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Published: July 24th 2006
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The reservoir Lake
I took me three months, and the initiative of mum off for a bush walk n our 'backyard' bush for me to finally to find this haven of a place Narrogin. 17 March 2006-August 2006
We have been here longer than we ever anticipated. Though I did sense something ( or used it as an excuse to buy two chooks perhaps) from the beginning. But now that the end truly is in sight I relly feel sad about leaving here.
Although for the last five months I have a 5 kilometre radius of existence in this town. As I turn to leave, knowing I will probably never return, I feel a strong sense of loss and a sudden regret. And of course a sadness at having to part ffrom with all the lovely people we've made brief acquaintances with along the way. Without exception they were all so wonderfully nice to me (especially now that Im leaving?!). Well truth be known, its easier to be nice to someone if you know they are leaving.
The library. Story time runs for just long enough to feel its worthwhile to make the effort to get their every Monday and not quite long enough to do anything substantially constructive with the time like borrow a book , or read the newspaper while its on. Callum has an innate knack of
Narrogin in Autumn
I watched every day as these leaves turned form green to autumnal and finally fell off- its on our route to the Rec Centre. needing to go to the toilet just after story time, whenthe cue is maxed out and just before we get our last book to borrow for the week. The toilets being 2km away are sped towards with great haste, and we return more slowly to get our thrown books and carry on. Fortunately Annie of ‘Annies Kitchen‘ and her great coffee and wonderful curries is only next door so we treat ourselves every Monday. For a little while we had the company of Brenda, and her three month old Rebecca, but a new born mum cant possibly afford the leniency that a toddlers mum has too. And like I did in the same situation a few years ago, she tired of the exercise and no doubt dines on her breastfed induced milkshakes fettish either alone or with other like minded mums. We miss her company but are not offended.
The Recreation Centre. This wonderful establishment houses most of the areas part time and full time mothers most of the week Each morning the same folk diligently don they aerobics outfit, their swimming gear and their gym lycra to get sweaty, forget their kids and drive Stacey the supervisor to
distraction in the crèche, and pay very good valued money for the privilege. We swim, join in with the kindy gym, and once sipped a cappuccino there. Although the coffee is so bad we only did that for a wee while and now ride our bike home or have lunch in the ‘canon park’.
And Wednesday of course we combine active mums and the crèche at the rec centre with Kathy Paul and Tania helpful advice for swim coach instruction during my Austswim trainging.
Thursday and Friday is a gluttony of playgroup activities. The end of the week finally arrives and at the high school play group we enjoy the luxury of sipping tea and talking nonsense with other mums while other peoples kids play (or ignore) our kids. Some of the girls are natural carers. Some are there for the easy marks. Some are indistinguishable from the toddlers, and some are just not there at all - figuratively and literally. It’s a nice idea and one I support whole-heartedly. Particularly, when they offer the bicky tin twice. I even endure the weeks that they entice our littlies to make edible necklaces out of fruit-loop breakfast cereal and
wagin pioneer village
Mum making a phone call at the Wagin Pioneer Village smile falsely as they bid us farewell at the end of the lesson. While we chase our hyperactive kids running of into the sunset. Getting even for the double biscuit binge at last.
The more established Narrogin Independent Playgroup on Fridays is full of very likable folks and a very organised committee of very organised and energetic over-worked mums. The likes of which include giving out their phone number and address the first day they met me. Offering more than a helping hand, with genuine interest in our predicament, and a soulful and sympathetic ear when needed. A true gem of a place. And Fridays never seem to come soon enough.
On the weekends I would re-acquaint myself with my husband, introduce him to my son, and, occasionally, we’d pack the car for an hour long, day long or weekend long trip exploring ‘wheatbelt country’.
Some of the places we found taught us many things including:
*the unique concept of ‘geocaching’. From what I can tell it entails placing a waterproof container in a hiding spot not too dissimilar to a hash-stash and posting the GPS coordinates on the net for crazy people to adventure
The neighbours
Josh Ionie and Callum out and find. Hmmm.
*Wagin and its pioneer village and pioneer dance nights and pioneer movie screenings.
*Wickepin and its famous Albert Facey homestead, painstakingly moved from
a remote location to the main road of Wickepin only to be under the guardianship of disinterested staff at the local milk bar. Ironically the same age as Facey when he starts his fortunate life away from home, only 14. Yet depressingly, far less fortunate souls.
*Williams and its Wool shed with baad coffee crap service terrible kids toys but one of the few places with weekend trading and tacky souvenirs - for a State that virtually shuts down on the weekends, particular sat afternoons and all day on the Sabbath - we did indeed succumb.
To the barren salt lake of Lake Tooliban, where, despite courageous efforts to slow and reverse the effects of salinity there lie skeletons of hundred of trees where plants and animals once flourished. Across the landscape for miles surrounding Narrogin, lie further evidence. The ‘staghorning’ of trees suffering from salinity effects and trying desperately to salvage what they can from the soil and water. With a last burst of energy the leaves suffocate the age old trunk and branches are stripped to nothing more than smooth lifeless grey spears. Awaiting their time to enter the growing graveyard of Lake Tooliban.
York the heritage-listed town, takes you back in time. The verandas could be teaming with old horseman drinking rum, a lady with a parasol and a oversized dress sliding gracefully from the haberdashery to the grocers. Children with braces and rolled up sleeved, throwing rocks a stray dog and the local street sweepings of someone relegated to cleaning the horse manure from the middle of the road. All these could be dreamily placed into the scene that houses the main street of York and would barely be noticed. A truly memorable old historic town upon which the more modern townsfolk have learnt to monopolise. After all something has to pay for all that pealing plaster, roof rot, white ant damage and rising damp.
Further afield we make it the Stirling ranges and Porongurup Ranges. Where photos are all that’s needed.
We get a taste of the Quindanning hotel and its nostalgic smoking rook and cold boarding house bathroom and bedrooms. Take a drink in the outdoors lounge, that is indeed a lounge outdoors, and enjoy the view of the once thriving?? river that now lies ridden with weeds, trees, dust and a few moss covered rocks who harbour little more than a distant memory of flowing water from days gone by. This place is so good Glen entices his work mates there on a promise of a good band and great night out - on the wrong night! 120 kms. Shortly after leaving they arrive home early, sober, and with their sleeping bags still rolled, woops.
Piesseville is as amusing as its name sounds. It comprises of one road, the road in and outm and one building on that road. The one building seems to act as a farm house, a dance hall, a residence, a work shop and/or accommodation. It curiously made of age old stonemasonry and which has the typified keystone window frames reminiscent of convict era buildings. As you drive past it disappears seconds before it appears and you are left with a curious notion of who lives there, whats in there where is this place what re they doing here. And to add to the intrigue a lonely car sits parked under the front window at the front of the lifeless building. A small lawnmower-sized two door city daihatsu runabout. Very strange. And very out of place in outback WA home of the grunt and pull 4WD vehicles.
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