On selling my soul and leaving a garden behind
The last couple of months have been hard.
You might recall that we moved to a lovely old house west of Brisbane in Spring 2025. And at the time, we chose to retain our rainforest home as a personal retreat.
However, as it often does, life had other plans and we have been through the extremely emotional process of selling our first home. It was a decision I thought I felt ready for. When I let my head lead my logic I knew it was a good decision, though for my heart it was an emotional rollercoaster.
Our time living on the mountain will forever be something I am grateful for, and I know it changed me irrevocably.
It was a life well-lived, entrenched by the seasons and wildlife. I knew it all like the back of my hand at the end of seven years.
Flocks of top-knot pigeons and gentle falling leaves. The thud of an axe on timber as a russet-tailed thrush mournfully cries in cool dusk light. The forest awakening with green buds and sparkling fireflies.
It’s not the home between four walls that I mourn as such. But the garden I grew, and the birds that chose to visit us there. It’s easy to pack up china, linen and lamps. And harder to transplant plants and flowers between different climates.
Only time will tell if my hydrangea cuttings and japanese windflower propagations will survive the hot and dry Ipswich summers.
Selling the property felt like closing a window on who I became while living in the rainforest. I can still see that version of myself through the glass, though she feels less accessible and that I need to await a new season to fully reunite with her again. I remind myself that I will find glimpses of her whenever I can escape the suburbs back to the forest.
Now that property settlement has come and gone, I feel a release. And I am leaning into the next chapter wholeheartedly, nurturing a new garden and curious to see what this new season will bring for me.
