Wintering in Elwood

All sticks and limbs.

The trees, under the looming pressure of various winter deadlines, have completely dropped their bundles in recent weeks. Now they’re all sticks and limbs clattering in the wind. This has opened up more of the sky, which has been well needed.

There is far less sky over this side of the country. I have been surprised to learn this, and it has been a slight shock having come from the west coast, where, if anything, there is too much of it. Of course, this could just be where we are staying in Elwood, an inner Melbourne suburb slightly south of the city centre; I have heard reports that north of the city things seem to open up a little more.

The many tree-lined streets were a delight to walk underneath in the early weeks. All of them leaning over, forming archways and tastefully decorated with autumnal themed bunting. But as the weeks went on, it started to feel slightly claustrophobic, and crowded. The sky started feeling elusive.

What hasn't helped matters is that the apartment we’re staying in feels dark and oppressive. Whilst it's certainly not the most severe case of claustrophobia: Someone please help me, I'm trapped in a lovely art deco style apartment, and even though each room is actually quite spacious, it's also very much not open plan. Call a doctor for God's sake! Still, being inside for long periods during the winter months, I find myself with the overwhelming urge to knock a wall down. Anything to relieve the pressure.

Apartment buildings make up a lot of the housing in the area. Around 70% in fact. This adds to the unique feel of the neighbourhood. The buildings are beautifully designed, a mixture of art deco, modernist and interwar, many with their own names. And while they tend to max out at around three levels - not that high - it is high enough to form a barrier around most streets.

On busy days, I find myself desperately scrambling outside to catch the last light. Yellow sunlight and clouds having already piled up down one end of the street. Dregs of the day pooled in between buildings and below the trees like a light at the end of the tunnel. Down the other end, the moon offers some consolation, glowing feebly amongst a grey, darkening sky. Around it, the streetlights also chip in with what they can.

It's only when I finally make my way out to the beach, a mere ten minutes walk west, that I find some relief. And it all opens up. A whole horizon's worth. All that sea and sky comes rushing in and provides an instant remedy. This was what I needed all along.

It's ok, you can cancel the ambulance, I have located the vast expanse of the ocean. All is well!

You tend to forget the ocean is so close by. That's partly to do with the feel of the neighbourhood. Walking the streets, there is nothing to suggest that a few streets over you might be able to break free from the overprotective trees and go stretch your legs and eyeballs out by the sea. Elwood carries itself like a stylish inner city suburb, almost preferring to keep its association with the beach a secret. There are no beach shacks, outdoor showers or beach towels flapping on clotheslines. Or even anything that might pass as an amateur driftwood lawn sculpture. And you can certainly forget about any sea shells being stuck to the exterior of houses to display house numbers. It's far too put together for any of that.

Maybe it stems from its history of natural plumbing issues; the fact that the area was once swamp land, invoking a collective aversion to water. A constant reminder of this is the canal that cuts through Elwood and out to the ocean, having been constructed around 1890 to drain the marsh land. Prior to this, it was also a dumping ground for manure and the location of the St Kilda Abattoir. Which suggests the general attitude towards Elwood was somewhat that of the 'spare room' of the city. And rather than old exercise equipment, its various animal wastes.

Where should we put all this undesirable stuff that we don't know what to do with?

Chuck it in the swamp!

The connection I have to this place is that my Grandpop grew up here, thankfully much later than the old swampy days, but still it wasn't the upmarket area it is now (whereabouts exactly and other details aren't clear - this will require further digging through family history). Were my Grandpop still alive, I'm sure he'd describe it all as unrecognisable. It's not that surprising these days considering how many working class neighbourhoods, or just plain undesirable areas have now become fashionable and upmarket. I can imagine how, with enough time, even hell might become gentrified. And all of the older tortured souls will complain about how it was better back in the day when there were less artisanal popcorn shops and it was just fire pits and misery. Like the good old bad old days.

Writing about or making mention of winter while much of the world enjoys summer feels a bit like going to a party and trying to talk about death (or even cemeteries). No one wants to be reminded of winter at the summer party. The summer people say: that won’t happen to us, look at all this sunshine. And anyway, you're ruining everyone's vibe. Now, top me up with that bottle of Rosé you have there.

There was a period of several years where I followed the sun, enjoying endless summers, back to back. Until eventually, as it turned out, summer became quite boring. Draining even. I'd stayed at the party too long. It was almost as if the cyclical nature of the seasons was quite a good system, actually.

I'd always loved summer and how expansive it felt, and that it seemed to bring endless possibilities. Compared with winter, whose arrival was always met with a gloomy dread. Of being closed in; isolated.

Perhaps it's a change in taste or a softening with age, but in recent years, to my great surprise, I've come not just to appreciate winter, but to look forward to it. At the very least, for its gentle reminder that seasons are a natural part of life. We need the fallow times. We need to rest and retreat. All of which seems so obvious, but then some of us (me) need to learn this the hard way.

Despite occasionally micro-dosing on claustrophobia, Elwood is a beautiful area and I've loved walking the streets. This has been our first foray into house-sitting in Melbourne and whenever I visit somewhere new, I'm constantly reminded of how the lens through which we view a place is coloured by our own unique experiences and sensibilities. For now, my experience of Melbourne, a huge city, is of autumn crossing into winter, in this very particular neighbourhood, inside a dim, art deco apartment, with two bengal cats for company and a window to the outside, where sticks and limbs clatter about in the sky.

Since the emptying of the trees, I can now see once-hidden apartments coming into view across the street. And so along with the light comes the faces of strangers rushing in. It feels intimate, and oddly comforting to see others bunkering down too. All of us wintering together, having agreed to all enjoy the rest and retreat, broken only by a glimpse of the winter sun, when the apartments are quickly emptied and everyone makes the mad dash out to the coast, and we can once again all draw a huge breath.

Hey there. Hope you’re doing ok. As some background for this post, and in case you didn’t know, my wife and I are house-sitting our way around Melbourne for at least the next six months. I have no plans for any structured series on the places we stay, but I did enjoy getting to reflect on our time in Elwood, and so maybe I’ll do more. We’ll see. Living in new places tends to throw up all sorts of thoughts and ideas, and in my opinion, they should really come up with a name for that. Travel writing maybe?

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Bye for now and have a great week!