Growing up in Sydney, my parents and I often vacationed with other families. A married couple, Moz and Derval, lived on a farm in the northwestern New South Wales town of Boomi.
Sometimes they talked about their youngest son, Ed, who had already graduated from high school and was adventuring around the world playing bagpipes in places like South America. I was more interested in their funny stories about life in Bumi and didn’t pay much attention to their stories about Ed.
A few years later, in my 20s, I was a reporter for a major newspaper and transferred to the Brisbane bureau. By that time Moz and Derval had retired from the farm and were living in Moree and invited me and her sister to stay during the town’s food and wine festival. We had never been to Moree so we jumped in the car and drove across the border to meet them.
The first time I saw him standing next to my parents, I was sitting on a grassy slope at Molly’s showground, eating strawberries and cream from a paper plate. “this Is it your son? I thought – and probably said out loud. He looked like his parents, but (of course) younger, strong and handsome. He dropped the strawberry.
All I remember about that weekend is Ed. How he took us in a small plane to his sister’s farm in Mungindi. He was absolutely wonderful with his four nieces and nephews who worshiped him like a rock star. How he bounced around while he was talking. How he opened a bottle of champagne and filled his mother’s glass first. I had never met anyone like him before.
At the end of the weekend, as I got in the car with my sister to drive back to Brisbane, I slammed the door and screamed out of my head. She asked me why I make such a racket. “He is,” I said. “Wasn’t he amazing?” Katie looked at me blankly. “Who are you talking about?”
A few weeks later we arranged for our first date.
At work, right before our date (he picked me up from Archerfield Airport), I asked one of the older journalists for advice. I said, “I think I really like this guy, but I don’t know what he thinks of me.” His colleague looked at me and said with a deadpan expression: he is enthusiastic ”
We flew into Byron Bay and arrived at a small airstrip used by skydivers. We hitchhiked into town and popped into a pub. When I asked if there were any rooms available that night, the receptionist asked how many rooms I needed. There was an awkward silence. I guess humility made me say two words, but within about six months I quit my job and moved to Moree.
That was 16 years ago. We now live with her three children on a pecan farm a few hours east of Morley. When we first moved here, I sometimes felt like I was on a boat at sea. It’s just us, the paddock, and a small town in the distance. But Ed was very relieved. His confidence was reassuring, and I gradually became more confident as well.
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I’m still getting used to being surrounded by vast spaces. He says things like, “Follow the stream, climb the hill, pass through the rocks, and you’ll get there eventually.” I look at him in disbelief. what? by myself? There’s no signboard? Just a giant rock and a stream flowing through it, gum trees and nature everywhere, and somehow I’m supposed to find a waterfall on my own?
One of the most striking differences between rural and city life, at least in my experience, is the sense of personal responsibility. And with that comes a sense of agency. Here, alongside Ed, I feel like I’m a producer of my life, not a product of it. But even if you try to imagine something more precious than this wild life with him, you can’t.
Was there a moment when you realized?
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please share your experience
Do you have a romantic realization you’d like to share? From quiet domestic scenes to dramatic revelations, Guardian Australia wants to hear about the moment you knew you were in love.
