Genetic Memory

It had been a blissfully fabulous day. Mr She and herself deciding on a day trip into the hinterland villages, to wander around the art galleries, ferret through the vintage bookshops and antique shops and spend way too much time drooling over the local fromergie cabinets. Enjoying a small treat here and there, ice cream, chocolates and fudge, all earned from the trek to the rock pools, the hike back up the hill reminding her of her age and increasing lack of fitness.

She had sat there, by that rock pool, listening to the water tumble, gurgling and speeding over the edge to land some 80 metres down the rock face to the valley below and all her stress and worries crashed over that edge with it. Dissolved, like candy floss in a martini (something she was rather looking forward to sampling that evening) and leaving her relaxed, content, the sun warming her skin, the gentle breeze carrying the promise of summer in its warmth.

She had read something years ago about genetic memory. Something about feeling a sense of belonging in certain areas which linked to your ancestral roots. She was sure this was why she always felt a lightness, a feeling of peace when in the country, the bush, (woods, forests, farmland) surrounded by rolling hills and trees, the openness and vastness delighting her senses. She had been born with the memories and experiences of those many generations before her, clearly farmers, and she was sure it was why she felt so at home here and perhaps too also explained her love of animals.

Those experiences of a distant past today felt very present as she stood on the edge of the cliff looking out over the valley below, imagining where she may have come from …. not royalty or dignitaries as one might hope, but more likely Romany Gypsy’s perhaps … linking her love of the land, of horses, of travel. Not a princess after all …. common folk! She laughed at her snobby thoughts,reminding herself she was anything but royalty regardless of how others teased her about being the Queen of Drama.

She had always joked about having Gypsy blood – aligning herself with that romantic notion of the mysterious, beautiful and exotic nomads with a passion for love and life and a penchant for showmanship. Moving from town to town as a kid and then around the world as an adult, never putting down any roots, always feeling the call of the next experience, never really feeling like she belonged anywhere. She had spent her life immersing herself to each new environment and then moving on.

Finishing the day with the decadence of the candy floss Martini she had been craving, she felt at peace, reconnected to the land, and to Mr She, quality time together they had long neglected. They had had the best day together, away from the demands and frustrations of the house renovations, of the stress of the job hunting, the demands of every day living. One day to cherish their souls – she was already planning their next adventure.