At times my life makes its own decisions and all I have to do is hop on for the ride. Twenty-five years ago the ride brought me to Koonya, on the Tasman Peninsula. Six houses, a shop and a church on the main street, and an international collection of eccentric imports living in the nearby hills. Shallow bays, turquoise and white, or sullen grey, depending on their mood. Archetypal rural landscape...cows, of course, sheep, of course, and the remains of a previously thriving apple industry. Over the other side of the peninsula, on the ocean side, imposing eucalypt forests and man-fern gullies, giving way to mysterious cloud forests...bonsai gardens clinging to wet, windswept hilltops. Cape Pillar, where the cliffs are a thousand feet straight into the sea, where ships are wrecked and the screaming winter winds have not touched land since they left Antarctica.
Tasman Peninsula is both my home and a source of inspiration to me.
Return to Background