A week at the beach does wonders. There is just no substitute for some time immersed in wilderness – the ocean or the mountains or the bush – to get sane again. It is a major failing in our economic system, that it undervalues this experience. It treats everything that is “priceless” – long walks on clean sand, our climate, our air, our wildlife, sunsets and sunrises, stars, our relationships with each other and other species – as valueless. It’s a collective delusion as dangerous as any loopy cult.
I swam every day, went for long long walks, thought up dozens of new recipes to try out, came off my pushbike and found a very nice ambo to bandage my knee, and read six books in seven days. I ate fish every day (the benefit of a partner who loves standing on a rock staring out to sea with a fishing rod in hand), and had a lunch of local whiting better than even my own at a cafe called Rustic Table in Woolgoolga. And I collected a big barrel-load of seaweed for this season’s seaweed brew. It won’t be ready for the leafy planting days this coming weekend, but it will be just about right to use on the fruiting plants a week later.