In the land of giants

My partner and I bought our house on the coast south of Adelaide shortly after we met, eighteen years ago.
We moved here because he’s a surfer, and because the houses down south were, then, affordable.
It was a new life for us: together.
And yet.
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When my sister and I were children, we glimpsed these hills from the back seat of our car on regular family day-trips.
We called the hills giants’ toes, because — to us — that’s what they looked like.
I knew this place before I moved here, you know?
I knew my home before I found it.

Painting your life

A gift

I have always wished that I could draw, but I don’t seem to have inherited my mother’s and my grandmother’s artistic gifts. Hand me a pencil or a paintbrush, and I freeze.
My grandmother dabbled mostly in oils, but towards the end of her life she tried her hand at watercolours, painting scenes from the Dorset village in England where she and my grandfather had retired.
One of her watercolours hangs in the kitchen in our house down south:
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Now if only I could paint the Scrub and the sea as well as she painted village life!

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Irises for my mother – Part I

– May 2014 –

Some years ago, I planted these irises for my mother.

Irises for my mother - Part I

Every year, they reappear.
And then I watch them grow.

Note:
This is the first in a series of posts about the irises I planted in my garden for my mother, who is a great iris-lover. I’ll be photographing their growth and flowering as the year passes.