It’s safe to say that my first week as a lady of luxury in the country has been a bit of a blur. I’m still finding myself getting lost amongst the jacarandas and paddocks, I’ve only just discovered the main drag of town and caught glimpses of hidden gems scattered about town I intend to explore.
Some of these gems I’ve yet to discover include a traditional fudge shop (purely for research purposes only), one of the oldest butchers in the area which is decked out like they used to be in yesteryear, the old valley rattler steam engine and some ramshackle buildings that look like they have more character then big kev himself.
It’s only been a taste of country so far, but what I’ve sampled has been more than enough to whet my appetite for country living. Of course I’m not really 'country’, my parents don’t own chickens (the neighbours do so perhaps I get brownie points for this) nor do they own cows, more than one dog or even an acre of land. But somehow it still feels country.
The houses near where we live are close together, suburbia like. While we back onto bushland, it’s by no means ‘country living’. You won’t see me fetching eggs with my wellies on and a broad brimmed akubra, milking the cows or feeding the pigs any time soon. Despite that, kangaroos, galahs, cockatoos, magpies, wallabies, possums, rabbits and bandicoots all make their presence known in some form or another.
The whole town itself has a bit of an undefinable air to me. It’s hard to explain. My mother was born in its borders, my grandmother was also born and raised here as was her mother. Some of our relatives still live in the area as well, having previously run dairy farms.
The Queenslander my nanna’s mother used to live in still exists and it’s not far from where we are now. She used to live right by the railway tracks and had to lift up the traffic beam every time the train was nearby to stop sulky traffic and eventually later, cars.
As a former gold rush and pioneering town, Gympie is a name that’s most likely to elicit more smirks then smiles. When I told friends in the UK that this was where my parents were moving to after calling the Gold Coast home for two decades, they unoriginally asked ‘is that where the gimps live?’
I don’t blame them, it’s an unusual name of a town nestled in the midst of the Mary Valley. A town bypassed on the way to coastal holidays. Quickly forgotten and little more than a Hungry Jacks or Red Rooster fix or toilet stop for most.
But for me it’s now home and I’m still trying to figure it out. I, like most are used to rudeness and impolite folk. I’ve written a post on it previously and I’m sure it won’t be the last, being one of my biggest pet peeves. But in Gympie, it’s a different story. I have been stopped several times by the sheer friendliness of everyone in the local centre while doing food shopping and getting odds and ends.
Smiling seems to be the currency of the country. I can’t go anywhere in town or around without someone asking me how I am, how I know people, what my name is and what I do for a living. For someone used to rudeness, it leaves you a bit overwhelmed. Slightly shell shocked even, with the realisation that the concept of personal space is not something that’s widely indulged up here.
As a result of being around all these steadfast smilers, I’ve found I'm starting to turn into one as well. God forbid. I’ve caught myself walking and smiling like a silly git over nothing other than a smile or nod between strangers.
Just the other day while walking the dog, I came across a spritely, crinkly old fella in his akubra leaning against a ute that was more road then roadworthy, looking every inch the rough Australian larrikin. He couldn’t have been a day under 80 and as I approached he took off his threadbare hat and gave me a ‘morning’ and smile for free.
I hadn’t done anything to deserve it apart from crossing his path and he could have just as sooner turned his head and kept within his own personal space.
Instead his one act made me pass on another five smiles that morning to dog owners, fellow walkers and runners alike in turn making me feel like some kind of smile beneficiary, dolling them out left, right and centre.
Maybe it’s all the free time on my hands that made me notice all these exchanges, perhaps all the eucalypt in the air has made me go soft or perhaps I’m just seeing far too much good in what is very much a random act between strangers.
All the same you can’t deny there is a different currency in use in the country, whether you live in town or on the land, or are just passing through and best of all, it’s free.
Xx
J
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