The joy of being disconnected

I recently spent five days alone house-sitting on a small bush block just outside the quaint and historic seaside town of Port Fairy on the south-west coast of Victoria. I say ‘alone’, but, in fact, I had the company of three alpacas, four chickens, a cat, and a large fruit and vegetable patch, bursting with organic life, and ready-to-eat produce.

I especially loved the alpacas, who spent most of the day quietly grazing away in the front paddock. There’s George (the brown one with a white spot above his eyes), Mawson (cream-coloured) and Bentley (the mocha brown), who was my personal favourite due to his doe-like eyes and long lashes. Then there’s Gilbert, an ever-purring, must-rub-against-your-leg-endlessly ginger cat; and the four chickens, each of which I affectionately called ‘chookie’, and whose eggs provided a daily source of delicious breakfasts. It was my job to ensure the animals (and veggies) were well watered, and fed, that Gilbert and the chooks were safely inside their homes at night, and released outside again in the morning to roam free.

I was amazed at how quickly my mind and body eased into a slow, rhythmic routine, which was determined by the animals, and the weather, and a loose routine that I set for myself each day. Once Gilbert and the chooks were out, I’d head off for my morning swim in the ocean (Bass Strait). Port Fairy is graced with beautiful beaches of soft white sand that stretches off into the distance, and clean aqua-blue/green waters. I’d swim and frollick in the waves for around half an hour, dry off on the beach under an ever-strengthening sun, and then head off for my coffee.

Back home, I’d enjoy my fresh, wholesome breakfast courtesy of the chooks, and then settle into a comfy chair on the front porch to write in my journal. Often I’d just sit and look out, taking in the ambience of birdsong, wind rustling through the towering gums, and smiling at Gilbert’s meow as his soft body brushed against my legs. I took a lot of photos during this time, to capture my experience. Scroll through the photos just below, to get a sense of the place, and my new friends…

Having grown up in the country, on the edge of Victoria’s northern Mallee region, I think that sense of wide open spaces, the dry heat, towering Eucalypts scattered amongst dirty-brown and rusty-coloured grasslands, and shrub, never leaves you. Nor does the wonder and awe of golden-red sunsets and silhouettes over vast horizons and country bushlands.

I’m sure as a younger person, I couldn’t wait to get out of the bush. But now, having lived and worked in Melbourne for many years, I find myself craving it. My breathing slows, the time-pressure of imminent tasks fades away, and the need to check my phone and emails every 10 minutes wafts away, too. To be ‘disconnected’ and lulled by nature is so good for my mind, body and soul — for our minds, bodies and souls. Our hearts, too.

During the heat of the day (we were getting into the high 30s — degrees Celsius — some days), I’d retreat inside with a good book. Toward the end of last year, as those final tasks before Christmas ebbed away, I dreamed of being somewhere removed where I could disconnect from technology, and just read, read, read! I also wrote a lot and reflected on the year that’d been, and the year that beckoned. I listened to many episodes of my favourite podcast, Onbeing with Krista Tippett, inspired by the many insightful, wise and deeply moving interviews. I’ve learnt so much over the years listening to this podcast, and often say to myself and others, ‘If I was stuck on a desert island with only one choice of podcast, this’d be it!’.

I breathe deeply and let the gratitude sink in. I relished this time, though short, to disconnect, to rest, to be nourished and refreshed for the upcoming year. I reflected on the important things in my life: relationship with God, family, friends, colleagues; my work, which provides endless opportunities for creativity, connection and meaning; and my hopes and dreams.

Again, I breathe deeply, taking in the beautiful sights and sounds around me. I remember too the other things that I need for my sense of wellbeing: swimming in (and drinking lots of) water, good sleep, exercise; healthy, wholesome food and nurtured relationships, including my relationship with the Created world, and my care of it. I place my bare-feet on the dewy morning grass, and later the white warm sands, and give thanks that I can be grounded, here in this place. I may be ‘disconnected’ to the noise and whir, and fast pace of technology and city life, but I am deeply connected to the place where I stand.