Finding acorns

Rain, storm and cyclone...I still love Straddie

Australia Day 2013 was shaping up to be the best ever! My sister had organised a long weekend at North Stradbroke Island with the whole family - Mum, sisters, brothers-in-law and kiddies.

With beaches, inland lakes and a beachhouse at Point Lookout, what could possibly go wrong?

I planned to spend quality time with my two kiddies and family, soaking up the surroundings that just happens to be the setting of my first novel.

In my mind, there would be morning walks along Cylinder or Main Beach fossicking for shells, a day trip to the tea-tree stained Brown Lake and a swim in the pristine Keyholes.

Straddie has always had a special place in my heart. I remember camping there as a kid (though admittedly it rained the entire time - stay tuned...). There were also weekend beach escapes with friends as a teenager and in recent years, camping at Flinders Beach with my sisters at Easter.

I love the relaxed pace of Straddie. The fact that when the wind whips across one beach, you can find shelter on another or else head to the inland lakes. 

Understandably, I was excited to be going to Straddie for a long weekend.

By about Thursday, my hopes of a sunshine weekend were beginning to dampen - literally - as Cyclone Oswald made it's way down the coast of Queensland.

Not about to let a little cyclone (and predicted flood) ruin my weekend, I put on an optimistic face for the 6am barge to Dunwich.

Moreton Bay was gloomy. There was drizzle on the windscreen.

But inside the car we were geared up for a fun weekend - rain, storm or cyclone!

We stopped off at Amity Point and this wasn't quite the image of my daughter I thought I'd capture at Straddie...

The rain didn't abate that day or the next, but this didn't stop our determination to have a good time. So we piled into the 4WDs and headed to Brown Lake for a swim, and a BBQ under a giant tarp!

  

Sheltered Semi-sheltered in a spot by the lake it drizzled, rained, then poured.

We swam, cooked a BBQ and I scouted around the edge of the lake, looking for the beauty in all this wild weather.

  
  

Later, the weather worsened as the storm travelled down the coast. We watched the news coverage from the shelter of the beachhouse as the lights overhead flickered.

Barges stopped running, campers were evacuated to the community hall and Straddie was engulfed by the storm.

At this point I must say that were we not staying in a beachhouse, I wouldn't have braved the weekend at Straddie knowing the forecast. But thankfully we could still enjoy the comforts of hot water, electricity and shelter.

On the final day, the storm eventually passed and we enjoyed what Straddie is famous for...

Rain, storm or cyclone...I still love Straddie and her gentle reminder that life doesn't always turn out the way you hoped. But you can make the most of the way it turns out.

Preserving family histories

This weekend; the 8th of May, marked the 50 year anniversary since my Dad's family left England on 'The Orion', bound for a better life in Australia. There was a huge family celebration at my Aunt and Uncle's Picton property where four generations and friends gathered to celebrate.

We watched old movie reel footage of our childhood depicting life in the 1970's - orange flares, the Morris Minor, extended family barbeques at the Nepean River and Tooheys New. Then we stepped back in time to the story of our parents and grandparents migration to Australia in the 1960's through a recorded interview with our Nan. Later there were photos of five generations, paying homage to our Austrian and English roots.

What I learnt was that we; the Smith family, were working class migrants and that life on the hostel was vastly different to our lives today. But most of all, I learnt the importance of passing down and preserving our stories for future generations.

I listened eagerly as my Nan explained how it felt to arrive at the East Hills Migrant Hostel and why her and my Grandad chose to migrate; lured by the propaganda of a better life in Australia. 'We did it for the children,' Nan said. 'So they would have more opportunities.' One of my Aunts said Grandad told her she could have a horse! And so the stories spilled from my Aunties and Uncles about trying to fit in as the English kid at school and life on the hostel. One Uncle commented that the process of celebrating made him remember the stories of his youth.

There was also memorabilia, including the trunk they came out with that Nan said contained my Aunt's bicycle, some sheets and a few household items. 'We sold everything. All we came out with was the trunk and 100 pounds,' she said. I recognised my Grandad's tobacco tins and my sister remembered sitting on his lap as he rolled the tobacco.  

I looked around at my cousins and our children and realised that in another 50 years it would be our responsibility to pass on these stories to the next generation. For without that, it is lost. And for those who are curious, the oak tree in my Nan's front yard that grew from the seed they bought out from England is still growing. The leaves are vibrant green and as if in reminder of our childhood the grass beneath the tree was covered with tiny acorns that my son gathered in his lego box and bought home with him to Brisbane.