When Quinn woke up we walked along the shore, past the fishermen's camp, to where freshwater springs seep through the dark sands, cutting a path to the sea. While it is always protected in the shelter of the peppermints, it is this warm elbow of the bay, where fishing boats shelter in the lee of the islands, that gives Cosy Corner its name. Lewis made a dam while his dad dozed on the warm rocks, out of the wind.
I first camped at Cosy Corner the night before arriving in Albany eleven years ago to find a home. It was the first time I had used my new hiking tent, bought in my final days working at an outdoor gear shop while I finished my degree. I had just graduated from university and was moving south to take up a cadetship at a regional newspaper. The world awaited. I dreamed of overseas postings, or at the very least moving east. I found a cottage by the sea and started work, tabulating sports results and the shipping news and filing at least five stories each day.
One day a wide-eyed boy came knocking on my door. An old friend from university, he was now teaching in a tiny town just beyond the mountains that rise out of the flat plains of the Great Southern. He took me to see a band at the pub and two weeks later asked me to marry him.
We always knew that this was where we would raise our family. So it seems the right name for this blog. Our cosy corner, snug between the trees and the wide blue sea.