Where's The Kid?

I just saw him up at the bar

I was watching Alfie ride around the park the other day and it suddenly occurred to me that most of the people here have watched him grow up.

When we first arrived, he was still learning to walk.

Then he could run.

Then he got a little trike.

Now he's on a balance bike.

When people hear we live in a caravan, they think of the caravan itself.The layout, the storage, how do you live with a toddler in there.

Every morning I pull down black out blinds and the whole space with a morning glow. It's a mild Autumn morning on this long weekend. The windows get opened to let the breeze in and the kettle gets flicked on to start another day.

Outside, the park is slowly waking up.

The people who arrived yesterday looking like they were starring in a tourism campaign with big holiday energy, are now emerging with looking disheveled. No one cares about you wearing a bathrobe robe or Batman jammies. Somebody fires up a barbecue for breakfast while I hear someone's spoon hitting the bottom of their cereal bowl in the distance

After breakfast Alfie and I go for a bike ride.

Around round the lake and through the gardens

Every ride seems to create a new interaction.

Which is unfortunate for me because this means interacting with people and I don't want to be weird so I'll participate in saying “good morning, lovely day” or some shit like that. And he continues on. To where, I don't know. I've lost track of where he is again.

In my defense, it is a 14 hectare resort and there are garden tracks and paths meandering in every direction.

The staff here are pretty used to me looking lost.

"We just saw him heading towards the sauna."

"He was down by the lodge a minute ago."

Or they'll just point in a direction

And there he is.

Somehow he's ended up at somebody else's campsite eating blueberries with a bunch of other kids.

The parents wave out.

"No, he's fine."

Campground co-parenting you won't see in real life.

But do you know who else likes to disappear?

My partner

The initial mission was to grab some filtered water and he's been gone for ten minutes and somehow he has now ended up standing outside somebody else's caravan, arms crossed, the other one has his hands in pockets. Something serious is being discussed here. Water bottles in hand.

He comes back with the full story.

"Oh yeah, that's their first night here.They only bought the caravan the other day, it was their first night in it. She really wanted a motorhome cos the grandkids are each side of Alfie and then the family can borrow it…” Chill bro, chill.

I'm blacking out at this point

But this is what I mean.

You meet people in holiday mode. I'm only surrounded by people who are in holiday mode.

You would know yourself being in holiday mode the capacity you have to engage with people who you normally wouldn't in your regular life.

There's people camping.

People glamping.

People caravanning.

People outside the bar grazing in the sun looking across to the mountains.

We have this big window out the back of our van so we set up the table and you can eat and people watch. It's dinner and a show basically.

If you're a people watcher, come to ours for dinner sometime.

People wandering past on their evening walks.

This is normal for us. It's ike socializing without commitment. Just in shorts and jandals.

As the day winds down, people start returning from their own adventures. We live in a winery region so it's either a winery tour or a bike ride. Not a normal bike ride. An E- bike distance bike ride. An all dayer.

You hear glasses clinking under awnings. Conversations, laughter. The smell of someone's steak on the barbecue drifts across the park on a balmy night. The opening of chip packets or a grazing board will be settled down on the table and the sun setting on another day.

After bath time Alfie is kitted up with a puffer vest, beanie and gumboots for our nightly walk around the park to see the stars.

He thinks the stars get turned on at night.

The palm trees are lit from below. The sound of water from the fountain is so soothing. Perfect limestone paths through mature gardens just make it feel so magical and never ending.

It's whimsical.

The lights and from the glamping tent reflect off the water and you hear people laughing. Someone lit a fire and it's such a vibe hearing music from the bistro and bar, people amble around holding hands and another person is sitting in the spa under the Milky way.

We make our way back home and the caravans are glowing like little lanterns. Little worlds. You walk past them and see someone washing dishes, another reading a book, another sitting outside having one last drink before heading inside.

At the time they were just little moments.

A ride being offered to Alfie in the cleaning cart

Staff stopping what they're doing to feed ducks with him by the pond.

A Christmas, birthday and Easter presents brought to the caravan from.

It's William from Sweden becoming Alfie's best friend for a couple of days. They played so happily that his parents extended their stay.

I remember when the owners were expecting their baby.

They told Alfie, "You won't be the baby around here anymore, handsome"

Looking back, it says everything.

They've watched every version of him.

They've watched him grow. They've watched us grow too.

Just yesterday the park owner was telling guests “Oh that’s Alfie, you'll see him hooning around here”

Every step of the way the staff celebrated him like he was one of their own through all his milestones. Watching them watching him as he learnt to ride his trike and their smile when he finally started moving on it.

The way they used to crouch down and put their hand up for a high five and now hit him with a massive hand in the air as they went past.

They know the hot wheels left by the pool was his.

They know to spell things out and we both have to figure out what the other person is spelling. Because who has time to wait for someone to spell O-R-A-N-G-E-C-A-R.

It's his favourite bed time book of “Find the snail” that was given by a staff member.

It's kicking the ball with him when they're supposed to be working.

And I think that's why this piece ended up making me emotional.

If you've read my writing for a while, you'll know I spend a lot of time noticing what's missing.

The gap between people. The gap in connection.

The loneliness that can exist even when you're surrounded by others.

Then I realised

Somewhere between the cleaning cart rides, the Christmas presents, the duck feeding, the thumbs up, the Hot Wheels racing we quietly built a family.

That gap I write about doesn't exist here.

When we first arrived, we were only supposed to be here for a little while. Then a little while became eighteen months.

Long enough for people to learn Alfie's name and for him to learn theirs, long enough for him to call them his aunties and uncles.

When people hear that we live in a caravan, they usually imagine the caravan.

This isn't about the caravan.

This is about the people who became our family found in a place where we were living in one.

A place that stopped feeling like somewhere we stayed and started feeling like somewhere we belonged.

This is a little boys childhood.

From his first wobbly steps to laps on his balance bike around the park.