Still life in the suburbs

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The internet is suspiciously quiet when I inquire, politely, about Templestowe Lower, an unassuming suburb in Melbourne’s outer west. It is variously described as “a nice suburban neighbourhood fit for families and nature lovers” with “green tree-lined streets that are perpetually quiet, save for the sound of lawn mowers on weekend afternoons”.

Having spent a chilly afternoon adventure braced against an antarctic wind harvesting street treasure with a mob of tin lids, I can attest to the somnambulant nature of this place, a thick-set hiatus of time and space, existing in its own pleasantly scented inertia.

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It is mapped by empty streets with views that stretch to a noiseless infinity. Its antithesis is a sound haze at the edge of its limits, but here, the studied conformity is silent, a hushed version of the great Australian Dream, complete with coats for caravans.

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According to an anonymous post, the “demographic of Templestowe Lower seems to be older couples with kids in their teens or twenties so there is a bit of ‘hoonage’…”, but the day we delve, the hoons are our own, a roiling barrage of noise and laughter with treasure on their minds.
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In streets with a verdant sensibility – Oak, Sassafrass, Jarrah, Blue Gum, Scarlett Ash Drive – we forage for front-yard flowers and sift for plastic turf trash in high-end council cleanups.

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And we drag our swag through safely suburban streets that form a tame trophy-home haven.

Until the 70s this area was almost entirely populated by farmers, its wide berth atop sprawling hills with spindly legs curling into the warm valleys between them the perfect climate for fruit trees. But the commercial orchards are now long gone, replaced with staid retirees and families keen to grow their young “in a wholesome environment”. Like peaches…

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A carolling magpie and the scratch-tick of time dragging its heels serenade our broad-street sprawl. A pair of beady eyes watches our noisy tribe, and empty space hosts broad panoramas of life far away.

School fields are speckled in buttercups, projecting a well-mannered sense of mayhem, while “outdoor recreational spaces” are an experiment in targeted tastefulness. Amid virulent fecundity – blooms, buds, sprays, sprigs and twigs, arboreal umbrellas with heavy-limbed weight and contoured conifers standing sentry – the kids skip, the mothers scan and the watchful bird continues his baleful guard.

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Crested letterboxes stand aloof outside cul-de-sac castles and drains are numbered individually in this dormitory of the city. It is the epitome of cultured civility, pedestrian, pedantic and very proud, a wide open space just waiting to host the brawling ruckus of life.
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Instead, it resonates with its own emptiness. For all its vegetative abundance the only other life we see is shuttered behind double-paned doors, wide eyes watching our lollopping progress (or strutting on sharp claws across the asphalt). And while rich velvety Arabian sounds sneak from lace-curtained facades and the air is thick with spice, there is no evidence of the Australian urban cultural diaspora in Templestowe Lower.
In fact, it remains resolutely floral.
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If you’re looking for trendy restaurants and nightlife, you’ll have to drive to another suburb to find it. Luckily Templestowe Lower is only a 20-25 minute drive from the CBD, but without a car you’ll likely have to catch 2-3 buses to get most anywhere of interest outside of rush hour.

One of just 82 Google search hits for Templestowe Lower.

 

 

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