Written 24 August, 2020.
Tonight the temperature drops to 3 degrees, and so it stays for 5 nights. We’re out of firewood for our pot belly stove- we burnt up the last three pieces last night. Of course there’s several dead trees on the ground, especially up near the fire trail I’ve yet to rake, but one-armed GG can’t cut them up because our chain saw’s old and needs force that’s painful. So I must, but can’t with that old saw. Our plan: go back to the city and shelter in our teeny but warm flat, hug K and check all is well with her, and come back after my ANU zoom lecture one Friday with – wait for it – a new but light chain saw- for me! Dy recommended what to buy. He’s overseen me using his heavy brute saw, with lots of kindly “you didn’t put your foot on the log” and “don’t let the saw touch the ground” and “you did that in the wrong order” and “don’t take your foot off”… nerve wracking for both of us, and especially for me, since a close friend did chop off half her foot (she was a dancing teacher, but still dances). With Dy, our sessions always ended with “Would you like me to finish off?”
Why am I so timid? My Dad was a handy-man as well as an artist, and in my early childhood, did lots of building in the back yard, but I was always being ordered inside! I was the sort of child called “a handful”, prone to turn up at the wrong time in the wrong place, shouting eager questions. So I missed out on early learning. Now in old age, my time has come.
So we sadly pack up, and leave till the weekend. There’s no neighbours left to wave goodbye to. But here, we are never alone. The bay watches us go.