Accompanying Apollo 3: Western Australia

Now where are we? And which side is up?

Our "downunder" family live in Fremantle, a beautiful port-town just south of Perth, in a tiny house that seems even tinier now that our two granddaughters are young women for whom one bathroom seems hardly enough. When we last visited them for Christmas three years ago, we occupied a condominium acquired for that purpose, just a stone's throw from the family home, which is located midway between the Indian ocean and the Swan river. The place our daughter had secured for us this time around, a townhouse closer to the river, was elegant and airy, with space enough for us to entertain family members, as we frequently did over the next month, dining with Hugh and Mandy and the girls daily at their place or ours. The distance between domiciles was almost a kilometer, however, and I found walking it hard on my constant boon companion (Arthur Itis). As a result I became temporary owner of what they called a “gopher” (a motorized scooter) on which I not only merrily skirted the river bank, but also ventured onto the nearby train for the frequent shopping expeditions necessitated by the season.

Inside and outside the apartment

As you will notice below, Alan escaped most of these expeditions by camping in the south with our son-in-law Hugh, who shares his love of the outdoors, so that they “campfire” cooked while we mere womenfolk (Erin and Laura being now far too maidenly to call little girls) baked pastries and gingerbread houses and harvested the prolific crop of lemons, daily dropping from the laden backyard tree, to press passers-by into taking off our hands.

Hugh climbs the highest tree in Western Australia, and Alan stays silent on a peak in Cape Leuwin.

Meanwhile, back at the opulent apartment, it’s tea and crumpets with Hugh’s aunts, or, after a ride on my gopher to Mandy’s much-loved kitchen, there’s always more baking.

Then of course there was the Christmas music, and we sang our way through several concerts and services, while Mandy and the Palm Court Trio practised weekly in our living-room; the annual soiree with Martin came and went as did the essential visit to Handel’s Messiah in Perth’s splendid concert hall; the girls took us to see their ballet practices and played for us the video of Erin as a soubrette in the school’s production of “Kiss me Kate”; and, crowning all, the Chevis family treated us to genuine chamber music on Christmas Day: flute, oboe, cello and (due to Hugh’s expertise with saucepan lids) percussion.

The whole Christmas Day experience was as it had been for our two previous December visits—an early morning beach gathering (Leighton Beach on the Indian Ocean being almost as close as the river bank) with champers and croissants—followed by a long and languorous feast under the (laden) lemon tree in the 40 degree heat—followed by the Christmas tree gift exchange—followed by the chamber music—followed by carols, including several in French for Hugh’s sister-in-law Isabelle, who brought a torch, though no Jeanette, for the occasion-- followed by the well-loved Christmas tapes and, for us at any rate, an early bedtime feeling replete and highly blessed. Only Santa Claus was missing from the festivities this year, and we hardly needed him, so many and motley were the friends gathered on the beach and so generous were the gifts, many of them totally unexpected, that were showered upon us. And in just two days time, those same beach-sharing pals would be joining us in the Donnelly River escapade. Meanwhile there were old friends Bob and Jenny to spend Boxing Day with, barbecuing and dipping in their pool.

Musical moments are shown here, followed by ballet practice, and Christmas Day on the beach around the corner from the Chevis House. If you peer closely you will see the sedan chair prepared for my use to facilitate journeying across the sand.

Donnelly River is an old mining camp and mill converted into holiday chalets deep in the bush 200k south of Freo. It’s a year- round home to Western Red Kangaroo, several kinds of cockatoo, kookaburras, emu, possum, and sundry other marsupial creatures. It’s a place to which our Ozzie family has repaired every New Year’s since 1999, when we were with them for their first such expedition to welcome the new millennium. Several other groups now join the Chevis family there, and several of our granddaughters’ friends also customarily accompany them and share bunks in the rented chalet—# 26—where there are 2 bathrooms, three bedrooms, a well-equipped kitchen with dining area, and a roomy family room with lots of board games (but no T.V. or video equipment! For these there is a common games room in the centre of the circle of dwellings.) The chalet has a roomy deck where most meals are eaten (in day after day of glorious sunny weather) and where happy hours take place most of most afternoons. The bush animals join us there and share our fruit and veggies, although the curious possums venture out only at nightfall; roo will often appear at the back door, begging for carrots in their own peculiar way (they appear to be scratching their chests), gently nudging for attention, and emu and parrots will take apples and nuts directly from outstretched hands. There are frequent bush walks along the Bibbulmun track, and daily dips in the lake. There are also weird bush games like Kubbe, imported from (I think) Sweden, played in great hilarity, each family trying to outdo the others in slinging chunks of wood around. The atmosphere at Donnelly is remarkably free and friendly among all God’s creatures, and we don’t wonder at its appeal
as an annual venue for our family and their many friends.

Mrs. Roo and offspring come to call, a couple of "twenty-eight" parrots take breakfast, Alan eyes the kubbe, and wonders where it landed. Will it still be here on our next visit?