Comfort in the familiar.

A reminder to worry less, find joy in the familiar and jump on a train at every opportunity...

Photo by Graeme Butler via Flickr.

I’m sitting on the train at Armidale train station. For anyone reading in the Northern Hemisphere, Armidale is a regional town in northern NSW, Australia - two hours from the coast, six hours north of Sydney and six hours south of Brisbane. The train is about to disembark on its long journey to Sydney, but I’m not going the whole way, I’ll be getting off in Tamworth. It’s the first time I’ve been on a train in regional Australia. Growing up in England the train was a regular experience.

I felt nervous last night. I checked my bag several times to make sure I had everything I needed, and for some reason I had knots in my stomach. When I checked my email, I became ever more panicked that my train tickets were nowhere to be seen. I had taken a screenshot of my seat but didn’t think to capture the booking reference.

Despite my anxiety, I slept well. The boys did too. I put all their uniforms out for them the night before, in an attempt to get into the car on time (for once). To my surprise, all of them were dressed before Nathan and I were awake - miracle! The nerves I felt last night were starting to ease. We dropped off the boys and arrived at the station with plenty of time for me to visit the ticket office to work out my tickets.

Armidale train station is beautiful. Victorian architecture, souring roof lines, recently refurbished in corrugated steel, the sunlight glistening off them despite the overcast day. Large ornate double doors and sash windows saturated in a heritage colour scheme of burgundy and mustard yellow. I approached the solid mahogany desk, its finish an appropriate deep burgundy French polish finish. The man behind the desk was friendly looking. Smiling, he asked how he could help. In a slightly fast stumble of breath, I explained that I had failed to take note of my booking reference. He simply replied, “That’s ok. Go and find your seat and give them your name.” That’s it. No arduous conversation back and forth that required me to tirelessly explain how I could have missed this important detail or that I must have entered the incorrect email address and that’s how I did not receive the tickets. As it turned out, all my energy spent worrying was wasted.

My husband walked me onto the train, finding my seat and looking around, I felt a wave of comfort, a feeling of the familiar. I was actually excited. My husband looked at me as he often does, arms folded, smiling with a somewhat bemused but enquiring expression. When I caught his eye, he asked me “What is it?” I beamed back at him. “I haven’t been on a train since I left England.” I must have had a childlike expression of wonder and excitement on my face. He pulled me in and warmly said, “Have a wonderful time honey.”

The buildings beside a railway track have always fascinated me. At some point in history, when the trains were slower, they must have all served a purpose. Pretty and considered in their features, but now abandoned and lonely beside the tracks, along with discarded timber sleepers and overgrown weeds and hedges. It seems no matter the country or the destination this is a familiar sight. Towns now sprawled out and away from the station in various directions. Industrial buildings have been purpose built in their vicinity, bearing witness to the current age, respectful to leave the old buildings intact but still distant and disconnected to a time now gone.

The landscape now whizzing by my window is new. Hills, farmland, black cattle, eucalyptus and pine trees all mingle in a blurred vision, on a path I have never taken until now. Paddocks bathed in golden sunlight. Shadows and rocks and homes I have never seen from the car. But there is a familiar tugging motion of the train wheels on steel tracks. The familiar squeaking sound of the train cart’s chains tugging each other along, passengers reading, tapping on laptops, unwrapping their breakfast. It’s beautiful. Relaxing. Nostalgic.

Glimpses of the changing season shoot past my window in flashes of deep red and buttery yellow on the tips of deciduous trees. Autumn is on its way. The joy I feel of being able to sit here and notice is palpable. The landscape goes by in blurred lines of green, brown and gold. The gold coming from the dying off of native grasses in the paddocks, dried out from the intense Australian sun over summer. This landscape is foreign to the one I grew up in, yet it somehow grounds me. I feel closer to the earth than ever before. It is raw, unkept but beautiful. Wild, untamed, unpredictable, yet enchanting. Magical. I feel a deep connection to nature here. A past life perhaps.

As the train pulls into Tamworth, the sunlight dances on the last few pages of my book. Cold enough for snow by Jessica Au has been a welcome and curious read. One I highly recommend.

I hope you can find the time to notice and feel joy in the familiar at home or in your surroundings as you go about your day. Pause and seek out a colour, form or object and allow it to take you on a journey to a special time or memory. I’d love to hear where you find joy in the familiar in the comments.

With love,

Lis x

All aboard… how a few creatives transformed a heritage train.

Myself, Annabelle Hickson

Start the Press

and Lucy Munro, boarded a stationary heritage train in Tenterfield in May 2022. Armed with a world of interiors vision, I decked out the carriage & foyer in Australian textiles, it was so much fun. If you're interested, you can see the images below or here. Galah magazine is utterly fabulous, take a look here.

Photo by Annabelle Hickson. Styled by and featuring Lisa Post Interiors table lamp & shade.

Photo by Annabelle Hickson. Styled by Lisa Post Interiors featuring Anna Spiro and Annie Coop textiles.