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Slow life in Tasmania is finally fulfilling Slow life in Tasmania is finally fulfilling
(2 months later)
When the psychotherapist spoke about learning to be your own parent, I thought he was talking gibberish. The phrase haunted me for days, weeks, months, years … Now, nearly 10 years on, I think I can say that I am grown up enough to understand what he meant.When the psychotherapist spoke about learning to be your own parent, I thought he was talking gibberish. The phrase haunted me for days, weeks, months, years … Now, nearly 10 years on, I think I can say that I am grown up enough to understand what he meant.
There is just you.There is just you.
We might think that we will die if our loved ones leave us. Or that they may break down if we leave them. Or believe that our lives are meaningless if we can't or don't have children. At times life can be tragic but, most likely, we will not die of a broken heart and our lives are not without meaning without children.We might think that we will die if our loved ones leave us. Or that they may break down if we leave them. Or believe that our lives are meaningless if we can't or don't have children. At times life can be tragic but, most likely, we will not die of a broken heart and our lives are not without meaning without children.
And this is how I know.And this is how I know.
I am fiftysomething. I have no kids. I live on my own. Put whatever labels you want to put on me, make whatever judgments you like. I am fulfilled. I know that I do not need to be married. I know that I am not deprived for not having children. Sometimes I find it hard to understand why some women feel they must reproduce at any cost. My biology is different.I am fiftysomething. I have no kids. I live on my own. Put whatever labels you want to put on me, make whatever judgments you like. I am fulfilled. I know that I do not need to be married. I know that I am not deprived for not having children. Sometimes I find it hard to understand why some women feel they must reproduce at any cost. My biology is different.
This morning I picked golden plums straight from the trees in my back garden. A guilty pleasure; I didn't plant the trees, they require little care, and they are free. But they are loved.This morning I picked golden plums straight from the trees in my back garden. A guilty pleasure; I didn't plant the trees, they require little care, and they are free. But they are loved.
Home, now, after years working in London, is a green valley in Tasmania, a place with a postcode and no shop. I was brought up in Tasmania in the late 1960s and 70s, when it was common for young people to leave the place to experience more of the world. Now, after more than two decades away, and much to my surprise, it is my world.Home, now, after years working in London, is a green valley in Tasmania, a place with a postcode and no shop. I was brought up in Tasmania in the late 1960s and 70s, when it was common for young people to leave the place to experience more of the world. Now, after more than two decades away, and much to my surprise, it is my world.
Having lived a professional life mostly in London, a return to Tasmania came about because of a desire to live closer to food and nature. I'd learned about the slow food movement working on a food magazine in London, but my own life was too fast to live it, and I ate out more than in. Days were wasted in traffic jams, in queues, on public transport, in long meetings, and in waiting … I felt my city life was over.Having lived a professional life mostly in London, a return to Tasmania came about because of a desire to live closer to food and nature. I'd learned about the slow food movement working on a food magazine in London, but my own life was too fast to live it, and I ate out more than in. Days were wasted in traffic jams, in queues, on public transport, in long meetings, and in waiting … I felt my city life was over.
So I settled on a simple weatherboard house in the country I knew, no job, and no idea how to sustain a life – just a knowingness that said if I had stayed where I was I would fade like a cushion in the sun. My mother lives half an hour away, and so do my two brothers, with their children. You don't go home for them, but a blood connection is both easier and harder than any other.So I settled on a simple weatherboard house in the country I knew, no job, and no idea how to sustain a life – just a knowingness that said if I had stayed where I was I would fade like a cushion in the sun. My mother lives half an hour away, and so do my two brothers, with their children. You don't go home for them, but a blood connection is both easier and harder than any other.
My house was built in 1898, and in the 50s and 60s served as a convent school for the nearby Sacred Heart church. Services are still held there: vehicles are parked in the paddock, and at Easter, Christmas and funerals, often overflow on to the nearby lane and down to the main road. I'm not religious, but I love that I live in a house once called home by single women – nuns – of independent spirit and mindful of temperament.My house was built in 1898, and in the 50s and 60s served as a convent school for the nearby Sacred Heart church. Services are still held there: vehicles are parked in the paddock, and at Easter, Christmas and funerals, often overflow on to the nearby lane and down to the main road. I'm not religious, but I love that I live in a house once called home by single women – nuns – of independent spirit and mindful of temperament.
Despite living on my own, it feels as if I have company. At least five homes within eyesight, a number that seems to double at night when the lights of farms and houses pop out from distant hills. I don't feel the need to make friends, but I sense that we share something, living in this landscape, as if we're all in it together, looking after it. It's not like in a city, where you can shut out the world and disappear, or pass a neighbour on a staircase and not say hello, or look out of your window at blocks of flats and not know one soul living in them. It's not anonymous like that. Here, the country makes you part of it. I have a sense that I belong without "belonging".Despite living on my own, it feels as if I have company. At least five homes within eyesight, a number that seems to double at night when the lights of farms and houses pop out from distant hills. I don't feel the need to make friends, but I sense that we share something, living in this landscape, as if we're all in it together, looking after it. It's not like in a city, where you can shut out the world and disappear, or pass a neighbour on a staircase and not say hello, or look out of your window at blocks of flats and not know one soul living in them. It's not anonymous like that. Here, the country makes you part of it. I have a sense that I belong without "belonging".
I've learned many things here – the most simple being seasonal living; that it's not something you aspire to, more a way of life. I have learned, and the Nuns' House has taught me, that who I am is not my job, my family, or my partner, although all these things are important. I have learned to rely on the world around me and in doing this I look after myself. For example, living on tank water, I've learned to measure my daily usage. When the tank is low, and with no sign of rain, running out is a visible reality. This is not something easily appreciated living in the city, connected to a mains supply.I've learned many things here – the most simple being seasonal living; that it's not something you aspire to, more a way of life. I have learned, and the Nuns' House has taught me, that who I am is not my job, my family, or my partner, although all these things are important. I have learned to rely on the world around me and in doing this I look after myself. For example, living on tank water, I've learned to measure my daily usage. When the tank is low, and with no sign of rain, running out is a visible reality. This is not something easily appreciated living in the city, connected to a mains supply.
While the world of commodities strives to homogenise the seasons (we can have anything we want whenever we want it), country life encourages you to respect them. In doing this, I have found a new way to be. A life that you have when you're not busy doing other things. A life that unfolds around you, that moves like the tide, and in sync with the seasons.While the world of commodities strives to homogenise the seasons (we can have anything we want whenever we want it), country life encourages you to respect them. In doing this, I have found a new way to be. A life that you have when you're not busy doing other things. A life that unfolds around you, that moves like the tide, and in sync with the seasons.
I moved here on my own without plans and have met my partner and started a new business. I did this getting lost on the way to visit a friend. I stopped at his property to ask the way. He, it turns out, is also an escapee from corporate life, and now lives across the road. He set up a hobby nursery and when the local market started, we took plants and herbs to sell, and later fresh produce from a local farmer. We put any profits that we made into a tin and spent it on local champagne. One day the market was rained off, so we boxed up our produce and took it to town. We called this our "rainy day business model". It was so successful, we've been doing it ever since. There's no weekly pay cheque, but I've never been happier.I moved here on my own without plans and have met my partner and started a new business. I did this getting lost on the way to visit a friend. I stopped at his property to ask the way. He, it turns out, is also an escapee from corporate life, and now lives across the road. He set up a hobby nursery and when the local market started, we took plants and herbs to sell, and later fresh produce from a local farmer. We put any profits that we made into a tin and spent it on local champagne. One day the market was rained off, so we boxed up our produce and took it to town. We called this our "rainy day business model". It was so successful, we've been doing it ever since. There's no weekly pay cheque, but I've never been happier.
There are only 72 summers in one lifetime, I remember a London adman telling me when he left the safety of a big job to start up his own business. The line he used stayed with me. If I only had 30 summers left – less if I was unlucky – what was I doing?There are only 72 summers in one lifetime, I remember a London adman telling me when he left the safety of a big job to start up his own business. The line he used stayed with me. If I only had 30 summers left – less if I was unlucky – what was I doing?
During the past eight summers, the Nuns' House has helped me realise that who I am is where I am. With no children of my own, I have a sense of place, of being rooted, of staying not in, but home, although I know I've only just begun to scratch the surface.During the past eight summers, the Nuns' House has helped me realise that who I am is where I am. With no children of my own, I have a sense of place, of being rooted, of staying not in, but home, although I know I've only just begun to scratch the surface.
The gift of these years is that while my mother, Audrey, is still bright but ageing, I know I will not feel like an orphan when she's gone.The gift of these years is that while my mother, Audrey, is still bright but ageing, I know I will not feel like an orphan when she's gone.
One day turns into the next and each day I follow the seasons. To leave home without a good reason feels like a betrayal, a wanton waste of time. To go beyond my own boundary would be to turn my back on the things I've started and lose momentum. It would be as if those small efforts to take care of my own back yard – the efficacy of untold devotion – had counted for not very much.One day turns into the next and each day I follow the seasons. To leave home without a good reason feels like a betrayal, a wanton waste of time. To go beyond my own boundary would be to turn my back on the things I've started and lose momentum. It would be as if those small efforts to take care of my own back yard – the efficacy of untold devotion – had counted for not very much.
A Story of Seven Summers: Life in the Nuns' House by Hilary Burden is published by Allen & Unwin, £12.99. To order a copy for £10.39, with free UK p&p, go to guardian.co.uk/bookshop or call 0330 333 6846A Story of Seven Summers: Life in the Nuns' House by Hilary Burden is published by Allen & Unwin, £12.99. To order a copy for £10.39, with free UK p&p, go to guardian.co.uk/bookshop or call 0330 333 6846
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