I am home safe and sound from Tasmania, my head and heart full of stories and experiences to share with you in the months to come. But first I need to finish documenting my heart-strengthening adventures solo camping and solo hiking in the Bunya Mountains.

Thanks to the valiant Old Ladies of Courage who provide beacons of fearlessness for me, my remaining days were ones of peace.

Every morning I would wake well before sunrise, thoroughly rested after sleeping on my teetering pile of mattresses in the cool mountain air. Fortified by hot coffee and fried potatoes and sausage, I spent hours each day hiking the trails in and around Bunya Mountains National Park.

I loved it. All of it. The broad trails spongy from thick layers of fallen leaves, wallabies and bush turkeys scavenging for food in the undergrowth, and, most of all, the trees.

The trees are different here. Ancient. Their roots cavorting and twisting in delightfully eerie patterns that make them seem as if they might go ambling through the forest at night once all the humans are tucked away out of sight.

They make me feel safe and secure, for they’ve stood so long, seen so much, yet just keep standing and growing.

They also comfort me, for they remind me that even though they’re surrounded by other plants and trees, they still have to do their own growing. They have to push up through the rainforest canopy to find life-giving light. They have to send their roots out to nourish themselves. And when they get injured by storms or humans, they have to heal themselves and keep on going, scarred but magnificent.

They remind me that in life we are alone, but not alone. We may be surrounded by life and light, close to others who support, cheer, and encourage us, but we still have to grow and strengthen and heal alone. We have to do the work of thriving, of claiming a spot for ourselves and searching for light and nourishment until we find it.

But we’re luckier than the trees. If we can’t thrive in the spot where we’re planted, if we are withering from abuse, neglect, and lack of nutrients for body and soul, we get to pull ourselves up by the roots and plant ourselves somewhere else. It is hard, and scary as hell, but we can do it.

It did my heart good to see lush life in the rainforest, to see that even with only a few hours of sunlight each day, these plants are verdant and healthy and strong. That is comfort to me. None of us live in everlasting sunlight. We all experience darkness, sometimes horrible darkness that seems to last forever, but there is light, and if we are brave and look hard, we can find enough to keep us going until the darkness lifts.

I’m so thankful for the light-bringers in this world. Those who speak love and comfort and truth, those who say nothing but give amazing hugs, those precious few who reach into our darkness with flickering candles and say, “This way, darling. You’re almost there.”

We need each other. Sometimes we need the light, and sometimes we get to be the light, and sometimes we’re so tired we just sit like fungus on an old log and look odd but interesting.

Today I’m grateful for life, for as long as we’re alive, there’s always hope.

There’s the hope of strong minds and healthy bodies and true friendship and real love and safe homes and enough money and even hope for simple, good things that do nothing but bring us joy.

Today those things include cuddling our new Rottweiler puppy, Fezzik, making medieval shields with Bear for a local school, and getting ready for the arrival of lovely medieval friends tomorrow. I’m sure looking forward to big hugs, good talks, and cooking sausages over the campfire.

What little things are bringing you joy today? xo