A Place to Call Era

In a far away land surrounded by ocean, there's a little place called Era, that many call home.
Era is a small beach front area located in the Royal National Park of Sydney, Australia. During the Great Depression in Australia, people relocated to these beach front properties where they built modest shacks among the insanely gorgeous scenery. To get to the shacks, you have to drive about 25-30 mins into the Royal National Park and then turn off at a dirt road that is all but hidden by the brush. If you don't know what to look for, you're likely to miss it. Once parked and ready, an Era bound traveller must hike about 30 minutes (40 if you're American) down toward the elegant coast. The hike passes through forestry areas with tall trees and roots thicker than your thigh popping out everywhere. You know you're almost there when the trees open up to this beautiful grassy hill that looks like something out of a photograph. The hill is extremely breezy but it overlooks the raised, rocky cliffs of the coast with a great view of the blue-green waves crashing below. A few paces down over the hill, the tiny shacks pop up left and right. And they really are just that, tiny shacks with corrugated iron roofs and wooden walls. It's hard to believe anyone ever lived or lives in these shacks full time. Over time, these homes have been passed down from generation to generation. Most owners can trace back ownership in their families for many, many decades. It would be extremely rare to ever find one of these gems on the market, and at that, the price would never be able to cover the true value these places hold to their owners or transient guests such as myself who are provided with the unique insight into this hidden place. Because the shacks are in the national park, there are laws prohibiting any building of new or existing homes. This means that the shacks are pretty much exactly as they were originally constructed, with necessary repairs, of course. There's no running water, trash services, or any of the other amenities that we are accustomed to in our homes. Everything we ate and drank had to be packed in and out on our backs.

My wonderful and hospitable friend Rachel brought me to Era for the first holiday weekend of their summer. I guess I expected a somewhat campy environment with bon fires and card games, but what I got was so much better than that.

The first day, it rained pretty much the whole time we were there. Which would have been terrible if we were actually camping. But since we had the wonderful shack at our disposal we sat inside and did indeed pretty much play cards all day. OK... so far.. pretty campy.
The next day though, the sun was shining and suddenly there were people everywhere. To quote Rachel's mother, Anne, "You think you're completely alone at Era, but you just never are". This wasn't a campground with random people coming in and out. It was a community of individuals that had all known each other literally their entire lives. There is something so special about being tied to a group of people because of a place, and because of each others' mutual love and respect for that place. It's different than family, different than friends, a whole entity all its own; it's sacred.
Rachel's Dad, Jerone took me and her out fishing for my very first time ever. We pushed the small fishing boat into the ocean, battled the waves, and were tossed around by the passing storms' waters only to get all the way out there and realize we forgot the bait and sinkers on the beach, FAIL! I would have been livid if I were planning the trip, but Rachel's Dad was so casual about it, as many Aussie's are. He just shrugged and headed back in to grab the bait. He said he forgave us for such a foolish overlook because we were considerate enough to pack him three beers.

I never thought I would like fishing, but it was really exciting. Rachel and I caught two fish each and her Dad caught three. I would have caught three myself, but my last victim just jumped right off the hook at the last second, which, I might add, Jerone got really passionate about. I thought he was going to jump in after it! Before the poor American got REALLY seasick, we headed back in. However, the adventure did not end there. Jerone had me and Rachel kill, descale, and gut our own fish. YUCK! Except... it was more exciting than yuck. I would so do that again. Needless to say, those fish were dinner, and lunch the next day. success!

The last day of our busy weekend was the annual Era golf game. Yes, golf. Once you have seen Era, it's hard to believe that any sort of golf game can logically and successfully take place. It's hilly, twisty, and not the least bit grassy. The ground is covered in bushes and trees, and stickers, and sand. It's crazy to attempt golf. But we did, and they do every single year on this particular weekend. It was an adventure! Every time you hit a ball, your caddie, someone's younger sibling, had the very exciting task of searching for it. Searching, meaning using a golf club as a weed wacker and stomping around the area where the group agrees the ball probably landed. More than likely, they did not find it. So, you pulled another ball out of the bottomless bag and just placed it anywhere to have another go at it. This would have been the longest most unsuccessful golf game of all time if we weren't somewhat cheating... ok, really cheating, oh well! We won for the girls' team! Winners had to chug two beers... thanks Australia!
That night we attended a party for the showing of the championship Rugby game at Era's surf camp. The camp is a large shed in the middle of the houses on the beach. Here, everyone from Era came together to enjoy drinks, food, and mainly each other. To me, this event was like their family's superbowl party. When I got there, I noticed that the walls were covered with plaques and photographs. At a closer glance, I could see images of these same people from 20, 30 years prior. As someone who lacks old images of my own family memories, I was really inspired by this reflection of Era's family. I found Rachel's Dad in images of his rowing team all standing in a line wearing the world's TINIEST speedos when he was younger than Rachel is now, and of Rachel standing in the very building when she was just a tot. She was so cute, then :)

The vibe of the people was absolutely sensational. They were more easy going, friendly, and open armed toward me than I could have imagined. I felt part of the group. The building was packed with people of every age possible. There were tiny nuggets running around all over the place, teenage girls chatting in the corners, while families reminisced and elderly men glued themselves to the game. I got the feeling that only in a place like Era were these connections possible. I felt envious that Rachel had something like this she could always rely on. A place that was always home. Era takes community to a whole new level. It defines connection not just as something that you share in common with another individual but that each person was a piece of something and together they made Era.

Starting Anew!

"Happy are those who dream dreams...and are ready to pay the price to make them come true"
My father (AKA Papalardo) said this to me the other day while enjoying beers at his favorite hangout, The Yardhouse... To appreciate this quote, you have to first understand my Papalardo. Growing up, Papalardo was always ranting, "make money" this, and "marry rich", that. His best advice, when he gave it, was to make enough money, either through a successful career or via marriage, to survive 'easily'. It really used to boil my blood when he gave me advice such as this. I think I strived to do the exact opposite just to prove him that money didn't breed happiness such as he believed.
It's easy to understand, though, why Papalardo would have valued these things above others. He had struggled his whole teenage life to be the next Picasso only to become a college dropout with more kids than he had hands. When he was a teenager, Papalardo won a full scholarship to the best art school in the world, which, just so happened to be in London. Now, I wasn't alive during this time, but the story, as I have heard it, is that his parents were anxious about his traveling abroad alone at such a young age, so they moved the whole family from Texas to Arizona so that he may attend his second art school of choice, ASU. By his junior year of college, his girlfriend turned out to be pregnant. He dropped out of college to work immediately and they were consequently married. Over the next few years, although they struggled immensely, they managed to pop out three more children, including myself.
I think one day my Father woke up and was 30 with more offspring and responsibilities than he knew what to do with, more bills than he had money to pay them, and a wife who likely was losing her mind. Needless to say he was living on a edge that didn't take long to disintegrate. Now, Papalardo has four kids under his roof all below the age of ten, again. Yes, I mean NOW, as in, today. Once again, my Father has shelved his hopes and dreams for the nourishment and preparation of others'. He has not had the opportunity to dream his own big since he was 19 years old. To dream the way a child can dream; without boundaries and without limitations. That is an invaluable privilege that words cannot give proper meaning.
Dreaming was not something he promoted vigorously in the past. So, sitting at The Yardhouse and hearing my father recite this quote, I began to tear up. Could this be the same man I remember from my teenage years? Despite everything that my father has endured, is continuously enduring now, he has managed to hold on to the one thing that gives us hope; dreams. He says he dreams big still, everyday. I can remember a time clearly when I would not have believed that. I can remember a time, in my own life, where dreaming had become a difficult feat. Life can be tough. It can be strange, and inconvenient, and unpredictable. "It's the journey", Papalardo went on to say that night; "It's the journey that you remember, and it's the journey that makes you who you are".
Since I was a little girl, I have dreamed of being a writer. I used to sit in my front yard and pretend to read to a room full of people a book that was all my own. Somehow over the past few years, I have lost sight of those dreams. I found myself making plans for grad school in an industry that I knew I really wouldn't like, and applying for mediocre jobs that I knew would never leave me fulfilled. Why was I steering myself directly away from that which I wanted most? What was I running from? The truth is that writing doesn't scare me, but failing at it does. Failing at my dream scares me more than anything in the world. But, Papalardo is right. Failing shouldn't scare me, but rather the failure to try. That should be what I am most afraid of.
So, here it is: The Krissie Tate Show! I am going to fill this blog with my thoughts and words and hopefully, just hopefully, my dreams will manifest into something tangible.