It felt as if we had stumbled upon a hidden oasis.
Across the road, just a skip over the road and railway track, the beach beckoned. Stepping into the backyard was a different story. Cows grazed peacefully on pastures as the hills stretched up into the distance. It was a surreal experience, as though the house was a passageway between worlds.
The easy access to the ocean was intoxicating. We barely unpacked before the kids were dragging us over and every morning and evening the sky had an audience of at least one. The colours were more vivid here, the oranges blazing unashamedly – the flaming glow casting itself out across glimmering seas. You couldn’t help but stop and look. We went shell hunting and jumped from rock to rock. Treasures were unearthed and then returned to the ground.
Dave and I escaped for a ‘date’ to the supermarket to sort out dinner while Mum and Dad looked after the kids. We weren’t sure what to expect from the little seaside town, but Penguin wowed us. We felt as if we had stumbled across a tiny Sorrento or Manly, with the stunning coastal outlook, towering trees and boutique shops. I traversed the aisles while Dave chatted with the ever-friendly shop-assistants at the IGA. This was another thing we were coming to love about Tasmania – everyone was just so lovely and friendly.
Heading home with ingredients for a Mexican feast, we couldn’t wait to tell my parents about the town. They went out for their own date soon after, and were equally as wowed. We gathered for dinner and debated what movie to watch, eventually settling on ‘A Wrinkle in Time’.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, yet again. Dave had forgotten about an assignment he had due and scrambled to use every spare moment to get that done, while we walked into town to explore the market. Harvey struggled with the distance, or perhaps the motivation, finding moments to disappear or lie on the footpath in resignation. By the time we finally reached the undercover market, I was a bit over the continual coaxing.
The stalls were stacked to the brim with odds and ends and treasures. The kids begged for money to spend and (unwisely) splurged on toys that barely lasted the distance to the door. We lingered and chatted to the friendly sellers and then made our way to church.
I don’t usually consider attending while we on holidays, but something about Penguin made me want to dig below the surface. I wanted to know what it was like to actually live here and embed yourself in the community. Despite being a tiny town, Penguin boasts five churches, and the one we chose had plenty of enthusiastic and welcoming people. Apart from a slight emergency of hot chocolate spilling on Eli’s prize possession (his new white Champion jumper) we enjoyed the experience and were about to head off for lunch and our planned expedition towards Stanley when tragedy struck.
Ivy (who had been warned not to bring toys on the morning adventure but still brought ‘Slothy’, who cost $1 and had been picked up the previous day in Deloraine Op Shop), discovered that she had misplaced her toy at the market. There was no way we wanted to reenter the throng and conduct a search of all the places we’d been that morning, but this news was ill-received.
She screamed the entire way to Burnie.
I made the unfortunate mistake of sitting next to her and received the brunt of her ire. Twenty minutes of unending rage-crying is definitely my limit. I managed to hold it together until we made it to the beach, but then I was done. Hudson bore the brunt of my grumpiness when he mistook some bird poo for a ‘chocolate milkshake’ and decided to scoop some up to smear it on Pa. Neither of us were at all impressed, but the verbal spray Hudson received was slightly disproportionate. Mum and Dad took the kids for a walk along the beach while I breathed in the fresh air and tried to get back to baseline. This was to be the low-point of the trip.
After a Subway lunch in the sunshine, we were ready and recharged for the rest of the adventure. I don’t remember much about the drive to Stanley, apart from being wowed afresh every time I gazed out of the window. Thankfully there were no more outbursts – from the children or myself. Before long, we were pulling in under the shadow of The Nut.
Stanley is one of those places where you could spin around with your eyes closed and open them at random to a postcard-perfect view each time. With the vivid blue of the ocean, the symmetrically laid out houses and nostalgic air of the main street, not to mention the rather large hill towering above it all. The boys made a beeline for the walk, while the girls (and Harvey) took the more serene option – a jaunt into town. We stopped at a little cafe for ice-cream and window-shopping, then wandered down to the playground overlooking the sea.
Before long (the days end early here), the atmosphere began to take on the familiar golden hues of sunset and we felt the pull towards home (Penguin, that is). With a quick stop in at Wynyard (much to Harvey’s chagrin, for no identifiable reason: ‘I hate Wynyard’), Mum and I raced around the supermarket looking for dinner ideas (we settled on a roast chicken with oven-baked chips and salad, with danishes, custard and cream for dessert). It was almost completely dark by this point, but the kids found an epic playground (apparently the favourite of the entire trip) and were thrilled at the chance to play at night (it was probably 5pm!). We oohed over the last traces of fire disappearing across the horizon as we made our way back along the coast.
The next morning was booked solid. With two school tours planned, we were a little nervous about how the kids would go having to be on their best behaviour for so long. It turns out we needn’t have worried. Our first stop was Leighland Christian School in Ulverstone. We were led around the place by the most incredible Head of Primary who oozed passion for her job. She was witty, honest, kind and enthusiastic, taking the time to interact with each of the children in a way that made them feel seen. (It might have helped that she had the most elaborate collection of Lego in her office, including the Adidas shoe set that Eli had coveted at the airport in Melbourne). By the end the kids were begging us to move to Tasmania just so we could go to the school.
We stopped for a pie at Crusty’s Bakery (voted the best of the trip), and headed down to the rocket playground (which turned out to be far more impressive at a distance than up close).
Next stop was Devonport Christian School, nestled in a quiet street on the outskirts of the town. We were taken around by the Principal and got to see many classes in progress, say hello to the school lamb (who bleated pitifully when there was no students to play with him) and wander past the goats (Anna and Elsa) to the outdoor ‘classroom’ in the woods. It was much smaller than the first school, but interesting and welcoming in its own way.
With a long trip to Hobart that afternoon, we were keen to be on our way. It was already mid-afternoon. We ended up doing three hours on the bus without stopping (except for a brief photo opportunity on the top of the mountain, with frozen puddles lining the highway)! This was partly due to the fact that we’d chosen the more direct route, which passed through very few towns (unless you count the shanty-like structures dotting the sides of the mountains). It was beautiful but very remote and we held our breath as we passed by what looked to be a frozen lake, with Dave driving as carefully as possible around each bend.
The kids did amazingly, particularly considering we’d chosen not to bring any screens with us on this trip, and we had failed to get any snacks! Instead, we raided the grocery bags in the back of the bus – eating plain crumpets, apples and chocolate – whatever we could find. I had the back seat with the best access to the good stuff, which I slipped to Ivy as she quietly read her book on the Kindle the entire way.
It was pitch black when we made our way through the steep and winding streets of Lenah Valley.
