If These Walls Could Talk — A Tribute to the Heart of the Shearing Shed

There are places in the world that hold more than memories — they hold the hum of a lived life, stitched into timber, dust, and the laughter that never quite leaves. For me, a shearing shed is one of those places. It’s where stories settle into the rafters, where childhood lessons are learned between the fleeces, and where generations return to remember who they are.

In this poem, If These Walls Could Talk, I share a glimpse into the shearing-shed world I grew up around — a world of hardworking hands, warm cups of tea, and the unmistakable symphony of a shearing day. These walls have seen everything: kids tumbling into wool presses, shearers napping in unbaled fleeces, the sharp scent of fresh scones mingling with lanolin, and the camaraderie that grows from long days on the board.

This piece is a love letter to farming life — to the mateship, the mischief, and the moments that stay with you long after the shed falls quiet. It’s a celebration of rural Australia, of family, of the stories we pass down, and the ones the walls keep safe for us.

Step inside, breathe in the memory-dusted air, and listen closely.

If these walls could talk… this is what they’d say.

Sometimes the best adventures aren’t planned — they’re the ones waiting quietly beside the road, asking us to stop and look closer. On a rainy drive home along the Calder Freeway, curiosity led me to finally pull into Organ Pipes National Park — a place I’d passed countless times but never explored. What I found was a hidden pocket of wonder just outside Melbourne: ancient basalt columns rising above Jacksons Creek, blue wrens darting through wet bushland, and that unmistakable calm that comes from slowing down and being truly present.

Tired from a long day on the road, we pulled into the KOA in Kerrville, Texas—just looking for a place to crash. What we found was bone-dry ground that laughed in the face of tent pegs and had us wondering how we'd ever sleep. But laughter led to luck, and a kind-hearted upgrade to a simple wooden cabin turned our dusty misadventure into one of the most memorable overnights of our journey. That evening, we dined high above the Guadalupe River, watching the sun dip low over the cliffs—blissfully unaware that the same river would be making headlines for very different reasons 13 years later.

Wandering Georgetown, Penang is like flipping through the pages of a living storybook—where every street corner holds a mural, a memory, or a memory worth savouring. In January, as the city gears up for Chinese New Year, its colonial streets come alive with colour, culture, and creativity. From iconic artworks to hidden alleyway surprises, and from red lanterns strung across ancient temples to the quiet discovery of a fading Batik tradition, this is a place made for slow, soulful exploration. Whether you’re travelling solo or with a few like-minded wanderers, Georgetown invites you to get a little lost—and fall a little in love along the way.

There’s a quiet kind of magic that lingers on the Domino Trail. Beneath towering gums and over forgotten rail bridges, we walked 12 slow kilometres from Trentham to Lyonville and back—training for the Cotswold Way, but gaining so much more than miles. This wasn’t just a walk; it was a reminder that the best travel moments often unfold in the hush between footsteps, the scent of woodsmoke, and a hot country pie shared at journey’s end.

Tucked into the heart of Transylvania, Sibiu is a city that feels alive with whispers of history and heart. Terracotta rooftops peek through snow-dusted skies, pastel houses watch with half-shut “eyes,” and every cobblestone seems to carry a story.

From the legendary Lovers’ Bridge — said to groan beneath the weight of unkept promises — to the sweeping views atop the Council Tower, Sibiu invites you to pause, breathe, and fall quietly in love with travel again. Its old town hums with charm: market squares linked by winding alleys, cafés tucked beneath arcades, and a rhythm that feels both timeless and alive.

For those of us who travel to feel, not just to see, Sibiu is a gentle reminder that the most meaningful journeys aren’t about ticking off sights — they’re about keeping promises to yourself.

Step onto the bridge. Wander the squares. Let Sibiu remind you what slow, soulful travel feels like.

Some skies are meant to be chased—others are meant to be felt. Out on the mallee plains, where the horizon stretches wide and the world quiets down, sunset arrives like a soft exhale. The colours don’t shout; they melt—deep ambers, honeyed golds, and the warm glow that tucks itself gently into the heart. It’s the kind of light that doesn’t ask for attention yet somehow gives you everything you didn’t know you were missing.

Out here, stillness isn’t empty. It’s comforting. Familiar. A reminder that some landscapes don’t demand your awe—they simply invite you home.

Want more soul-soaked scenes and wide-sky wanderings? Follow along on Instagram @EmilyAmeliaTravel for stories crafted for women who roam with heart and purpose.

Some moments in travel stay with you not because of where you are, but because of what you feel. Standing among more than 71,000 people at the MCG for the Anzac Eve match, I felt it all—unity, reverence, history, and the quiet power of shared silence.

From the Light Horsemen carrying the eternal flame to the haunting stillness of the Last Post, the night unfolded like a living memorial. And when Melbourne’s victory song echoed around the stadium, it carried me back to my own memories of country footy glory and the simple pride of belonging.

If you ever find yourself in Melbourne in April, the Anzac Eve game is something to experience with your whole heart—part ceremony, part sport, and entirely unforgettable.

In the quiet embrace of Balik Pulau, I pedalled past misty paddy fields, Malaysian and Chinese fishing villages, and roadside stalls alive with local colour. A gentle detour led to a small goat dairy tucked between rubber trees, where the day moved slowly and stories lingered in the air. This morning ride offered more than a view—it opened a window into Penang’s rural rhythms and the enduring simplicity of village life.

Originally written on December 15, 2012, this post captures the bittersweet transition from life in Calgary back to the familiar warmth of home. After emotional goodbyes, a marathon journey across continents, and the joy of a Mallee homecoming, these reflections celebrate the beauty of slowing down, reconnecting with loved ones, and rediscovering the simple magic of country life.

There’s a special kind of magic in setting off on a road trip the day after Christmas—when the world is still wrapped in warmth, quiet, and possibility. Leaving Dublin on St. Stephen’s Day, I traded festive stillness for the promise of Ireland’s northern coast. From the colourful charm of Carlingford’s medieval streets to the wild drama of the Giant’s Causeway and the soft, seaside calm of Portrush, the journey unfolded like a series of living postcards. It was a day stitched together by breathtaking landscapes, quiet reflections, and the simple joy of discovering beauty in every bend of the road. This is the Ireland I keep returning for—timeless, welcoming, and endlessly enchanting.

On Day One of our Camino journey from Sarria to Morgade, we walked through centuries of history, rural Galician landscapes, and hydrangea-lined paths. Join us for reflections on ancient cemeteries, piggery memories, and the quiet joy of simply putting one foot in front of the other.

Three years after our Camino dreams were first postponed, we finally arrived in Sarria—backpacks packed, boots laced, and hearts open. This was more than just the start of a walk. It was the beginning of something we'd held onto through lockdowns and longing.

Revisiting Dublin: A Journey Through Memory and Discovery

In "Revisiting Dublin," Emily Amelia invites readers to accompany her on a heartfelt return to Ireland's capital. Through vivid storytelling, she captures the essence of Dublin's vibrant streets, historic landmarks, and the subtle changes that time brings. This piece not only reflects on personal memories but also offers fresh perspectives on the city's evolving charm. Whether you're a seasoned traveler or planning your first visit, Emily's insights provide a compelling glimpse into the soul of Dublin

There are places in the world that feel less like destinations and more like encounters—and the Giant’s Causeway is one of them. Sixteen years after my first visit, I returned on a wet St Stephen’s Day to find its magic not only unchanged but deepened. The basalt columns glistened beneath the drizzle, the Atlantic roared against the cliffs, and the legend of Finn McCool felt alive in every ripple of wind along the Antrim Coast.

With winter’s quiet and the coastline’s wild beauty all around, this was the Causeway at its most intimate—a place where ancient myth and raw nature meet. From the windswept trail to the rope bridge at Carrick-a-Rede and a warming whisky at Old Bushmills Distillery, this corner of Northern Ireland remains a landscape of stories, storms and unforgettable moments.

Nestled among Romania’s snow-dusted hills, Bran Castle rises from the landscape like something out of a storybook — its spires piercing the crisp winter air, its walls whispering legends of centuries past. Known worldwide for its connection to Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the truth behind this fortress is far more captivating than any vampire tale.

Traveling from the charming town of Brașov, we arrived to find the castle draped in soft white snow, its quiet beauty magnified by the stillness of winter. Inside, narrow stairways twist through intimate chambers once touched by Queen Marie and her daughter, Princess Ileana — women whose real-life stories of resilience and grace outshine fiction.

Visiting in winter felt like uncovering a secret. With only the crunch of snow beneath our feet and the hush of the wind through the Carpathians, Bran Castle revealed itself not as a haunted lair, but as a home — filled with warmth, memory, and history.

Chugging through Storybook Landscapes: Planning an Epic Train Journey Through Europe
Dreaming of winding through Eastern Europe by train? In this post, I share my ultimate guide to planning a magical, slow-travel train adventure across Europe. From choosing the right rail journey’s to uncovering off-the-beaten-track towns, this is your ticket to a cinematic European journey—one station at a time.

Reflecting on the quiet tension between rootedness and restlessness—how home can hold us, even as our hearts reach for the road. I share what it feels like to leave, to return, and to carry pieces of each place within me. This isn’t just about travel—it’s about belonging, becoming, and the beauty of being in-between.