HOLLY WAINWRIGHT: My family 'tree-changed' one year ago. Here are 13 things we've learned.

It’s been a year. 

A year since Sydney went into a city-wide lockdown. And a year since my family packed a moving van and an all-wheel-drive with all our worldly things and drove south. A year since we left the suburb where I’d lived for over 20 years for a place we’d only been on holidays, a place where we knew precisely two people (well, five people if you included their children, oh, and six if you count their dog). 

And it’s been a year. Quite a year, really.

A year of isolation and sickness, of separation. And of reunion. And of newness. New routines. New homes. New friends. New smells and tastes. New everything.

Watch: Holly Wainwright on why superwoman is dead. Post continues after video.

After three months of living on the south coast of New South Wales, a couple of hours away from Sydney, I wrote a story about moving to the country in lockdown. You can read it here, but in it I said that I knew, really, you needed a full turn of the seasons to settle into anything new - whether it's a job, home or relationship.

And here we are. The seasons have turned. We are in the middle of our second country Winter, a time of crunchy ground leaves and wood smoke in the air. It’s a little bit romantic, a little bit freezing our tits off. 

So, one year in, what have we learned about being living, breathing tree-change cliches?

Every big decision is complicated

In the first months after we made our call to move, I felt lighter. Physically lighter, because for years, I'd been carrying around this big question - where was the right place to live? Action fixed that, immediately. It was freeing. And if I am asked if it was the right choice, then the answer is certainly yes. But that doesn't mean it is a perfect one. There are people we miss, there's a bit less back-up, the commute is complicated, sushi is scarce (yes, it's the big things)... But there are also wonderful positives. We chose this change, and there's a power in that. The space and air and beauty of the place makes me happier than I can express. Our son likes the quiet. Our daughter loves the outdoors. New friends have enriched us, and old friends haven't forgotten us.

Oh, and today, Brent and I were walking to the pub for an early evening drink and a sheep baa-ed at us from our neighbour's garden. And we both laughed out loud. Because we didn't have any sheep neighbours before.

Image: Supplied.

Weather matters - heaps

Have you noticed we’re living through a climate crisis? Yes, I’m sure you have, unless your name is Barnaby. But if you live outside of a big city, I bet you’ve noticed it more. I am not going to pretend I live on the land and have survived years of drought and fire. I haven't, and I know nothing, but La Nina has not been kind. Our town didn't suffer the unthinkable flooding of the NSW north coast, but still, roads closed, trains were cancelled, schools sent kids home, rivers spilled, tin roofs pounded, cows swam. Everyone’s vehicles got bogged. Mud was - and is - a constant interior feature. The outside is much more inside, here.

A year doesn’t make you local

The day the coffee shop guy finally asked me my name, I wondered if perhaps I’d made it. After seeing Brent and I every weekday morning for several months, I had finally earned a welcome. In a pretty place full of day trippers and tourists, names aren’t always taken by baristas. But if you’re around long enough, people notice. We are now on much more than nodding terms with plenty of people in town, but locals we are not. "If this is your postcode, you’re a local," says my generous (properly local) friend, as her husband chuckles at that very idea. My friend is being nice.

But… we're not quite ring-ins any more. 

So we’re not local. But we are, however, local enough to know a few things, and to have earned access to a few secret spots. In between downpours this past Summer, we knew how to cool down at creek waterholes I haven’t seen on any map. We know how to get to the ocean rock pool that must be protected from Instagrammers at all costs. We know where the "good" butcher is, the times to avoid "town" because the drive-through lunch crowd is out in force, and that locals never queue up for the sugary goodies that draw the day-trippers like flies. We also know the place where the sugary goodness is queue-less, and even better. Hit me up, I'll fill you in. But don't tell anyone. 

Transport matters - heaps 

I commute from the coast to the city a couple of days a week. I like to catch the train, because driving feels like dead time, and there's always a lot to do (plus, of course, there's the planet, etc). When it works, it's bloody great. I'm whizzing through spectacular scenery with my homemade hot tea and my laptop, getting a jump on the day. But too often in a state as well-resourced as New South Wales, it just... doesn't. Trains are inexplicably terminated, cancelled, stuck at a station spinning their wheels. Once, it took me five hours to get home. That wasn't a good day. Now I know why those who've gone before me laughed when I told them about my commuting plans. 

Making new friends is a mid-life surprise

I didn't know how it would go, moving at our age. Everyone already has their friends. What would I add? I felt as nervous as the kids starting school about finding my people. And it takes longer than a year to establish deep roots. There's no replacing the kind of shorthand you have with old friends. But the slow burn of building new connections is quietly satisfying. I've met really interesting people whose life experiences enrich my own. People you can call on a bad day or walk with on a beautiful sunny one. People you can invite over for a barbecue, people whose kids can come in and out of your house and yours theirs. Proper friends.

It takes a while to 'shake the city out' 

No Uber. No Uber Eats. Everything doesn't happen yesterday. Sometimes there aren't enough people and things close, or close early. It takes a long bloody time to get an eyebrow appointment. Or a doctor's appointment (almost as important as an eyebrow appointment. Almost.) Or a taxi (there is one taxi man in our town, we're not heathens). At first, all these things seem like strange little annoyances. Then I remember why we moved out of the city, and I go and see what's in the fridge to make for dinner.

Weirdly, I have rediscovered my fashion mojo

Now I spend half my life in jeans and welly boots (see La Nina, above), and sensible jackets with a pocket full of dog-poo bags. So I bloody love deciding what to wear on 'city days'. Sequins on the 6 am train? Don't mind if I do. Wide-leg jeans I couldn't be seen in at the local market? Yup. There's something about performative dressing being an occasional thing that's reignited the thrill of it.

Image: Supplied.

It's true what they say - kids are resilient little buggers

We had ruined our daughter's life, taking her out of school halfway through Year Six. That much was clear, because she told us often enough. Not a great time to move, when you're a school vice-captain, and you've known all your mates since kindy, and everyone is talking about their high school and you... don't even know where you'll be. I don't want to downplay the anxiety on my daughter's face on that first day at her new school, in a strange place, in the middle of a pandemic, when I saw her swallowing back fear as walked out of the gate. But I also don't want to downplay the joy on her face, a couple of days later, when a new friend knocked on our door in the morning to walk to school with her. My daughter did that, found new people, made new connections, carved a niche in a new friendship group. She did that on her own. And it's taught her a lot. On her first day of high school this year, she was stone-cold confident. She'd done something much scarier.

Image: Supplied.

There are no rental houses

Sometimes, you search "rentals in my area" on the real estate app, and you get two blank pages. That's it.

Listen to Restart where Holly shares why she packed up her life in Sydney, along with her partner, kids and dog, and moved to the country. Post continues after podcast.

Your city friends won’t visit

It's not that they don't want to. They do. But they're busy. Diaries are hard to co-ordinate for brunch, never mind a weekend away. There's kids' weekend sport. There are family commitments. There are places they want to go on holidays, and selfishly, it might not be your place. That sound you can hear is some of my friends yelling, 'But we've been!' Yes, yes, you have, please come again.

But you’ll love visiting them

Being 'on holiday' in your old neighbourhood is excellent. All care, no responsibility. Enjoy the cafes and the takeout and the shops, all without having to rush off to do the grocery shop, take the kids to karate, battle the traffic to drop-off... City weekends are a treat.

And then there's favourite time of the week... 

It's Thursday morning. It's a non-rushing day. I walk my son to school, along a lane lined with big gum trees. He didn't always love going to school, but in this calmer new world, things have shifted for us.

Image: Supplied.

Right now, it's Winter, and the air has a sharp smoky edge. We see a dead "zombie possum" and we hear whip birds woop. He tells me about his video games, and the book he's writing about video games. He's still little enough that he holds my hand. We see people we know and we stop and have a chat. He goes in the side gate of the little school with the big, bushy playground. And he waves a big happy wave, and he yells 'Bye Mum!" louder than any kid ought to, and he keeps yelling it as I walk alongside the fence and turn off to home. 

And he's just so bloody happy to go.

Feature Image: Supplied.