Thanks Millthorpe, that was fun, your impact is tattooed on our souls.

When I’m not looking in the mirror, I’m still a twenty five year old hyperactive single guy with endless energy and a thirst for dynamism. But, when I actually look in the mirror it’s a little different to that. There’s a few wrinkles, no hair, a gut that’s not exactly rippling, and doing the sums from 1966 until now tells me that being aged twenty five is a bit of a stretch.

For the last 11 years, life in Millthorpe has provided us with everything we could possibly have wanted. For those who live on acres, either 7 or 700, this is preaching to the converted. An infinity view from the back deck, space to blat around on motorbikes, smack hockey balls, kick footballs, chip golf balls and throw the ‘Vortex’, not to mention raising sheep from paddock-to-plate and getting 4 eggs a day. Close enough to walk to the pubs and to Tonic, yet far enough away to feel like we were the only people on earth. With our youngest aged 7 when we made the move out to the Mill of Thorpe, the timing was perfect for us to live the ‘lifestyle property’ life as our family grew up. From the eldest learning how to squeeze the ute through the back gate while he was 13, to the joy on the face of the half-pint when she awoke to see the hours-old baby lambs frolicking in the August snow, to just this year, as the youngest  (now 19) played The Last Post on his sax in isolation out on the road for the appreciative and emotional neighbours – the memories are plentiful.

Staying fit and fast is never a problem when you live out of town. Living 7km from the main highway makes for an ideal there-and-back run as the City2Surf approached each year. Punching out the Sunday morning runs in the winter winds, fog, icy roads and -4 temps will live long in the memory. The best fitness over the Millthorpe decade were our adventures to the Kentucky forest on the other side of Neville. Many Sunday’s from April to September featured the same ritual … grab the online permit for $25, grab whichever kid was keen (or not keen), trek out to the forest in the ute with trailer, cut and lug massive logs for a few hours, then worry about the splitting when we got home. The sweat generated by this seemingly endless task in the quest to stay warm was well worth it. The heat created by a log fire simply can’t be replicated by electricity or gas.

The 4wd ute served us well. With just over 340 000 k’s on its clock now, it taught all 3 kids how to drive a big manual car (a skill I firmly believe should be compulsory for all Australians to have), it will now be able to have an easier life with no wood to lug or other rugged tasks in its semi-retirement.

Well, here we are in town. We’re not 25 anymore. Slowing down a bit. A new life in our mid-50s. A smaller house, kids all grown up and living their own lives. The obsessions with cutting wood, fixing fences and maintaining a 5 bedroom house are no longer a priority. The biggest adjustments for this writer will be not being able to play the ear-blistering music whilst cooking the barbie, and sneaking out for a wee off the verandah whenever I wanted (hey new neighbours, sorry you had to read that here). We’ll still venture out to 2798 to visit Tonic, a beer at the pubs, the markets, and a romantic hand-in-hand walk around the village.

Millthorpe, we are in your debt. That was a blast, we won’t forget you.