In recent months I have been preparing to move house and much of my time every day has been occupied by the process. A week ago the big move took place and the mammoth task of unpacking has begun. It seems, though, as if it will be months before the house really becomes home and I have found places for all the familiar objects that are packed away in newspaper and boxes.

Leaving home after 44 years was a emotional time. My three children had not only grown to adults there, and brought home my grandchildren, but we had planted a garden and enjoyed pets; we had welcomed friends, colleagues and neighbours; we had grown accustomed to the environment and the climate from drought to flooding rains. Now I live in a quiet street; no gravel trucks going past or boat trailers bound for camping trips. No cattle trucks. No roosters crowing in the early morn and definitely no kangaroos. There are birds thank goodness and large trees over the back fence that are alive with the sound of corellas, rosellas and galahas in the early morning and at sunset. Another bonus is there are no bindiies or prickles in the grass. This morning I have been outside watering my pot plants brought from the old home, and I've cleared away garden rubbish into the Green Bin which is something for me to get used to. Gardens nearby are neat and colourful and surprisingly green considering the water restrictions. The new hose is linked up ready for watering tomorrow when there are 2 hours permitted for watering with a hand held hose. This is one January that will always be remembered for memories of the old life and expectations for the new.

Tags: culture, gardening, nature, outdoor activities