A roadtrip to Beechworth with my mum and my sister…

Buzzing picturesque main streets… deserted early morning main streets… an old convent with family history, turned into accommodation, complete with creaks in the night and suspicious orbs in photos… best.coffee.ever… blossom trees bursting and flowering wattle everywhere… shopping for alpaca socks, wool scarfs, cashmere scarfs, jewelry, lollies, and Annie Sloan chalk paint in duck egg blue… drives through the gorge… hysterical tired delirious laughter… reminiscing about childhood memories… learning about cheeky rascal relatives who’d ride their horse into town all wild like… walking in the chilly early morning drizzling rain… paying graveside respects… ‘foraging’ for flowers in Nana’s old deserted house and possibly getting sprung via the bush telegraph… maintaining traditions of buying apples from the long standing honesty box… passing by ‘up top‘ and feeling sorry for the poor lost souls who were unfortunate enough to have a mental illness a hundred years ago… being in the moment and enjoying special quality time with my mum and sister… realising that the reason I feel so strongly connected to Beechworth is not just because it’s a beautiful old country town, it’s that there is just so much family history there… It’s a hard thing to describe what that feels like, except that I feel a belonging in this town and not like a tourist at all… even if I have my camera hanging around my neck like a rubberneck*.

May you feel a sense of belonging and enjoy hysterical laughter occasionally.

* official terminology for tourists according to my relatives in the 1970’s.