Gosh, we are enjoying it here in Penguin as much as we did ten years ago, if not more.
There’s something magical about waking to the sounds of nature instead of traffic that settles the nervous system in a way that’s hard to describe unless you’ve lived both ways. No sirens. No engines. No muffled bass from passing cars. Just wind brushing through the grass, the distant bleating of sheep, and the low, conversational murmur of goats in the pasture just beyond the house.
Seeing the goats and sheep grazing so close to us adds a sweetness to the day. They go about their business without hurry, without agenda, and somehow that pace seeps into us. Every now and then, a rooster crows as if to remind everyone that time is still moving forward, even here. The air is cool and clean, blissfully free of smog, and when I step outside for a deep breath, I can actually feel the difference in my lungs.
The sun is finally peeking through the overcast sky this morning, little shards of light slipping through the gray. It feels like a gift. After we finish a few household tasks and I wrap up this post, we’ll head out for a drive. We want to take photos while the sun is shining, stop at the pharmacy, and pop into the little market for a few odds and ends. These simple errands feel pleasant here, almost leisurely.
Downtown Penguin truly is a delight.
The quaint streets, the charming little shops, the easy parking, and the absence of crowds make it feel welcoming rather than overwhelming. It’s only about a ten-minute drive from this property, which already feels convenient. But in thirteen days, when we move into Sunrise, we’ll be even closer. Two minutes by car, a ten-minute walk.
And that walk matters to me.
I’ve been working so hard these past two months. Seven days a week of leg strengthening and physical therapy-type exercises. Along with that, I’ve added a somewhat vigorous routine to raise my heart rate. It hasn’t always been easy, especially after everything my body went through.
That 47-night cruise took more out of me than I expected. Three strains of flu back-to-back while on board left me drained in a way that lingered. There were days I wondered how long it would take to feel like myself again. Recovery, I’ve learned, is not linear. Some mornings felt hopeful; others felt like setbacks.
But here, in this peaceful pocket of Tasmania, I can feel the difference. My stamina is improving. My breathing is stronger. My legs feel steadier. The progress is real.
Soon we’ll head to the local clinic to get prescriptions for Tamiflu to take daily during the upcoming 25-night cruise. After what we went through, we’re not taking chances. Being long-term nomads has taught us many lessons, and one of them is this: preparation brings peace of mind. It’s not about expecting the worst; it’s about knowing you’re ready if something unexpected happens.
For now, though, we’re choosing to stay right here in this moment.
The goats grazing.
The roosters crowing.
The cool air brushing against our skin.
The promise of a sunny afternoon in a town that feels like it’s quietly rooting for us.
In thirteen days, we’ll be even closer to the heart of Penguin. Closer to that walk I hope to make confidently. Closer to the sea, the salty air drifts through town. Closer to another chapter in this wandering life of ours.
And today, that feels like more than enough.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, February 16, 2016:
