Change only ever happens forever

Dusk is approaching in all its hues of greys and blues, tinged in the palest of peaches and apricot blooms. In the gloom is the speckling of orange blossoms that twinkle as the signifying promise of the new.

Wisping clouds and heavy snowfall swill over mountain peaks, for a merging of line and lust as dusk grows ever darker. A quiet deriding veils in to blowing winds that howl and wail. It’s the ominous warning of what’s to come.

In the dusking light, the dark looms in anxious wait, pondering how big the risk, how big the devastation and change it will ejaculate.

And from its miraging wait, it powers in, muscling in force of fear and dread of the unseen, a don’t-mess-with-me brash. It brings the formidable, the trembling and spinning. Snow squalls and fireball blizzards, lashing in pitting and pelting on the whim of the wind. Rain and hail and snow and ice, fire and spark, together they become the one gale of gusting farce.

It’s here. Inescapable. Darkness void of any light, blinded in a flogging fog and smoking smog.

And yet in the dark, is where it happens; in the dark is where the greatest of us is born. Big and small, great and tall, it can linger fearful and bashful, or screech promiscuous in cockatiel call.

Any which way it comes, it comes for one and all.

Whether bumbling through the blurring of fire-balling winds, or hopping and skipping over rocks, embers and charred out remains littering ice and sleet, it comes with a taunt in gnarling roar over mountains spiked in slivering soar.

Over ravines and avalanches of ashen valleys, it comes unceremoniously, it comes blatantly broad.

In the dash of ill health or dire of loss, as a swoop and swing of the axe, a shatter of a broken heart, life drained to an end.

The crush, the smash, the raze of the driest of tinder box, it comes in blasts of blacks and blings, in shearing calamity. It’s the change that must come for any hint of the bloom of the new.

It’s always the way, comes with a distress and pain, loss and dire bleak, a crushing despair.

But then, when breath seems lost and all is resigned to the helpless, in it comes, the pale lime green that springs to the new, of growth and awe of wow that distinguishes from the dead and dread.

From nothing, it comes. It's a change that’s blinding and radiating, quivering and heartbreakingly so.

It comes in the glint of an eye, a cheeky wry, the smile that always warms.

It comes in the heart warming that halts the tear drop, catches it from falling to a nothing bed.

It comes in a spirit that can never be seen, until there is dread.

It comes as change. Towering, cataclysmic change, for transformation and rebirth.

There’s a poignancy that comes with it: an acceptance to ride with the bumps and never hold stiff, to relax into the slip and flow, ease into the darkness as life’s constant correction, where nothing and everything is one and the same.

All that is, is now. All that is, is hope in the dark.

All that exists is an instinct to live in a way that is living for each.

Breathe into it, a way will always be shown, even in the midst of nothing and nowhere, desolation, destruction and despair. A diffused light will guide the way.

It’s in that last moment of the darkness that comes the dawn of the new and it’s in the new that a nourishment grows beyond that can be understood in the dark.

That’s the lesson of the dark, to do and be, to feel the dread for the birth of the new.

Slide over the jagged and pitted and accept them as part of the passage to the new, hold steady in those gailing winds for that’s where that pale lime green will sprout again once the wind has blown its puff, and orange blossoms can anchor and grow for a new.

Deny that and deny the chance for a bounty and beauty of expression not experienced before. Trust that to happen. Have hope in the despair of the change and rebirth too.

Slip into the darkness, trust in the diffused light guiding the way.

It will take time to regenerate, to ease into the new. No matter how daunting the mountain to climb or trying the loss, when all has been quashed to dull and null, change will inevitably come for the chance at the new.

Find the hope and courage in the change blazing through, for change only ever happens forever.

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Christmas At Thomas Hardy's Sherton Abbas

 

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Glazed Nativity inside the old Conduit House, Sherborne

 

The bells of Sherborne Abbey are famed as the heaviest peal of eight in the world! Four of them were cast by the imperilled Whitechapel Bell Foundry.

 

About Sherborne Abbey

 

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In Winter Rain

 

In Winter rain, the birds are flying

Branch to branch, tree to naked tree.

I can’t help wonder why.

Why this one flies to that.

Why those descend to there.

 

Are they seeking shelter

In the memory of leaves?

Do they console the trees?

Or do they think

to bring back Spring

 

By force of will?

Persephone in flight.

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Farm Reflections: Gratitude

It seems fitting that finishing off my PhD research should come with a last Farm Reflection. I only wrote a few over the three years of the research and perhaps should’ve written more, but this last reflection is a most important one.

A dear friend sent me this quote when I began my research and told me to stick it on my wall in my office, knowing what only a few knew at the time, of the turbulent change occurring in my life. And so I did, stuck it right above my computer monitor so I could see it daily, or at least every time I looked up.

Part of me dismissed the quote though, as being some new age saying. I believed that hard, tough change could never be gorgeous at the end. Change was happening all around me and I found it anything but gorgeous. But I did realise fairly quickly that part of the change I had to make was to loosen my noose of independence and stop believing I could do everything myself. I had always been the solver of problems and issues in my ‘other’ work, and I was a mother working inside and outside of the home. I knew nothing other than being Ms Independent.

Undertaking research meant I didn’t have answers: the whole point of research was to find them. It meant I had to ask questions, and ask people those questions to find those answers; that meant asking for their help.

Interestingly and without realising, I’d put the quote beside another quote on my wall, about giving things a try. If ever I was being ‘told’, this was it: “Give it a try” whispered the heart. So with much effort, I began to ask the questions, and ask people to take time out of their day to help me. It was a tough mountain to climb.

Three years later, I have no idea how many people I have asked for help. Hundreds of people, I guess. And people have responded most generously, spending hours talking to me, sharing photos and other memorabilia, helping me to piece together the puzzle of the social history of the Metropolitan Sewerage Farm. My family and friends, supporting me to the finish, even when I had to disappear into a cave over the last six months to write up findings and finish by Christmas.

I’ve been able to write over 100 years of social history into a book and have enough material to write two more books at least. I don’t have any publishing details as yet, however I will share them when I do have them.

Even in the last weeks, after I finished my thesis and handed it in to the university for examination, people are still helping me to create a picture of the cricket team that formed on the Metropolitan Sewerage Farm in 1897, before the Metro Farm football team. Information on the cricket has been scarce until recently, but is now starting to form. It will most definitely feature in the second book.

The thing is, without the generosity of so many people giving their time and being patient to chat with me, even when I may have been a pest with a constant stream of questions and being pedantic with details, the work would not have been completed. It’s like there exists this band of pixie helpers who are invisible until I ask a question and then out they fly, from everywhere.

Generosity comes with kindness, and a willingness to help. The world can’t have enough of the stuff. Kindness and generosity are incredibly humbling too. I’ve often been blown away by people’s willingness to help and their patience and grace in doing so. It has inspired me to make the research count and that what is captured, is authentic and real. The harder I worked and the more questions I asked, the more obvious it became that documenting the social history of the Metropolitan Sewerage Farm was important to many.

The act of giving is so selfless, so sincere, warming and nourishing, and then to receive it …. it melts my heart, makes me gooey putty in anybody’s hands. Had I known this sooner, I would have learnt to ask for help a long time ago. In fact, if I could bottle it, I would. But I wouldn’t sell it. It’s too precious to sell. I’d give it away.

So, my public announcement here: my eternal and sincerest of most precious thanks to everyone connected to this research — the Metropolitan Sewerage Farm community, their families and friends; my university research team, family and friends; my special HDR writing group and fellow PhDers; organisations, the media, politicians, everyone involved that has supported me and the research, and who has an interest in the Metropolitan Sewerage Farm and its social history.

Thank you. Without you, we would not have captured a truly significant part of Melbourne’s history. We would not have been able to document the first social history of its kind of the community behind the making of one of Australia’s most important civic works projects in the 1890s and into the 1900s. And away from the Metropolitan Sewerage Farm, the work gives a new understanding of communities living isolated from broader society. The findings can be applied to any isolated community.

I'm most grateful for the time you've given me. It has been an honour working with you. You generosity and kindness has overwhelmed me at times, and inspired me.

I can vouch for change being hard and messy, but oh so, so gorgeous at the end.

I should add that the two quotes I mention sit next to another on my wall, about life being too short to not just go for it and never regretting anything that makes you smile. Life's too short for regret. And we all want to be happy. Life is all a learning.

And so on that note, I’m taking a break to explore and hopefully see the northern lights in the arctic circle.

Happy new year and I hope 2020 flares exceptionally for you.

 

NOTES

These Farm Reflections come from a PhD research project investigating a community that grew after the Melbourne and Metropolitan Board of Works was founded in 1891 to treat Melbourne’s sewage at Werribee. As Melbourne grew, so did the work force to manage the treatment of the sewage, and a community of workers and their families grew to live on the Metropolitan Sewerage Farm. The population peaked to over 500 in the 1950s. The last family moved off the main part of the sewerage farm in 1984, while a few employees and their families lived on the boundary of the Metropolitan Sewerage Farm into the 1990s. However they lived as part of the main Werribee community.

The plant continues to treat Melbourne’s sewage and is now known as Melbourne Water’s Western Treatment Plant.

For more information on the research project, please visit https://www.facebook.com/MetropolitanSewerageFarm

If you’d like to read other Farm Reflections, they can be found here:

https://gr8word.com/index.php/entry/farm-reflections-the-hickeys

https://gr8word.com/index.php/entry/farm-reflections-beryl

https://gr8word.com/index.php/entry/farm-reflections-a-faraway-land

https://gr8word.com/index.php/entry/farm-reflections-the-migrant-camp

https://gr8word.com/index.php/entry/melbung-smellee-welly-high

https://gr8word.com/index.php/entry/lands-faraway

Tagged: #Melbourne #MelbourneHistory #MetropolitanSewerageFarm #TheFarawayLandOfTheHouseAndTwoCows #WesternTreatmentPlant

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The Tree

Christmas Tree resized

In the corner I am here

Standing as I do every year

So the light that shone for them

May shine for you.

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Latest Blogs

  In Winter rain, the birds are flying Branch to branch, tree to naked tree. I can’t help wonder why. Why this one flies to that. Why those descend t...
It seems fitting that finishing off my PhD research should come with a last Farm Reflection. I only wrote a few over the three years of the research ...
In the corner I am here Standing as I do every year So the light that shone for them May shine for you....

Latest Comments

Monika Schott Losing The Compass
13 January 2020
Beautifully said, Rosy. Cheers to you. X
Rosy Cole Christmas At Thomas Hardy's Sherton Abbas
04 January 2020
Thank you! It was! Glad you enjoyed! :-)
Monika Schott Farm Reflections: Gratitude
01 January 2020
Thanks, Stephen. And a fabulous 2020 to you.
Stephen Evans Christmas At Thomas Hardy's Sherton Abbas
31 December 2019
Stunning - what a wonderful p;lace to celebrate Christmas.
Stephen Evans Farm Reflections: Gratitude
30 December 2019
Congratulations on completing your research and best wishes for your next adventure!