Creeping my car up the winding, orange dirt driveway of the now defunct Dubbo Military Museum, I’m struck by objects of wonderment. Aeroplane engine exhausts bigger than a three tonne truck, laying poignant, discarded, in the long dry grass of the outback central west. My eyes widen, magnetised, on these monster-sized metal cylinders and blades. There’s a discarded metal bus, completely rusted, oblivious to its predicament, still thriving – I am awed; this is a field of living beauty, where discarded objects have grown more lustrous with age. I pass a crane truck shell, a powdery frame of burnt brown rust; its fat wheels sit heavily, biting into the dirt. I feel like an ant driving past.
I remember the pterodactyl that greeted me at the street entrance as I pass a triceratops, standing proud among palm trees, and with one horn missing – rescued from Miniland – a fun park further north in Coonabarabran, where resident’s childhood memories were carved. It closed in 1999 after falling into decline when its founder died. A keen local had vision to keep the joy of Miniland alive by relocating the real size dinosaurs and joyrides, to Dubbo, but it did not eventuate and some of its structures were homed here alongside the sprawled military artefacts.
I pass a WWll dugout, then my destination; a heritage brick building heralding four metre high ceilings, embellished with large decorative cornices. Three metre windows are crowned with heavy curtains from a bygone era. This is my home for the next six months, having secured a rental lease. I have the most unique home in the world.
I park my car and go look through locked mesh gates. I see pieces of war history – “Dunoon” printed on a shed, white fighter aircrafts crookedly cramped, and joyride steps going nowhere, reaching into the heavens. Later, the sun set behind them, mesmerising me with soft, striking tones … and when night passed, dawn triumphed; a fiery orb, glowing orange, birthed, greeting me and the triceratops. My heart leapt!
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