#2 A "sea change"

My son, Michael, and his partner of 8 years, Maria, have set out on an adventure - a "sea change". The term is an over-used cliché which I find irritating - one of countless emerging new buzzwords: stepping off the mundane treadmill controlled by heavy work-loads and hectic schedules, relocating to a more exciting environment in search of a simpler life with more leisure time and less stress.

Although obviously disappointed in losing their first home to their financial lender due to difficult times, they do not appear overly distressed. Rather than re-establish themselves in familiar territory, they have taken the initiative to create an opportunity to seek a change in lifestyle, leaving the Hunter Valley last weekend with their two young children, to find jobs and settle on the coast.

I admire them, and I'm proud of them. I know how tough such a major decision and upheaval can be.

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In many respects, life was less complicated and demanding 32 years ago, when, as 19-year-old newly-weds we left town seeking a new lifestyle after my husband, Grahame, was retrenched from his metal-fabrication job. But although life's pressures were fewer three decades ago, we still struggled adjusting to a sudden and dramatic relocation, so I can appreciate the apprehension of such a move in the 21st century, especially with children in tow.

Shortly after my marriage, a persistent blood clot in the leg had meant I'd spent considerable time on sick-leave, so it wasn't a crushing decision for me to give up my retail job. It was, however, unexpectedly upsetting to leave such a wonderful group of work colleagues.

We stored our few possessions, and set out from the city of Newcastle to outback Queensland, with little more than the previous week's pay packet in our pockets and a few essentials packed into our canary-yellow Mini-minor 'panel-van'. It was a whimsical venture prompted by my husband's love of shooting.

Perhaps the rural town of St George on the banks of the muddy western flowing Balonne River wasn't the authentic "Outback", but it seemed so to us. We gave little serious consideration to the implications of trading our urban lifestyle with the remoteness of "the bush". The convenience of public transport, varied entertainment venues and weekends at the beach was replaced with the rough and tough character and uncluttered surrounds of a small community with limited facilities and services.

But we were young, and not shackled by the commitment of a mortgage or responsibility of parenthood.

Temporary accommodation had been offered to us by Grahame's aunt on the edge of town. We settled into the back room and participated in a boisterous family life. Coming from a reserved household, I found this integration daunting, but ultimately it was a rewarding and fun experience. I hadn't previously known family life to be so responsive and active. There was laughter, and an openness and communication that was foreign to me in a family situation.

St George was a cotton and grain-growing district with seasonal and unskilled work opportunities, but prearranged work plans didn't eventuate for us. The government, however, rejected our application for the dole on the grounds that we had "moved to an area of low employment".

Without an income, we were thrown into an unpredicted situation which sudddenly produced a degree of panic.

But Grahame secured a farm job and we began to establish our independence. He swapped his Mini-minor for a battered Falcon ute, and we rented a house. The dilapidated timber and iron cottage and neglected yard was neither cheery nor homely, but it was cheap, and we would do our best to make it home.

Although the house owner assured us that the roof was waterproof, my few books that I'd packed for the move were ruined in a downpour. This upset me terribly, but it was the rats that finally drove us away.

Grahame's job involved ploughing and scarifying vast paddocks on an open-air tractor twelve hours a night. I recall sitting on the bed with the light on, all night, alone, too afraid to sleep, watching the rats scurry across the floor.

So I went to work with Grahame, and as soon as his lanky American boss disappeared, I'd climb up onto the tractor and spend the night on the wheel-guard. We'd break the boredom by shooting wild pigs, and when daylight arrived and his shift ended, we'd go home and sleep, taking comfort knowing that the rats should also be sleeping.

When a rat took the toast from the toaster at breakfast before we could butter it, we gathered our few belongings and moved into a rented caravan.

We still occasionally laugh about our stint in that rat-infested humpy, and the long cold nights on those huge empty paddocks, but at the time, the rats severely tested my sense of humour.

Grahame progressed to day-work, and life in the caravan was comfortable. He went pig shooting with his uncle, and we raised suckers for the table. Fishing and country driving also occupied our leisure time, along with family life with our relatives. We were fortunate to have the opportunity to visit one of the sprawling outback sheep stations where we enjoyed our brief glimpse into another iconic Australian lifestyle. Rodeos were major events and meeting places in the country, and camping in the back of our ute at the Weengallon Rodeo opened our eyes to the rough and tumble fun of a hardy bush crowd.

But when it rained, there was no work, and no pay. During an extended wet period we packed up and headed back to the Hunter Valley.

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The only regret I have regarding our stint in the bush of southwest Queensland is that I was not mature enough at the time to take full advantage of the opportunities that presented themselves. It was a memorable and exciting time in my life.

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I'm sure Michael and Maria will face challenges, and possibly even hardships while establishing their new lifestyle, but I feel confident that this will be a fantastic period in their lives; one which they will look back on in future years with warmth and pride, and much laughter. I wish them well.