Today was one of those soul-filling days — the kind you want to bottle up and revisit on the quieter ones. I spent it with two of my granddaughters, one a bright, bubbly three-year-old, and the other on the edge of her teenage years, turning thirteen tomorrow. We wanted to do something special, something simple but memorable, and we found just that in a day spent together.

We headed to Wonthaggi, a town that always seems to offer a little surprise around every corner. Our day began with some shopping — clothes for the nearly-thirteen-year-old — thoughtful as ever and growing into herself with grace. And for the little one? Lip gloss. A soft, shimmery pink that she proudly carried in her tiny hand, feeling every bit as grown-up as her big sister. The smile on her face was worth more than a hundred shopping trips.

There’s something so precious about watching them delight in small things, choosing what they love, laughing between the aisles, and making memories in the most ordinary places. Freyja, the three-year-old, announced to us, “We can all be ladies.” I asked her, “And what are ladies like?” Without missing a beat, she replied, “They wash their shoes.” There’s a certain wisdom in that, I suppose — apparently, true elegance starts at ground level!

No trip to Wonthaggi is complete without a visit to The Coffee Collective — the town’s beloved gathering spot, or ‘the coffee collector,’ as Freyja calls it.

If you’re ever in Wonthaggi, do yourself a favour and stop in.

The coffee is rich, smooth, and bold, the chai warm and comforting, and the whole place has a buzz about it that draws you in.

It’s where locals chat, travellers pause, and everyone feels welcome.

We lingered over our drinks, had lunch together, and just enjoyed being still together.

Outside, I struck up a conversation with a local farmer who painted a sobering picture of life on the land right now. “We desperately need rain,” he said, eyes scanning the sky with a hopeful kind of tiredness. “We’ve had to bring in water — our cattle are suffering.” Yet even in that hard truth, there was a glimmer of gratitude. “Thank goodness we had such a good hay harvest earlier this year,” he added. It was a reminder of the balance between hardship and hope that so many in the country know all too well.

It’s a strange contrast — while some parts of Australia battle devastating floods, here in the south-east it’s far too dry, the land is thirsty, waiting for skies to open. Australian farmers carry so much on their shoulders — feeding the nation while battling extremes they can’t control. “Who’d want to be a farmer!” he said with a dry chuckle, the kind that hides both pride and weariness beneath its humour.

At one point, the girls linked hands as we walked down the footpath, one skipping, the other gently matching her pace. Watching them together — different in age, yet bonded in that natural, effortless way only sisters can be — was tender and unforgettable in its simplicity. Moments like that remind me how lucky I am to witness their childhood unfold, step by step.

Later, we drove out to Cape Paterson, where the playground sits just near the edge of the sea.

The tide was so high today that the ocean had swallowed the last few steps of the staircase leading to the beach.

The sea felt wild, full of power and movement, like it too was longing for something more.

The girls ran and played — the little one squealing with laughter, the older one’s smile coming naturally, warm and open, lighting up every moment around her.

The wind carried that salty, wild scent only the sea can offer.

Waves rolled in with steady determination, crashing as they met the shore.

The air was cool and brisk, filled with the sound of water meeting land over and over again.

I stood for a moment, watching the endless blue stretch out before us, the sky blending into the sea.

There was something timeless about it all — like the ocean had seen everything, and was quietly holding its secrets just beyond the tide.

It made me feel both grounded and free — like the ocean was giving me permission to exhale.

With sandy feet and windswept hair, the girls tumbled back into the car, still buzzing with laughter as we set off for one last adventure.

And to finish, we made our way to Eagles Nest in Inverloch — one of those places that never fails to take my breath away.

Nature at its most dramatic, with jagged rocks rising from the sea like something from a dream.

Today was full of children’s laughter, pink milkshakes, soft new jeans and glittery lip gloss, sea air, farmer’s wisdom, cuddles from little arms and thoughtful chats with a girl who’s growing too quickly.

It was the kind of day that reminds me how blessed I am — to be here, to share these moments, to be part of their stories.

These are the days I hold close. My favourite kind.