Nostalgia of Place

As I get older, certain geographical locations take on special meaning for me. In my twenties, I was reasonably restless, moving home frequently, and not being too settled in any one place. Now, those brief locations hold a sentimental value to me, some even more than the places where I grew up. Funny, really, that places we visit can sometimes hold more significance than the places we live.

The photo above was taken of one of my favourite visiting places: the jetty at Coffs Harbour. Though the town has grown almost into a city now, Coffs is still one of my favourite places to be. Sure, it has nice beaches, a sunny climate, and lovely places to visit, but the draw for me has been the sentimental things, like the fact that my grandparents used to live there. As children, we would regularly travel to visit them at Easter and/or Christmas time, and stay there with my parents. My special memories of the times there include:

• My grandmother's French cooking
• At least one compulsory lunch of prawns and bread rolls, which was almost invariably held on the outside deck under the faded green umbrella
  
• Walking down to the beach with my grandfather (reading Pamela Allen's Grandpa and Thomas brought me to tears for this very reason)
• Finding sea anemones in the rock pools at Korora Bay
• Watching my grandmother paint with oil colours
  
• The carpeted stairs in their split-level home which we used to slide down like a slippery slide
• The smell of the Imperial Leather soap they used in the bathroom (strange what appeals to you as a child, isn't it?)
  
• Sloopy, the old siamese cat with the funny miaow that sounded like a middle aged smoker
  
• The funny "touch bush" as we used to call it, which sat in the garden along the entry path. It had a defense mechanism where the leaves would close up when you touched them. It was a family tradition that when we arrived my brother and I would race to close up every single leaf on the bush if we could.
• The sound of the wattle birds calling to each other from the grevillea bushes
• The faint hush of the waves flowing up the hill from the ocean.

There is much more. Every time we visit the town I remember things like this. It seems so much stronger now that both of my grandparents have passed away, and I feel myself trying to pass the traditions on to my children so that the magic of these memories can keep going on.


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