Roots

My family have a shack on the beachfront in a teeny tiny town on the lower Yorke Peninsula. This week, I packed the Amy Butler Weekender and the next generation and we drove down to spend a couple of days with my dad who was there fishing for a couple of weeks.



I find that some people use the term "shack" very loosely. I remember going to a friend's shack at Goolwa when I was about 16 - they had air-conditioning and Italian ceramic tiles on the floor. Shack indeed! Rest assured that I am not one of these abusers of terminology. Our shack is just that - it hasn't changed much since our family acquired it 50 years ago.

This is our air-conditioning....


I kid you not. And let me tell you - it does not cut the mustard on a 40 degree day in a shack made of fibro with a tin roof and no insulation. Talk about sweat! In my day I have bitched long and loud about going to the shack in the Summer - but still every Christmas I drag myself down there for about a week.

This week Dad was re-cladding our toilet...no such luxuries as a flushable potty at our place...we have a drop toilet. Here is the old one - it hasn't been in use for as long as I can remember and is now home to bees.


But on the flip side this is our view



At this time of year the weather is gorgeous - nice sunny days and nights cool enough to light a fire. And best of all we have the entire beach to ourselves. Perfect for collecting shells....




Or doing a spot of sewing....



Or walking a constipated, screaming baby to sleep...



For letting time stop...

Air-conditioning and a flushable toilet aside, we're lucky.