Landscapes of my childhood
Along the white, dusty ribbon of road that runs past the front of the Kirkpatrick farmhouse there are eucalypts. One is a battered rather crooked old apple gum. It is still there now, it has been there as long as I can remember sitting so close to the road it is almost growing from it. If once white settlers could not bear to think of these tough trees as worthy subjects for the artist’s brush now their sparse beauty is all we need to bring us home. My child’s eye saw this tree, was drawn to it. I was soothed by its thick sturdy branches and familiar drooping leaves. It’s white trunk and leathery leaves claim the stories, hold the history, hint at memory, hope and dreaming for us all.