That Time Of Year
It's almost an inevitable fact these days: if I have been away from home for an extended period of time, in a place that makes me stressed, tired and lonely, I try and find solace in memories.
I take the drug, the drug called Nostalgia.
I become addicted, inevitably attracted to the attempts I make at trying to remember everything about events that are now only contained in my own memory.
They are always about Ngakuru, because, for me, those times were simple. I didn't have many worries, nothing to stress me. I slept just fine. I was never lonely. I had more freedom than I will ever have again. And I was in the most beautiful place in the world.
Now I'm going to try something a little different: a visual aid. Below is a picture of a place near the farm, one of the many places I have fond memories of. It's from google maps, a website I have begun to frequent more often due to the fact that I can pretend to still be in Ngakuru. Even though pretending isn't enough sometimes.
This was my local fishing hole, a spot where I would often travel to most afternoons to go trout fishing. I never caught anything that big, but it was always so peaceful, so serene, that I would usually pay little attention to the actual fishing.
But, as time wore on, things changed. The lake began to dry up, for no apparent reason. The serenity became disrupted: the pollution that had once been covered by the water was revealed, years of farms effluent permeating the atmosphere with its stench. Swarms of midges and mosquitos descended upon the putrid mud, meaning you spent more time swatting than you did fishing. The fish moved on as well, to deeper, and safer waters.
I later found out it was the growing populations ever increasing demand for electricity that was the main cause behind the evaporation of the lake. A few kilometres downstream there was a dam. Initially, this dam didn't have to work anywhere near full power in order to provide the necessary levels of electricity to keep everyone happy, but this changed. As it began pumping more water through its concrete maw, the lake suffered. The one source: a large creek, was not enough to keep the lake full, so it emptied, until it began a shadow, a mere memory of its former self.
Nowadays, the water just flows through this area in small streams, the mud now dominating the landscape, and any knowledge that this place used to look vastly different has disappeared, apart from the memories that I have kept stored away.
Sometimes change really does suck.
Oh, and isn't that sunset to die for? It was like that, almost every single day during summer, and every other day in autumn, winter and spring.
I take the drug, the drug called Nostalgia.
I become addicted, inevitably attracted to the attempts I make at trying to remember everything about events that are now only contained in my own memory.
They are always about Ngakuru, because, for me, those times were simple. I didn't have many worries, nothing to stress me. I slept just fine. I was never lonely. I had more freedom than I will ever have again. And I was in the most beautiful place in the world.
Now I'm going to try something a little different: a visual aid. Below is a picture of a place near the farm, one of the many places I have fond memories of. It's from google maps, a website I have begun to frequent more often due to the fact that I can pretend to still be in Ngakuru. Even though pretending isn't enough sometimes.
This was my local fishing hole, a spot where I would often travel to most afternoons to go trout fishing. I never caught anything that big, but it was always so peaceful, so serene, that I would usually pay little attention to the actual fishing.
But, as time wore on, things changed. The lake began to dry up, for no apparent reason. The serenity became disrupted: the pollution that had once been covered by the water was revealed, years of farms effluent permeating the atmosphere with its stench. Swarms of midges and mosquitos descended upon the putrid mud, meaning you spent more time swatting than you did fishing. The fish moved on as well, to deeper, and safer waters.
I later found out it was the growing populations ever increasing demand for electricity that was the main cause behind the evaporation of the lake. A few kilometres downstream there was a dam. Initially, this dam didn't have to work anywhere near full power in order to provide the necessary levels of electricity to keep everyone happy, but this changed. As it began pumping more water through its concrete maw, the lake suffered. The one source: a large creek, was not enough to keep the lake full, so it emptied, until it began a shadow, a mere memory of its former self.
Nowadays, the water just flows through this area in small streams, the mud now dominating the landscape, and any knowledge that this place used to look vastly different has disappeared, apart from the memories that I have kept stored away.
Sometimes change really does suck.
Oh, and isn't that sunset to die for? It was like that, almost every single day during summer, and every other day in autumn, winter and spring.