Sweet Wayfaring

We are climbing now through the rain and mist towards our dear Blue Mountains home. But turning into the driveway and looking at our garden you may well think they should be called Green Mountains ... what a soothing sight for sunburnt eyes.

Here's the building Charlie was sketching. In the 1860s it was known as the Shamrock Inn. It is not as well preseved as the sandstone buildings but has lots of character. I particularly like the horse trough. JM said he would like to see the artist's sketch so I have appended another couple of photos of Charlie to today's post. He was only starting so it looked rather unpromising, but his finished paintings show its potential. Musing: From The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes "The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding Riding-riding- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door."

Taking the lead from my friends over at 100 strangers I asked Charlie if he would mind me taking his photo. He was sitting sketching one of the old buildings at Hartley. We had such a lovely chat I was reminded of when I was a country girl who talked to anybody and everybody. I resolved from that day forward to talk more to people I meet -- it makes life so much more interesting. Musing: Conversation by Elizabeth Bishop "The tumult in the heart keeps asking questions. And then it stops and undertakes to answer in the same tone of voice. No one could tell the difference. Uninnocent, these conversations start, and then engage the senses, only half-meaning to. And then there is no choice, and then there is no sense; until a name and all its connotation are the same."

Just over the mountains to the west is the town of Hartley -- a wonderful assortment of sandstone buildings dating from convict times. In those days, when it was a three to four-day horseback ride to Sydney, Hartley was designated as a future regional centre. Farms like those in yesterday's photo were developed in the area and the settlers were assigned convicts. Quite often, though, the convicts got out of hand and by the 1830s there was a need for a police station and court house. The Hartley Court House, one of the standstone buildings, was built in 1837, mainly to cope with these unruly convicts. Today the town is heritage listed. While it is lively enough during the day with visiting tourists, there are just two families left actually living in the town. Musing: From Old Botany Bay by Mary Gilmore "I was the conscript sent to hell to make in the desert the living well; I bore the heat, I blazed the track- furrowed and bloody upon my back. I split the rock; I felled the tr...

I like the view driving down the western escarpment to the lowlands beyond. Over the years getting a good navigable road down the steep descent was a challenge. This photo is taken from Barden's lookout near Mount Victoria. From it (but not in this picture) you can see Mitchel's Victoria Pass of 1832 and below that the line of Berghoffers Pass of 1912. Victoria Pass was brought back into use in 1920. Musing: Three-Mountain Pass by Ho Xuan Huong "A cliff face. Another. And still a third. Who was so skilled to carve this craggy scene: the cavern's red door, the ridge's narrow cleft, the black knoll bearded with little mosses? A twisting pine bough plunges in the wind, showering a willow's leaves with glistening drops. Gentlemen, lords, who could refuse, though weary and shaky in his knees, to mount once more?"

So we are off again, driving up the mountains to reach the other side. On the way we pass this brightly decorated art studio near Blackheath. Would you believe when the artist painted it, some people complained in the local paper about the nude. Musing: As far from pity, as complaint by Emily Dickinson "As far from pity, as complaint -- As cool to speech -- as stone -- As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone -- As far from time -- as History -- As near yourself -- Today -- As Children, to the Rainbow's scarf -- Or Sunset's Yellow play To eyelids in the Sepulchre -- How dumb the Dancer lies -- While Color's Revelations break -- And blaze -- the Butterflies!"

Before we head off on our next adventure, I'd like to tell mention the joy I have been getting from following the 100 strangers blog this summer. Before 100 Strangers I used to sneak shots like this. This striking couple were dining near The Hattery in Katoomba -- a great advert for what a good hat can do. The Hattery Cafe is also a good spot for a coffee and cake. Musing: To a Stranger by Walt Whitman PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me, I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you—I am to th...