Heart Country

[shapeofthings]

Two weekends ago, Alex and I took a day to drive south, into the valley pockets between Wollumbin adn the Border Rangers. This is zhenzhi country (or the "homeworld"). It's also my heart country. Here, the rain slides down the mountains and gullies to form crystall, bubbling creeks that wind their way among the hills to form the Tweed River, the river I grew up on. I'm from the coast, where the river smells of salt, lined by mangroves, and from the back garden, where my parents still live, you can see the mountain. I remember my father teaching me how the mountian and it's caldera shaped our weather, and watching storms split in two around it's peak. Once a year or so, Dad would take us out there, driving through the valleys to hidden places - rainforest reaching to the sky. It's beautiful country out there. Perfect for a Saturday

We crossed the border up in the hills and wandered into the local village to find lunch. There we were treated to a rare encounter with the shy zhenzhi, before she dissapeared into the undergrowth. We took Zara road and headed for the western wall of the caldera. Along the way we came across some curious horses (probably wondering at the doof-doof-doof of our car stereo), so we stopped to say hello. I found an apple tucked away in my bag, which they greatly appreciated, though one still attempted to sample the camera. I'm such a girl when it comes to horses =) We parted with slobbery hands and smiles, and followed the unsealed roads towards the outiline of the Pinnacle. We stopped to soak up the view and take some pictures of the distinct rock outcrop (none of which do it justice), when I felt the sensation of being watched. Closely.

Behind us, a paddock full of yearlings were pondering our presence. So I went to say hello! They were a timid bunch, but curiousity finally won for this little schnitzel who came and gave my shoes a lick. Nothing like cow-slobbered socks! It's dairy country there, for the most part, with green, rolling hills and plenty of rain. They grow banans on some of the hillsides, and on the flat river floodplains, sugar cane stretches over the rich, red soil. In the afternoons, the sun sicks slowly behind the mountains, giving an early dusk and beautiful skies.

We drove until it was dark, crossing behind the mountain in dense eucalypt forest and following the little river down the valley, from where it is no more than a pretty bedrock stream, down to the cane farms where it grows slow and lazy, sliding down to the coast and the clamour of suburbia clustered around the estuary. Tomorrow, we would meet it at the sea.