The Youngs live in Young –a small town just over the Blue Mountains and another 3 hours South of Sydney. However, Charles tells me that his family has no relation to the Youngs for which Young is named.
We recently took advantage of another rainy weekend to drive over for a visit. The scenery on the way was gorgeous. Big beautiful green cannons of nothing but miles (or kilometres) of trees. We hope to come back and camp soon, so we’ll get better pictures then.
On the way, we passed a curve in the road where Charles and his Dad had passed an accident 20 years earlier. A motorcyclist had crashed and was already surrounded by the ambulance and other curious motorists. His Dad pulled over and approached the scene. As one of the best emergency specialists in the country, he was able to save the man’s life. At one point the man gained consciousness and said, “Fuck!” Charles’ Dad replied, “Mate, if you can say fuck, you’re going to be ok.” Charles remembers being proud of his Dad for the first time. So, for all of you Dad’s of 12 year olds, all you really have to do is save a life.
Later we passed another curve. This is where Charles crashed two years ago, totalling his brother’s car and shattering his right shoulder. The other driver wasn’t as lucky. This was the first time Charles had been back since. That time his Dad and Mum met him at the hospital and had driven him back to Sydney afterwards. With only one arm, Charles needed help with everything, including taking a shower. As we passed the spot, he was happy to see that they had at least lowered the speed limit through the section. If it were a movie, we may have seen flash backs of that afternoon, but in real life it was a quiet moment in our car. Charles slowly relaxed again and we continued drive.
As we neared Young, the land began to get drier and started to look more like Eastern Oregon. In fact, their home is in an area that very closely resembles The Dalles and Dufer. But instead of the illusive families of deer, they have shy packs of kangaroos. Sometimes they come right up to the house.
We arrived just in time for dinner and a quick walk through their little orchard. They have peaches, nectarines, lemons, oranges and cumquats… Most of the trees are covered with nets to keep out the roos. But outside of the fenced off area, their philosophy is “if it’s meant to live, it will live.” They’ve planted all sorts of indigenous trees and shrubs on their property. It’s rugged and gorgeous country.
On our tour, the conversation naturally turned to snakes and spiders. As Charles likes to remind me in his off handed way, Australia is the home to the most deadliest reptiles and many legged creatures in the world. His mum casually dismissed the possibility of meeting any of these poisonous friends. Said that she might wear boots if she were to venture into the thick of the shrubs, but other than that it really nothing to worry about. “Oh, so no spiders in the house then?” I asked. “No, no.” she says, “well, except for the tarantula in the living room.” But he doesn’t count apparently because he’s only the size of a hand and his poison will kill you in a couple of hours–plenty of time to reach a hospital.
Oh and there was the time, his Dad told us a bit later, when a King Brown snake was caught in a net in the shed. But really, Emily, it’s not a worry. Sleep tight.
The next day we went for a bit of wine tasting in the area. Then back in time for Charles’ dad’s bruschetta. His Mum took a look at carpevia and read the section on Charles. She says he’s always hated to lose. When he was 7, she asked him why he wasn’t entering the community bike race with all the other kids. He said, “because I won’t win.”
His Mum said that she didn’t know where he got it, because they never pressured any of the kids in that way. Perhaps it is simply in the example that they set. They have extremely full lives. His Mum is a diagnostician, a chest specialist and developed the first training program for physicians re-entering the field after taking a few years off (particularly women who have had children). Now in their retirement, they are still very productive, managing their land, travelling extensively, making all sorts of homemade chutneys, jams and pestos. They designed their home themselves, building in a solar-energy system and importing the tiles from Indonesia and Italy. At one point Charles’ Dad asked me, “what do you do with your time?” I hemmed and hawed. While I know that this time that I’m spending thinking and writing is invaluable, it’s certainly not something I can put on my resume. And I’m very much aware how lucky I am to have this luxury. But still, what do you say to your boyfriend’s father? “Well, Dr. Young, I am using this time for my spiritual growth. If I can reach a true connection with a higher power, then all of my actions will be grounded in the right motivation and will work towards the higher good for all.” But I didn’t want to make a bad impression so I said, “Um. Writing in my journals.” I’m pretty sure that did the trick, but I think I might also start looking into a couple of writing contests.
But soon our lovely weekend in Young came to an end and we made our way back to Sydney, our backseat stuffed with tomatoes, herbs and plum jam.