Beside a cafe.
Under a tree. That seemed like it was crying, as it continued to drip drops of water or diluted sap on us all day.
If anyone can tell us what sort of tree it was, we’d be most appreciative.
A child peeked inside and stated it inside was a piano computer.
A woman came hunting for us. And another. And another.
A deaf lady came came and peered inside, full of wonder.
A teenage girl came and spent a good while writing as she grappled with the typewriter. Her words made us shed a tear.
Her mum listened to the track but didn’t enter. She spoke to those wondering past though, and brought back another young girl to experience it too.
They were lovely to meet. And fed us some sour worms.
A man curious and brave who was warm with tourrette syndrome. He explained he’d had it since he was 14 and how exhausting it was. We can only imagine.
Our time in Wodonga was welcoming. We’ve never had such a variety of people enter the caravan. This felt humbling.
Their notes are now photographed and archived for those to see here.
(remember, the password is the age of the girl in white.)
We hope to take our little caravan to more country towns.