Finding the right property in the country was proving difficult. This place sounded idyllic. It boasted a creek, populated with platypus, meandering through the property. On reaching Kempsey we headed west following the Macleay River. We dreamed of picnicking by the wide expanse of water and getting to know the folk in the arty crafty hamlets we were passing through. Before long we were heading up the narrowing road that ended in Armidale on the New England Tablelands. Never having been good with windy roads, steep drops and heights my fear levels were starting to rise. When we turned off this road to the right, the road narrowed even further, turning to dirt with hairpin bends and nowhere to go but down even if a small mistake was made. I started screaming like a banshee “Turn around. We’re not buying this place so go back.”
“No we’re going. We rang, they’re expecting us. It’d be rude not to show up.”
“There’s no point. We’re not buying it. If we did I’d never leave. I want to get off this road. Turn around” I screamed but to no avail. When Roger had made his mind up it was not easily changed and he had absolutely no empathy for what he saw as my irrational fears.
He’d put up with me in Europe on the roads there where he’d learnt to ignore me when I screamed as the fear took hold, quietening as the fear intensified and the colour drained from my body. I’d silently sob, my eyes wide-open, pupils dilated, barely breathing consumed with terror. My heart pumped with such speed it felt as though it would jump from my chest whilst my stomach sank drowning in fear.
Finally we arrived and were greeted warmly. “ You know” the man said “we get quite a few calls from people saying they are coming but they never turn up.”
“I can understand that” I responded. “If I’d had my way we wouldn’t have either. That road is terrifying.” The place was beautiful and although the creek babbled over the worn stones with the trees casting gently moving shadows I was not to be swayed in my resolve not to purchase.