No trip home is complete for me without a trip "Up the Creek" to where my ancestors settled and many previous generations of my family (on both sides) settled and lived. I'm proud of the fact that my ancestors were the first white settlers at the top of this lovely, fertile valley. The road up the Laidley Creek valley follows the creek to where the road ends as it reaches the mountains and that's where I think of as my spiritual home.
This is the one place where "You can't go home again" is not true. Thanks, Taken for Granted for the quote. The few changes that have taken place over the years have been small and not changed the essence of the place.
The area my grandfather nicknamed Cottonbush Avenue has been named Crosby Park by the Council after my grandmother's family. Believe me, it is as much a park as it is an avenue, perhaps Grandad was not the only one with a sense of humour.
My sister Clare and my late sister, Esme's husband, Bill wander along the bank of the creek at Crosby Park.
There never were swimming holes in this part of the creek but it was terrific for all ages to play in the water, where the youngest to the oldest could cool off on hot summer days. Bill still comes camping here with his son and grandsons.
My great grandmother's home has had a facelift since I was last home and there is a tree where there didn't use to be one, and a new fence, too but to me it is the same.
The roof and verandah of my paternal grandmother's house, where I spent the first five years of my life, was shrouded in some sort of wrapping. Looks like it, too, is getting a facelift.
