We live in one of the prettiest villages (in my humble opinion) in NSW. With just about 150 residents it’s small. It’s old (main buildings date back to the late 1880’s). It’s pretty. It’s quaint. And I am SO lucky that I get to call it my home town. We don’t have much in town – a fabulous pub, a butcher a real estate agent and a cafe/restaurant and a Primary School.
Last week Daisy attended the open day at the Public School as she is starting there in January. The school is small – just 35 kids from Kindergarten to Year 6 small – and when she was introduced to the school at Assembly with the Principal and all 35 kids stood and looked at her and said (as only kids can in their sing song voices) “Good Morning Daisy. Welcome to our school” my heart just about burst with pride and excitement. The school is so sweet. Their playground is a grassy hill with the most spectacular outlook over the valley dotted with Silver birches and clusters of daffodils and blossoms. The teachers lovely and the kids kind to each other and happy. Her classroom (which is K-2 composite) looked just like mine did when I was in Kinder but with interactive whiteboards instead of blackboards. I think she is going to be very happy there and the fact that she will be able to walk herself to school in the years to come with her friends past paddocks of cows – well it’s just about the best start to life a kid could get isn’t it?
When we were walking home from the School I ran into a woman who is the President of the local School of the Arts which is a historic building in town that is run and looked after by the residents for the residents to enjoy. They hold fundraisers throughout the year to raise money to maintain it – balls, movie nights, trivia nights etc – and they were looking for a new committee member – and she asked me to be that person! I was headhunted! Mostly because after 276 wines at said events through the year I must have talked up how much I wanted to get involved and help out. So Saturday morning I trotted up the the AGM, stood up when I was nominated and accepted a round of applause from the town! At the morning tea afterwards I met almost everyone and was well and truly scoped out by the oldies (I am the youngest on the committee by about 15 years I reckon and let me tell you there were a lot of puffer vests out there). Peeps, my baking is going to have to pick up – I am a committee member after all you know and I am going to have to keep the biker boots for a few meetings at least. Bev is about to come into her own! Tonight we have our first meeting to go through fundraisers through the year – what do you think they’ll think of a travelling drag show all the way from the big smoke? A bake off? I think it could be just the ticket…
While we still haven’t quite been here for a year I most definitely feel like this is home. Our home. Our town. The blossoms that were out when we moved in are almost out – we have almost seen our home in all four seasons. I am so excited about getting involved even further in the next year – being a part of a wonderful community and adding a little biker boots into the mix along the way.
There is, however, one part of this rural living that I just don’t get. Not sure if you have ever seen any a country television network with their Good night message for the children? I remember when I was a kid visiting friends we always saw Big Dog say goodnight to the kiddies. He was a freaky looking dog – still scarred by that. Here we have The Workers. Who are they? NO idea. Where do they come from? NO idea. What a strange motley crew of middle aged entertainers. Freaky? Yep. Creepy? That camp fireman with the creepy eyes? MAKE IT GO AWAY.