Every summer, for a few weeks, three kids reunite with their birth country. For the eldest, it is coming home. For the middle child, it's visiting her earliest memories. For the youngest, it is trip to a mysterious and magical land. After twenty-four hours of airplanes, McDonalds, security checks, and running between gates, they find themselves in another season, sixteen hours into the future, and amongst a wacky version of their language. With a schedule organized meticulously to maximize time spent with different family members, the whole of Australia is reduced to a few otherwise insignificant landmarks. Most important of these is Nanna and Granddad’s house on Letitia Street.
There aren’t any alarm clocks in this world, just very loud indigenous birds. So the three kids get up early everyday. No matter how early they think they are, Granddad is already dressed and ready. Breakfast is Weet-bix with honey. Nanna heats up the milk in a glass jug and lets the kids arrange the palm-sized cereal biscuits and honey the way they want. Australian honey is extra delicious since there are so many bigger and sweeter flowers for their bees. It comes in a big tub, so they warm up the spoon under hot water in order for it not to stick. Even with this little trick, the first bite of breakfast is the best because there is bound to be a layer of honey still on the spoon. Mum eventually comes down, taking the opportunity to sleep in while there are grandparents to distract the kids. Everyone sits around the kitchen table or the adjacent lounge talking about the day’s schedule, watching their alarm birds get their breakfast from the feeder, or quietly listening to the radio. Music is a constant presence throughout the house. At all times there is at least one radio set to a classical station that plays traditional British choral music and grand symphonies. It is only turned off when the house is empty, or when Nanna sits down at the piano bench and puts on her music reading glasses. Each child gets a chance to sing songs out of the house’s large collection of music. The eldest usually performs a slightly pretentious version of the English hymn “Jerusalem.” The girls often do a duet on “I Still Call Australia Home,” a song about the expatriate experience that gets Mum a little teary. Throughout the mini concert Nanna plays patiently, and Granddad politely claps and offers up praise.
At some point they have to peel themselves away from the warmth of the downstairs to get ready for the day. Even with all its magic, it seems that this country has yet to figure out how to make sure everyone gets a hot shower. The eldest, a boy, doesn’t really care about having a shower at all, and since she slept in, Mum usually has to finish breakfast. The two girls decide on taking showers at the same time, so both have equal chance of warm water. The fight comes with who gets to use Nanna’s shower. It is smaller, but cozier. Golden brown tiles line the whole room from floor to ceiling to create a cave. The shower head is so high and wide the water gives the illusion of rain. There is a vast collection of shampoos and body washes that take about a week to try all the different combinations and find the perfect one. The bathroom fills with steam, and once they finish they have to quickly find their towel off the heating rack and wrap themselves up. The entire trip the kids struggle to stay warm. Unlike the centrally heated, insulated homes of New Jersey, Sydney houses don’t bother with all that since those things only become necessary for about a month and a half. Nanna is conscious of this discomfort, so she makes sure beds are always warm and towels always heated.
Getting dressed requires layers, as the temperature can change dramatically just by stepping into a shadow. The kids always want to look their best, since they will be seeing relatives and they only have one shot each year at presenting their best selves, plus they have Granddad’s discerning eye to think about. As someone who made a living as a tailor and making beautiful suits, even in retirement Granddad has exceptional taste. The eldest and youngest especially have inherited this aesthetic, and even as kids they are aware of what a good fit means. Making sure you look presentable is an easy chore in this house, as chances are if you are looking into one mirror you can pivot to find yourself in another one. Mirrors cover the floor to ceiling closet doors in the bedrooms and decorate the living room and the entrance. It is one of the most appreciated parts of the house, as the kids at an early age developed a fondness of looking at themselves in the mirror.
When everyone finally drags themselves away from their reflection, the family reconvenes downstairs. The kids all collapse on various lounges as the adults plan the day. The first thing on the agenda is always an open invitation to join Granddad on his bush walk. The composition of the party changes daily, but Mum and the youngest are regulars. Even after Granddad lost most of his eye sight, these walks are a daily tradition that often go off road into the “real” bush. Mum insists on going on these walks to be an extra set of eyes, although Granddad claims to feel everything in his feet. The youngest goes on these walks because she is a people pleaser, and enjoys learning about the foreign fauna and flora that make up the bush. Granddad narrates the walk with stories about what used to be here and there, and his frequent fishing trips on the river. As a scientist with a soft spot for plants, Mum gives lectures on bottle brush, scribbly gum, and paper bark. Once the golden wattle is spotted Mum cuts off a piece of the flowering bush and recites a poem commemorating the national flower:
This here’s the wattle, the emblem of our land.
You can stick it in a bottle, you can hold it in your hand.
Years later the youngest would learn this is not an important national poem, but lines from a Monty Python sketch making fun of “simple minded” Australians. This was one of the many moments of ignorance she experienced, as the youngest was only immersed in her family’s culture for a few weeks a year.
At least one time during the visit, the walk will be taken on the beach. Here Granddad tells stories of his days as a lifesaver. He worked at Bondi, the quintessential Australian beach. All of his grandkids love imagining their Granddad as a tan young man in the official lifesaver uniform: a speedo and silly looking cloth cap that ties around the chin. The eldest always dreamed of following his grandfather’s footsteps, and while he is a lifeguard at the local indoor pool, it doesn’t quite meet the mythos of a real old school Aussie lifesaver. The stories along the beach are never a recounting of Granddad’s heroics, but memories of the friends he made and meeting Nanna. Even in the supposed winter the beach scene is spectacular. The sky and water are both a vivid blue that almost blend together on the horizon. The sand is yellow and soft, and everything smells clean and fresh. It is a great departure from the Jersey shore where the kids spend their summer.
By the time the walking party returns to the brick, red-tile roof house, it is about time to go into town to get lunch. The family tries to not to eat out too often, but most days the Aussie delicacies of Oatley Ovens are too hard to resist. While the girls play in the garden, Nanna and the grandson quickly drive over to the shops to pick up a selection of delicious pies and treats. They return with curry chicken pies for Mum and Nanna, a steak and mushroom pie for Granddad, a mince pie and sausage roll for the oldest to satisfy his teenage boy appetite, a simple mince pie for the middle girl, and a plain sausage roll for the picky youngest. Armed with lots of tomato sauce and serviettes, they sit outside on the patio to eat in the warm winter sun. A few birds congregate around the table hoping for some divine intervention to let the pies fall to the ground. It doesn’t take long for the pies to disappear and dessert to appear. A selection of Oatley Ovens’ best comes out on a few plates: custard tarts, finger buns with pink icing, vanilla slice with passion fruit drizzle, and date bars. Each person has his or her favorite, but all make sure everyone has a chance to get a piece before they finish off their most-loved pastry.
While the adults clean up from lunch, the two girls take the opportunity to explore the garden. The pride of Granddad and home to Nanna’s fairy friends, the home’s backyard is an impressive place. It begins at ground level with a layer of bushes and plants that open up to a few stairs that lead to a little wooden bridge. Over to the right is a pond complete with a waterfall, lily pads, and fish that have to be protected from the kookaburras. The rest of the yard is basically a cliff that had a series of steps carved into it that guide you up different levels of garden, each of unique plants and flowers. The last steps finish with a plateau where a large, flowering tree fills the air with a sweet fragrance. There is no doubt that the garden is magic. How else could all this greenery come out of a giant rock? Besides this impressive feat, everyone knows fairies live there. As Nanna told each of her grandchildren, Santa isn’t real, but fairies definitely exist. They have little homes in the trees and in caves behind the waterfall. They are benevolent creatures that protect the fish and help the flowers bloom.
Various trees, bushes, and latices provide hiding spots and create the perfect “rooms” when playing house. Amongst the flowers each grandchild can find a little statue commemorating them: fairies for the girls and a cheeky elf for the boy. Garden play often turns into a craft project, as the girls collect interesting looking leaves, flowers, and pods. In one of the doors of huge set cabinets that take up an entire wall of the dining room, they find glue, ribbons, and glittery fairy dust. Various creatures and creations are made, and all are treated to compliments from Nanna and are placed lovingly on the window sill for display.
While they should be getting ready for an afternoon of visiting relatives, the kids become distracted by the more interesting corners of the house. For the eldest, it’s the garage which houses all of Granddad’s odds and ends that have been collected from years of owning his own business and volunteering at a consignment shop. Shelves packed with various treasures reach up to the ceiling. It can provide hours of entertainment, and you would still only scratch the surface of what could be discovered. For the girl’s, it is Nanna’s room. The middle child distracts herself with the treasures on top of the dresser. Pins, perfumes, rings, and clips cover the surface creating a sparkly mosaic. The youngest gets lost in the Nanna’s walk-in closet. The little hideaway smells of floral perfume and baby powder. Sitting on the floor, she has access to boxes of scarves which can be draped around her body to make an entirely new outfit. Smaller boxes reveal trinkets and jewelry that seem incredibly precious. But, pretty soon the three imaginations are abruptly interrupted as the call to leave comes from the living room.
The afternoon is spent with various family members, taking them to far off places like Berowra and Gosford. The train speaker announces the distant lands of Wagga Wagga and Wahroonga and Woolloomooloo. While visiting all these different “rellies" the kids find their voices and language mysteriously adapting to the environment. The boy starts to remember the phrases and abbreviations he thought were lost. The girls forget about their hard Jersey “r’s” and the distinctive “auwww” of dog and coffee. While the youngest gets the accent right, much of the meaning is lost when the more Seuss-ian words come out. She doesn’t know when “this arvo” is, if being “chocka” is good or bad, and if the “woop woop” is another random sounding suburb. But she smiles and nods and makes believe she is the proper Australian her passport claims she is.
The day continues as the four make their way home in time to be back at Nanna and Granddad’s for dinner. Now Nanna is wonderful in almost every way to her grandchildren, but dinner leaves something to be desired. She comes from the Australian tradition of protein and three veg for dinner. No bread, mashed potatoes, or pasta. Chicken and three veg or steak and three veg or sausage and three veg. Sometimes for a special treat mushrooms are included, every kids dream. Mum is very aware of this food discomfort, and often allows for a quick pre-dinner snack on the way home from the train station. Sometimes its hot chips, sometimes a ham and cheese roll, but the best is a potato scallop. It is basically a glorified hash brown, but on the brisk walk home it tastes like heaven: fatty and warm with a crispy outside. Mum lectures that they are incredibly unhealthy, yet she never stops anyone from getting them and often finds herself trying to hide greasy fingers before Nanna can see as well.
After quickly washing their hands, they open the curtain leading into the warm lounge room and kitchen. Mum goes off to help with dinner, and the three kids join Granddad in front of the TV. Being the distant land that it is, Australia has only nine channels which mysteriously only show news from about 4 to 8 pm. While the kids may peek at the TV guide and see familiar names like The Simpsons, at Nanna and Granddad’s those channels don’t work and thus they are stuck with a four hour block of different variations on the day’s news. Eventually the kids set the table, which even for just meat and three veg is a classy affair. They spread out the table cloth and place the plates and silverware just right. At the center of a table is a crystal set for salt, pepper, and salad dressing. To the youngest it seems incredibly delicate and she moves it with the upmost care. Nanna and Granddad have their nightly glass of red wine, and the kids get a treat of either sugary cordial or spicy ginger beer. Only in Australia are they allowed to have something besides water with dinner.
As they clean up, Mum calls Dad for their nightly chat and she passes on all the gossip from that day’s relatives. Nanna makes tea for the adults and chocolatey hot Milo for the kids, and she pretends to not see when they sneak into the pantry for the cookie jar. Warmed up from their beverages, Nanna takes the kids out to the balcony off of her room to look at the stars and the full moon. The stars in this sky are different from the ones at home, a fact that never ceases to amaze the youngest. The eldest tries to explain the science behind it, but she doesn’t bother to listen. Nanna points out the Southern Cross, the smallest yet most important constellation in the sky. As the sons and daughters of the Southern Cross, Australians can see the collection of stars year round and commemorate it on their flag. Given its importance, the three exiled Australians make sure to find it every night. Nanna tells them about how she sends each of them a moon message whenever there is a full moon. It’s a little transmission telling them about her day, asking about their day, and always finishes with a hug and a kiss. They all know it is crucial that you only send one when there is a full moon, otherwise it may not make it all the way to the other side of the world.
While the eldest goes off to play some computer game before bed, the two girls join Nanna in her bed to hear stories. Their grandmother’s excellent imagination is put on display as each night she tells a new story of princesses or talking animals. Once the tale comes to a happy ending, they take turns drawing pictures on each others backs and guessing what they feel is being drawn. Eventually the grandchildren make their way to their respective beds, which have been warming up for them by an electric blanket. They drift of to sleep, waiting to be woken up once again by the friendly magpies and cockatoos and kookaburras.
Years have passed now. The two oldest kids live in Australia with their respective partners in their respective homes. The ritual of staying with Nanna and Granddad was broken up first by university, then the necessity to work. As they started building their own lives their birth country became more and more ordinary. The youngest still visits from America for a few weeks on college breaks, but no longer stays in the brick house on Letitia St. Strangers live there now. She wonders if they too get woken up by the birds and if they know there are fairies in the garden. Her visits are usually split among a few different houses that have cable and Ikea furniture, and seem like they could just as easily be an American home. Family is more spread out and there is now time to visit the touristy destinations, so her Australia has expanded beyond the little enclaves that used to be both unusual and familiar.
Granddad’s ashes were scattered out at sea by the Bondi Beach Lifesavers. Nanna’s were planted with a flowering tree that will certainly become a home to her favorite creatures. These days the kids have to create their own magic from the lessons they learned. They send moon messages when the sky is clear. They sing the songs they learned at Nanna’s piano. They eat their Weet-bix in the same, special way. Globalization has even allowed the youngest to enjoy the breakfast and chocolates that she used to only eat for a few weeks a year. The eldest swims everyday in case he gets called up to be a lifesaver and he still cuts his lunch just like Nanna used to. The middle child walks her dog on one of Granddad’s favorite routes and gets her husband to draw pictures on her back before she falls asleep. The youngest thinks of Granddad’s exceptional taste when she dismisses clothes that don’t fit just right and she still believes in the magic of Nanna’s fairies.
Wonderful Aus
