Category: Good Life Blog

Our family have always had a thing about frogs. We just love them in all their different shapes and sizes. Since my mother passed away they’ve become symbolic that her spirit is nearby watching us. To some of you that may sound weird, but I’m sure there are many out there who understand those symbols and signs we receive from our loved ones. Well it’s frogs and dragonflies for our family.

I think it started when my little brother triumphantly brought home a haul of frog spawn from the woods on the edge of the fields where we grew up. The triumph was largely due to the fact the beautiful woodland and farmer’s field had been sold off to build a new road and houses and building was imminent. It was heart breaking. Why dig up nature and destroy all that habitat for the sake of more concrete? (Well d’oh I know the answer of course – but it still sickens me.)

So, while we know you should never remove frog spawn from its home, my brother did what any self-respecting animal lover and conservationist would do. So muddy pail in hand and the biggest smile on his face, that spawn was introduced to its new home in the back pond of Powfoot Road.

The joy these frogs brought to our family was something to behold. They singlehandedly united a mother, with her three children and then latterly my own daughter would delight in catching them and bringing them indoors to show her gran. Over the years we realised there was a frog who was totally antisocial and lived in one of the other ponds all on his own. He seemed happier that way and it amused us no end. We felt we could relate to him somehow.

So you see, there were so many life lessons and shared experiences wrapped up in those little frogs. They represent happy times.

You can imagine our delight when Toni (that same little girl that ran proudly to show her gran the frogs she’d found) spotted a frog sitting right next to her when she was outside during our first week at Lorikeet Lane. She shouted for me to come and have a look and I could still see that excitement, and I could see she too felt it was symbolic.

He was a beautiful cream little chap with huge suckers on his feet. He was sitting on the veranda and it was late at night. But we had no idea what kind of frog he was.  Toni took a photo and uploaded it to Facebook where he became a social media sensation. Was he a Litoria Splendida? (A what?) Ah – a green tree frog … hmm no, don’t think so … someone suggested Cane Toad and we should kill it immediately – which upset both Toni and myself no end – what an insult to this gorgeous little guy. A Bleating Tree frog? A Brown Tree frog? Nope … The answer came from a friend who obviously knew her frogs. At last – A Peron’s Tree Frog. I looked up all the features and behaviours and yes – it was a fit. These little guys love to sit beside windows at night because the light attracts the moths and bugs. This smart frog can feast all night long on the little, winged beasties of the night.

So much pleasure from one little frog – it was just like old times.

It’s been a year since we’ve been back in Sydney.  Our temporary home in Berowra was a great stop-gap, but now, here we are in the month of August.

The decision is made.

It’s been glaringly apparent since we returned from our five-year stint in the UK that the Sydney house market is no longer ours for the taking. In the time we’ve been away house prices have jumped, then jumped, and then just hurled itself off a cliff just to be sure the job was done right. We briefly entertained a smidgen of delusion – maybe if we move to a suburb so far north of Sydney, we might just about be able to afford a house. We were a year too late with that decision. In the time we were finding our feet, house prices jumped $200,000 (in less than a few months).

In the end, after a year of viewing properties that were only fit to be knocked down, we threw up our hands and admitted defeat. OK – we give in. Since we don’t want to live in a shoebox with no land – slotted in with a million other shoe boxes – and since we don’t want to pay over a million for the pleasure, then we’re going to have to …we’re going to have to … aaggh dare I say it, think about moving … outside Sydney. When we came back from the UK, we had every intention of living in Sydney as I had happily for many years before. It wasn’t a choice we made for the hell of it. We were effectively forced into the decision if we wanted to own our own freestanding house with a yard.

Of course, as anyone will tell you – life beyond Sydney isn’t like Life Beyond London. I mean people in London can’t imagine living anywhere else … but life actually does go on very well outside London. There are houses, there are jobs, schools, there are communities and all the things communities rely on. Life outside Sydney is not quite like that (yet). Particularly on the jobs front. Affordable housing- yes, career-defining opportunities – not so much.

Oh if only we could just find our little piece of heaven before the greedy politicians and overseas investors pushed the prices up again. So there it was. We had broached the subject. Our life had taken a new direction and it was going to involve moving outside Sydney. Somehow it had to work – with work.

Blessing in disguise

As it turned out, getting to that point of frustration was a blessing in disguise. Instead of banging our fists and our heads against brick walls that were never going to let us in, we found ourselves opening up to possibilities we would never have considered before that point.

Of course, there were many harebrained ideas that seemed great ideas at the time. We seriously thought about becoming hermits and living in Spencer. All we needed was a boat (maybe a banjo and a canoe was more appropriate on second thoughts). Luckily Mr P was the sensible one there. I fell in love with the perfect house but he was the one thinking ahead to how tricky it would be to sell on when the time came. Then we thought about building our own place, but I was so over feeling like a displaced member of the travelling community. I couldn’t face living a temporary life for another year or two. We even looked at a few places we could never afford just to add to the torment.

We surmised after the endless searching that we needed a place where the owners were keen to sell (you’d be amazed at the number who didn’t seem bothered), the place would need some TLC, (our thinking was that those buyers looking for something more polished would be turned off if the house needed work), and of course, the price had to be right.

Then one weekend we happened upon an area on the Central Coast. Neither Peter nor I had ever considered the Central Coast in our wildest dreams, but we had already been through everything from the delusional nightmare of the Sydney housing market, to the insane thought of a two and a half-hour drive to Sydney from Spencer, so anything, by comparison, seemed reasonable now.

We didn’t get the first house we liked on the Central Coast, but a property came up just down the road – and it was everything we had asked for on our “if we have the slightest chance in hell list”. The owner had to sell – they were in a hurry to sell. The price was still on the eye-wateringly high end of the scale – but we knew we just had to do it. It was now or possibly never. So we held hands, closed our eyes, prayed to our respective deities and jumped.

And so here we are on the NSW Central Coast. Let the adventure begin.

I guess one of the things that is so special about this place is the fact it’s the first house my lovely Mr P and I have owned together. Having both come from previous marriages, previous lives, we found ourselves renting as we worked out our next move in life. Funnily enough, we both seemed to be at the same stage when we met. I lived in Randwick and he lived in Naremburn (yeah the other side of the bridge people … ha). So we were merrily renting our own places and then it became obvious we were spending all our time in one place, so I gave up the rental in Randwick. My daughter had already left home by that stage but there was always the proviso if she needed to return ‘home’ that there was room for her too. She didn’t have any other family in Australia and it was important to me that she still had a place to call home. The boys were living with their mother at this stage, though they too had a place to call home if they wanted it.

When I look back there was so much to be mindful in those early days. Boundaries to set, relationships to negotiate and so much care to be taken with our children and how we ‘integrated’ all our new lives. And of course the emotions of having teenagers who had grown up in so many ways, yet still needed us as parents in their lives.

So our home in Naremburn was really a home where we tried to bring it all together in as caring a manner as possible – a home where we worked it all out, to see if it could all fit. And gradually, gently and respectfully, we figured it all out together. I remember Naremburn still felt like Peter’s house though. I didn’t even know how his convoluted music system worked.

Peter had never made any secret of the fact he wanted to work and live in the UK. I couldn’t believe it when he first brought the subject up. Here was a guy I actually liked – he had his own hair and teeth – he had a brain – and he was kind, gentle and very attractive … what could go wrong? Oh yeah, he wants to live on the other side of the world.  Damn.

It may seem odd that someone from Scotland should take the idea of relocating ‘back home’ so badly, It had taken many years for me to feel at home and reconciled with living in Australia (not to mention a lot of money between various residency applications for a whole family, school fees, flights back forth to the UK – we’re talking thousands and thousands over 10 years). It had been a hard road but we were here living in Sydney – loving life. I had already been through the painful decision of where life should be (which included a few months back in Scotland when my mum was ill). I had got to the point I was living with that decision and embracing life. Of course, when you love someone, you want to see their hopes and dreams come true. So off we toddled to the UK. There was some serious pain wrapped up in that decision as you can imagine. I didn’t want to leave my daughter – she didn’t want to come. Should I let Peter go on his own? Maybe we could just see where we were in two years? But Peter wasn’t going to go if I didn’t come. I didn’t want to leave the life we had because I knew it would never be the same again. So many tears were cried. But we did it. The agreed two years turned into five years – and that translated to three more houses. Five years of rentals using other people’s furniture and not being able to put your mark on a house that wasn’t yours.

And yes – on the flip side – it was five glorious years connecting with family and friends who hadn’t been able to make it for a visit to Australia.

When we did eventually come back to Sydney we were living in Air B&B for a few weeks until we found somewhere to rent. Again this was the place we had to bring it all together from furniture in storage to personal effects that were being shipped back from the UK. It felt once more like we were putting pieces together, trying to figure out our next move.

Suffice to say after all these years I was so over moving house. So over not having any roots. So over not living in a place where we couldn’t hang pictures on the wall. The travel was fantastic, seeing family and old friends was beyond fantastic (and heart wrenching all over again to leave) but I had such a need to have a home we could call our own. 

And there it was. Lorikeet Lane.

The house itself needs some TLC. It’s four bedroomed – but not large by any means. It’s perfect for two people with three grown-up children. I think for both of us, it was the fact the house is set on two and a half acres, surrounded by cows and horses and bellbirds. What that translates to for us is freedom. Freedom to have a dog, to have chickens, to plant natives and to be living in nature. For me, it means I can hang pictures on the wall. Pictures of our families, our memories and our lives together. It means I can have a writing desk looking out across our property and a Reiki studio for healing work. For Peter, it means a double garage, and endless gardening to enjoy – not to mention a ride on lawnmower.

So you see, it’s been quite a journey to get here. I felt compelled to share, so you had some inkling as to what this place means to us. I hope you enjoy the rest of the journey with us as we turn this house into a home.