An invitation to write about “returning home” from this site:
has inspired me to think more deeply about the issue of “home”. To return home from a journey is, for most people, a comforting conclusion to an experience that leaves you with much to reflect on. That assumes the “home” you return to is a place where that reflection is possible and somewhere you are secure and safe in a supportive environment to enable time for that reflection. In our society, our home is our house but for many it is linked to land. The “house” can move but the connection to home is often expressed through a love of land and, in some cases, a yearning to return. This can be carried through generations and is, I believe part of the issue of disconnection that faces us today, a disconnection from ourselves because we are still trying to find “home”.
I am a direct descendant of a convict who was sent to this country in 1827. I stand as the fourth generation born in this land and each of those generations have made their home in different parts of the country. I have travelled to each of those places, Windsor, Queanbeyan, Beechworth, Albury and have recently been back to my birth town, Molong. I feel a family connection to each of those even though I do not live anywhere near them now. That connection is in my thoughts but in Albury and Molong it is physical as well.
My Great-Grandfather, the youngest son of the convict sent here in 1827, established a coach-building business in Albury and the building he constructed to house it is today a Motel with a plaque outside bearing his name.
At the Albury Library Museum a collection of tools used by my Great Grandfather at his factory can be seen.
In Molong, many of my parents artifacts are also housed in the local museum including programs from the local Show, Christmas Carols and sporting events held in the town during the 28 years they lived there. Most importantly, to me is the fact I was born in Molong and spent the first 18 years of my life living in that district. This is my connection and what draws me back sometimes to see the places I remember and feel in my heart. That is why I write in this blog about my journey beginning as it did on the “red road”of Gundawanna.
Just this year I had the opportunity to drive down that road again past the front gate I wrote about in my post on 5th August. The road is now sealed, the gate locked, the track overgrown. No-one uses that entrance to the property anymore, but part of my heritage is still visible. My parents moved away from Gundawanna 40 years ago and it has been owned by at least two or three people since that time, but still today, standing proudly on the post where my Father placed it long ago, is the mailbox with our name emblazoned on it. I was pleased it had been left.
No matter where the house we live in is situated, our home is where we connect. Part of that is our past and it is somehow gratifying to know that physically part of our past stays where we have lived. It gives us the confidence to follow our dreams in life knowing our roots are deep. Now I reflect on who I am knowing that where I have been and where I will go is part of me and secure in the knowledge that I am Home.