Seven years in paradise

Yesterday marked seven years since we arrived at our little piece of paradise in Tasmania's Huon Valley. So much has happened and yet so little has changed. The weather yesterday looked almost exactly the same as the day we arrived.

Compare the photo of me in the very first post on this blog, when I looked a little dazed from the relocation, the dislocation. The sun rises noticeably north at this time of year - see the shadow in the photo above - and dews are heavy. Fog starts to appear in the valley, but up on the hill, it's usually sunny.  The occasional patch of frost. A few snowflakes falling. Some dark and moody days heralding winter.

Autumn is a spectacular time in the valley. Moving to Tasmania was definitely one of the best decisions we ever made. I am so grateful we've landed here.

Tinnie

Ever since we moved to Franklin, a river town full of mad keen boaties and fisherfolk, David has been keen to take a tinnie* for a potter about on the Huon River. After finding out how rubbish I am at rowing, I thought it would be a nice idea too. The waterways around here are begging to be explored, picnicked on and camped along. So here she is: Gwendoline. Picked up on Gumtree from a nice chap on the other side of Hobart. Next job: acquire a small outboard motor.

* Small aluminium boat [Aust. Coll.]

Five years in Tassie

Five years ago today we moved into our new home in Tasmania. Every day I am grateful we did. I am grateful for the clean air, the beautiful landscapes, the wildlife, the great food, the opportunities we have had and the many, many wonderful people we have met, who have made us welcome and added so much to our lives. We thought we would be getting the 'quiet life'. Instead, we found a welcoming community and so much to do, it's far from quiet. And then there is the view that I never tire of. Rain, sun, snow or all three at once, I love Tasmania.

How to make friends in a new town

A few years ago I met a lovely couple who had moved to the Huon Valley with their (almost) adult kids. We met when I popped in to collect a rooster advertised 'free to good home' on Gumtree. They mentioned how hard they had found it to make friends here. I was really surprised by the comment, because we've been amazed at just how easy it was to meet people and get involved in our local community. Your kids' school and the neighbour's kids can be a great starting point for making connections when you move into a new town. But we don't have kids, so we've found other ways. Here are just a few:

Step outside your comfort zone. Try things you might not otherwise do, even things you don't think you'll enjoy. I don't like old movies. No interest in film or film stars at all. Before I moved here, I had hardly seen any pre-70s movies. Since moving here, on the first Sunday of almost every month I have seen a classic movie at the local Palais Theatre. The bar is open, everyone takes a plate of food to share, we have a laugh at the overacting and dodgy plots, conversations are started and friendships formed, some folk even dress up in theme for the occasion. I've tried rowing, joined a local history group, gone to see  folk music... none of which I would have ever even considered doing in Sydney. But it's fun to try something new and it's a good way to meet people with common interests and values.

Social media. Follow people and businesses in your local area on Twitter or Facebook. Read and follow local bloggers. Then if you get the opportunity to meet them in real life and introduce yourself at a function, do it. In a wonderful yet sad example of this, David made friends with Bruce because he had mentioned on Twitter that he rode a Ducati motorbike. David went out on a limb and rode his bike over to say hi in person. No agenda, just to say hi. Bruce suddenly passed away 18 months ago now, but I know David will always treasure that friendship formed over good coffee and a joint interest in Ducatis.

Accept invitations. All of them. Sounds obvious, but if someone is kind enough to invite you...

Get out of the house. Anywhere. Apart from one neighbour who showed up on our doorstep with a whole salmon, and our friends who we met when they dropped in to look at our new ride-on lawnmower on the recommendation of the guy who sold it to us, no one has ever come to our door to meet us. We met our neighbours down at the local pub through that simple social question "where do you live?" Would we have spent Friday evenings in a pub in Sydney? Probably not, but it opened conversations and connections that have made living here a whole lot more special. There are of course healthier options like exercise classes, the local business group, choir or theatre group.

Get a dog. Kids may be the best way to meet other people (parents), but dogs must come very close. Lots of people approach us to pat our dogs when we take them out. We also joined a local dog walking group to socialise our dogs - and ourselves.

People tell me they would like to move to 'the country', but they're afraid of leaving their friends and worried they might not make new ones. It's a valid concern. Community connections are so important. I can imagine that it's harder to meet people and make friends in some towns than others.

If you meet a new arrival in your town, say hello, get their email address or mobile number so you can forward invitations to events, remember their name and introduce them to others. That's what the kind people of Franklin did for us when we arrived, and we're very very grateful for it.

The not-so-quiet life

We were under the impression that life outside the big city would be quieter, more peaceful, with plenty of spare time for simply sitting and admiring the view. The opposite has turned out to be true. Well, it's definitely quieter in terms of noise (I find it hard to sleep in Sydney hotels these days due to the traffic noise) but not in terms of things to do. In fact, we find ourselves doing much more here than we ever did in Sydney, partly because it is so much easier. It's easier, quicker and cheaper to drive into Hobart to see a movie or a show or eat out than it was to do so in Sydney. And then there is so much to do in our own local area, and even more as the weather warms up and festival season starts in Tasmania.

The most stressful period at work for me ended at the start of this month. I flew back to Tasmania on the Friday afternoon after a week working at a conference on the Gold Coast, a fantastic event that takes months of preparation from many people and creates a lot of pressure. It's the same every year, so I know what to expect, but that doesn't make it any better. That night we dressed up and went to a Halloween Ball in the Franklin Palais. Saturday morning there was unpacking, chores... on Saturday afternoon, American guitarist Richard Gilewitz and local musician Steve Gadd played at the Palais. Friends handed over a large bucket of herbs from their garden for our chooks. We had a lovely home meal. Sunday afternoon we spent at the

Longley International Hotel enjoying smooth ska and reggae from Hobart band Lively Up! (right) and on Sunday night we were back at the Palais for the monthly movie, this time a truly terrible French film called 'Breathless', enjoying a chat over shared plates of food at interval. The weekend was so full, I didn't have time to worry about the past week, what needed doing or what lay ahead. My left eye stopped twitching, the chest pains stopped and my right arm (the 'mouse arm') stopped aching. I felt brain dead, but happy.

We love the social aspect of life here, going to functions where you know half the room, trying and seeing new things that we might otherwise never have done in Sydney because it was all too hard. If you think moving to 'the country' means becoming a hermit, think again... unless that's what you want, of course.

God I love it here

It's something I've said to myself many times during the last three years in Tasmania. It's generally due to the small things. When I say it, I am usually driving down the road in the truck and shaking my head in disbelief at how lucky I am to have showed up in a beautiful place like this and made a new life here. To provide specifics, here are a few things that made me say this recently:

• Minutes after a bush fire broke out in our town in February, friends and acquaintances from all around were calling, emailing or tweeting offering somewhere to stay (including our various animals) should we need to evacuate. Lucky for us it didn't get close.
• Going to local functions and realising we know almost everyone in the room
• The lady at the the petrol station who said I could have the fuel discount despite leaving the voucher at home because I am 'a regular' (I swear we've only met a couple of times)
• Walking down the driveway to lock the chook shed after 9pm at night in summer and it's still light
• Walking down the driveway to lock the chook shed at 5pm in winter and the birds are already asleep on their perch
• Getting up close with wildlife including the blind pademelon who comes out in the daylight to feed near our garage and the one who hides out in the chook shed if I don't close it early enough
• The dinners we ate where almost all of the ingredients came from our garden
• The friends who say they have too much silverbeet or too many raspberries, so just come over and help yourself
• Chats with shopkeepers. People take time here.
• The view. There's always the view. You'd have to look hard to find a bad one.

Moving to the country

Recently I wondered when the seed of country living was planted in my brain. When did I decide that I wanted to live in a rural area, with plenty of space, fresh air, wildlife and silence?

I can trace much of it to going to college in Bathurst, a country town about three hours drive west of Sydney. Most students rented old Federation houses that are probably worth a fortune now. We spent weekends playing pool at the Perthville pub. Oh and in the library of course! I loved the space and the relaxed pace and the friendly, interesting people I met. The whole experience as a student in a country town was brilliant and I'd recommend it to anyone.

Before going to uni I also lived in a country town of around 5,000 people in Germany for just over a year, but I don't think that was the source of it. Back then I was still a dressed-in-black city chick through and through. I liked seeing bands and drinking beer in dingy pubs. Going out dancing. Cafes. Just walking along city pavements and window shopping. I still like all those things. But if it means crowds, queues and traffic I'm not keen on doing them often. Once or twice a year will do. By my early thirties I was a tragic Country Style magazine subscriber and David and I went on many driving holidays in country NSW and Victoria with one eye on potential new places to live.

I blame the rest of it on Enid Blyton. I loved many of her books as a child but The Children of Cherry Tree Farm series and Shadow the Sheepdog were among my favourites. Possibly just beaten by the Faraway Tree books, but well ahead of the Famous Five and Malory Towers. Recently my mum confessed that she read Shadow the Sheepdog before giving it to me for Christmas and shed a tear or two, and I don't blame her at all, on both fronts. It's a lovely book. Johnny and his pup adore each other and have all sorts of adventures and misadventures.

The Children of Cherry Tree Farm escaped dreary London (where they were all pale and sickly) to stay with their aunt and uncle in the country for the holidays. They fed lambs, got chased by a bull, drank fresh creamy milk and went to market in the pony-trap. A strange old woodsman called Tammylan befriended them and taught them about the plants and animals.They saw squirrels, weasels, badgers, hedgehogs, deer, moles and foxes in the woods. Then, their dream came true: their parents decided to move to a farm of their own, and they became The Children of Willow Tree Farm. They churned butter, fed buttermilk to the piglets, gathered sheaves of corn, fed the hens and collected the eggs. I dreamed of doing the same.

Instead of those quaint-sounding British animals, here we have pademelons, possums, bettongs, wombats, quolls and echindas. There are screeching black cockatoos, tiny fairy wrens and soaring wedge-tailed eagles. We are definitely not farmers, but we're having little adventures of our own and love our new life. Just like those kids on Willow Tree Farm.

Two years in Tassie

Today we are celebrating two years since arriving in Tasmania after the big move south. Boy has that flown. We feel so settled here and yet still like the new kids. We love our new chosen home and are so glad we made the move.

Some things I have lost:

• One cat
• One sedan (swapped for a ute)
• Some fitness and flexibility
• The ability to walk in heels
• Clean shoes
• Cable internet and a home phone number
• Online grocery shopping deliveries
• A few friends

Some things I have gained:

• One (more) dog
• Six chooks (current total after losing one)
• New skills, like filleting a salmon and baking bread
• A garden that's growing some food
• A love of cider and nice pinot
• Clean air and water
• Gold frequent flyer status
• Broader horizons
• A fantastic new community of friends.

And much more besides. More than anything, we've gained a new optimism and excitement about the future that simply got lost in the day to day slog in Sydney. Here's to the next two years. There's so much more of Tasmania we haven't even seen yet.

Solar powered

Last week we had solar panels installed. Not a day too soon it seems, with power prices set to rise again from July. The price of power in Tasmania has risen 23 percent over the past two years. It's not any better in other Australian states. I remember getting quite a shock opening our last bill in Sydney.

Even with rebates it's not cheap to install solar, but we think it will pay off in a reasonable period of time. We have neighbours who recently finished building their home and are totally off-grid with solar and wind power and a shipping container full of batteries. Very cool - or warm, as they choose! What's your power strategy?

Rural services

We haven't had many problems with the lack of services up our road. By that I mean no post delivery, no garbage collection, no town water, no mains gas, no phone line. In fact in many ways I prefer it this way. It means we get to drink tank water and collect our mail from the nice people who run the local post office. Even taking our rubbish to the tip has its benefits. I instantly became much more conscious of what I could compost and buy without packaging to reduce our rubbish. Also, there's no garbage truck noise to disturb the peace at 6am.

However, yesterday morning's 'planned' power outage presented some small challenges. In the past, we have received a letter from Aurora Energy to say that the power would be out from, say, 9am until midday on a certain day, for repairs or upgrades. But this time, nothing. At 8.55am the power went out. Hmm. I called the service hotline five minutes later, to be told there was a 'planned' outage until 3pm due to tree trimming on our road. So with laptop battery power and wireless broadband I was able to keep working from home for a couple of hours, until my computer battery died and the mobile phone battery was about to go. The water pump wasn't working, so no tap water or flushing toilets. When we've had warning of outages before, we have filled some plastic containers with water and put the kettle on the gas stove for tea. So I decided to go and work from the internet cafe in Huonville... um, the truck is in the garage and the remote controlled door would need to be disengaged so I could get out. Sent a text to David who was at a customer site in Sandy Bay to explain why the garage would not open when he got home.

This morning, looking out the window I can see the workers chainsawing and mulching trees on our road and I'm wondering whether there is another 'planned' outage about to happen... at least today I am fully charged and better prepared!