‘Maybe we should move to Tasmania.’

It was a half-formed thought, a humorous aside, at first. Then, over time, it began to crest and build.

We were in the throes of mandate madness – being cast out from the society we had always been a respected part of. Now, we tucked ourselves away, searching for jobs that inevitably drifted beyond our reach the moment we owned up to having opted out of the global experiment. Dave found remote work in the educational consultancy field, but our sense of place had been violently rocked. With family ties fractured and then half-heartedly reformed, we no longer felt that our roots belonged to Melbourne.

A friend who had already taken the plunge southwards messaged Dave, putting the little island on our radar. A Principal job opening for a Christian school had emerged. Why not consider it?

My mum was very keen. The sense of adventure called to her and she had found the perfect solution – she and my dad could do three months with us, then three months back home, rinse and repeat. Even when the mandates suddenly dropped, to all of our shock, we found ourselves still dreaming of Tasmania.

Dave started getting job offers from different local schools, but my heart wondered… what if we still answered that call to adventure?

We decided to take a trip. A ‘Discernment Tour’, Dave dubbed it (immediately bringing back echoes of our supposed ‘Mission-moon’ after a tsunami ravaged the coast of Thailand a week before we were due to celebrate there). We would scope out locations, visit schools and see if we could sense God’s direction.

The planning began in earnest and within 24 hours we had booked three places to stay (two nights in Evandale, two in Penguin and two near Hobart) and a mini-bus to get around in. It was the bus that planted the seed of extending an invitation to my parents to join us. They (almost) immediately said yes! Serendipitiously, it turned out that I had managed to book places that would cater for all of us.

Leaving in the early light of the morning, we picked up my parents on the way, congratulating ourselves when we (uncharacteristically) managed to pull into their driveway at the exact minute we had said we were going to arrive. Every part of the process went smoothly, from the carpark to check-in, the boarding and landing (except for Harvey intermittently ‘losing’ the use of his legs and deciding to lay down on the airport floor, just because). We touched down in Launceston before we knew it.

I’ll never forget the first intoxicating rush of air that flooded the plane as the doors opened. The claim that the North-West coast boasts the cleanest air quality in the world was instantly believable. It was crisp and cool, making me want to drink it in.

First up was a school tour (after our usual lunch of bakery meat pies, of course) and it felt a little strange to be wandering through the hallways and playgrounds of Launceston Christian School only hours after waking up in Melbourne. We caught up with the same friend who had escaped Victoria at the end of last year, and who had prompted our own contemplation of a tree-change, and Dave had a conversation with the Principal while we were shown around.

Afterwards, it was time to explore – Cataract Gorge being at the top of our list. Dave re-caffeinated and we hunted for peacocks and wallabies as we marvelled at the stunning clear skies and view over the bridge. It was an absolutely perfect day. Something in the air tugged at Dave and he made plans to return the next morning for a more intensive hike with the older boys and my dad.

Our accommodation in Evandale was chosen based upon the fact that it had an attic – a quality that Eli had been obsessing over for months now. The town was wonderfully quaint and filled with character, and we couldn’t wait to explore it the next morning. In the meantime, we turned up the heater and had sausages for dinner (after struggling to work out how most of the appliances worked). The kids watched Sing on repeat and had a long soak in the elaborate spa bath upstairs.

The next morning we split up. The big boys following the call of nature (for real that is, not the bathroom variety), and the girls and Harvey walked towards town. It was freezing, with mist swirling around us. Ivy and Harvey begged for gloves and beanies and it soon became a priority to find some in every shop we entered. We warmed ourselves up by the fire in the bakery dining room (trying not to breathe in the billows of smoke), and savoured a warm drink and a treat in the meantime. I bought some Merino wool socks (that I barely took off for the remainder of the trip) and we lingered over the bountiful array of knitted goods, blankets, leathergoods and preserves in the range of stores.

After regrouping for lunch, it was time for a bit of exploration. We made our way through Launceston again and then up to Low Head to see the lighthouse (which was fairly underwhelming, but it could have been the shift in the weather). Afterwards, we drove through the Tamar Valley to scope out a few properties we’d discovered online. The bus travelled well and made hopping on and off very easy. Dave was our intrepid driver for 99% of the trip.

As the sun set over the lake, we ordered Indian (from Purna Kitchen) for dinner, and got lost in Launceston’s peak hour (not as insignificant as some had suggested!) before finally making it to the right restaurant to pick up the feast. It was voted the best dinner of the entire trip – with four different curries, chicken tikka, onion bhajis, naan and dipping sauce. Absolutely delicious. Dave kept the party going by heading out for coffee with a friend and we holed up in the cosy cottage for the evening.

The next morning, we were off again, with plans to explore every town along the way.

The weather was stunning. Bright skies, clear and perfect. We stopped first in Westbury to refuel with an almond croissant. Then it was off to the local maze. At first glance it appeared easy, and we tore down the narrow passageways in the hope of being the first to the middle. Of course, it was Eli who made it (I think I was the last) and then it took us forever to find our way out again! There were plenty of laughs (and a lot of pulled threads on my red coat) and it made for an energetic morning experience.

Then we paused in beautiful Deloraine. After an initial disappointment at the local Vinnies being closed, we rallied for a picturesque walk along the river. We made our way back into town and explored another op shop, while Dad and Eli took a detour to the market, without quite realising how far up the road it was. When we joined them, we did a quick round of the stalls, leaving with some jam, a lot of chocolate, some (substandard) jam and lemon tarts and a random assortment of toys.

Lunch was a highlight. The House of Anvers Chocolate Factory, after Mum and Dad had such great memories of their last experience there. It was a stunning place, with well-maintained grounds, a chocolate-themed playground and delicious food. We couldn’t pass up an opportunity for a gourmet ice-cream on the way out, or a pose or two.

Before long, we were winding along in the shadow of the scenic railway, with the sparkle of the ocean to our right. Each new corner ushered up a new vista that we oohed and ahhed over.

Then we arrived in Penguin.