Deborah Forster

At the beach, the air itself seems blue and the sea is the colour of blue whales. Out there, white dashes are cresting waves because after the heatwave, the wind is high and fresh.

During the recent searing heat, we dashed down to Melbourne to meet our new granddaughter, and to help look after her three-year-old brother. There, we discovered a beautiful new baby with a dark cap of hair and indigo eyes who is loved by everyone who sees her. Her brother survived our care, though when I checked on him at 10pm that night, I found legs dangling from the bed as if his arms were stuck in a parachute. I put his legs back and he didn’t wake, oh for the sleep of children.

I still remember who looked after our kids as the  chain of them were born, the first two, mum did and for our third child, a friend came in the middle of a rainy night to take care of the girls while we headed to Clayton and the Monash medical centre crawling along the freeway in a wild storm. He was born in November, the time of warm storms and jacarandas. Clayton is still on his passport.

Now we’re back at the beach looking at skies and enjoying the view of the lighthouse and the steep ochre track that cuts through the scrub to it. People toil like ants to get up there even on these boiling days.

This is the first summer we’ve been down here for a while. There are various reasons for that, but seeing summer here again here and the sheer light of it, is almost a relief. The landscape is alive with people, bugs, happiness, and ease.  Fish and chips for dinner, a combined effort stir-fry, eggs and baked beans and barbeques, all together in the evening. Community living is good for kids and it’s good for grandparents too. We’ve been at the house for two weeks with six adults (at times) and up to four kids. Some of the parents have had to go back to work. But to have the kids come upstairs for a glass of cordial, bringing drawings and thoughts, is a beautiful thing.

The other night my daughter and I were on the deck chatting,  giving baby Ned a bit of air before bed. The  fresh air can reset them somehow.  We looked out over the shed with the tea tree sweeping the roof and suddenly blue wrens landed all over it like fairy lights. The birds visited for a few fleeting seconds and then lifted up like blue leaves. They stopped us talking. Their delicacy and smallness was a wonder.

Earlier, the kids and I had  buried a rosella we found dead after the heat or a storm, its plumage still alive with crimson and green and so unspoiled it could have been alive. Made me think of the Monty Python sketch about the dead parrot but I kept that to myself.  It was sad, the small things will get you every time and children get that.

The next day, Alice was hanging out the washing and a brown snake went by and slipped under the house. She was relieved it took off so fast. Now the kids make stomping noises outside, which is not a hardship for them. Later, I was cleaning the windows from small handprints and a lady bird seemed stuck to the glass. It flew off, all orange dots and clockwork wings. Perfection smaller than a fingernail.

Not all of our diversions are about nature, but some come back to them. Our eldest grandson Alfie, (six) and I went looking for books at the op shop but the only books washing up on their shores these days are cookery, crime, and romance. As we walked to the car, a huge pale spider,  ran out from under a rubbish bin and headed for a fallen  tree branch looking for shelter from onlookers and the sun. Alf went quiet, then said he didn’t like it, understandable  because it seemed a bit of a monster. So, we talked about that and how it was running from us, not to us. It wanted nothing to do with us and it ate mostly bugs. He accepted that.

Now, I have six grandchildren, every one of them a complete individual. And I think of all the other grandparents  and that makes me recall Joni Mitchell again in ‘Hejira’:

‘I see something of myself in everyone

Just at this moment of the world’.

There are so many grandparents, most of us giving love at Olympic levels. I still remember my own, Nan and Pa whose kindness was a balm.

I’ve spent a lot of time with Ned lately who will soon be one. I suspect he likes my watch more than he does me, but I feel honoured that he’s now trying to bite my nose with his hard little gums, something he usually only does with his mum and Alfie and Hazel. He’s a sandy-haired little fellow with sweet blue eyes who likes to lay his head on velvet cushions. Ned is always after softness.