Saturday the 4th October
Today was my first visit to the museum.
I drove into Dartmoor village with Michael (the museum owner and my host) and his son Jordy (who's 11). The museum is a beautiful little wooden slat building with a boat on the veranda. It’s a hectic treasure trove, overflowing with bizarre memorabilia, farming machinery and souvenirs of anything that’s happened in Dartmoor's existence, including a wind up musical mug from Widicombe, UK. Snap happy, I am enjoying the rubbishy aesthetic of my photographs, ugly oddball images.
Jordy took me on a bike ride tour of the village. The roads are wide and we snake around, no cars to dodge. The bikes thud into a blanket of tall bright grass as we drop them and wade through. The area is lush and green although there has not been much rain this year, normally the river would be above our heads. The river scape is dusty silver, romantically soft like a scene from 'Picnic on Hanging Rock' or a sun faded photograph, mirrored by the line of eucalyptus trees.
We peddled on to the hermits hut; an eerie old shack with fantastic peeling wallpaper and a skanky little fire place, stamping our feet on arrival to scare away snakes.
Through out the day I simultaneously realise how amazing and exhausting children are. Their naivety is a saviour, dispelling awkward silences and interrupting my annoying ability to daydream during social encounters.
That evening I was taken out with the girls. This involved a half hour drive with Ellie and Maggie (Michaels wife and 14 year old daughter) to a friend's house/ranch. Here we drink wine and the kids have a shot of snapps.
During the evening I struggle slightly as I continuously have no idea what anyone is talking about; horses, local gossip, and horses. I've never been in a situation where I cant join in a conversation because I really don’t know what its about, it was hard for me to differentiate between people and horses; an interesting situation to be in and muse over.
Much of my silence was filled with chocolate spiders and rollies. As the wine flowed I began to grasp what was going on and absorbed lots of tails from the recent closure of the timber mill (the main employer for the local population) and why bush life is the best. I really connected to hearing people talk about the bush like this, its this kind of emotional connection to land that fascinates me. People weren’t longing for it; I think because they live it, people seem connected and aware of their physical environment. There was a longing for England, which surprised me, so many generations down the line. People still seem to yearn for a place they belong to and faces they recognise as their own.
