Myrtleford, Victoria

Someone once said that you never recognise an eagle as being an eagle until it has flown away for good. That is true of my town. It was not until I had left my town that I realised the charm, the peace, and the way that it had somehow penetrated my soul.

Myrtleford is a small country town in the state of Victoria in Australia. It has a population of about three and a half thousand people and is situated in the mountains, the high country. I spent my awakening teen years in Myrtleford and return every so often to visit family and friends.

This town which I love, which has become a very part of me is far and away an ordinary town. There is nothing overtly spectacular about it. There are three public hotels, a football team that generally struggles but did win a premiership some thirty odd years ago. There are two schools and the normal array of shops, services and ecumenical churches.

Myrtleford is in essence no different to any other town, but it has one difference, it is my town. This place does not have to be different. This town does not need to be anything out of the ordinary, its beauty, and its charm is not measured by the wondrous natural views that surround it or the festivals it has each year.
It is beautiful because it is my town, I still read the charming weekly small town newspaper that makes me laugh and cry when I look on the classifieds to catch up on news of people I know I walk those streets with a sense of pride, mingled with regret and with a passion that is beyond expression. My town to me is a mixture of nostalgic memories and a desire to return and make a new life.

I don’t know if I will ever return to live in my town, part of me says it is impossible and the charm would wear off, the memories fade and the all too present sense of reality would leave my town to curdle in my heart. Another voice however says, one day I will return, not like a Douglas Macarthur but like the prodigal son, returning to the place which will run to meet me with its memories and its heart beat.

Whether my destiny rests in my town or not one thing I can realise on reflection is that my town has in fact penetrated the walls. It is a geographical place, which I am talking about, but inside me it, is not geography, it is not mere lines on a map. The contours of my heart have wound their way around the lines of my town and turned them into a living entity, which breathes inside me.

My town is not geography anymore, my town is memories mingled with desire for a life that I will always want and know that I never will have.

Sean H

Submitted: Wednesday 28th January 2004, 11:23 PM

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