace and logs of wood for sitting on. I know it is against the guidance of the local national parks to camp and light fires within particular areas but I had a little moment re-imagining the scene of the crime. There was no litter, just a few rearranged rocks and stones and a picture perfect coastal site.
I have memories of camping around Rocky Cape as a child, of riding my bike as far as possible into the sea without falling off. The signs have grown. There are new guidelines, steel beams and chains blocking access to some spots; fresh barriers for our generation. It is not the same as it was before. Back when camp fires sparked about the wild places trapped flames in local stone, and our oldies drove up; bush-bashed into all kinds of endangered ecosystems leaving imprints on the land and us.
There is newness to natural areas now. Creatures have a place to play. I see a prickly Echidna, shocked at me poking about his hiding spot in Rocky Cape NP. I try to find something less altered beyond the track and the camp site; a crisp wild around the barren rocks on the tide line.
There is a secret culture in the wilds. Little quirks of people and their places.
A backyard walk for many Nor West coasters, my walk made be ponder the change; new land management. Many will have their own tales; old camp sites and childhood memories here. Or others have something similar in places, like our paradise, somewhere else. We are so lucky our backyard is pristine and even “off-rooters” can respect that.