Part 1: The road trip to end all road trips

Roo country if ever I saw it

As far as “messages” go, this story takes the cake. Never before in my decade-long journey to discovering and unpacking the “way the unseen world of energy works” have I been dealt more clearly an action-taking impact. I need to share it with you, but slowly, for otherwise the message will be hopelessly lost. So over two posts, it must be. I will publish the next as soon as it is written this week. I do hope you’ll come back and read it too.

I’m afraid an animal was harmed in the making of this series of posts. And a car. Oh, and a passenger or two, come to think of it. But that is exactly why, when these things happen, I am one to pay careful attention to the subtle energetic complexities of every aspect made available to me. These events don’t simply happen, for mine. In my quest to fully live, the past 10 years have taught me to be unafraid to hit pause and look at every angle of an altering event, to seek the meaning in it not just for the purpose of my existence but for all of Life’s sake. I guess that’s what makes me hard work for some, who would prefer to “set and forget”. And, as Red Kangaroo has recently taught me, so be it.

So. BE It.

 

For the past fortnight I had been pondering whether to still take the trip or not. My cousin and I had spent a few months planning this as a way to begin electronically documenting the several hundred years’ worth of family history in case of the proverbial “going up in smoke” that, however unlikely, still has the potential to happen given that it’s all stored in the one remote family property. As it is so remote from… well, anywhere, let alone any of us… this is not a drop-in visit kind of place. You have to plan everything, right down to your food. It had to be a trip with focus and purpose, lest we squandered our precious short time there.

Then, a little over a week before we were due to set off, Steve got retrenched. He was now due to start working for the take-over company the morning after my scheduled return. They had given him a leave pass of just two months by way of a contract that would see us through Christmas but then after that, it was unknown what he would do for work. When he announced he’d lost his job, and that it was unlikely they would need another manager in an already tight and efficiently structured organisation, my heart was suddenly not in this road trip.

But he told me there was no reason I shouldn’t go – it wouldn’t change anything – and besides, he had a sense it would be good for me to go. And so set in motion a chain of events that did exactly the opposite; the trip would end up changing everything.

So we packed up the car and took off as planned. It took us 15 hours (if we barely stopped) to get there and we had a brilliant, whirlwind time of it.

I have always adored South Australia. There is something about the stone architecture, the colour of them and even the hues of the land itself are different. Familiar. And so rich. Throw in a 33,000 acre family property that’s yours to explore – willing second cousin and old farm ute permitting – and you’ve got yourself the makings of a very unique Australian country holiday. The cameras clicked wildly as we visited four of the estimated fifty abandoned ruins that dot their property; one-time farming homes in this harsh and remote environment that were walked off by desperate and destitute families during the course of the difficult drought years, mostly, and all of them dating back anywhere from the mid-1800′s to the turn of the 20th century.

We went, saw and documented literally from dawn to dark for three days and then made an early start on the long road home.

“Watch out for the roos,” our cousin reminded us as we climbed in to my trusty new Suzuki, a car I’ve had for a little over a year but that has been the best I’ve ever owned. It wasn’t even nearing retirement…

“Got it!” I tipped my invisible cap. Of course I’d watch out for roos, especially at this time of morning. Heck, on the way here we’d seen dozens of them (none over the road, granted) and I’d also had to be wary of no less than three roadside emus – you think kangaroos are hard to spot, try looking out for an animal whose body and neck looks like a shrub with a fence post behind it in a landscape where the only bloody thing around you are low saltbushes and fence posts! So, yeah. Not terribly easy. Still, we hadn’t hit so much as a sunbaking goanna and I’d been very relieved and proud of it.

We set off and during the course of the next 2.5 hours I navigated some of the most magnificent birds in the wild I’d ever laid eyes on – eagles with wingspans wider than the car swooping low and playing with the wind gusts are easy to spot but difficult to slow down for – and again, missed them all. A few kangaroos out for a spot of breakfast hopped wildly down the centre of the road (why do they DO that, the dills?) as we rounded a bend once, but aside from that the road was again mercifully free.

And then came the scene that has played countless times in my mind ever since.

 

Stay tuned, this will have to be a two-parter because if I rush it, the message of Red Kangaroo will be lost. But here: enjoy some pretty scenes from our trip before you click away!

Part 2 is now here.

Storm brewing. Ironically, over a rusted water tank.

Storm front. Check out the blend of old and new technology in the foreground… Can you see the solar panels?

One of the working windmills

One of their many wheat pastures. That looks like hours and days of work to me.

Sunrise over the "front yard"….

The lone thirsty ex-tree/old fence post

The light's on but there's definitely nobody home.

 

 

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