 Cotton farms were huge:  and left their mark on the roadside  Lightning Ridge:   |
St George to Lightning Ridge
We woke to the brightly sunlit silhouette of our underwear, washed the night
before and suspended on coat hangers over the dashboard, and to the
delightful smell of fresh-baked bread wafting from the nearby bakery in the
fresh morning air. As I walked to the amenities block, I met other women all
sniffing the air and smiling as they commented about the lovely smell.
We were soon on our way. I drove on the easy, straight road, stopping
briefly at Dirinbandi for refreshments consumed in a small roadside park
before we pressed on through many vast irrigated cotton fields. White cotton
fluff was very evident along the roadside and cactus plants were prevalent.
Once again, I noticed much road kill, very typical of our driving experience
and usually the site where crows and other birds pecked ravenously, leaving
it till the last moment before flying out of our way.
The van park in Opal Street, Lightning Ridge was easy to find, but made me
despondent just looking at it. Already the temperature was around 38 degs.
C and in Lightning Ridge, there was little shade. The park manager directed
us to a spot which had one small gum tree separating us from another van
parked close behind and clearly a permanent residence. Under its side
awning, lounge chair, TV set, occasional table and much domestic
paraphernalia told us that. Above all this was a satellite dish. I knew
instantly we were still out of range with our limited equipment.
By this time, we were hungry and headed for the nearby main street, wide,
treeless and dusty. I expected John Wayne and a posse of cowboys to come
riding in at any moment . . .
Finding a modest café, we were rewarded with fresh sandwiches and iced
coffees. That helped sweeten our spirits, enabling us next to tour the opal
shops. The first one, not glamorous, had glass counters under which gleamed
opals of every size, shape and colour. Some were already set into jewellery,
others not. The proprietor seemed eager to tell us all there was to know
about mining opals, cutting, polishing and layering them into ‘doublets’ or
‘triplets.’ He seemed eager to inform us that while he cut opals into
layers and polished them, his ex-partner with whom he still had a good
business relationship, had the artistry to set the finished stones into
jewellery. I wondered why we were given the benefit of such personal
information, guessing he didn’t have too many customers to listen to him,
especially older, sympathetic ones, quite different from Lightning Ridge’s
usual inhabitants. If these latter were not miners or mining support
service people, then it seemed to me they were mostly ‘edge’ people,
interesting, different and more than a little eccentric. The man quizzed us
about black opals and soon enlightened us to the fact that these have red
veins in a black matrix and are the most valuable. Then he told us the
price. Stunned, we said we had other places to check out and may be back.
We left hastily and headed for a gallery of local art works where we bought
two small prints before touring through other shops, stopping to buy
souvenirs for friends and one or two essentials for ourselves. Bruce
impulsively and generously bought a lovely gold brooch with blue opal for me
as a token of our happy time together.
By late afternoon, we were ready to rest. I cooked an early meal outside
the van and later sat in the gathering dusk watching a top-knot pigeon
scavenging around the parked vehicles and waddling in the relentless dust.
Bruce was discovering, disconsolately, that we would have no TV again. I
decided an early shower and some reading before bed was the only way to go.