The Long Road Home

By Cathy Oddie

As I sit on my favourite rocky outcrop, I watch the blades of our three wind turbines turn hypnotically in the wind as the sun begins to set behind Mt Emu. The large basalt boulder I am seated on is shaped like a throne, and my beautiful border collie Xena abandons her hunt for rabbits and takes her place sitting beside me like the fluffy warrior queen she is. From this elevated position on the hill, we are afforded a spectacular view of my family’s farm. I look at the valley below me, and my eyes start following the creek, trees and hills until they rest on the elegant farmhouse I grew up in. I feel waves of relief washing over me and a deep sense of peace and calm. I take a deep breath and allow my tense shoulders to relax. I am finally home.

Not being a religious person, I have never felt entirely comfortable in churches, however in this place I feel at my most spiritual. With the gentle symphony of country life flowing around me, my sense of connection to this land runs deep. Although I have not lived here since finishing school in 1996, this farm is still my home in every sense of the word. Whether living in Melbourne or travelling abroad, I only have to visualise this special place in my head, and I immediately feel grounded. In my adult life away from the farm, I have often played Tony O’Connor’s “Bushland Dreaming” album to evoke the same sense of being enveloped by nature and waking up to a chorus of bird song I get when at home.

Xena and I arise from our rocky throne as the fluffy pink clouds begin to be streaked with gold. Making our way back towards the homestead, we walk through the kangaroo grass. Absentmindedly I let the grass trail through my fingers as I rejoice in how the sunlight is making my dog’s hair shimmer. We reach the bridge crossing over the creek. Xena runs excitedly down to the water’s edge and dive-bombs in, which results in a loud splash. I lean onto the railings of the bridge and look down into the creek flowing slowly by. I see myself reflected back as the young girl I used to be, filled with a sense of curiosity and adventure as I would drop pebbles in and watch how they created ever-growing ripples on the water’s surface. I note how much the red gums have grown and calculate that it must be at least 30 years since I helped plant these with my Dad.

Memories of my idyllic childhood growing up in this magical place start flooding into my mind. Looking across to the old swimming hole, I can hear my brothers and I giggling as we have fun throwing mud at each other as we enjoy the coolness of the water on a hot summer’s day. I remember the time I dived in and swam to the bottom only to come face to face with an eel. The shock of this moment was replaced quickly with a feeling of joy when my Mum turned up unexpectedly with icy poles to eat.

As I continue my walk through the paddock, I wonder how my life could have turned out the way it has after growing up in a loving family in such an environment as this. Since leaving home as a na?ve and trusting seventeen-year-old to experience the world and all that life has to offer, unfortunately I have had to endure more trauma and pain than anyone should be exposed to. I have survived two long-term abusive relationships, stalking, rape by a stranger and the death of my only child as result of the family violence I was being subjected to. The once fun-loving, carefree and trusting young girl that I was is now a cautious woman whose body and mind is forever altered by the crimes perpetrated against me.

Whilst I yearn for the traditional dream of being happily married with children, I know this aspiration has now passed me by. I try to hide the pain of this realisation when I am around my friends and family members who are telling me excitedly about the latest exploits of their children. I find myself having to avoid social media at times like Christmas as it is a continual reminder of the grief and loss I have experienced, and what I will never have in my life. As my family would tell you, I have always loved dogs, but in recent years my connection with my pets has become increasingly important. They have become my children, as well as my saviours. As someone who suffers from depression, anxiety and PTSD from the abuse I have experienced, my dogs have given me a reason to continue living even in the most challenging of times.

So as Xena bounds joyfully by me, a bittersweet smile comes to my face. I wish I was walking hand in hand with my little girl Breanna right now telling her all about what it was like for me when I was growing up here. If she had survived, she would be four and at that stage where she is wanting to explore everything and ask endless questions about random things. Tears start rolling down my face as a sense of melancholy sets in as I think about what amazing grandparents my Dad, Mum and Step-Mum would have been to my daughter. The anger at my abusive ex-partner for robbing us of the ability to experience this churns deeply inside me.

As I draw closer to the homestead, I wipe my eyes and push the painful thoughts back into that place in my heart which will never forget the love I have for my daughter. I stop for a moment, as I always do when walking up the hill and seeing the house come into view for the first time. I marvel at how this grand old white weatherboard homestead with a wraparound veranda, built in the 1850s and surrounded by a beautiful large garden has seen generations of my family live their lives here. Having moved back to the country just before the pandemic restrictions commenced in March 2020, I feel so much gratitude that my home is now only twenty minutes away from where I live. Although the future of what will happen to the farm is uncertain, I know my heart and mind will be inextricably connected to here. This place is my true north.