This gorgeous spunk is my husband of six years and we live on a heart shaped island. We have roots in Tasmania and have scrunched the sand from other shores between our toes, having crossed the ocean and come back again as if by tide change.
The other day, our extended family all took sail to mainland Australia. We drove several hundred kilometres through outback Victoria and slept a night in a little pub, eating easter eggs off the bar and dismantling the billiards table to collect the coloured balls every time we began a new game. We were on our way to another island at the bottom of the Fluerieu Peninsula in South Australia, Kangaroo Island his name.
Thinking back to this time now evokes calm memories. It seems that wild oceanic places are soothing for my family. Pristine Pennington Bay was a favourite pocket of coast for surfing and playing in the limestone soft sand.
Our stay at Antechamber Bay on a sheep farm (complete with roast lamb from the land) was dreamy with views across Backstairs Passage and leaping roo’s at the paddock periphery.
A place can stay with you. In pictures, in recollections like this and more deep-rooted in the feelings it can evoke. Living on a heart shaped island is a romantic notion of our home. You can form relationships with places, like you can people and I love Kangaroo Island (and the people I travelled to there with) and I love where I live.