I visited the small country town where Darcy grew up over Christmas.
To be clear, calling Moonambel a ‘town’ is incredibly generous. There’s only 167 residents (according to the 2016 census) – it’s no wonder not a single colleague or friend could place it on a map when I shared my holiday plans!
Of course, this did not dampen my excitement for this ‘suburban girl goes country’ adventure. Not only would it be the furthest I’d have travelled since the pandemic, this was the perfect opportunity for me to meet and (obviously) win over Darcy’s parents.
What do I mean by “suburban girl” anyway?
Growing up in Auckland, New Zealand, I spent my formative years within a 30 minute walking radius from the suburbia starter kit: gorgeous beach, shopping centre and local public school.
All my basic needs and more were fulfilled in that bubble.
I’ve always assumed most kids lucky enough to live in this part of the world (with a few key caveats) would’ve had a similar experience. I had no idea how unrelatable my upbringing was to Darcy and vise versa until we began sharing childhood stories with each other.
What do you mean Linda had to gather firewood and heat up water for you to have a shower? Are your fond childhood memories really throwing piles of bricks at the wall and sticking your leg into the river as leech bait? Did you and your best friend spend an entire weekend cycling back and forth (thrice) through the mountains because a girl he had a crush on lived in the town on the other side?
How strange, how fun, how exciting!
As soon as I arrived in Moonambel, I begin experiencing the ‘foreignness’ of the experience for myself.
First stop was the winery Linda works at.
All is normal as we wait patiently for her to close up shop… except for the delicious smell of turkey wafting through the building on Christmas Eve. Understandably out of place, particularly after everyone else has gone home.
Why did we smell turkey, you might be wondering? Well with no oven in her house and having built up excellent rapport with the chef, it made perfect sense to Linda to pull out a few favours for our visit.
A few hours later, with delicious turkey in belly and mission top of mind (to make Linda love me more than she loves her son), I offer to do the dishes to show my gratitude for the feast she put on for us.
Immediately, I could tell Linda was a bit uncomfortable with the idea. She says yes begrudgingly, then hovers over my shoulder as I scrubbed turkey stuffing off one plate after another. I didn’t think much of it, chalking it up to the politeness dance around guests helping out with the clean up or wanting to make sure I was cleaning the plates up to her standard.
In my mind, I did a decent job. Linda didn’t really say anything to the contrary either except a gentle reminder for me to turn off the running water when I wasn’t actively rinsing a plate. After she goes to bed, Darcy and I debrief, agreeing that we may be being too pushy and doing something wrong without realising. Tomorrow shall be our opportunity to learn from observation.
As we polish off our plates on the evening of day two, I have my game plan in mind.
Soon, with drying towel in hand, I am perfectly positioned to watch Linda’s every move as she begins the clean up process.
Immediately, I notice that she opts for an entirely different method of dishwashing than me – filling the sink with warm soapy water like a bath for the cutlery and plates. After the plates are clean, they are removed from the soap-sudded and scrap-filled water and are immediately air or towel dried.
Whilst not exactly a revolutionary way of doing dishes, particularly for my Caucasian friends, I remember discovering this style of cleaning when I was 11 years old.
At the end of our soft-tech (cooking) class in school, the teacher asked all the teams to clean up. There was a distinct moment where I scanned the room and froze in horror.
“How can they not rinse the soap off the dishes? There’s bits of food in the water they just pulled that out of…why does the teacher not care? This is so gross!” I whisper to my fellow Asian friend.
“I know, I don’t get it too, but just do it like we’re told.”
As dramatic as it sounds, in that moment, it felt like my upbringing, identity and world view was being fundamentally challenged.
At this point, I should probably explain how I do the dishes. You may read my description and say “duh”, much like what I expected of my classmates and teacher on that fateful day 12 years ago, but I’ve learnt many life lessons since then, including to never assume anything about anyone – not their experiences or the way they do chores.
Maggy’s guide to dishwashing
- Fill a bowl with warm soapy water, this is your “main bowl”
- Take dish sponge, and clean all your plates/pots/cultery, dipping into the main bowl for more soapy water as needed
- Run everything under running water to wash off soap and dry