Went to the salvage yard today, in the hope of finding some old roof tiles that match those on our roof - no luck- but the salvage yard itself was really interesting, and proved to be a surprisingly fun place to visit with the kids.
There were all sorted of wonderful things at the salvage yard - old doors and windows, bath feet, old singer sewing machines, "interesting" garden ornaments and relic machinery. There was also an odd collection of archaic advertising sculptures. One piece involved a life size man riding upon a flying fish - the breeze stirring the contraption in a way that caused the fishes fins to move up and down in a flying motion, and the man's legs to turn, as if he were riding a bicycle - quirky indeed!
The kids had a million questions as to what was this old thing and what was that, but were particularly taken by an old fashioned type writer with sticky, clunky keys. Although I can't imagine hacking out a piece of writing on one of those nowadays (spell check... need I say more?), I do like the heavy clicking sound the keys make - there is something deeply satisfying in that sound, as opposed to the quietly industrious and unobtrusive tap of today's lap tops; all hushed and unwilling to disturb or cause a stir. The old type writers seem to punch the paper with determined zeal, as if applying CPR in the hope of giving the words real life, breath and voice, along with an accompanying exclamation mark to accentuate the points raised within the document.
We managed to escape the salvage yard empty-handed, and began to head for home via the coast, but decided to stop when we came to Port Noarlunga. Although Port Noarlunga isn't too far from where I live, I must say, I have never spent much time there. Noarlunga, a nearby 'burb, is a bit shabby and rough around the edges...in other words it is considered a bit feral, but Port Noarlunga is a bit of a surprise, with a gorgeous beach and sand stone cliffs. The day was perfect - a beautiful 25 degrees, so we bought the obligatory ice cream and headed out to the jetty for a bit of a stroll. Many people were out fishing, but most were mumbling about not having caught much, which was evident by the numerous empty pails positioned hopefully and at the ready, foot-side. I dare say the emergency helicopter doing sea rescue training nearby might be considered a glaringly obvious reason as to why the fish weren't biting, but hey, what do I know.
I am not really one for beach swimming, so Ashley took the kids down to the waters edge for a paddle, while I walked along the rocky edge to survey the scene and absorb the energy of the seaside. I actually felt rather renewed by the experience and was thankful that I thought to gather up my camera prior to leaving.
I always find restitude in the seaside. To me, the seaside always has atmosphere, even when I am its sole admirer on a given day. The sea just is. It orchestrates for itself, simply because it is the sea's way. It is rhythmic and always in tune. Simple words came to mind, just through sitting amongst the rocks and observing, words such as LICK - as the tide crept in touching the sands that had been left to dry since the tide last went out. CONGREGATE - to a yacht sailing in through a small gathering of other yachts anchored close to shore. HEDGING -to a line of rods leaning against the jetty railing - one lone guy seeming to be minding them all or tending them all - who is to say. DIAMONDS - to the sunbeams glistening off the water. TEXTURE while marveling at the many and varied materials represented in this one seascape; the clear slick water; the soft wet sand, giving like warm wax; the salt encrusted dry beach sand, cracking under foot; the sand stone cliffs that had been sculpted into gentle rolling shaped; and the granite underfoot, hard, jagged and pot-holed.
I wasn't gone long, but it was enough. I returned to watch the kids happily playing in the sand, already saturated from running and "accidentally" falling into the water. The joy we found that day.......
While we spent the entire afternoon jetty-side, there are other walks that one can do at Port Noarlunga. One I would like to do another time, leads over a river and winds through the dunes, opening up onto the beach perhaps 600 metres south of the jetty. From the road that meanders far above the board walk, one could see kayakers paddling down stream, and pelicans cruising the waters sage-like. Nevertheless, I leave a couple of pictures captured from the day's visit.