I’ve arrived in Mudgee, NSW.
Since Delungra, I’ve only traveled around 470 km in six days.
I am weary – though inspired by my fleeting exchange with a lizard. Long-tailed, he stood on the road, upright as I rounded a corner, then ran off to the other side of the road as I approached. ‘Lizard Dreaming’ were the first words in my head. In Native American Indian Medicine cards, the lizard is about the capacity for intuition and for dreaming.
Was he a messenger?
Or simply a fellow traveler sharing a moment with me as he contemplated his next move?
Like me?
I just showered.
Cleaned my teeth.
Changed into clean pants – and already I feel like I’ve woken from a nightmare: the endless sniffling from hay fever, stifling heat, and broken, sweaty sleep.
I tried to talk myself out of being here tonight — in a caravan park— but I realized that if I can’t talk myself out of something, then I best give up and go with it.
For whatever reason – be it rest, relaxation, a break from thinking, planning, moving, counting pennies, resourcing petrol, water and dump points— for now I need to be in Mudgee.
Still.
Safe.
Mudgee.
Bugger the cost of the park fees for the night. They are no more expensive than my favourite campsite in Korumburra, Victoria where it costs $35 per night for an unpowered site.
The town feels rich with stories, and I’d like a few days here to find those gems …
For starters, across the way, a massive motorhome has just finished parking in its powered site location after ten minutes of screeching reverse signals, one loud crunch as it collided with the cabin behind it, and several emphatic door banging moments for good measure.
Oh, no! They left the site and are attempting to forward park in the next space, under a tree, where the branches missed the top ventilation outlet by millimetres. I held my breath as I watched and only breathed again when they switched the engine off.
Here in this caravan park, surrounded by elms thick with green leaves, and lawns redolent with nourishment, the quiet chatter among the other travelers is not intrusive.
My body feels rested already and I think part of that restoration is washing off the dirt and dust I collected on my body, and in my soul, over the last six days as I travelled from Glen Innes to Mudgee.
Mudgee breathes with acres of welcoming green on arrival. The air is fresh, almost moist, but without humidity.
It feels like an oasis, situated in the middle of a prolific wine country — I counted at least six wineries on the road into Mudgee.
I might even treat myself to a wine tour tomorrow just for the hell of it.
I ask myself if it’s just the shower, but looking out of Vera as I write and seeing all that green — instead of dirt and dust and dryness — I know it’s more than that.
My soul felt parched, my body tight with hay fever and fatigue.
Maybe I’m dehydrated. Maybe I’m just human again.
Either way, something in me has softened. The green out there has woken the green in here.
The deep resonant chimes of the clock, counting out the hour in town, brings me home to myself in a way that few sounds can. And already, I feel like taking better care of myself.
The meaning of bells and churches, despite the dogma around their traditional hosts, is still a beautiful context for ending the day.
Peaceful
Measured.
Spiritual.
Home.
Christine Writer 