An exploration of late life in rural Tasmania and the relation between people and place - Master...

1 | M y r t h e F e l t e n A u g u s t 1 5 t h 2 0 1 6

Master Thesis Cultural Anthropology

Radboud Universiteit Nijmegen

Myrthe Felten – s4399641

Nijmegen, August 15th

2016

Supervisor: dr. Hans Marks

“I tend to stick it out here as long as I can”

An exploration of late life in rural Tasmania

and the relation between people and place


Word count: 25 962

Picture front: Ruth (66) in the South West national park, one of her favourite places in Tasmania. © Felten


Abstract

This thesis addresses the experience of rural aging in Tasmania. As in many other countries

throughout the world, Australia’s older population is also set to grow extensively. Of the

Australian states, the island-state Tasmania has the oldest and fastest growing aging

population. Most elderly remain in their own home as they age, outside the capital area of

Hobart. To further enhance the knowledge about rural aging in the anthropological field I

explored the lived experience of rural agers in Tasmania with regard to place attachment. In

this thesis I argue that the feeling of place attachment with an area that seems to be dislocated,

and therefore may seem like a place where people would not age well, turns out to be a

necessity to do just that. Exemplified with three case-studies I describe that the feeling of

physical, social and autobiographical insideness strengthens people in their aging process.

Their experiences with the rural lifestyle and the bonds they have with their lifeworld,

enforces people’s will and ability to age in their own locale, even if that comes with

dependency upon others as well. Keeping in mind the metaphysical thought of being rooted in

place it is not certain if the rural lifeworld will remain a good place to grow old as people age

further. Until that time, however, their lifeworld positively influences people’s well-being.

There is no better place to stay and age then in their own locale. These findings may have

some consonance with rural agers in other western countries, and this research is meant to

give further comprehension about the lives and well-being of a growing group of people and

the role that (attachment to) place plays.


Content

Abstract 3

Introduction: late life in rural Tasmania 5

Place attachment and the lived experience of aging in a rural residence: 8

a literature review

Research setting: introducing the ‘dislocated’ area 17

“To live here you gotta be extra-ordinary”

Working in the field: immersed and disconnected at the “edge of civilisation” 21

Physical insideness: devotion and resilience through familiarity 27

“They have always lived here and know how to cope with having nothing”

Social insideness: joy and dependency through (social) connectedness 37

“I would have to disconnect myself, wouldn’t I, to become disconnected”

Autobiographical insideness: fear and strength in being out of place 45

“Your place is here, where you identify with”

Concluding chapter: the strengths and the pitfall of rural place attachment 55

“I tend to stick it out here as long as I can”

Literature 61

Appendix 66

Corpus of the data 66

Map of Tasmania 73

Picturing the scene 74

Road sign in Queenstown, a familiar sight in rural towns. © Felten


Introduction: late life in rural Tasmania

I am very blessed, because I can get out. I can get out of my house every day.

Summer, winter, autumn or spring. Get into my car, or walk anywhere I want to. If I

get out into the garden, I can do such a lot of things. But I cannot get down on the

ground, because it is so hard to get up, so all my work is done with a long hover. And I

have a gardener, that is why I say I’m very blessed, I’m very fortunate. … He does a

lovely job, I couldn’t possibly do it. … If I didn’t have good health and I needed

attention, I couldn’t cook for myself and I couldn’t do all the things that I normally

have to do I’d be lost. But I can do all those sort of things, so I am, I just stay here.

And I don’t wánt to move at any time. But if I have to move, of course you have to

move. No one knows. But I am quite happy to be here forever. And I don’t know how

long forever goes on, but forever and ever as far as I’m concerned never ends.

– Barbara (93)

This thesis makes use of a narrative approach to illustrate the experience of aging on

Tasmania’s countryside and the relation with place attachment. It is based on fieldwork that I

conducted from January 22nd

to May 6th

2016. Tucked away under its mainland, Tasmania has

the largest and fastest growing population of elderly in Australia (Jackson 2007, 18; COTA

2013, 39). A country that, more so than other western countries, is well-known with the aging

phenomenon (Davis and Bartlett 2008, 59; Jackson 2007, 18; Teitelbaum and Winter 1985,

68). Like Barbara, so too are many others in Tasmania. They remain in their own home as

they age, in a rural lifeworld, outside the capital area of Hobart (COTA 2013, 18; ibid., 43;

Davis and Bartlett 2008, 56).

Although several theoretical and empirical researches in the field of gerontology have

been carried out on aging people who reside outside urban areas in different local contexts

(see Krout 1988; Rowles 1988), there is an absence of studies that explore rural aging on the

level from which Barbara experiences it herself. The ‘rural’, as well as the diversities of

‘elderly’, tends to be overlooked (ibid., 104; ibid., 115-116; Fraser et al 2002, 160-168).

Barbara, along with other elderly who live in a rural locale, are consequently marginalised

and subordinated, especially in relation to other age groups or elderly in metropolitan areas

(Bryant and Pini 2011, 137-154; Davis and Bartlett 2008, 57; Powell 2001, 118-119). Their

lives “must be made evident and valorised” further as to explore different narratives of a large

and growing group of people (Chalmers and Joseph 1998, 155-157).


I chose to study this in relation to the concept place attachment, because this concept

shows how rurality and aging are intertwined with each other on the personal micro-level.

Anthropological literature on the phenomenon of place attachment offers the knowledge that

changing bodily bounds, such as loss of mobility and independence, and socio-cultural

changes, such as rural restructuring and the deaths of age peers, can lead to isolation and

dislocation for older people (see Woods 2005; Hoon 2014; Fogg 2000; Rubinstein and

Parmelee 1992). Yet, until now the relation between place attachment and the rural aging

experience has rarely been studied. Nor has qualitative anthropological research about this

theme been conducted in Tasmania. Therefore, to see how attachment to place resonates with

a rural lifestyle and getting older, I interviewed and observed 31 people between the age of 62

and 93 in different rural localities in Tasmania. I arranged to stay with three hosts in order to

gain access to people and localities that would have been difficult to reach otherwise. I lived

with Lester (65) and Collette (63), with Chris (64) and Frances (63), and with Ruth (66). I

also spent time in the country towns Coles Bay and Zeehan. During this time I learned that the

emotional tie of being attached to a rural locality is an influential aspect in the lives of my

participants and their feeling of well-being. I address this in the coming chapters with the

following research question: In what way does the feeling of being attached to place affect the

experience of aging in rural Tasmania?

This thesis starts from a literature review concerning old age and rurality. These

concepts are analysed and criticised from an anthropological perspective on place attachment

as to grasp a better image of the intersection between aging and rurality. Intersection in this

case refers to the place where both identity markers cross-cut each other; the mediation

between them (Lutz 2010, 1650). In the following chapter I introduce my field. I explicate in

what locality my participants are set, as to place their personal experience into the macro-

ecological context. Thereafter I give account of the used methodology and the process of my

research. My ethnographic chapters are subdivided in accordance with Rowles (1984, 129-

130) partitioning of place attachment.

In the first ethnographic chapter I describe how participants addressed the feeling of

physical insideness and how this form of attachment is at play in their lives. In the second

chapter I describe the way in which people expressed social insideness and how this feeling of

integration interweaves with the aging process. In the last ethnographic chapter I relate place

attachment to autobiographical insideness and how the extent with which people said they are

bonded to place can influence the mind-set of rural dwellers. In these chapters I use case-

studies of, consecutive, Redge (70) and Christina (69), Ruth, Chris and Frances, and a few


other small cases. In the conclusion I describe what strength, but also what pitfall comes forth

through place attachment and I provide the answer to the research question. The shown

findings in this master thesis may have some consonance with rural agers in other western

countries, and this anthropological research is meant to give further comprehension about the

lives and well-being of a growing group of people and the role that (attachment to) place

plays.


Place attachment and the lived experience of aging in a rural residence: a literature

review

Set in the rural locale my research holds one main theoretical theme, it being place

attachment. Within this theme there are several subdivisions that need to be taken into account

in order to grasp an understanding of rural aging. Before I come to the analysis of my field

data I therefore outline the concepts I address in these chapters. First I discuss the discourse of

both ‘the rural’ and ‘the elderly’. Subsequently I explicate the meaning of rurality, as this is

an important domain through which to understand experiences of locality. With the use of the

theory on place attachment I then outline how (loss of) connection to the rural area can

influence the lived experience of aging people who live in such locales.

‘The rural’ and its aging people (or not?)

“As a cultural construct, ‘the rural’ and the equally common terms ‘the bush’, or ‘agricultural

land’, have tended to be commonly used in Australia in a rather homogenous and

undifferentiated way to refer to the wide counties of the Australian landscape that lie outside

capital areas”, Hogg and Carrington (2006, 6) state. Such concepts accentuate differences

between urban and rural environments and overlook intra-area variation within them (Rowles

1988, 116; Krout 1988, 104). Yet, in Australia, as in all parts of the world, “there are many

ways of inhabiting rural space and many different and diverse groups who do so” (Hogg and

Carrington 2006, 7; see Fraser et al 2005, 289). ‘The rural’ is not in itself explanatory. It can

even be seen as problematic and inadequate, because it cannot account for the wide diversity

of people lifeworld’s (ibid.; Krout 1988, 105; Rowles 1988, 115)

The stereotyping of place not only compresses a diverse cultural reality, it also leads to

an image of stereotypical people, namely the ‘rural others’ who reside in these areas (Hogg

and Carrington 2006, 4; ibid., 7). Take for example the images of hard-working farming

families or the idea of conservative and cohesive communities (Fraser et al 2002, 289). ‘Rural

others’ are deemed invisible and insignificant (Hogg and Carrington 2006, 7). Not only is

rural difference itself “denied, excluded or silenced”, so too are people who live in a rural

environment (ibid). Especially in Australia, where a large group of aboriginals reside in rural

areas, this is striking. In Tasmania they are literally silenced as it is often thought and stated

that there are no more Tasmanian aborigines since the mass genocide in 1824-1847 (Breen

2011, 71-73; Flanagan 2002). Whilst aborigines still live there, they remain unrecognised.


Although the aging of the population is a well-known contemporary phenomenon

taking place throughout the world, particularly Australia is familiar with this process.

Australia, and especially Tasmania, is currently experiencing an aging process that will extent

over seventy years because of a “disproportionate” magnitude and lengthy baby boom

(Jackson 2007, 13-18; Hugo 2014, 2; Teitelbaum and Winter 1985, 68). The majority of this

fast growing group remain in their own home as they age, outside the capital area of Hobart

(COTA 2013, 18; ibid., 43; Davis and Bartlett 2008, 56). With regard to the aging

phenomenon it seems that rural elderly in Tasmania, as elsewhere in the world, face a ‘double

marginalisation’, since “they suffer the disadvantages of being both old and rural” (Krout

1988, 107; Rowles 1984, 130). The concept of old age is namely often approached through

the western hegemonic discourse. This discourse gives predominance to economic, social and

physical decline of agers and this group has been problematised throughout the twentieth

century and continues to do so today (Bryant and Pini 2011, 133; Powell 2001, 118). Old age,

for example, points to the last phase of life, wherein both bodily and mental functions slowly

decrease (Encyclo 2016). The aging body is a write-off, subjected to decay and, thus, leads to

an adverse quality of life (Powell 2001, 118).

This discourse has been starting to shift over the past years. That aging might actually

be something positive comes forth in ethnographic studies from, amongst other, Dychtwald

(1999) and Singer (2015). In Older and Bolder Singer (ibid.) writes against the anxieties and

stereotypes of the decades that come after the age of sixty with stories of “productive old

age”. Based on the lives of women over sixty in New-York and Melbourne, Singer (ibid., 7)

describes that her participants are joyful and active people who are, and remain, engaged with

life and with people. Singer, herself being in the early years of sixty, concludes she has much

to look forward to in the “third stage” of her life (ibid., 6-7). Gerontologist and psychologist

Dychtwald has a more economic approach to aging. In Age Power: how the 21st

century will

be ruled by the New Old (1999) he argues that the United States of America is becoming a

gerontocracy, but that aging people could be migrating into the most powerful years of their

lives (ibid., 235-236). From a strong demographic position they have the potential to realise

their full intellectual influence in politics, as they exemplify a new kind of wise and mature

leadership. Other studies also suggest that getting older “might not be so bad” and that the

latter days of life can be lived audaciously (Henig 2013; see CBS 2013; Friedan 2006).

Several studies refer to this as ‘aging well’: pointing to the quality of life that elderly have; the

health, happiness and well-being of a person.


Rather than seeing old age as a written of subject of decay, Singer (2015) and

Dychtwald (1999) recognise that it is more accurate to see old age as a process, or in other

words, as aging. With the concept of aging it is acknowledged that “changes in bodily ability

and the ways of using the body often occur slowly and almost imperceptibly” (Bryant and

Pini 2011, 134). Bodily decline or disability is not a permanent or definite part of aging.

Rather, people move across different stages of bodily change, with which increasingly more

defects come to light, like rigidness or arthritis. As the body gradually changes or forsakes, a

person may also change or adjust his or her lifestyle “to incorporate both loss and new bodily

performance” (ibid.).

Although the collective term ‘the elderly’ points to transitions and experiences that

affect all elderly, the rural hegemonic discourse and the rural setting produce extra, distinctive

constructions for so-called rural agers (Chalmers and Joseph, 2006, 392; Bryant and Pini

2011, 133). This is because most knowledge about rural agers stems from macro-ecological

contexts, such as urban and rural comparisons (Krout 1988, 104; Rowles 1988, 116-118;

Davis and Bartlett 2008, 56; Fraser et al 2005, 160). This comparative perspective only

reinforces the false homogenisation of diverse rural localities and how and by whom these can

be inhabited. It consequently results in conclusions that rural elderly are worse off than urban

elderly, because they live in less adequate housing, have lower incomes, fewer available

services and poorer health, as has been done in the United States or New Zealand (see Krout

1988; Woods 2005). On its own, the nature of the macro-ecological context, whether urban or

rural, is an inadequate predictor of an individual’s aging experience (Rowles 1988, 118;

Chalmers and Joseph 1998, 155).

Concerning (mental) health and aging in Australia both Davis and Bartlett (2008, 59)

and Fraser et al (2002, 292), therefore, criticise the lack of understanding the complexity of

rurality and healthy ageing in order to study the local experiences of aging. Although health is

not the main focus in this thesis, the findings of Davis and Bartlett (2008) and Fraser et al

(2002) show that within a very small area there can be major variation in the lifestyle and

well-being of individual old people. While, it is indeed the case that the environmental

context has an effect on the local and specific experiences of people (see Chalmers and Joseph

2006) local experiences cannot be enfolded within these single, homogenous and hegemonic

definitions (Davis and Bartlett 2008, 59; Fraser et al 2002; Rowles 1984, 130; ibid. 1988,

115-116; Krout 1988, 104; Powell 2001, 119; Bryant and Pini 2011, 117-136). Not only the

western discourse on aging, but also the discourse on rural areas, thus, cannot account for the

diverse experiences within these concepts. A focus on these definitions result in a failure of


understanding rural aging, as local impacts on people simply have not been documented

extensively enough in order to do so (Chalmers and Joseph 1998, 155; Krout 1988, 112).

Since there is a growing number of aging people who reside in the countryside, amongst other

in Tasmania, a better understanding of their lived experiences and life circumstances seems

logical (COTA 2013, 18; ibid., 43; Davis and Bartlett 2008, 56).

Rurality: an important identity marker for ‘aging in place’

In order to better understand life’s experiences of elderly in rural places an emphasis must be

placed on the micro-level; the local environment where experience and reality takes place, as

has been argued by Lutz (2010) regarding migratory processes in European countries.

Although the hegemonic discourses on the macro-level do affect the aged (Bryant and Pini

2011, 133), the aging process is part of life’s experiences and should be studied in the local

context.

In order to grasp the micro-experience it is essential to realise that the aging

experience is a personal phenomenon that takes place in the unique lifeworld of a person

(Rowles 1988, 120-121). So far I have based this chapter on literature stemming from social

sciences other than anthropology, yet especially this science is qualified to create more depth

and understanding to notions such as aging and rurality. Perceptions of aging in daily practice

are namely influenced by intersectional aspects, such as gender, lifecycle, age and class (Lutz

2010, 1650; Bryant and Pini 2011, 141-142). Diversity also comes with different ethnicities,

different social positions, emotions, dreams and ideals, agency or social constraints that

humans encounter (see Thai 2005; Gale 2007 or; Coe 2008). This means that different social

actors have different gendered meanings and experiences (Bryant and Pini 2011, 125-131).

For example, although the life-expectancy has already improved by ten to fifteen years since

1962, the life span of aborigines is still around ten years lower than other Australians. Though

this cumulative fact is only visible on the macro-level, this life span differential shows that

ethnic diversity alone leads to different narratives and experiences about aging (ABS 2016a;

AIHW 2015, 6). All these intersecting factors are identity markers that shape and reshape

lived experience.

Regarding the experience of growing old in a rural area it is especially important to

acknowledge ‘rurality’ itself, or in other words, the rural lifeworld, as an important influence.

The complexity of intersected identity is not static and cannot be universalised because stories

and emotions are “partial, temporal and also geographically bound” (Bryant and Pini 2011,


149). Life is experienced from a certain location during a certain time and this locality, in this

case rurality, is intersected with other markers (ibid., 141; Fogg 2000, 11). I therefore see

rurality as an important intersection, because it provides insight on how localities in which

people live shape, or at the least, influence lived experience.

To explore this, I have made a distinction between a socio-cultural and an ecological

environment. Broadly speaking, the rural lifeworld is a space into which a person is set and

that comprises his or her personal context, “the lifestyle he or she pursues and the values he or

she cherishes” (Rowles 1988, 121). Within this definition, the ecological environment of a

person points to the landscape in which he or she is set; the macro-environmental context that

frames a personal context on a micro-scale (ibid., 118). The socio-cultural environment is

seen as the micro-surroundings of an individual, such as his or her home, social networks he

or she has, services he or she uses and possible family members living nearby. The

relationship between these two types of geographical and environmental bounds and how they

influence the aging experience is explored with regard to place attachment in the following

section.

Place attachment: emotional ties with a rural area of residence

Important when recognising rurality as an identity marker is the fact that rurality is bodily

experience, “the body being the medium through which place is lived” (Bryant and Pini 2011,

141). The locality people live in often has an emotional significance, and people can link

themselves to a geographic location, whether it is in a negative or positive way (Ponzetti

2003; Tonnaer 2014). This emotional connection between a person and his or her

environment is called place attachment. It is a “set of feelings about a geographic location that

emotionally binds a person to that place as a function of its role as a setting for experience”

(Rubinstein and Parmelee 1992, 139). Places such as home, community and land are both

lived as remembered and arise from personal beliefs, characteristics and feelings, as well as

through people and their experiences with that place (ibid., 140; Ponzetti 2003, 1-2; Kellaher,

Sheila and Holland 2004, 68). ‘Place’ is thus evoked through emotion, cognition and

behaviour ascribed to that place (Ponzetti 2003, 1).

The phenomenon of place attachment is a common one (ibid.). A famous example is

that of Bourdieu (1977) who examined everyday life in France and Algeria, and how human

beings behave in particular spatial settings. He revealed that ordinary experiences and

practices that take place in environmental contexts evolve into habitus (ibid., 72-95; Kellaher,


Sheila and Holland 2004, 65). Habitus unknowingly internalises norms and values, ways of

thinking, perceiving and performing, and establish custom and culture. The environmental

setting is incorporated into a human being, Bourdieu (1977, 95) teaches, which means that

place is also part of the life course. A place can change over time, different persons can relate

differently to a place over time, as has been argued by Tonnaer (2014, 251) as well regarding

the bond that people have with nature. A place can also disappear in time, but that does not

mean that the sense of that place, or the attachment to it, disappears as well. Place is, thus,

enacted upon through the connection people have with it. It is therefore important that

attention is paid to place in order to grasp an understanding of how people see their immediate

environment and how this shapes their practices.

The phenomenon of place attachment might especially be significant for agers who

always lived in a rural environment. This becomes clear when place attachment is made

researchable with the use of Rowles (1984, 129-130) conceptualisation. He partitioned place

attachment into three related aspects: autobiographical, physical and social insideness. The

first aspect, autobiographical insideness, refers to an attachment that arises “out of a lifetime

in particular environments” (ibid.). Physical insideness, the second dimension, means that

people feel “familiarity with the physical setting” (ibid.). Social insideness, the third aspect,

points to a form of social integration with age peers and with the local community.

In light of the first aspect it becomes clear why place attachment can strongly reside

within older people. Autobiographical insideness exists within the larger context of the life

course. This form of place attachment has originated and grown during a person’s life

(Rubinstein and Parmelee 1992, 139). That rural agers in Tasmania express this feeling of

attachment is visible in the simple fact that they keep living in their current environment for

as long as possible (COTA 2013, 109). This phenomenon of ‘aging in place’ can be related to

the experiences people have with the life course in their locale, the memory people have with

it, but it also enables people to maintain a sense of continuity; to maintain the attachment that

spans a lifetime (Rubinstein and Parmelee 1992, 139-140; Hoon 2014, 4).

These reasons to age in place also refer to the second aspect of place attachment.

Physical insideness points to the familiarities people have with their locale and wanting to

maintain the continuity they have with their lifestyle. “Rural elderly may secure a source of

identity, refuge, and comfort” through their attachment to rurality, as has been argued by

Ponzetti (2003, 2) in Illinois. It can be a way to protect oneself against change, but the feeling

of familiarity with the locale also further ties people to place.


This feeling of belonging can be rooted within the locale itself as well as within the

socio-cultural environment (ibid., 9). Social ties, for example, are important to elderly because

it is a way to stay engaged in the local society, as came to the fore in Hoon’s research in South

East Queensland (2014, 2). Being socially integrated and having a feeling of social insideness

with people around them is also a reason for older people to remain in their own home as they

age. The third aspect of Rowles (1984, 129-130) conceptualisation of place attachment is thus

another dimension in people’s connection to the locale in which they live. Attachments to

land or people keep the past alive and help to maintain and strengthen a sense of self over

time, because this “may act as a buffer and a means of retaining identity” (Rubinstein and

Parmelee 1992, 140).

Though place attachment might especially be significant for rural agers, this

connecting feeling can also have problematic consequences for them in view of socio-cultural

changes. Australian rural areas are experiencing an outmigration of younger people,

especially in Tasmania (Davis and Bartlett 2008, 56; Tasmania’s population 2008). Younger

people seek better (paid) job opportunities, do not desire to inherit farms, or cannot find a job

since, for example, agriculture is, and will continue to, fade (Alston 2004; Downey, Threlkeld

and Warburton 2015, 58). The patterns of outmigration have a characterising impact on the

demographic spreading of elderly in Australia (Davis and Bartlett 2008, 57; Hoon 2014, 9-

10). They live at greater distances from their children, whilst they are increasingly

concentrated in a low density area (ibid.; Hugo 2007, 2). Rather than feeling integrated,

elderly may therefore in fact encounter a loss of physical and social insideness, as is the case

in New Zealand (Woods 2005). Population restructuring, eroding social networks, the

disappearance of village businesses, such as shops, post offices and banks, and the

fragmentation of families leads to changes in older people’s lifeworld (ibid., 253-254).

Having to travel longer distances and the inescapable deaths of friend’s means that networks

in which elderly partake can slowly become non-existent and areas in which they live slowly

unfamiliar. Attachment to place could in a way thus lead to becoming dislocated, due to the

loss of social and physical insideness.

With regard to physical mobility the tension between rural place attachment and

dislocation is even more evident. I have subdivided physical mobility in changing physicality

of those aging, such as the loss of bodily strength, and the ability to keep a mobile,

independent lifestyle. Both occurrences can have limiting effects on a person’s life. As

Rubinstein and Parmelee (1992, 140) explain “aging, particularly extreme old age does bring

physical and sensory limitations.” Loss of bodily strength also affects the independent


lifestyle people can have, especially in view of transport. Rural Australia has low levels of

public transport and the car is the means of travel that offers independence and autonomy

(Rosier and McDonald 2011, 1; Fogg 2000, 22). Loss of a driver’s license can therefore

seriously affect a person’s lifestyle. In New South Wales, for example, the car enables elderly

to go out, do groceries, or meet friends and it contributes to their quality of life (ibid., 31).

Poor physical ability and mobility threatens people’s independence and competence

(Rubinstein and Parmelee 1992, 140; Fogg 2000, 7), while, at the same time, the rural

environment hinders the provision of care from social networks and physicians (ibid., 43).

Loss of mobility in a physically demanding environment can decrease social and physical

insideness further, as this can socially disconnect a person in his or her locale, but also

disengage a person with the life he or she is familiar with (Woods 2005, 253; Hoon 2014, 3).

All in all it seems that while the landscape in which aging people live roughly stays

the same, bodily changes and the socio-cultural changes of the rural environment lead to a

paradox between rural place attachment and dislocation. Especially in view of

autobiographical insideness rural place attachment particularly relates to elderly. With regard

to physical and social insideness, attachment to rural places can, however, also be especially

problematic for this cohort. Restricted and decreasing daily mobility and changing socio-

cultural environments, due to a loss of rural services and social capital, and the loss of age

peers, can have serious consequences for the well-being of elderly (Krout 1988, 105-106).

Implication: rural aging and place attachment

As argued, there are widespread orientations that mask the diverse lives of both the aged

population and the rural population. Many elders decide to stay in rural environments, yet

“the lived experience of rural elderly are often overlooked in rural places and must be made

evident and valorised, as to comment on the reflection of their lived experiences in

contemporary approaches to rural studies”, Chalmers and Joseph (1998, 155) explain. The

theoretical contribution that place attachment offers about the experience of rural aging shows

that the emotional tie to place is influential in living on the countryside. Changing bodily

bounds and socio-cultural changes can, however, also lead to the isolation and dislocation of

older people.

Although there are studies that indicate that ‘getting older really isn’t that bad’, there

is not a lot of knowledge available on the personal experience of rural aging and the link with

place attachment. This phenomenon is, however, an interesting concept to study the rural


aging experience with. Place attachment underscores the relation between people and place

and therefore, in this thesis, how the ‘rural’ and ‘getting older’ interweave with each other and

how place affects people. With the use of anthropological research I therefore explored the

effect of place attachment on the Tasmanian countryside and the possible tensions with

becoming dislocated, due to social and physical disconnection. Even though this region has

the oldest population of Australia, and will continue to have (Jackson 2007, 18), I have not

been able to find ethnographies about the aging experience on the island-state. The answer of

how the well-being of a person is affected by place attachment and the possibility that he or

she might lose familiarity with his or her surroundings, is something I address in the

ethnographic chapters with the use of the following research question: In what way does the

feeling of being attached to place affect the experience of aging in rural Tasmania? This

question is answered with the following sub-questions: In what way does the rural locale

affect the lives of aging people?; In what way do people feel attached to their locale; How do

rural agers cope with physical and social change?; In what way does the longitude of living in

a rural environment impact the feeling of attachment?

In the following chapter of my thesis I explicate the macro-ecological context in which

my research has taken place. Herein I explicate the rural lifeworld I encountered during the

span of fieldwork, so to place the lived experience of aging into the context of that time. The

socio-cultural context in which my fieldwork took place is explained in the ethnographic

chapters with the use of Rowles (1984, 129-130) conceptualisation of place attachment. Each

ethnographic chapter carries one of the three forms of insideness and how this particular

attachment influences people I talked to. The answer to the research question and how these

three forms of insideness interweave with each other is provided in the concluding chapter.


Research setting: introducing the ‘dislocated’ area

“To live here you gotta be extra-ordinary” – Don (81)

Tucked away under Australia is the island-state Tasmania. Perhaps small in comparison with

its mainland, the island is still about the size of Ireland. An hour by plane, thirteen hours by

boat across the tempestuous and fierce rushes of the 240 kilometre wide canal of Bass Strait,

Tasmania is hardly anything more than just another phrase for the remoteness it encapsulates.

As it is from time and location that life is experienced (Bryant and Pini 2011, 141; Fogg 2000,

11), I explicate what this remoteness actually entails and in which macro-environment

participants lived during the span of fieldwork, so to place their narratives into context.

Setting the scene

Rural, regional, country, isolated, remote, outback, wild, rugged. All are terms with which

people I talked to describe Tasmania’s macro-ecological context. Remote and rugged are

perhaps the terms that gives the island’s vast remoteness most justice. Sighted by Dutchman

Abel Tasman in 1642, Tasmania did not get claimed. The land on the far side of the world

was too far out of reach for trade and too expensive to ship products to. The English, a couple

of hundred years later in the nineteenth century, sent their convicts over from their

overcrowded London prisons. A good way to be rid of those who committed a petty felony. A

good way also to populate and farm the island “beyond the seas” (Shakespeare 2006, 7).

Most of the western part of ‘Tassie’, as locals called it, is protected and uninhabited

wilderness. A total of forty percent of the entire Tasmanian countryside is national park. The

largest park, titled the South west national park, is perhaps a dull name considering it protects

thick and impassable rainforests, glacier lakes, gushing rivers and a hinterland of mountains.

However, as it covers the entire south west landscape of the island such a name is no more

than just. Facing the Indian Ocean this side of the island is right in the pathway of The

Roaring Forties. The stark and unhampered winds that blow over from Cape Horn in

Argentina do not meet land anywhere else and “smack at full tilt into the west coast”, as

English-man Shakespeare (2006, 10) describes in In Tasmania, a book about his experience of

immigrating to Tasmania. The gusts against the natural made dunes blow the sand further

inwards, dig in forests as the decades come along and cover the mountains in mists. There are

places that are only accessible by boat. Other areas are inaccessible and remain unseen and

untouched by people. For this reason it is often assumed that the extinct Tasmanian tiger

might still be wandering through the rainforests (see Shears 2013).


The majority of the population of just over half a million have their habitat in Hobart,

Launceston, or in the small northern harbour cities Burnie and Devonport (Knoema 2014;

ABS 2016b). Situated on the southern shores the capital Hobart is by far the biggest city with

almost half of the entire population (ibid. 2015). The Derwent River circles through the

sociable and busy Victorian built harbour town, into Storm bay. Ships, small boats, fish and

chips shacks, and farmers markets decorate the esplanades while a fresh breeze blows through

the city streets. Launceston, with a hundred thousand people the second city of Tasmania, is a

four hour drive northwards. Between the two main cities is the central plateau, also called the

northern and southern midlands. The one-lined highway traverses through dry, hilly farm- and

bushland, and through three Georgian-styled towns with mills and churches. A warm-hearted

colonial realm set amidst the open land, isolation and quietness where the remaining hundred

and fifty thousand people, about one third of the population, live spread out in.

Whereas the west coast is mountainous and densely forested with temperate

rainforests, the east coast of Tasmania is much calmer-looking and warmer, because the

mountains in the west break of most of the ‘roaring’ wind and rain. A geographical division of

land that crosses over where the western granite mountains make place for the almost blinding

white dolerite peaks. The sun shines down on the greenish hills, dry plains and on the pearl

blue sea that rolls onto the white beaches and splashes against the rocks. Sheep graze on dry,

sandy fields. Acres of vineyards with trees full of grapes and a few paddocks covered in hay

stacks charm the valleys. There are empty bricked houses, wooden cottages that have

collapsed with the winds of time. A lot of properties have simply been abandoned and most

fields are neglected and overgrown with bushes. During summer quite a number of tourists go

to the island ‘under Down Under’ for about a week to explore the largely uninhabited areas

(Sprothen 2016). Every now and again farmers warn drivers on the road that their herd is

crossing. By night wombats, wallabies, Tasmanian devils, possums and at least one of the

three types of venomous snakes vacate the road. During daytime the roads are mostly

desolate. Stretching out over the emptiness and the wild and untamed landscape – uncovering

a scene of what I sometimes imagine all corners of the world once looked like.1

Aging beautifully dislocated

The climate, the isolation and the nature in which people live for a large part determine the

lifestyle of the older people in rural Tasmania. Like all parts of the world, also Tasmania has

1 See appendix for a map (p. 73) of Tasmania and pictures (p. 74-83) I made during fieldwork


been affected by climate change. This results in a severe drought in which crops and

vegetable gardens are hard to maintain, and in which water tanks run low during summer.

Especially farmers have not had it easy, as they have not been able to maximise the use of

their farm. Winters are cold, however, during which time roads get icy, filled with rocks from

the mountains, or they disappear under a stream of water. At the same time, “If you don’t like

Tasmanian weather, come back in five minutes” is a joke I often heard. The weather is ever-

changeable and basically anything can happen any time of year, any hour per day. “You

always gotta make sure you can last a few weeks on your own”, Collette therefore warned me

after the Tasman highway flooded because of ongoing rainstorms.

Townships and villages such as Coles Bay, Zeehan and Campania usually have a

population between two or three hundred people. Such towns have a small supermarket, with

limited, expensive products and names such as Veggies and hardware or General store. One

or two gas pumps generally stand next to the entrance door. Depending on the size, the

slightly bigger towns also have an ATM machine and a post office, mostly inside the

supermarket. Settlements such as Eaglehawk Neck, a small stretch of land that connects the

peninsula with the rest of Tasmania, have none of these facilities and people have to travel to

the nearest town. Almost everyone drives to Hobart or Burnie to do groceries, buy clothes, get

books or buy herbs. Travelling to Hobart can take five hours from Coles Bay, seven from

Zeehan and two from Eaglehawk Neck, while the roads lack regular maintenance. Most

participants do not drive that distance all too often. Some things can be ordered online, but

also that means that people have to drive to the post office to pick up their parcel. In terms of

distances and facilities rural people live rather dislocated.

Especially aging people can live dislocated, as they need to visit the doctor more often

than other age-groups. As Don (81) explained, while looking out over the three dolerite peaks

across the bay from his living room on the Coles Bay waterline:

To live here you gotta be extra ordinary … you have to be healthy to keep living here,

and you gotta be up for it you know, to be further away from shops and things like

that. That is not for everybody.

Towns do have voluntary ambulances, which means that local people assess the severity of an

emergency call and drive the ambulance to Hobart or Launceston, while a professional

medical team from the city either drives towards the volunteers with a fully equipped

ambulance or uses the Flying Doctor service. Yet, people in Campania and Eaglehawk Neck


need to travel to neighbouring towns to visit the doctor or to go the pharmacy. In Zeehan the

doctor’s post is open three days a week, in Coles Bay the doctor comes in every fortnight. For

X-rays, radiation treatments or operations, everyone needs to go to Hobart or Launceston.

Moreover, older people are also affected by economic and demographic changes.

Throughout the state there are job opportunities in road work, construction work, timber ware

and tourism, but in the east most people have an (oyster) farm or vineyard. In the west most

people work for mining companies or on fisheries. Jobs in secondary or tertiary sections do

not in exist in large amounts outside Hobart. Therefore, as written in the previous chapter,

many younger, working-age cohorts, and most children of the participants I spoke to, move

out of the regions for work in Hobart or on the mainland (see Alston 2004, 41-42; Tasmanian

population 2015). Economic chances, being closer to facilities and earning more money for

less effort are usually reasons for children to leave, their retired parents told me. Swimming

lessons, good schooling, getting books from the library and going out for the evening are all

activities for which people need to travel to Hobart. People consequently drive to the city so

often, they eventually just move there, several participants explained. As a result the

countryside is increasingly deprived of younger people and an already aging population gets

more and more isolated from other generations. Whereas currently one in five people are aged

65 years or older, by 2030 one in four people will have reached this age (COTA 2013, 52;

Jackson 2007, 13). As most older Tasmanians live in rural areas, most of this growth will

happen in the countryside, where one in three people will be aged 65 or more by 2030 (Davis

and Bartlett 2008, 56; Hugo 2014, 30; COTA 2013, 18).

During three and a half months of fieldwork I have seen a glimpse of the wild, rugged,

remote and rural areas of Tasmania, and I have explored a glimpse of people who live in an

environment that is both relaxing and challenging. “The landscape is not”, as Shakespeare

(2006, 10) explains, “the ruined coastline of most countries and it would probably have

looked much the same … in 1804” as it does now. Birds and wallabies are abundant, cell

phone reach and internet is uncertain. Still, during the span of fieldwork alone I found that my

participants are subjected to ‘five minute weather’, The Roaring Forties, drought, emptiness,

distance, lack of facilities, and a deprivation of younger cohorts in a remote part of Australia,

on a remote part of the world. In that sense, the people I talked to could be considered

dislocated. Yet, if so, they do live beautifully dislocated. Their lifeworld brings forth a

timeless vastness, and as Shakespeare (2006, 7) describes: “… It is like outer space on earth

and invoked by those at the ‘centre’ to stand for all that is far-flung, strand and unveriviable.”


Working in the field: immersed and disconnected at the “edge of civilisation”

I walk over the sandy road or paved street to the front door. I knock and wait for a response as

I hear people trudge through the hallways. “Oh!”, the participants often respond with an

amazed tone in their voice. They look curious at this young woman whom they have never

seen before. “Hello”, I then say, “I am Myrthe, your neighbour or friend Don thought it would

be nice to talk to you.” I explain who I am, where I am from and what I’m doing in Tasmania.

“Is it all right if I have an interview with you?”, I conclude. “Well you’ve come to the right

place then!”, participants often say enthusiastic, or they exclaim: “Well there’s a thought, do

you want to come in or make an appointment for later?” People I approached during

fieldwork are mostly happy that they can show me what life in the countryside is really like

and they explained to me why everyone should live where they live (but then not again not

really, because that would mean it would become too overcrowded). I either found these

people through people in their network that I had talked to prior, or through my hosts.

During my stay in Tasmania I lived with Lester (65) and Collette (63), who live along

the Tasman Highway on the east coast; with Chris (64) and Frances (63), who live in the

Campania valley in the southern midlands; and I lived with Ruth (66), who lives in

Eaglehawk Neck on the Tasman peninsula. I found my hosts on helpx.net (2016). This is a

website in which local residents of Australia offer tourists and backpacker’s accommodation

in exchange for small chores in and around the house. As the countryside of Tasmania is wide

spread I expected that people could be hard to reach without knowing where to go or who to

contact. I therefore arranged to stay in a rural locality in this manner. Living with hosts could

allow me to first-hand experience what the rural lifestyle entails and through their social

networks I could also reach other people more easily.

I selected my hosts beforehand through purposive sampling, which means that they

comply with the selection criteria (Gobo 2008, 113). These are retired people over sixty who

live in a rural locality and whom can share their views and experiences on which I sought

more information. The term retired has a nuanced meaning in this thesis, however. Including

some of my hosts, I talked to several people who are either under the pensionable age of 65

(Australian Government 2015) or who own local businesses or farms and intend to do for as

long as they can2. The age of people I interviewed ranges from 62 to the age of 93. Except for

Frances all people told me they are retired though. Retired in a sense that they are not on

anyone’s payroll, receive pension every fortnight or have reached the pensionable age. I

2 See Appendix (p. 66-72) for a complete overview of the data, including date, location and specifics of the data


maintain this operationalisation in this thesis as the aging experience is described from the

emic perspective, hence from local meanings and explanations (Kottak 2012, 55). An

experience that for some includes work on the farm or in the shop. Frances started a part-time

job again after being retired for five years due to unexpected financial instability. As the

comparison between the urban and the rural lifestyle has been mentioned several times by my

participants, this, as I argued, homogenising comparative perspective is addressed as well. I

address this only to the extent of explaining how people described their lifeworld and I, by no

means mean to homogenise different rural or urban environments with each other.

I spent two weeks with Lester and Collette and both a month with Ruth and with Chris

and Frances. Through email and phone calls we discussed my research and agreed upon a

reciprocal arrangement. In exchange for chores I received accommodation in their home and

in my free time I was able to observe and interview them and people in their social network.

That this combination of chores and fieldwork could be difficult and a lot to manage at once is

something I learned early on in the fieldwork with Lester and Collette. The couple runs a little

tearoom and shop called The Pondering Frog. They chose this name because a: Collette is

crazy for frogs and b: people need to think about their order. “Hi, you pondering? Ponder

around, have an ice-cream”, Lester always greets customers with. The tearoom is mainly an

ice-cream shop, which are homemade by Collette. They also serve savoury pies, Devonshire

teas, scones, salads, fish & chips and cherries. Bright green magnet and china ware frogs are

up for sale as well. The shop is open from eight to seven, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks

a year. Since the couple bought the property three years ago, they have hardly left home, for

the simple fact that they do not have time to do so, nor have the need to do so, they explained.

In between the vegetables they grow and the supplies that come with the food truck every

week, the couple manages to be self-sustaining. They both enjoy their lifestyle and do not

mind the effort it requires from them. The couple do not have a lot of social contacts and they

cannot afford help in the shop. Making use of Helpx.com gives them a bit of both.3

For me the division of work and fieldwork was out of balance though. Other than we

talked about initially, I had to work seven days a week from seven to seven, I could not leave

the property for fieldwork and was not allowed to talk to people on their property as Lester

felt that it was interfering with his business. In studying the possibility of becoming dislocated

in rural areas, I myself thus encountered a feeling of dislocation. As we had agreed upon a

two week trial I left after this and went to Coles Bay, which is, because of its natural

surroundings, a popular tourist location, forty minutes from The Pondering Frog. This gave 3 See Appendix (p. 79) for supporting pictures


me more insight on the locality in which Lester and Collette live and how other people

experience living and aging in that area. Though I had originally planned to mainly focus on

people who live more isolated and not in a country-town, the need for a more comprehensive

understanding broadened my field in that sense.

The reciprocal relationship with my next hosts, Chris and Frances, was different. I

helped them out on the farming property called Campania Springs, fifteen minutes on an

unsealed road from the nearest town, Campania. I observed and interviewed my hosts and had

small talk with them. Other than with Lester and Collette we did not rush each other into

anything, wanting too much from each other, and, as agreed upon beforehand I was able to

conduct fieldwork and interview people who live elsewhere in the Campania valley or the

southern midlands. Here, I found that most people who do not live in a rural township do

maintain ties with the nearest towns anyway, because of social relations they have there or the

groceries they can do. Before I visited my last hostess, Ruth, I therefore went to the quiet

mining town Zeehan, so that I could gain more understanding of the role that towns play in

people’s lives. This was also a good way to see in what way aging experiences in this town

are similar or different from experiences in Coles Bay, as Zeehan is economically and

demographically declining due to the closure of mines. I then travelled to Eaglehawk Neck. It

is a stretched out settlement of shacks and a couple of houses. Locals buy the morning paper

at the Lufra hotel. Here, as well, I observed and interviewed my hostess, had small talk and

was able to conduct fieldwork in Ruth’s locality and through her social network.

Most of the participants are thus found by means of the snowball effect, because I

selected the qualified participants through my hosts and other participants (Gobo 2008, 140).

This selection did take place with regard to the selection criteria. From January 22nd

2016

until May 6th

2016 I interviewed 31 aging people, 21 of which are formal, and had several

conversations with younger people, and community and health workers. Most formal indepth

interviews tended to be two hours long and were usually held in interviewees’ homes.

Eighteen of these interviews are tape-recorded. For privacy reasons, the remaining three

formal interviews have not been tape-recorded. The interviews that have been conducted in an

informal context are not recorded either.

The interviews I held are half-structured. I asked some structured questions during the

interview in order to obtain basic knowledge, but most subjects were addressed in a more

conversational dialogue (Baarda, de Goede en Teunissen (2001, 149-152). As I always had

my interview guide with me in the field, I was also able to ask these questions during the

unplanned, informal interviews. I addressed the life course, the aging experience, the


connection to locality, the possibility of being or becoming dislocated and the importance of

mobility, social relations, independence, health and healthcare. There was also room for the

participants to bring information to the fore which I had not taken into account. I learned, for

example, that the participants who moved to a rural area at a later stage in their life brought

different feelings about their lifeworld to the fore than other participants.

To gain a good understanding of the setting to which my participants are or are not

attached to, I made use of grand tour observation (Spradley 1980, 73-84). In observing the

macro-ecological rural areas I could see what the rural setting actually entails in Tasmania

and how this environment can influence the lifestyle of people living there. I observed the

nature, the geology, the climate, but also the quality of the roads and the presence of (health)

facilities in the towns, such as pharmacies, and conducted small talk and interviews to gain

more knowledge of this. These observations took place in Hobart, Zeehan and Coles Bay, a

trip on the west coast, bus trips to get from Hobart to my hosts, and in their localities.

Next to this exploratory observation I used participant observation (Gobo 2008, 13), in

which I specifically looked at the micro-environment of people, how people perceive their

lifeworld and their behaviour and activities. These observations took place in the households

of my participants and the environment in which they live. The observations at my hosts also

included their home furnishings. This allowed me to advance my understanding of where the

interests of my hosts lie. The fact that the wall paintings in Chris’ and Frances’ house are all

related to water and boats showed me, for example, that Chris is closely connected to the sea

and boats, and that living inland disconnects him from that.

I also joined in social outings with Frances’ age peers from the area. We walked along

the beachside of Cunningham with a group of elderly and visited the touristic site The Wall

on the west coast with elderly from the town Oatlands. Both outings were held by Rural

Health Tasmania, an organisation that arranges social outings, health meetings, exercise

classes and exercise outings for rural, mainly older, people. Walks such as the one at

Cunningham are organised every second month and are meant to get rural dwellers in touch

with each other, but it also allows social workers to talk to their clients and to assess their

specific situation in an informal manner. During the trips I was able to talk about this with the

women that work for Rural Health and with people going to these outings. The outings have

been important for my research, because they gave me more understanding of the role that

community work and social networks play in the lives of the participants. I also had expert-

interviews with a local doctor and a local nurse from the Rural health centre in Zeehan, and I

interviewed community workers in Zeehan. I read news articles in papers, read community


magazines and watched the news. Lastly, I arranged a Focus Group Discussion with the Red

Cross committee in Campania, of which Frances is president, to add on the importance of

community work, being active for a community and how getting older is perceived.

Everything together I studied and explored the lives and experiences of elderly in two

country towns and three rural localities. These different aspects of my fieldwork have led to

an iterative understanding of the lived experience of aging and how the concept of place

attachment is interwoven with people’s lives. While the social outings and the Focus Group

Discussion, for example, gave me more understanding of the social connections people have

and what it means to have this, interviewing the health nurse and the local doctor in Zeehan

gave me more insight on the physical and mental health of older people, their attitudes and

their approach to getting older. Through the other aspects of my fieldwork I could place the

data from the indepth interviews in perspective. Moreover, as I had expected, I did gain a lot

of knowledge and understanding of the rural aging experience in living with and learning

from my hosts. As I had hoped this also allowed me to first-hand experience ‘a rural lifestyle’,

and through the social networks of my last two hosts I could reach other people quite easily.

In order to identify and transcend the themes and concepts that arose from people’s

narratives, hence with a thematic analysis, I systematically sorted and structured the data with

the use of open, axial and selective codes during fieldwork (Ezzy 2002, 86; Gobo 2008, 256;

Strauss and Corbin 1990, 55-241). I then structured my analysis by categorising and sub-

categorising all these themes. Thereafter, I subdivided the themes within the three dimensions

of place attachment, physical, social and autobiographical insideness, and analysed how the

gathered data did or did not find cohesion with the theory of place attachment. In

underscoring the three aspects of this concept from an inductive approach, and how these

forms of insideness influence the aging process, I can give a good comprehension of rural

aging, as well as enrich the knowledge about the role that place plays in the lives of people.

Although the combination of fieldwork and housework remained a bit hard to manage

from time to time I found a working rhythm in which both of my jobs did not suffer from the

other, while living with joyous and welcoming people who made me feel at home. I must

mention, however, that the time I spent in the field is not enough to fully grasp the essence of

the aging experience and how people relate to their rural lifeworld. Being able to live with

three different hosts, and being able to talk to people in different towns and places has

allowed me to gain an overarching understanding of aging in a rural locale though and how it

shapes lived experience. The results provided in this thesis are therefore based on the

differences and similarities that people expressed. As the fieldwork has been carried out


inductive, I also carry my conclusions in this thesis on my analyses from the field. In other

words, the analysis and conclusions I lay down in this thesis are based on the data I collected

through dialogue with my participants and the particular experiences and points of view they

shared with me within the time and space of the research process (Hastrup 1992, 127; ibid.

1993, 174-177; Hervik 1994, 96-97). To preserve the reality of this dialectical process I have

rendered the ethnographic cases and the cumulated knowledge in the present tense, as well as

in the way I illustrated the field. The ethnographic details within the analytical sections and

paragraphs are rendered in the past tense though and the cases, examples and the analysis and

conclusions I present in this thesis are based only on the actual lived experience I encountered

during the span of fieldwork (Hastrup 1992, 125-128).

Furthermore, I must mention the eyes through which the rural aging experience has

been observed, the body with which the rural lifestyle has been experienced, and the hands

with which this has been documented. As a young woman of 25 I cannot pretend to know

what getting older feels like. All participants who are over sixty are experiencing a form of

arthritis. Whereas a couple of people indicated that it was a painful and limiting disability,

most people spoke rather objectified about it. As I cannot measure or feel this kind of pain

personally, I tried to describe this accordingly to what I have learned from my participants.

Being from the Netherlands, or “from the heart of the world”, as Chris described it, I

could scarcely imagine the idea of being and living in a remote area, or grasp an

understanding of how wide spread and remote the countryside I immersed myself in was. I

grew up in an era of technology and the growing reach of the World Wide Web and I am used

to a kind of (digital) interconnectedness that the participants are not familiar with. It was

surprising for me how technologically disadvantaged rural Tasmania is, or how

geographically dislocated people can live in comparison with my own experience in the

Netherlands. It was difficult to arrange (public) transport and lack of mobile reception and

internet connection made it difficult to gain extra information for my research. I could not

look for additional literature on online libraries, nor get into contact with health institutions in

Hobart. Chris described this as living “on the edge of civilisation”, seeing the McDonalds just

outside of Hobart as the first station of re-entering civilisation, himself living as “blooming

nowhere”. Although it did not lead to a feeling of disconnection (in fact, I quite liked it), this

personal experience with remoteness has been an important insight for my research, as the

form of dislocation is an essential part of my participants’ lives. Moreover, being immersed in

the rural lifestyle like this gave me more space to study the personal experiences of what life

can be like in rural areas and how aging can be experienced; the reason for me being there.


Physical insideness: devotion and resilience through familiarity

“They have always lived here and know how to cope with having nothing” – Jolmer (40)

In the research setting I described the macro-ecological environment in which people I talked

to live and how this comprises their personal context. Concluding that elderly can be

considered geographically detrimental from, amongst other, healthcare I now describe the

rural lifeworld from the participant’s point of view. In the first part of this chapter I describe

the extent to which people feel a form of “familiarity with their physical setting”, hence the

feeling of physical insideness with their lifeworld (Rowles 1984, 129-130). This form of place

attachment provides an insight on, first, how people perceive their immediate surroundings

and how physical insideness reveals itself in their daily lives. Second, it also gives a good

indication whether or not people are attached to their locality and how this is expressed. I

follow with a case study of Redge (70) and Christina (69) in the second part of this chapter.

To understand the gain that physical insideness offers people, I describe the self-sufficiency

of the participants, but I also describe how they manage in the ‘dislocated’ localities.

Used to dislocation

“It is a bit disheartening when you think of what it was and what it could be”, Joan (52) tells

me during the interview with her and Melissa (37) at the Zeehan community centre. They sit

across a large table from me in the reception room. A guy sits behind one of the three

computers in the left corner while we talk about their town. In the back of the room the

secretary is making phone calls behind her desk. Melissa and Joan work as fieldworkers for

“the central hub in town”, a place where people can ask questions, go to lunches, get

computer training or get their pet vaccinated every once a year. It is a place where they

provide a bit of everything they explain to me, so that people in town do not have to go all the

way to Burnie or elsewhere for every little thing. “It is hard because, and you get defensive,

because when you get people like you, for example, asking all those questions. And you go

like: ‘ah we’re doing all right’”, Melissa says, “but yeah, what Joan said: it is sad. And it feels

scary sometimes, but everyone just keeps ticking a long though, don’t they? People on the

west coast are like that. They are being resilient and are like: we keep pushing through.”

Comments like this are at the heart of conversation about the rural lifeworld of people

I spoke to. With the community workers, the doctor and with older people themselves. On the

one hand living in the outskirts of Tasmania is about being resilient to, indeed, the somewhat


disadvantages. On the other hand there is also a form of defensiveness in explaining the

possibilities that people have. When the car breaks down in Zeehan it needs to be brought to

Burnie, for example, a two to three hour drive on the windiest road of Australia. Although not

as windy or mountainous, the travel time is not much less in the others town. Yet, when

elderly need to send an e-mail or need help with an application form for a health or elderly

card, they can walk over to the community centre, the community hall or friends along the

road and ask for help, participants defended. Those who do not have a driver’s license

(anymore) can book the community car for five to twenty dollars. People book this car, one of

the volunteers picks them up and he or she takes them to the supermarket or the pharmacy.

The volunteers also drive to Hobart or Launceston for an appointment at the dentist or the

hairdresser. Whatever is necessary, they pick the elderly up and drop them off at home again,

all participants told me.

“And how about a pharmacy, is it true that a pharmacy isn’t here either?”, I asked

Peter, a bald middle aged man who was filling up the shelves with milk and other drinks in

the general store of Coles Bay. I had been wandering around town, looking for the doctor’s

post, but could not find anything. Peter nodded. If people need ibuprofen or a prescription

they either drive to Bicheno, fifty minutes towards the north, or Peter calls the prescription in

with the pharmacy in Bicheno. They send it down on the school bus that brings the Coles Bay

kids back home at the end of a school day and people can pick it up at the store. While I noted

this as a deprivation of facilities, the people I talked to approach this the other way around.

People stated that they can come by the doctor three days a week in Zeehan, while the doctor

from Swansea, an hour and a half south of Coles Bay, sets up office in the Coles Bay

community hall every other Wednesday. Although Ruth, Chris and Frances, and the other

people in their area have to drive between thirty and fifty minutes to visit the doctor, all

townships and localities have ambulance volunteers and care nurses on call who come by

when there is need for it, participants explained.

“So it is not quite as isolated as you might think”, Don explained to me regarding this.

He and his wife Anne (76) recently sold their oyster farm to their son and are now enjoying a

Friday afternoon with their long-time friend Ray (75), who lives across the bay. The

geographic location cannot provide Don, Anne and Ray with the same facilities that elderly in

Hobart or Launceston have, but it is not like there is nothing here. In fact, most people

compared their own living environment with Hobart, which they feel might not even be that

good of a place to be if you are in need of care. As Don, Anne and Ray said:


Anne: The helicopter [Flying Doctors] just takes half an hour, in Sydney you could be

stuck in traffic for two hours

Ray: And unfortunately, the people who get ill in the city. Nobody gets in and checks

on them

Don: That’s right

Ray: And these people die

Don: It is a lack of attention

Ray: Nobody is interested

Anne: Whereas here in this town, anyhow, and I think it is in most country towns, we

are all looking out for each other all the time

Don: Yes, that is what I call social capital. There is a bigger social capital here than

people sometimes think, in a regional sense or in towns. Whereas in the city that is

kind of looked after by a payed for thing. If you get ill you pay to get a nurse in. If you

get ill, can’t cook, you pay for it

Ray: That is right

Don: So the city is overcome with their wealth and somehow there is more of those

services than there would be in a place like this. Here we can rely on volunteering and

looking after each other, you know

With comparisons like this the participants explained to me how they see their

immediate living environment. Some use it as a defensive approach, to show me that people

who live in the city are worse off. Others want to put their own experience into perspective.

None of the participants actually consider it a problem to live, so-called, dislocated. No, there

might be no pavement to walk on, but there is plenty of room on the rarely occupied road.

People realise that it might lóók dislocated for people with an urban background, but they do

not féél dislocated. They shrugged their shoulders and said things like: “I suppose it could be

a nuisance, but I have had to drive to all these things my entire life”, as Ruth explained.

People are used to having to drive to do the groceries, to buy the newspaper, or to see the

doctor, the dentist or the hairdresser, why be bothered with it now? With these attitudes

towards their lifeworld people also express a feeling of physical insideness. They are familiar

with the setting in which they live, what (voluntary) services come and which do not come

with it, and how their locale shapes their life.

Elsewhere Keating (2008) came to the same findings. In Rural Ageing: A good place

to grow old? she lays down the complexities of rural areas in Southeast England and Western


Canada and the difficulties that elderly might encounter, such as having lack of support

networks, and limited access to transportation, healthcare facilities and grocery shopping in

widely dispersed areas. As in Tasmania, so too in England and Canada do older people not

see living regionally as a problem, as available (voluntary) services and support networks

meet the needs of the residents (ibid., 107-108).

A few participants pointed out that in view of time they actually made a great

improvement travel and health wise. In exploring the primary healthcare service of Tasmanian

bush nurses in the period of 1910 until 1957, Bardenhagen (2003) points this out too. With a

focus on the autonomy, independence and loneliness of the bush nurses, Bardenhagen (ibid.,

344) describes that the Tasmanian nursing history is embedded within the rural isolation in

which their patients were living, and where most of people I talked to grew up in. Nurses were

placed in areas without doctors and without the means for them, or their patients, to gain

access to medical advice or treatments, in a time when also communication technology was

rudimentary. Bardenhagen (ibid., 348) describes:

The conditions were indisputably harsh, and these became reflected in isolation

bonuses. But money could not assuage their loneliness, frustration and feeling of

powerlessness. High rainfall, mountain climates, and heavy snow made access to

patients difficult. This was compounded by the winding bush tracks, often impassable

roads, flooded rivers, and treacherous sea passages. Walking, riding horses, or using

vehicular traffic with frequent mechanical breakdowns tested their mettle. Not only

did the Bush Nurse have to endure these conditions to access her patients, but

transferring those that could not be nursed at home to the Bush Nursing Centre, or to

an out-of-area facility, was at times even more fraught with difficulty.

Yet, this was also a period of substantial change in healthcare and of revolutions in transport

and communication (ibid., 27). So much so that the Bush Nurses organisation ceased to exist

in 1957 when both ‘the bush’ and healthcare became more accessible (ibid., 58) . Also, as my

participants explained, during their lifetime highways have been placed, roads have been

sealed, cars have become a normal aspect in their lives, and help from elsewhere comes faster.

Most of the participants also see no reason for moving to a more dense area and refuse

to relocate. “Do you think of moving?”, I always asked during my interviews, for example.

“Why would I do that?”, some people responded agitated. Other people explained that they

have thought about it, but see no need for it. There are a few people who described that they


will not move at this stage, but maybe later, when necessary. For some this stage will come

when they lose their driver’s license. For others when they need aid or lose their physical

strength. Stages that might never even come if they are lucky, they indicated, because none of

the participants really wants to move to Hobart or Launceston. The air does not smell as

clean, it is too busy and neighbours live too close. It is not an environment people think they

can get used to, because they are not familiar with living in a city.

“We know that if something happens we are a long way out”, my host Lester stated as

he quickly sipped of his coffee in between rush hours. “But if we are gonna die, we are gonna

die”, he continued. “We can’t stress around these things”, his partner added. “If the balls fall,

they fall.” Objectively speaking it might be smarter to move to Hobart some of the

participants wonder, but most participants simply really do not want to. People know that

there is a real chance that they might die here, because the ambulance or helicopter takes too

long. Yet, people rather die at home, if possible at all in their own bed, than to be in a hospital

or a care home over a long period of time, having to recover from a heart attack or having to

move to a place they are unfamiliar with. Death is certain, it is coming for everyone, but

people rather have some form of a peaceful, quick or painless death at home than to have to

be ‘saved’ and suffer. It is about the quality of life – not the longevity of life, several people

explained. And this quality is found in their own home. In the location where they are

attached, not somewhere else.

Not only are people, thus, familiar with their physical setting and the disadvantages

that have substantially improved during their lifetime, they are also attached to their home and

their surroundings. People all live in a place that they feel and see as ‘home’ and as long as

they do not have to move, they will not. Likewise, also Keating (2008, 22-31) addresses the

question of why older people want to stay in a secluded, disadvantaged locality. She, too,

found that elderly are attached to the place they have lived in and cannot contemplate to live

anywhere else, because their sense of self is constructed with the land (ibid., 30-31). Moving

away from the place my participants know and love is therefore seen as an unwise decision.

Moreover, once age will cause pain or sickness they do not expect, hope in fact, to live long

anyway when that happens, no matter where they might live. So they might as well stay

where they feel attached, they explained. Home is not only the place where people want to

live, it is also the place where they eventually want to draw their last breath. In the following

paragraph I show how this feeling about their lifeworld influences the aging process.


Keeping a home: devotion and resilience

“People keep asking me if I think of moving, but they don’t get it do they?”, Maureen (70)

told me after the Red Cross meeting she just had with her friends in the Campania community

hall. As mentioned, I always asked if people were planning on moving to Hobart or elsewhere

and if not, why they wanted to stay at home. The participants often get this question, they told

me: if they are planning on moving soon. As if moving would be the logical thing to do. Like

Maureen, several participants indicated that some people do not seem to understand that they

like living where they live and see no need for moving. Even more, the participants indicated

that the familiarity they feel with the locality is a big essence of their daily life. They have

lived in their rural locale almost all of their life and, also, do not feel that aging affects the

attachment they feel for their home. Nor that getting older means that they should move away.

They get pleasures out of their rural lifestyle and do not need or want to go to the cinema, do

not always want to buy new clothes or be in the city, and they do not understand why they

should be better off in the city when all that they know is here. The participants will be

detached from everything they know and are familiar with. In other words, they will lose their

physical insideness.

That does not mean that living in a rural area is always easy. Whether the participants

live somewhere alone or in a small town, run a business, or own a sheep or a self-sustaining

farm, the rural lifestyle can be difficult. That is not to say that it is a bad or hard lifestyle to

live, it is a lifestyle you have to like. You have to work hard to make it in a rural area and to

age well there, all participants said pertinacious. To achieve this you must have passion for

your land, your home, your community, the locale you live in, and be resilient to the

circumstances. The participants used words such as resilience, passion, devotion and vision to

express this. Although resilience to the living-environment is necessary if people want to

remain there, it seems that it is the passion, the devotion and the liking of the rural lifestyle,

hence the attachment itself, that makes people want to live and age there in the first place.

With regard to resilience it is especially important to be self-sustaining. Being self-

sustaining means being able to take care of yourself and also, knowing how to do so. Yet,

most participants lived in a rural area their entire life and know exactly how to take care of

themselves. They have been weighed and measured through the times, gone through

hardships and continued on. They chop their own fire wood for the fireplaces in the single

glazed houses, keep a vegetable garden, some also keep a pen of chickens, they have one or


two water tanks with filtered rainwater, practice their fire or flooding escape procedure every

once in a while, and have neighbours that give eggs in exchange for ‘veggies’. Their physical

insideness, the familiarity people have with their physical setting, thus, actually also helps

them in maintaining and managing their (self-sustaining) lifestyle, because they simply know

exactly how to do so due to years of experience.

Although all participants mentioned it in one form or another, Redge and Christina are

one of the few that specifically tell me they believe that you cannot make in the outer areas if

you cannot be self-sustaining anymore. We sit in their jeep at the side of the road after the

daytrip to The Wall, waiting for my host Chris to pick me up halfway. They still have a thirty

minute drive through the valleys ahead of them, whereafter Redge is going to chop some

firewood and Christina is going to tend their goats and sheep. The couple feels very strong for

nature and have a big heart for wildlife and environmental issues. They own about ten acres of

land, which is mainly just bushland, and have two dogs, two sheep and three goats as pets to

keep the grass down. They signed their property off as a wildlife area, which means that it is a

voluntary wildlife area and that no one, not even the next owners can (mis)use the piece of

land of which Redge truly believes “is the most beautiful spot that anyone can live in”. They

love the fresh air, the peace and quiet, the low density of cars on the road, and the distance

from everything else what is going on in the world. They feel untouched in a sense and they

love it. There is nothing better than waking up early in the morning, to see the mists through

the valley and to mutter around with the chickens.

Redge and Christina show a great passion and devotion for their property and say that

they are really attached to it. They grow their own crops and fruits and only go to the shops

every month or so. Like other participants they also tell me that they do not see a reason for

having or wanting to move. “I plan to die here I guess”, Redge states. He has noticed that the

maintenance of the property is starting to lack a little. “But that is mostly because I lose

myself in painting”, he laughs. He has recently taken up this new hobby and can,

unknowingly, brush away for hours. Physically he has gotten slower too, he admits, but he

does not see this as a big problem yet. They still can maintain the property. It just takes a bit

longer nowadays.

The couple does believe that you have to make an effort to live where they live. Aging

on the countryside and dislocation do not have to go hand in hand, they state by the side of the

gravel road. Their son has been worried about them. He thinks they are going to die in a big

bush fire. The couple repeatedly tried to set him at ease, because they know how to manage


and make an effort to keep managing, they explain. They try to stay both mentally and

physically active, by doing crossword puzzles and by going to gym and Tai Chi classes that

the Rural Health organisation provides in Oatlands, a forty-five minute drive. In fact,

Christine was on the waiting list for a hip replacement, but she took herself off it, because “I

find that moving around just helps.” Redge agrees: “The longer you stay inactive, the worse it

gets.” By staying active the couple keeps fit and being fit enables them to live, as they

explain, “a simple, frugal and self-sustaining life”. “You’d be impressed with what we are still

able to do”, Christine says. “You should see her chopping wood”, Redge says while looking

proud at his wife. “She cuts the last bit in half with her hands.” “Yes I still do actually”,

Christine smiles modest.

Although Don explained that people have to be extra-ordinary to live here, this does

not capture the essence. Mostly, the participants explained that you have to be up for it, work

through the pain that is, for example, caused by arthritis, and simply do it. As the case of

Redge and Christina shows, you have to make an effort for yourself and the locality you live

in if you want to live in the outer parts of Tasmania, and show some resilience to it. Like other

participants they have a great passion for their lifeworld, know how to take care of themselves

and work hard to keep fit. Also the participants who own a farm said they still work on the

land daily, from dawn until dusk. Yes, it may be physically challenging at times, but people I

talked to approach this mentally. They are managing, are self-sufficient, doing all right and

like what they do.

The importance of knowing how to take care of yourself especially becomes clear in

Zeehan. Zeehan is not equipped to take care of people who only come there because of the

cheap house prices and to receive social security money, Jolmer4 (40), the local doctor

explains to me, as do several elderly in Zeehan. They have no idea how to manage, they all

state. Originally from Rotterdam, Netherlands, Jolmer has been working as a substitute doctor

for about ten years at posts in small regional towns throughout Australia that do not have a

doctor, while enjoying the outback in his free time. He has been on the west coast for about

six months. Jolmer has encountered the same things I found during my conversations with

rural Tasmanians. Live on the west coast is not a place for people who are in need of help,

“needy”, as Jolmer describes it as we eat a toastie in a café during his lunch break. You have

to be able to take a beating. “And people who’ve always lived here cán do this”, Jolmer says

with a respectful tone in his voice: “They don’t just blow over.”

4 I translated the interview with Jolmer from Dutch


At the same time older people do not always ask for help, which can come at the cost

of their health, help they are entitled to and pensioner’s discounts they did not know they had,

Jolmer continues. “But at the same time this makes them strong, wilful and resolute”, the

doctor explains. “At a certain stage you see them accepting that they are in need of help and

when they accept this we can offer them this help.” Doctor’s posts can arrange homecare, but

they can also provide people with the right medication or arrange appointments with

specialists in the city when necessary and arrange transport for this. Indeed, it is not as if there

are no possibilities at all. It is in combination with these possibilities, the options they have,

that a lot of older people have the will and the tenaciousness to stay in their rural locale. “I

find them to be unique and strong people”, Jolmer states. “They have always lived here and

know how to cope with having nothing.”

Implication: physical insideness and rural aging

The living environment through the lens of physical insideness sheds another, perhaps more

accurate, light on the locale in which participants live. Although I mentioned in the theoretical

chapter that aging in a rural locality is often seen as being unsuitable for elderly, and although

I wrote in the research setting that participants could be considered living dislocated, when

researched from their perspective, the locale in which rural elderly live is not as unsuited or

dislocated as presumed. Yes, people live remote, but they do not live isolated, they explained.

Especially in view of the changes along the life course this is not the case, as transport,

communication and healthcare services have substantially improved during people’s lifetime.

The physical insideness people have is therefore not only place bound, but also bound to time.

Attachment to place, but also time and the life course are indispensable aspects through which

people have familiarised themselves with their lifeworld, grown attached to it, and grown

used to both the possibilities and the disadvantages that their locale gives them.

The aging process does not affect this feeling of familiarity, or how people feel about

their locality for that matter. If anything age has only familiarised them further with their

locality and their lifestyle – their passion, devotion or attachment to their home. Although all

participants are used to the disadvantages, it is because of these passions that people refuse to

relocate. Their attachment makes them wilfully to work hard to make it and to be resilient to

the circumstances: a necessity if a person wants to stay at home, age well and also die in his

or her locale, I learned from people during the span of fieldwork. The gain that physical

insideness offers people is that their familiarity with the physical setting actually also helps


them in maintaining and managing their (self-sustaining) lifestyle, because people simply

know exactly how to do so due to their years of experience. As Melissa stated in the reception

room of the community centre as well: “Everything starts falling into place when you get used

to all the things you don’t have.”


Social insideness: joy and dependency through (social) connectedness

“I would have to disconnect myself, wouldn’t I, to become disconnected”- Patricia (76)

In the previous chapter I described that people are attached to home and used to the supposed

“nuisances” as Ruth described them to be. In this chapter I delve deeper into this line of

argumentation by describing why people are attached to place. I do this by illustrating the

social insideness people have with their lifeworld. As Rowles (1984, 129-130) explains this

means that people feel a form of social integration with age peers and with the local

community. This form of place attachment allows us to see, first, in what manner people feel

integrated in their locale and, second, what role social connections play. Ruth’s lifestyle

serves a case-study to show that being attached to place entails more than having social

connections. In the second part of this chapter I then describe how social insideness

interweaves with the aging process. To explain the gain that social insideness offers people I

illustrate the acceptant and independent mentality of people, as well as their dependency upon

others.

Joy

Ruth has short grey hair and wrinkles covering her skin. Most days she wears a beige pants, a

dark blue sweater and worn off brown leather boots. Ruth has lived in the same house for over

forty years. A recently renovated wooden house on the shore of a small bay on Eaglehawk

Neck. The bay is Ruth’s front yard, the ocean on the other side of the neck, her view. The

remains of the jetty, on which the children used to play when they were little, stretches far

into the water where dolphins sometimes linger for a couple of days. Hidden between tall and

dense trees she takes care of her property of two hectares. A big vegetable garden with

beetroot, zucchini’s, tomatoes, potatoes, beans and pumpkins is situated at the back of the

land, covered by peach- and chestnut trees and a vineyard. The rest of the garden is flowering

with roses, dahlias and every other sort of flower that Ruth loves. “I can work in the garden

all day”, Ruth tells me on the day of my arrival. If she does not have to go to Hobart or

elsewhere, she does the housework early in the morning and spends the rest of the day in the

garden. “There is nothing better than planting new flowers”, she smiles enthusiastic.5

Ruth is born in Triabunna and grew up in a farmer settlement on the north coast of

Tasmania. She met her husband Frank (90) while working in Hobart. After a couple of years

5 See Appendix (p. 80-81) for supporting pictures


the couple decided to move out of Hobart again. Frank, originally from Czech-Slovakia was

born on a farm, and both he and Ruth wanted their children to grow up in a spacious and safe

environment. They chose to move to Eaglehawk Neck, because it had more rainfall than most

parts of Tasmania and they liked the area from the holidays they had spent there. Frank has

dementia and last year she decided to have him placed in a care home in Hobart, a two hour

drive from home. Their youngest son, Milos (42), who has asperses and autism, lives at home

with Ruth. The dog, Sally, and a paddy melon, Hopper, roam around in the house too.

The days with Ruth slowly come along, full with rhythms and calmness. Ruth and

Milos walk to the beach every morning to walk Sally. They have a quick pass with their long

and strong legs, wave to the neighbour Neil, who is just on his way back home, or they check

Marcia’s mailbox down the road, because she is away for a week. It is an hour’s walk and

Ruth often bends down on the beach to pick up seaweed. She uses this to fertilise the flower

garden. Ruth has ostia-arthritis in her knees and shoulders, and has been walking with sticks

for a couple of years now. Before, the arthritis caused her a lot of pain and some days she

could not even get out of bed. By leaning on the sticks the muscles around her knee

strengthen and eases her pain. After tea with homemade cake Ruth and I often go into the

garden. We weed the flower patches, plant lilies or walk up to the vegetable garden. We plant

bean steaks, garlic, spinach, leek and parsley. We spud out weeds, plough up beds of sand and

pull zucchini and tomato plants up from the ground. Silence often surrounds us as Ruth loves

to listen to the birds and the breeze that rustles through the tall trees. The garden is a place for

Ruth to be in sync with her thoughts.

Lunch is made up of homemade minestrone soup, carrot soup, muffins, scones,

bolognaise sauce or baked courgettes on toast. Ruth reads in her book for about an hour

before we go back into the garden. Sometimes we take the car and drive to a little café in the

area to eat oysters or fish & chips. “I never get sick of this”, Ruth says several times while

walking or driving in the area. It is not unusual for her to hit the brakes and to point me to a

bird somewhere far up in a tree. My hostess has worked as a tour guide and a birdwatcher and

she enjoys to see and to tell me about the Tasmanian geology and birdlife. On hot autumn

days we grab the cool box, fill it with sausages, salad and root beer, and drive to the National

park on the Peninsula. We bake the sausages on the grill, have our pick nick in the forest or on

the beach and walk one of the tracks in the park. “How I love this geology!”, Ruth often calls

out happy and enthusiastic. At the end of the tour she is also happy to be home as well. She

often goes back into the garden by herself and stays there until dark. Milos lights the fire and


just before dinner we have gin and tonic. Ruth reads her book in the final hours of the day and

Milos reads truck magazines, while the hearth is crackling and tea and pie lurk on the table.

The telling’s of other participants are similar to Ruth’s case. People are attached

because they enjoy their habit and the things they are able to do in their rural dwelling. Their

daily rhythms and routines have been a continuous aspect of their lives and the feeling of

connectedness with their locale comes forth through this. Ruth feels strong for her garden, the

surrounding nature and the ever present bird life. Farmers feel strong for their land, others for

their garden, their natural surroundings or the crocoite in the mines. This feeling of

connectedness strongly resonates with Rowles (1984, 129-130) description of social

insideness, as the participants clearly expressed a feeling of integration. This feeling,

however, does not point to the social relations that people have, because people do not need

social connections in order to feel integrated. People like Ruth feel attached to their locale for

the happiness and quietness it holds. “I can go days before I feel the need to see anyone”,

Ruth told me one day as she bended over a flowerbed pulling out weeds. People find a delight

in being alone; being able to sit by the fire for hours, to wander through nature, or to wave to

Neil in the distance and not having to say anything.

For a number of people the social connections they have do add to the feeling of being

integrated. Lester, for example, specifically said that he could not deal with the isolated

lifestyle here without being able to talk to his customers. Especially, the sense of community

and cohesion that rural places have offer a big advantage for these people, particularly in

comparison with an urban area, they told me. Not only does Hobart have its own

disadvantages, Hobart also has a lot less “community feel” as Don called it. In a study about

the use of community Baumann (2009, 30), however, contests the term community. It is a

conceptually simple term that “offers enormous flexibility of application”, but it is therefore

also a misleading term for understanding how people engage with each other and what social

meanings they create and live.

I recognise this in my own data as well, because different participants addressed

different meanings to the term ‘community’. Explaining that ‘they are often active in the

community’ means that people are involved with voluntary work, for example. They work as

ambulance drivers, help out in the local church, and are active in craft committees or

organisations, such as Red Cross. Having friends in the first place or simply bringing meals to

sick neighbours are other examples. In a broad sense the meaning that people address to

community is having social relations and helping others with what they can do. People see

helping as a responsibility, giving something to the community, but it is also a social outing


for themselves. “I like the fellowship it brings me”, Anne (73) said in the bus seat next to

mine as we traversed from the midlands to the west coast to visit The Wall with friends from

her town. Being active for the community is a way to further connect people to their locale;

their quiet, fulfilling lifeworld, and the people and the (nearest) town that are a part of this.

Coming back to the extent with which people I talked to have a feeling of social

insideness, I can conclude that they indeed all expressed a feeling of connectedness with their

locality. People find joy in their environment and have a strong feeling of social insideness

with it. Whereas some participants pointed out that they are dependent upon social capital in

order to have this feeling, other people are not dependent upon their social capital to feel

social inisdeness, however. These people did indicate that they find it important to know their

neighbours and to feel familiar with people around them though. For this reason they keep in

touch with their neighbours and people in the community. They wave or hunk the horn when

passing by, go over for tea, go to movie nights in the community hall, but are not as actively

involved as people with a high value for social capital, nor feel the necessity to be socially

integrated with the community as much. There is a form of relief in knowing neighbours are

around, but not having to be with people all the time. In that sense social insideness carries a

broader meaning for people. Attachment points to the feeling of connectedness and

integration with the locale, rather than only to the social aspects in their life.

Social insideness also further ties people to their home. As implied in the previous

chapter, people do not want to leave their locale, for the simple fact that it is home. People

cannot imagine moving away from home, nor want to want to let go of their feeling of

belonging, for some especially also with regard to social capital or the community. “It has

been most of my life, it has been my environment”, as Ruth said. Therefore, as she explained,

she does not “trý and see myself living somewhere else, very often”, even though she knows

that she might not live here all of her life and that she might not even have the final choice of

when and where if the time comes. Keating (2008, 30-31) too reports that this attachment to

locality strongly comes forth from connection to the land and the people in it, in memory, as

well as by a desire to keep experiencing this connection. For both our research population

moving elsewhere for health or aging reasons would therefore imply having to let go of this

continuous aspect of connectedness, and that people would have to distinguish oneself from

place. “And that, that gets hard”, Don stuttered emotionally while Anne and Ray nodded. It

means they have got to disconnect from where they leave and make a reconnect somewhere

else, and that, consequently, leads to loss of social insideness. In the following paragraph I

describe how the feeling of connectedness influences people’s lives as they get older.


Getting older: acceptance and balancing independence

Even though people see no need for moving as they are aging, this does not mean that they are

not affected by the aging process. Maureen, for example, has lived alone since her husband

died. While we are talking the other women of the Red Cross are chatting away, sipping their

tea and enjoying each other’s homemade cakes, pies and sandwiches that they make for every

meeting. Maureen tells me her lower back causes her pain and that cleaning is starting to get a

problem for her. She stopped going on walks with Rural Health outings, “because I can’t keep

up with the rest.” She generally does still go to other outings, catches up with her friends and

she still feels a sense of responsibility for her town, she tells me. “I need my activities, I really

do”, Maureen states, “otherwise I would feel really bad here I think.” “Disconnected?”, I ask

and Maureen nods: “Yes.” Without her friends and activities it would not really matter where

she lives. However, Maureen loves her gardening, her friends and she finds the committees

for Red Cross very important. She used to be involved with the primary school in Campania

too, “but that is a younger person’s game now, it has changed too much for me”, Maureen

says. As she has gotten older her activities for and in her town have changed, but they have

not disappeared, nor is she becoming dislocated.

Understanding the tension between aging and dislocation is at the core of the gain that

social insideness offers. The process of aging in itself leads to a feeling of dislocation, as

people cannot be as active as they used to be, but that does not mean they become so. Yes,

they are getting older, but it is something they have to be sensible about. “You are either

getting older or you are dead, aren’t you?”, Patricia (76) stated while sitting by the fire in the

back of her second hand shop in Zeehan. She is there every day. Talking to people who come

along for a chat, or she sells the occasional pot or pan. While her husband of 79 works as a

mechanic down the road, she manages her own accounts and makes jams and chutneys at

home to sell in the shop. The money she earns goes to Animal Welfare. She used to care for

mistreated animals herself, but as she is getting older she contributes in this way. Like

Maureen, Patricia’s activities have changed, but her involvements have not disappeared. Both

women can still maintain and manage their lifestyle, their connections and activities.

Although I indicated in the theoretical chapter that changing physicality could lead to a

feeling of disconnection, because people would not be able to carry out the activities they

need or want to, the participants I talked to defy this feeling. Aging is an inevitable process

that simply something has to be accepted. It is annoying at times, frustrating that they cannot

do as much as they used to, but getting older does not mean that the participants are socially


or physically disconnected from their lifestyle, or from life for that matter. “I would have to

disconnect myself, wouldn’t I, to become disconnected”, Patricia stated with a firm tone in

her voice. The participants let go of knitting because of soar hands, take easier hikes, but there

are so many other things that they can still do. Gardening, making jams, and making day trips

in the area are such examples.

Singer (2015, 124-126) refers to this as “goal shifting” in her book Older and Bolder.

She found that her participants “are not sitting around waiting for life – or death – to happen

to them” (ibid., 7). They learn new things, develop new projects, and do their very best to stay

engaged with life and with people. As Bryant and Pini (2011, 134) write, a person may adjust

to his or her new lifestyle as the body gradually changes or forsakes. People make goals,

enjoy them and shift those that they can no longer do to something new and enjoy those

(Singer 2015, 124-126). Getting older means that your life changes and you need to adjust to

this new phase of life, most of my participants confirmed. This includes coping with arthritis

or other health issues. Keeping fit and healthy, staying involved, not becoming bedridden,

allows people to stay in their locale and to continue their life there – to maintain the

familiarities and connectedness that participants have.

Remaining connected, however, excludes the loss of friends and spouses. Death is

disconnecting. It is hard to deal with loss and it takes time to get used to changes in the social

environment. Also for Ruth having to place Frank in a care home was a hard choice. In a way

she already lost the man she married and that feels very disconnecting for her. During my stay

she missed him a lot and visited him once a week. Yet, also this does not mean that the

participants themselves are disconnected. The loss of a friend or spouse does not affect a

person’s entire social environment, or mean that that there is no one else left to talk to. In a

sense also dealing with death, thus, shows that people accept the things they cannot reverse

and remain involved with their lifestyle. “It is still home”, as Ruth said. Life can still be lived

the way they choose too and, for those who have a high value for social capital remaining

social relations keep the participants attached to their locale. They are still here, alive and

“you only live once so you have to keep enjoying it”, as Ruth continued. All the participants

who are attached to their place indicated they will keep resilient to their living environment

and acceptant towards their changing physique for as long as they can so that they can stay

where they want to be the most. You have to go with ‘aging aches’, not be dictated by it.

Being both resilient and acceptant towards the aging process means being able to hand

certain things over. Several participants told me they (start to) find it hard to manage on their

own and recognise they need help from others to do certain things, such as the maintenance of


the garden, the shearing of sheep or cutting logs for the fire. These participants are reliant on

others to maintain their independency. This dependency comes in different forms. Don (85),

for example, is very dependent upon his neighbour, his son and on help from the government.

Don lives in a valley of his own on the Tasman Peninsula. He owns fifty acres of forestry and

has three neighbours in the far distance. There is no paper delivery and Don drives to the

sealed road every morning to buy the paper in a little café. Don receives Meals on Wheels

four times a week, a cleaner comes by every other week, his son visits as often as he can to

check up on his father, and Gary, Don’s neighbour, cuts his logs. Gary also cleared the foot

tracks on Don’s land, so that he can keep walking on his own property. It are people like this

that make it possible for Don to keep living where he lives, hidden between the density of the

leaves, away from the masses, just the way he likes it.

Most participants who find it hard to manage their household on their own do make

use of help from the government. They have cleaners, people who clean their windows or

maintain their garden. Dependency in part thus traces back to government help. Also

participants who are still able to manage their household indicated that they are considering to

make use of help in the future. Government help is especially important for the five widowed

or single men I talked to. They either do not have family, or do not stay in touch with their

family and do not have a lot of (good) friends. They all realise that without government help

they will not be able to manage here.

Yet, dependency upon others especially traces back to the social integration of people

in being able to depend on family, friends and neighbours. One of the reasons for Don not to

move to a crowded care home is because “people drive me bloody mad after a while”. He has

always had good ties with his neighbours, however, people who now allow him to quietly

look out over the trees from his own porch. Although people are not dependent upon social

relations to feel connected to their living environment, they are dependent upon their social

relations to kéép their connectedness. For some participants family members living nearby are

important, for others especially help from neighbours is important, because family members

do not live nearby. In any case, independence needs to be balanced with dependence of some

sort and that can also be accomplished in their own locale; they do not have to move to

Hobart or another dense area to get help. It seems illogical and unnecessary. As explained,

also health wise rural elderly have good service in either their home or neighbouring town and

they can always catch a ride with friends or neighbours, or book the community car. Keating

(2008, 92-94) likewise, describes that friends, family, neighbours and community support

often overcome transportation issues. People can get rides to pick up groceries and


prescription medications, but they can also be brought to community activities and doctor’s

appointments. Through social capital and community volunteers rural dwellers in Tasmania,

as well as in Western Canada and East England, are able to remain in the area they are so

attached to. Yes, it can be humiliating at first, the people I talked to said, and some do not

look forward to it at all, but participants rather do ask for help than having to lose everything.

Implication: social insideness and rural aging

In studying the feeling of social insideness, I found that people I talked to feel strongly

connected to, and integrated in their rural lifeworld and the life they can live there. This

feeling of social insideness, however, does not necessarily mean that people also feel a need

for social integration in the community or with age peers. Although all people find it

important to know their neighbours and to be familiar with people around them, not everyone

is in fact dependent upon social integration to feel attached to their locality.

Moreover, while living in a rural locality can be difficult, as mentioned previously, I

have not spoken to people who feel dislocated because of social change or changing physical

mobility. Aging does not affect the feeling of connectedness and people have a strong will to

age at home. Not all is lost with age as long as you keep making the effort to stay engaged

with it, they said. Even more, getting older is not about what limits people; it is about what

they can still do. It is about being resilient, “keep forging ahead” as Lester said, but it is also

about acceptance. Getting older is not about Barbara (93) not being able to drive to Hobart

herself; it is about her being able to go to the museum in Hobart or visit friends in other towns

with the community bus. It is about Patricia being able to help animals, about Don being able

to live in his own valley and about Maureen being able to keep in contact with her friends.

Acceptance also includes coping with arthritis and other health issues, and accepting

the fact that people are getting older, even if that comes with dependency upon others as well.

Independence needs to be balanced with dependence on government help, but people are also

reliant upon their social connections to maintain an independent lifestyle. Although not all

people are dependent upon social relations to feel connected to their living environment, the

gain that social insideness offers them is therefore that social integration makes elderly able to

depend upon their social environment. They can remain in the locale where they feel

integrated and connected, and thus, attached, through help from others, either now or in the

future. Participants therefore feel blessed with the help they receive. It allows them to age in

their home; the best place to be.


Autobiographical insideness: fear and strength in being out of place

“Your place is here, where you identify with” – Jean (85)

In this chapter I discuss the third and final aspect of place attachment, namely

autobiographical insideness. As Rowles (1984, 129-130) explains this form of attachment

points to the bond that has arisen out of a lifetime of experience with living in a particular

environment. The (dis)attached feelings of Chris and Frances are used separately to exemplify

that autobiographical insideness affects the extent with which people feel attached to place

and that a lifetime of experience is of high importance in order to age well in a rural locale. In

the second part of this chapter I describe how the extent of feeling attached can lead to the

fear of becoming uprooted elsewhere, but also what gain this dimension of attachment gives

people.

Out of place

The materials have been lying around for six months. Now the garden shed for Frances will

finally be built. “I just hope you don’t take as long as it took you to start with it”, Frances

laughs during breakfast. I ask why the couple waited so long and Chris answers: “Well we

were waiting for you to do the hard work.” We laugh and finish our toast with honey and

vegemite. An hour later we study the guidelines of the shed and read that we need to put four

large metal screws half a meter into the ground so that the shed will not blow away. The

ground is full with rocks. Due to the drought the rest of the ground is just as hard. Chris starts

out with the top layer, but after a few minutes he gives the shovel to me. He is wheezing and

places his hand against his back. The next forty-five minutes or so I struggle to shovel the

ground lose, whereafter Chris puts the screws in. We check everything, go through the

materials, drink a cup of tea and drive out to Cambridge to buy cement and wooden poles.

Three hours later we arrive back at Campania Springs for a late lunch.6

An hour later we walk back outside to continue our job. “So first”, Chris says. He

thinks for a while, robs his eyes and then continues, “we get the wood of the trunk.” Chris

tells me to get in and unstrap the rope. The trunk is too high for him to get in. As the truck is

parked about thirty meters from where we are building the shed I suggest we better drive the

truck down to the work place before we unload. “That is a very good idea actually”, Chris

responds. He turns around and slowly walks back to the house to get the car keys. Five

6 See Appendix (p. 81-83) for supporting pictures


minutes later we unload the heavy wooden poles from the car and put them next to the other

materials. Chris then walks back inside. His back starts to hurt, it is hot and he needs to

arrange an appointment with Andrew Benson, a local politician. The rest of the afternoon is

quiet. Frances and I sit outside in the shade, while Frances is sewing up Ivan’s, their sixty

year old neighbour, pants. The sound of a tractor that ploughs through the fields echoes across

the valley.

Other than most people I talked to, Chris and Frances do not have a rural background

and no autobiographical insideness with their locale. The couple has owned Campania

Springs for eight years, but they are both born and bred in Hobart. They worked in and around

the city for most of their lives and operated a swim and dive experience for tourists on the

Great Barrier Reef for twelve years as well. They moved back to “Tassie” eight years ago to

be closer to family, to spent time with Frances’ grandchildren and because they felt like going

home. The couple specifically chose to move to the Campania valley, because they wanted a

change of lifestyle. “We wanted more land, thought we could do a bit of farming”, my host

explains as he shows me around the forestry’s on their land on one of my first days there.

After years of having a small garden, Frances also wanted a bigger garden. “We wanted to

develop the property into a nice self-sustaining farming business, that seemed like a nice

idea”, Chris explains further.

On one of my last days, when most of the shed is standing upright, I tell my host that

he will have to finish the glass house he is going to build on to our newly built shed on his

own. “I was hoping I could change your mind to stay”, he sighs, “now I have to motivate

myself again.” We are walking to the house to get a cup of tea as he continues: “How am I

going to do that?” Chris has arthritis in his lower back and it is painful for him to build a shed

or to sit on the tractor. He has recently been officially diagnosed and taking medication, but it

has also been difficult for him to cope with. “Is that why you are demotivated to do things

around the farm as well?”, I ask him one time as we walk back up to the house from the

workplace. “Probably”, Chris answers. He remains quiet and looks to his feet as we walk on

with our hands resting on our thighs. The humidity of the sun is weighing down on us. As we

approach the house Chris adds: “But I’m also just mostly done with it.” He misjudged the

amount of work the farm takes and the effort it keeps asking now that he is getting older. The

last days of my stay we are going to clean his racing yacht and prepare it for the sailing

weekend he has signed up for. “Finally something that I like”, Chris sighs frustrated and

relieved, “wasting my time with building this blooming shed.” He never was a farmer in heart


and soul, but realises more and more that he does not want to be here. During the time I spent

at Campania Springs, Chris stated that he wants to move several times.

“Do you feel out of place?”, I ask Chris during one of our work breaks. Chris remains

silent for a while before he states: “One of the problems is that you are very isolated here.”

When Frances is working he is on his own. He reads a book, walks the dog, Sheeva, reads the

paper, emails politicians and cooks dinner. “I do visit Ivan when Frances is away, he is a good

fellow”, Chris tells me, “but the conversation is always about farming or deer shooting.” Ivan

is connected to his environment, whereas Chris has never felt this feeling of connectedness in

this locale. Chris’ jobs have always been related to his three passions in life: engineering,

politics and boats. Passions he still feels strongly connected to. He spends a lot of time behind

the laptop in the living room, emailing governors and politicians who he feels need to know

about current news items, such as why the roads are blocking in Hobart and how Tasmania’s

paper mill Norske Skog can reduce energy costs. He talks to me about the workings of a boat,

the future of robot-engineering or about the Australian legal system during breakfast, lunch

and dinner. Chris is happy to have someone other than Frances, who “heard it all before”, to

talk to. He misses talking about the subjects he is interested in, he finds it hard to manage

silence and does not really enjoy farming, he explained. When he ploughs up his land, for

example, “I always do it in wheelies, to make it more fun”, he grins one time as we drive by

the overgrown fields. “Always causes a bit of laughter with the other farmers”, he adds. Next

to autobiographical insideness, Chris also does not have physical and social insideness.

Rather he would be down in Hobart, the place he knows. It has the sea view he has had

all of his life, he can easily go down to the harbour and he can be involved with everything

that is going on. “Is that what you are attached to?”, I ask and Chris nods: “Yes.” “How long

have you had your own boats?”, I continue. “Since I was eighteen”, he answers. Chris starts

laughing. Around that time he also had his first encounter with the workings of legislative

procedures. He built a shack on the beach to build his first boat. He did not have legal

approval and got a letter from the government to take it down. So he decided to give them a

call. “How long before I get approval I asked”, Chris tells me. “A year they told me.” “And

how long before I have to take my shed down if I fight it?”, my host continues. Turned out

that process would take a year too, he laughs. “So I finished the shack, built my boat and took

it down at the end of the year, saved me a lot of trouble”, Chris says proud. His involvement

with being on the water and “stirring up the policies” is like a red line through his life course.

In Campania, Chris feels disconnected from his passions and the life he actually wants to live.


Other than her partner, Frances does have a feeling of social insideness. She is active

in the community and tries to stay connected with her lifeworld. She does exercises in the

morning to train her muscles, she meets with friends and is president of the Red Cross

committee in Campania. On free days Frances wanders bare feet in her green crocs in and

around the house, wearing joggings and an old white shirt, topped off with a worn off

sombrero. She enjoys walking on their property, she likes the space she has, to fiddle around

in her garden and to be surrounded by quietness. Although Frances does try to stay fit and

active, also she finds it hard to keep up with everything that needs to be done on the property,

especially now that it starts to require more effort. Chris and Frances both tell me that they did

not think farming through enough. Had they just bought a house, adjusting to their new

environment might not have been so difficult. They misjudged the amount of work and also

did not realise that the aging process would slowly start to kick in and slow them down. This

also gives them a lot of respect to their neighbours, who keep going no matter what. Their

farm is not self-sustaining, and Frances has had to take on another job to have sufficient

income. From an objective point of view she feels they should sell their property before it will

get too hard for them to maintain everything. Emotionally speaking Frances is still attached to

Campania Springs, her lifestyle and her friends in Campania, and secretly she would not mind

living here for at least a few more years.

Frances does look forward to move back to Hobart eventually though. “I do feel

connected to this place because I am very active for it, and have made friends here”, she

explains, “but I am not bonded with it as much as Jean and Maureen or others are.” Other

participants who also moved to a rural area at a later stage in their life said the same. These

people only bought a house and indicated, depending on the longitude of living there, that

they have also quite familiarised themselves with their environment. Still, just like Chris and

Frances, all of them plan to either move to Hobart or another city, or to move closer to family

eventually. They all explained that they are different from the ones who have lived in a rural

locale throughout their live, because they can see the advantages of moving to Hobart and

also will not find it as hard to move away from their town, as they are not as attached as

people with autobiographical insideness.

Together, the separate two cases of Chris and Frances illustrate that the familiarities

and connections are not as strong for people who do not have a lifetime of experience in a

rural locality. Whereas those with autobiographical insideness indicated that, indeed, aging

leads to changes, that does not mean that the bond with their locale declines, people without

autobiographical insideness told me they see moving closer to facilities or family as the better


option. Although Chris’ dislocated, almost lost, feeling is quite extreme in comparison with

his partner and other participants who moved to regional Tasmania at a later stage in their life,

his case exemplifies what they told me as well: people need to be acquainted with living in the

countryside and be interested in the rural lifestyle in order to age well in such locales. Some

people live in homes that have been in the family for years, so that connected feeling is much

tighter than that of the participants who are not originally from a rural locale. In other words,

not having a feeling of autobiographic insideness affects the extent to which people feel

attached to a place and whether or not people want to age in a rural locale. In the following

paragraph I address in what way this extent can have a limiting, as well as a strengthening

effect on people with autobiographical insideness.

Staying in place: rootedness and strength

As explained in the theoretical chapter Bourdieu (1977) found that habitus is the mechanism

whereby “ordinary experiences evolve into habit and establish custom and culture” (ibid.;

Kellaher, Sheila and Holland 2004, 65). In this case it seems that elderly who moved to a

different environment at a later stage in their life have difficulties to adjust to a new macro-

setting, because of their habitus and how people have internalised certain customs and ways

of thinking. As Chris has (almost) a lifetime of experience with an urban lifestyle, he finds it

hard to integrate in a locale with other ways of performing. Vice versa, those who are used to

the rural lifestyle do not think they could adjust to the city life. This especially shows in the

following conversations I had with Chris and Frances and Redge and Christina:

“Well, I think, because I am not born and bred here I’d like to move back”, Chris

believes. “I like to be involved with everything that is going on in the city, but it takes

a lot of time to get there”, he continues. “So if you would be used to living here, this

rural lifestyle, things would be different for you?”, I ask. “Exactly yes, living in areas

like this is something that you need to be used to. If I would have lived here all my

life, I wouldn’t have minded all these things at all. But I didn’t, so I do”, Chris states.

“Compared to the people in town [Campania] I might be considered to be socially

detrimental”, Chris states, “and I think there are advantages for being attached here for

them, but for me it is much easier to move.” Although Frances does not agree with her

partner when it comes to moving already, she does agree with this. “That is the thing,


you need to be used to dislocations like this”, she states, “and we have made an error

of judgement moving here.”

“What I think about it”, Christina says, “is that you have to be used to this lifestyle in

the country.” If you have lived on the countryside for most of your life, are used to the

hardships that come with it, and still love living here, people are far better of then in

the city. The community feeling in these areas is much bigger here. “But you have to

know how to take care of yourself in the countryside and know how to deal with the

remote lifestyle, that is why people who move here after they retire generally can’t

cope”, Christina tells me. Like most other participants she and her husband have lived

in the countryside all of their lives and they cannot imagine living anywhere else than

in the country. “Throw us in the city and we’d be lost”, Redge adds.

These quotations show that people have to know how to take care of themselves in the

countryside, that place attachment in a large part comes forth through autobiographical

insideness, and that this bond with place simply is not as strong, or present with people who

have lived in urban areas before moving here. It also points to the importance of having some

form of continuity in life and being able to maintain attachments to home. A continuity that

seems to stem from people’s experiences across their life course in certain localities.

The importance of having continuities becomes especially clear when looking at the

participants with attachments in multiple places. Frances, with attachments and interests in

Hobart and Campania, has conflicting feelings about moving. A few other participants also

lived in Hobart or cities such as Melbourne or Singapore, have friends and family in Hobart,

play card games or have choir practice in Sorrel. Through connections and involvements in

the communities and localities these people are bound to their locale. At the same time, they

explained they are used to life in the city as well and therefore readjusting in Hobart will not

be that hard. Like other participants none of these people want to move to a locality where

they do not have any connections. They would have to start all over and lose their attachment.

Being acquainted and connected to the lifeworld therefore almost seems to be a precondition

for people to feel that they can age well in their locale.

Even more, the attachments people expressed can be so strong that it limits them in

seeing other possibilities, or that it leads to a fear of having to relocate. This becomes visible

when place attachment is linked to Malkki’s (1997) description of ‘being rooted in place’. In a


study about the imaging of refugees and the western discourse of where people belong, he

explains that the relation people have with place is often naturalised with plant metaphors

(ibid., 56-57). ‘Soil’, ‘ancestry’ and ‘roots’ are such terms. People are rooted in place and

derive part of their identity and customs from that place, Malkki describes (ibid., 61). Rooted

in their place they have soil from which they can grow. In other words, rooted in place people

have been able to develop habitus. Although there does not seem to be anything wrong with

this botanical thought on the surface, being rooted in place also implies that there is some

form of ecologic immobility. Lift a tree up from the ground means you lift up its roots, out of

its soil into the open air where roots up and die. Although Malkki (ibid., 62) approaches “this

deeply rooted metaphysical thinking” from a (cross-) border perspective, the botanical

thought especially points to the concrete localities in which people live, as also a tree is

planted in a specific locality. Just like a tree is appointed a specific place, so to do people

belong to only their soil in terms of botanical thought. They are territorialised in place. Should

they move, people would be displaced from their ground. In botanical terms this is conceived

as uprootedness.

Ascribing people to place in a botanical manner is a way of thinking that resonates

with what participants expressed. From a sedentary point of view the roots have delved deep

into the ground during their lifetime in that locale, which shows in the fact that the

participants with autobiographical insideness all want to keeping living in the place where

they feel connected and attached, and thus, rooted. The botanical thought especially shows in

the way people talked about death and burial. “[I will] fertilise the trees in the bone orchard

up the road and make my own minerals”, ex-miner and crocoite collector Raymond (67)

explained as the rain stormed around the house. In death people will become one with their

soil in a manner of speaking.

Re-rooting is, however, not impossible. In fact, it is a quite natural phenomenon as

“roots themselves are in a constant state of flux and change”, Malkki clarifies (ibid., 71).

People are not trees, and even if they were, roots do not easily die of. Roots can be planted

elsewhere, been given water and grow. With this Malkki recognises Hebdige’s (1987, 10)

argument that “The roots don’t stay in one place. They change shape. They change colour.

And they grow.” There are only two participants who told me they think they can reconnect

elsewhere though. Ruth believes that “the happiness comes out of me, rather than from my

surroundings”, whereas Barbara trusts that she can relive and look back on her life no matter

where she lives. Even though both women are strongly connected to home and not planning

on leaving unless they have to, Barbara explained:


Well I think you’d miss it for a while, but then you’d get used to being you know

where you are. … I wouldn’t enjoy moving. But I hope I would have the presence of

mind. To realise that I have been able to live here, for all these years, the way I’ve

been able to live. I can’t climb mountains anymore. But I have done it. I don’t go out

fishing anymore in the boat. But I have done it. I don’t go walking all through this sort

of bush with this weather. But I have done it. With myself, with people, with my

husband. … You look back on what you’ve done and aren’t you lucky that you’ve

been able to do what you’ve done. Isn’t that what it is about. … It is lovely, because I

can look back on something beautiful and remember it all. I can’t do it anymore, but I

have been there. So.

Much the same as written in my theoretical chapter, Ruth and Barbara, but also Malkki

(1997) and Hebdige (1987), indicated that places such as home, community and land can be

evoked, relived and remembered elsewhere as well (Rubinstein and Parmelee 1992, 140;

Ponzetti 2003, 1-2; Kellaher, Sheila and Holland 2004, 68). This kind of thinking, however,

does not come to the fore with the other participants who have autobiographical insideness.

Just because they could, does not mean people want to. “You’re place is here, where you

identify with”, Jean (85) said to me during the discussion with the Red Cross committee. The

other women nodded in agreement, waving the humidity away with Fit2Healthy pamphlets.

Hebdige (1987, 10) and Malkki (1997, 72) suggest in their studies that also roots have history.

Although the history they refer to can be enacted upon elsewhere, history, being attached to

place through autobiographical insideness, keeps people homebound. Additionally, as has

come to the fore in previous chapters, moving, or ‘becoming rootless’, is something that

people want to avoid, because reconnecting, re-rooting in a more metaphysical term, is harder

as people get older and, also, letting go of friends in their lifeworld will be very hard. Even

more, participants strongly indicated that they would be lost elsewhere. As Raymond stated:

I tend to stick it out here as long as I can. Because I know what happens to these

people when they go into this aged care home. You get bored stiff. And you don’t last

very long after that, so you may as well die at home. In your own place. That’s my

theory anyway.

As the term uprootedness suggests, so too did Raymond indicate that he will up and die if he

will have to relocate. The attachments of people have grown so strong over the years that


there almost seems to be a kind of stubbornness or fear in having to re-root. This is sensible in

the way that people defend their locality, as illustrated in the first ethnographic chapter. It also

shows in the idea that people expect, as explained in the second chapter, that they will lose

their purpose if they are not able to do their activities, such as gardening, organising craft

meetings or delving for crocoite in the mineshafts that the men in Zeehan own. Several men

specifically said they would rather die before that happens. As the natural order of things

would lead people to be out of place, people themselves consequently, too, think they cannot

age well anywhere else. Having to move would not only mean that they would lose their

attachments, their continuities and the feeling of being settled and knowing their way around,

they would also become rootless and lose their sense of belonging.

While it may be that this metaphysical thinking could hold people back from moving

elsewhere, autobiographical insideness does give people a strong will to stay and age at home,

in their own lifeworld. People work hard to remain fit and resilient to avoid uprootedness.

Their attachment gives them a lot of strength to want to live and die at home. On top of that,

staying at home in itself has a strengthening effect on the participants as they encounter

physical change, because they feel habituated in their home and locale. From the porch on the

hillside of his valley Don explained that he is settled in his home and that this is a good thing

to have as he is aging further:

We should be spending, living as long as possible in our own homes. Just. It might be

difficult in some places, but you can always get around it. You can, you know, it is not

that difficult … I can do anything. The things I do here are things I want to do. And I

can do them … I can move in there [points inside], if the powers is off. Lights are

gone in say the night time. And I get up. Might need to go to the toilet. I can find my

way around.

Knowing the area, the roads, people, but also knowing their own home and where to find

things is simply a very useful thing to have.

If people do have to move because they cannot keep up with the maintenance of the

house or property, they can also move to smaller units in (the nearest) town. Like a few other

women Jean moved from the farm near Campania to a smaller unit in town itself after her

husband died. She could not maintain the farm, but she did not have to leave her locality.

Likewise, Singer (2015, 198) writes: “They get rid of the burden of maintenance, while

remaining close to the networks and relationships they’ve built over the years.” The other


participants I talked to still live in the same house they have lived in for several decades,

ranging from fifteen, to thirty, to sixty years, some of whom are planning to buy something

smaller in the same locale. People do not have to let go of their roots and attachments, even

though they have to relocate.

Implication: autobiographical insideness and rural aging

In describing the extent with which Chris and Frances feel attached to their living

environment I have argued that most of all autobiographical insideness attaches people to

place. History, habitus and a lifetime of experience has bonded and integrated people to their

physical setting, their lifestyle and possible social relations. People who moved to a rural

locality at a later stage in life expressed that this bond is less strong for them. The extent with

which people expressed autobiographical insideness also brings a defect to light though.

Related to Malkki’s (1997) description of metaphysical thinking, the participants I talked to

are deeply rooted in place, as their attachments have been nourished through time. Although

this creates a strong bond with the locale, this kind of thinking also leads to the feeling that

people cannot re-root elsewhere. They would “get bored stiff”, as Raymond predicted, and

lose their attachment to both their locale and the lifestyle they are able to live there. This

could cause that people are limited in seeing other, perhaps better, places to live as they age

further.

While I conducted fieldwork I have, as mentioned, not spoken to people who feel

dislocated in their own locale. Rather, being attached to home seems to have a strengthening

effect on the participants as they encounter physical change, because they feel accustomed in

their home and locale. Even more, the rural environment to which people are attached

strengthens the will of people to remain strong and fit as they are getting older, so that they

can remain attached. Attachment in that sense does not merely point to the connectedness

people have with their own home, in their own lifeworld, but also to the continuity they have

in their life and the lifestyle they can carry out there – a quality of life that cannot be enacted

upon in Hobart or Launceston, for which reason people try to stay as fit and healthy as they

can so they do not have to detach themselves. I delve deeper into this in the concluding

chapter.


Concluding chapter: the strengths and the pitfall of rural place attachment

“I tend to stick it out here as long as I can” – Raymond (67)

The countryside of Tasmania is not just simply that. The outskirts of the island are also

described remote, country, outback and, as Chris sighed a couple of times, ‘blooming

nowhere on the edge of civilisation’. The environment of people is relaxing as well as

challenging. Fires and floods lurk around the corner any time of year. Roads, the quality of

which is debatable, swirl and wind through mountainous areas, rainforests, plains, valleys, dry

farmland and Caribbean like coastlines. Although most towns have a little Veggies &

Hardware shop, not every town has a doctor’s post, a pharmacy or a gas station and most

elderly I talked to do not have children living nearby. As I argued in the research setting, from

a ‘heart of the world’ perspective, especially rural agers could therefore be deemed dislocated,

even if they do live beautifully dislocated. Furthermore, in exploring the theoretical

contribution that ‘place’ offers about the concept of rural aging I found that restricted and

decreasing mobility, in terms of bodily strength as well as in being able to keep an

independent lifestyle, loss of social capital and a deprivation of rural services can lead to a

shrinking rural lifeworld in a spacious and large macro-ecological environment. These

changes can affect the well-being of elderly and lead to a feeling of dislocation (see Krout

1988; Woods 2005; Hoon 2014; Fogg 2000; Rubinstein and Parmelee 1992).

There are, however, widespread orientations that mask the lived experience of rural

agers (Chalmers and Joseph 1998, 155) and there is not a lot of knowledge available on the

personal experience of rural aging and how agers feel about, or cope with, possible social and

physical tensions. With the use of anthropological research I therefore explored the effect of

the place in which life occurs, and how attachment to this place interweaves with people and

the experience of getting older. To gain a good understanding of the interconnectedness

between people and place I followed Rowles (1984, 129-130) subdivision of place attachment

and how each form of insideness is at play in the lives of people I talked to during the time of

fieldwork. In the following paragraph I bring the feeling of physical, social and

autobiographical insideness that people expressed together and answer my subquestions.

Thereafter I show the strengths as well as the pitfall that place attachment offers the people I

spoke to and answer my main research question: In what way does the feeling of being

attached to place affect the experience of aging in rural Tasmania?


Interweaving people with place

From ‘the heart of the world’ perspective rural Tasmanians may be perceived as somewhat

dislocated. From ‘the blooming nowhere’ point of view this description of rurality does not

uphold, especially in view of time and people’s life course. This is visible in the way that both

physical and autobiographical insideness are at play in the lives of people. Through a lifetime

of experience in their locale, people have not only grown attached to their home, hence

created autobiographical insideness, people also created a feeling of physical insideness.

Through time people familiarised themselves with their lifeworld and grown used to both the

possibilities and the disadvantages that their locale gives. They never had many services to

begin with, have always lived in this environment and had to travel long distances. Even

more, transport, communication and healthcare services have substantially improved during

the lifetime of people.

In relation to the sub-question In what way does the rural locale affect the lives of

aging people? people, thus, do not feel dislocated or become disengaged with their locale

because their physical setting becomes a burden on them. With firm, sometimes defensive,

voices people told me they recognise that they live remote, but they do not feel isolated. If

anything age has only familiarised people further with their locality and their lifestyle. People

do realise that resilience towards their locale is a necessity to age well there though. Living

rural requires effort, hard work and a strong will, people told and showed me. Yet, the

familiarity people have created with their physical setting actually also helps them in

maintaining and managing their (self-sustaining) lifestyle, as they simply know how to do so

due to years of experience.

A feeling of connectedness to the lifeworld is another inherent part of people, and the

answer to the sub-question In what way do people feel attached to their locale? People feel

strongly connected to, and integrated in, their lifeworld, the life they can live there and the

things they can do. Activities such as gardening, being in nature or delving in mines has been

a continuous aspect in people’s life and they want to keep continuing this. Although the

participants are familiar with their locale, the rural lifestyle and the disadvantages that come

with it; their feeling of connectedness, their passions, devotions and attachments makes them

wilful to stay at home, to work hard to keep a healthy and fit live and to be resilient to the

rural environment. When the time comes that this is not possible anymore the locality in

which people live is also the place where they want to draw their last breath. As Raymond

smiled from his rocking chair by the fire:


I’ll stay here until I pass on. Fertilise the trees in the bone orchard up the road and

make my own minerals. But hopefully not for a while yet.

People are rooted in place and also in death they want to remain connected to their land.

The connection that people address to their locale does not necessarily mean that they

also feel a need for social integration in the community or with age peers. Although all people

explained that they find it important to know their neighbours and to be familiar with people

around them, not everyone is dependent upon social integration to feel connected to their

locale. That does not mean that this aspect is not important. In relation to the sub-question

How do rural agers cope with physical and social change? people are not only resilient and

hard working to stay fit, they are also acceptant towards the aging process. Aging includes

coping with arthritis and other health issues, but is most of all about what people still can do,

not about what limits them. Although the loss of a friend or spouse is dislocating, that does

not mean that there is nothing left to do, or that there is no one else left to talk to. Even more,

the social capital people have is an important aspect in their lives, as aging also means having

to balance independence with dependency upon others, by handing certain things over.

Dependency in part traces back to government help. Yet, most people are also reliant

on friends, family or neighbours. Although not all people are dependent upon social relations

to feel connected to their living environment, they are dependent on these relations with

regard to physical change and loss of mobility to remain in the locale where they feel

integrated and connected. Though humiliating at first, being able to depend on others is

therefore seen as a blessing. Dependency on social relations means they can keep their feeling

of social, but also physical insideness, because people do not have to unfamiliarise themselves

with their locality and reintegrate elsewhere.

The feeling of social and physical insideness is greatly influenced by autobiographical

insideness. This shows in the answer to the last sub question In what way does the longitude

of living in a rural environment impact the feeling of attachment? as autobiographical

insideness strongly affects the extent with which people expressed a feeling of attachment to

their locale. This connection has mainly grown through autobiographical insideness.

Familiarities and connections have sprouted through it, more so than for people without

autobiographical insideness, who all explained that they did not want to keep living in their

rural lifeworld in the future. For people with autobiographical insideness the attachments have

grown on them as the life course, habitus and the history in that place further unfolded itself

while their lifetime of experience extended itself throughout their days and lives. In


underscoring the feelings of people who moved to a rural area at a later stage in their life I

have tried to show the strength of the attachments that ‘lifelong locals’ have – and the will and

tenaciousness that it gives them to age well in their own rural lifeworld. Even though people

defended their lifeworld and told me that it is not disadvantaged, people did indicate that

living where they live is sometimes difficult and that the aspect of being resilient is an

increasing aspect in their life as they also need to adjust and be resilient to physical change.

Getting older, however, does not decrease the attachment people have. There is therefore on

important reason for staying where they are: to be able to continue the life they have grown so

attached to during their life course, and from which they cannot envision having to be

distinguished from.

Sticking it out

The answer to my main research question In what way does the feeling of being attached to

place affect the experience of aging in rural Tasmania? seems to point out that the rural

attachment to place, that people expressed during the span of fieldwork, has a strengthening

effect on them as they age. Through autobiographical insideness, the lifetime of experience

they have in their rural locale, people have grown both familiar and connected to their home.

People want to remain there until they pass on. Place attachment in a sense enforces people’s

will to age in their own home and to maintain their independence, even if that comes with

dependency on others. The strength behind this will of remaining connected is threefold. First,

mainly through autobiographical insideness, the participants feel a strong will to be both

resilient and acceptant towards their aging process, so that they can keep living where they

want to. Second, the feeling of physical insideness and being familiar with their lifeworld has

taught people to be resilient and self-sufficient, so that they are able to maintain their rural

lifestyle. They know how to manage in their ‘dislocated’ localities, and feel settled and

accustomed to their own home. Third, elderly are able to depend upon their social

environment in a sense that they can remain in their own home and maintain their lifestyle

through help from others, either now or in the future. Through social and physical insideness

people can keep their attachments and their feeling of connectedness.

Yet, the tenaciousness and strong will of people to stay in their own locale can also

have a limiting effect on people, as they, rooted in place, feel or fear that they cannot

reconnect elsewhere. “We’d be lost in the city”, as Redge explained. People would “get bored

stiff”, as Raymond predicted. People do not want to move to Hobart or a care home, because


they would lose their habitus, the continuity they have in their life and because they would not

enjoy themselves elsewhere. Indeed, as Rubinstein and Parmelee (1992, 140), Ponzetti (2003,

2) and Hoon (2014, 4) write, ‘aging in place’ enables people to maintain a sense of continuity,

to protect oneself again change or to maintain their lifestyle. Moving is therefore something

people want to postpone for as long as possible, or not do at all. “I tend to stick it out here as

long as I can”, as Raymond said, which points not only to the strong will of people, but also to

the botanical thought of ecologic immobility. A way of thinking that could also be the pitfall

of having place attachment.

I vividly remember driving out of Don’s valley. Honking the horn when I saw him

waving in my rear view mirror. As I had experienced with most of my participants I felt

impressed and amazed about the wilfulness of people – their life’s course and their strong

bond with home. Still, as I saw Don turning around to his house in between the tall trees there

was the ever lingering question: but until when? As Keating (2008, 129) reminds her readers

as well: “Rural places are both idyllic and difficult, just as rural adults are both resilient and

fragile.” Even though I have not spoken to participants with autobiographical insideness that

feel their locality to be a burden on them, eventually it might still become so. A theme neither

I, nor some of my participants found a grip on. Getting too old, or the possibility of becoming

dislocated, was always something in the unforeseeable future.

“But what if it eventually gets too much?”, I asked Redge and Christina as they

explained to me how their lifeworld requires resilience and passion. “We’ll have to die”,

Redge answered hesitant for him and his wife after a short silence. Some people stated the

same answer, quicker, but with almost too much confidence in their voice. Other people

wiggled uncomfortably in their chair. Barbara, one of the few who talked rather calm about it,

said: “It depends. If I didn’t have good health and I needed attention, I couldn’t cook for

myself and I couldn’t do all the things that I normally have to do I’d be lost.” Among most

people I talked to there is some uncertainty about whether or not their rural lifeworld will

remain a good place to grow old.

Then again, when the participants will get too old or fragile the possibility of

becoming dislocated is something that will happen anywhere, no matter the locale. Keeping

physically and socially active, however, keeps people from feeling dislocated and the feelings

of insideness with their locality strengthens and supports this will to keep active. In studying

the possibility of becoming dislocated I, thus, found exactly the opposite as the attachment to

people’s lifeworld positively influences people as they age. Though, from some perspectives

people might be seen as dislocated. Though place might become a burden in the future.


Through the eyes of my participants the best way to ensure their well-being is to stay and age

in place. For them the rural locale is not dislocating at all. Not moving might be because of

fear of losing this attachment, but then that fear strengthens them too. Wanting to stay where

they feel attached enhances people’s will to remain active for their passions and to remain

resilient to the circumstances. When, íf, the time comes that people lose the familiarity with

their locale, cannot live life the way they want to or where they want to, for health or age

reasons, than it no longer matters where they live. As people do not expect, or hope, to live

long when that happens, people feel that they may as well die at home, in their own place: the

place where they want to live, and to eventually also die. Until that day, as Barbara said: “I’m

quite happy to be here forever. And I don’t know how long forever goes on, but forever and

ever as far as I’m concerned never ends.”


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Appendix - Corpus of the data

Observations

Grand tour observations

Coles Bay and East Coast

Including small talk Alex (63); bus driver Calows

Coaches; Owner of the bakery, Sandra;

Employee in convenience store, Peter; bar tender

Iluka tavern

West Coast

Including small talk with Luke (37), and Ron

(64) and Victoria (62)

Zeehan

Including small talk Clinton (51); Richard (55);

Selena (32), the health nurse; Jolmer, the local

doctor; Joan (52) and Melissa (37), community

workers.

February 2nd – 8th 2016, Coles Bay

In Town life of Coles Bay

Number of pages: 4

February 15th – 18th 2016, West and North

Tasmania

In The great wild, wild West

Number of pages: 6

March 30th – April 4th 2016 ; Zeehan

In Remaining’s of the once Silver City of the

West

Number of pages: 5

Lester Donges and Collette van Dieren

The observations include grand tour

observations, mini tour observations and

participant observations

Grandtour observation

Grand tour observation

Participant observation

Participant observation and mini tour observation

Bicheno

Including small talk with Frank (71) and Vicky

(72)



The Pondering Frog and its hosts

January 22nd

2016, The Pondering Frog and

Tasman Highway

Number of pages: 4

Life at the Pondering Frog

January 23rd

2016, The Pondering Frog

Number of pages: 3

A hard day’s working

January 24th 2016, The Pondering Frog

Number of pages: 2

Morning rituals and family matters


Number of pages: 3

Townlife of far out Bicheno

January 25th 2016, Bicheno

Number of pages: 2

Interference


Number of pages: 2

Doubts and isolation


Number of pages: 3






Rain, power-outage and irritations


Number of pages: 3

Stuck in the floods

January 29th 2016, The Pondering Frog and

Bicheno

Number of pages: 3

Less talking


Number of pages: 2

Attachment to business

January 31st and February 1st 2016, The

Pondering Frog

Number of pages: 4

Chris Adams and Frances Maxwell











Campania Springs

February 18th 2016, Campania Springs

Number of pages: 3

Farming between a brick and a wall

February 19th -21st 2016, Campania Springs

Number of pages: 4

Building a shed

February and march, Chris

Number of pages: 11

Foreseeing the future

February 22nd 2016, Campania Springs

Number of pages: 3

Arthritis

February 24th 2016 - Chris

Number of pages: 2

Social attachments and being worn out

February 18th – 25th 2016 - Frances

Number of pages: 2

“Here’s me unburdening myself to you”

February 24th 2016 – Frances

Number of pages: 3

Ruth Brozek




Grandtour observation

Setting the scene



Grand tour observation and mini tour observation

Participant observation and small talk

April 8th – April 26th 2016

Number of pages: 5

Gardening (and other activities)


Number of pages: 17

The Tasman Peninsula and Eaglehawk Neck


Number of pages: 4

Milos – April 26th 2016

Number of pages: 2

Other

Small talk

Sue and Darryl (in their forties)

Concerning: global warming/drought


Cunningham Walk

Including small talk with Eleanor (78), Michelle, Shaun (58), Gina (67) and Lyn (68)


The Wall

Including small talk with Eleanor (78), Tina,

Barbara, Anne (73), Redge (70), Albert, Shaun

(58).

Focus group discussion

Respondents: Frances (the president of the

Campania Colebrook branch), Jill (61) (the

secretary), Ronda (74), Margot, Rita (85)

Dorothy (87), Maureen (70), Merle (71), Janet

(73) and Jean (85)

Observed: Sue and Darryl

Date and location interview: February 25th 2016

– New Norfolk area

In Drought

Number of pages: 1

Group of elderly walking and socialising in

Cunningham

Date and location interview: February 28th 2016

– Cunningham walk

A walk “to socialise those isolated areas”

Number of pages: 4

Group of elderly of Oatlands on a trip to the Wall

Date and location interview: March 3rd 2016 –

the Wall

Out for the day with friends from home

Number of pages: 4

Committee of Colebrook and Campania branch

of Red Cross

Date and location interview: March 9th 2016 –

Community hall Campania

Worries about the future of the community

Number of pages: 4

Formal and informal interview, and small talk

Lester (65) and Collette (63)

Formal interview

Lester (65)

Formal interview

Collette (63)

Formal interview

January 22nd

2016, The Pondering Frog

Duration: 01:37: 17

Number of pages: 8


Duration: 01:06:29 (including intermissions with

work)

Number of pages: 4


Duration: 01:36:06 (including intermissions with

work)

Number of pages: 6


Jen (62)

Informal interview

John (72) and Annie (70)

Informal interview

Mike (71)

Informal interview

John (65)

Informal interview

Alex (63)

Formal interview

Ann (76) and Don (81)

Formal interview

Don (81)

Small talk

Lindon (81)

Informal interview

Barbara (93)

Formal interview

Albert (75) and Diana (70)

Formal interview

Lyn (68)

Small talk

Ivan (60)

Small talk

Anne (73)

Informal interview

Redge (70) and Christina (69)

Informal interview


Duration : thirty to forty minutes

Number of pages: 3


Duration interview: thirty minutes

Number of pages: 2

February 1st 2016, The Pondering Frog

Duration interview: forty minutes

Number of pages: 4

February 3rd

2016, Freycinet National Park

Duration interview: two hours

Number of pages: 2

February 5th 2016, Iluka tavern - Coles Bay

Duration interview: fifty minutes

Number of pages: 2

February 5th 2016, Coles Bay

Duration interview: 1:43:43

Number of pages:15


Number of pages: 1


Duration interview: an hour

Number of pages: 4



Number of pages: 13



Number of pages:14

February 29th 2016, Cunningham walk

Duration interview: Thirty minutes – in between

the steeper parts of the walk

Number of pages: 1

March 1st 2016, Campania Springs

Number of pages: 3

March 3rd

2016, The Wall

Duration interview: An hour

Number of pages: 3

March 3rd

2016, Colebrook roadside

Duration interview: An hour

Number of pages: 5


Reinder (92) and Jannie (82)

Informal interview

Steve (68) and Heather (66)

Small talk – Expatriates in a small town

Frances (63)

Formal interview

Maureen (70)

Informal interview

Ronda (74)

Small talk

Chris (64)

Formal interview

Patricia (76)

Formal interview

Melissa (37) and Joan (52)

Formal interview – community workers

Selena (32)

Formal interview – health nurse

Jolmer (40)

Informal interview – local doctor

Margot (87)

Formal interview

Clinton (51)

Small talk

Richard (55)

Informal interview

Raymond (67)

Formal interview

March 5th 2016, Margate

Duration interview: An hour and a half

Number of pages: 4

March 7th 2016 – Campania

Number of pages: 2

March 7th 2016, Campania Springs

Duration interview: an hour and a half

Number of pages: 6

March 9th 2016 – Community hall Campania

Duration interview: Thirty minutes

Number of pages: 2

March 9th 2016, Community hall Campania

Number of pages: 1

March 12th 2016, Campania Springs

Duration interview: two hours

Number of pages: 8

March 31st 2016 – Zeehan


Number of pages: 20

March 31st 2016, Community centre – Zeehan


Number of pages: 5

April 1st 2016, Rural health centre – Zeehan

Duration interview: 0:47:15 minutes

Number of pages: 4

April 1st 2016– Zeehan


Number of pages: 2

April 1st 2016– Zeehan


Number of pages: 14

April 2nd

2016– Zeehan

Duration interview: twenty minutes

Number of pages: 1

April 2nd

2016– Zeehan


Number of pages: 3

April 2nd

2016– Zeehan


Number of pages: 16


Joe (62)

Formal interview

Clarry (87) and Yvonne (82)

Formal interview

Don (85)

Formal interview

Felicity (79)

Formal interview

Patricia (81)

Formal interview

Ruth (66)

Formal interview

Terry (72)

Formal interview

April 3rd

2016– Zeehan


Number of pages: 12

April 3rd

2016– Zeehan

Duration interview: 02:24:19 (including

intermissions)

Number of pages: 11

April 14th 2016– Tasman Peninsula


Number of pages: 16

April 15th 2016– Tasman Peninsula


Number of pages: 11

April 22nd

2016 – Eaglehawk Neck


Number of pages: 11

May 2th 2016 – Eaglehawk Neck

Duration interview: 01:35:

Number of pages: 14

May 6th 2016 – Eaglehawk Neck

To be transcribed

Other materials and sources

Field materials

Methodological, theoretical and analytical

memobook

Fieldnotes

Diary

137 pages

200 pages

106 pages

Pictures of decoration home

Lester (65) and Collette (63)

Chris (64) and Frances (63)

Ruth (66)

Indicator of where passions/interests lie



Articles in papers and magazines

The Rosebery Community House Inc. 2016.

Community keepsake 2016. Devonport: Impress

print

Crawley, Jennifer. 2016. “Good dag sunshine …

bad day sunshine.” Mercury (1-2), April 18th

Gives insight on community work and what it

means for local people to have a community;

gives more insight on the importance of having

social capital/community in rural areas

Article on the climate change that rural Tasmania

and its farmer are subjected to; in compliance

with what respondents are experiencing


Baker-Dowdell, Johanna. 2016. “A ‘woodie’

through and through.” The Senior (1), March

Parks and Wildlife service Tasmania. 2016.

Eaglehawk Neck Historic Site. The key to the

Peninsula. Taranna: Tasman Field Centre

Tasmanian Peninsula Historical Society. 2015.

Tasman Peninsula Chronicle. Premaydena:

Tasmanian Peninsula Historical Society, issue 17

Tasmanian Farmer, April 2016. “Climate change

caution.” Issue 81, page 9

Tasmanian Farmer, April 2016. “Farming life a

labour of love.” Issue 81, page 52

Tasmanian Farmer, April 2016. “Family farms in

decline: ABS.” Issue 81, page 54

Tasmanian Farmer, April 2016. “Help flies in for

rural areas.” Issue 81, page 28

Tasmanian Farmer, April 2016. “Gradual loss of

vision a risk to farmers.” Issue 81, page 42

Holmes, Michael. 2014. “Western Wilderness.”

In Vanishing towns. Tasmania’s ghost towns and

settlement, edited by M. Holmes, 3-48. Hobart:

forty South Publishing Pty Ltd. [ 45]

Singer, Renata. 2015. Older and Bolder.

Melbourne: Melbourne University Press. [281]

Article on Bruce Hays (72), a retired

woodchopper that now has wood turning as a

hobby; an example of having a passion for

something and being resilient to the

circumstances it comes with

Gives insight on the history of Eaglehawk Neck

Gives insight on community work and what it

means for local people to have a community.

Also articles from Patricia Connolly (81) and

Ruth Brozek (66); gives more information on

their connection to their community

Article on the climate change that rural Tasmania

and its farmer are subjected to; in compliance

with what respondents are experiencing

Article on farming life in Tasmania; In

compliance with what respondents have told me

farming life is about passion, devotion and

resilience

Article on the rural restructuring that rural

Tasmania is subjected to; in compliance with

read literature

Article on the emergency service in rural

Tasmania; in compliance with what respondents

have told me

Article on health issues for farmers in Tasmania;

provides more insight on the medical facilities

for rural elderly

Book that records a number of Tasmanian towns

and settlements that no longer exist, or that live

in its own shadow, Zeehan being one of those

latter. The descriptions contain historical records,

field visits and knowledge from the locals.

Book about lives of women over sixty in New-

York and Melbourne and “productive old age.”


Appendix – Map of Tasmania

Legend

Places I conducted fieldwork Mentioned cities and towns

Hobart

Launceston

Burnie

Devonport

Campania

Oatlands

Lester and Collette

Coles Bay

Chris and Frances

Zeehan

Ruth

© Google 2016


Appendix – Picturing the scene

Traversing to the wild and rugged west coast of Tasmania through a recently burned area. All pictures by © Felten

The Roaring Forties blow Tasmania’s dunes further inland



The center of Zeehan during the day Zeehan was once a thriving mining town, nowadays a lot

of houses and shops are empty

The town is surrounded by mountains covered in mists and impenetrable rainforests

The coast line of Coles Bay, a town popular for its surrounding nature



Freycinet national park near Coles Bay, one of Tasmania’s Carribbean like coastlines

The central plateau, or the midlands The town Campania

The east coast of Tasmania has calm, blue seas, rolling onto pearl white beaches



One of the many wooden cottages on the east coast

General store on the Tasman Peninsula, with limited, expensive products



One of the few gas pumps on the Tasman Peninsula

Aging beautifully dislocated on the Tasman Peninsula



The Pondering Frog, Lester (65) and Collette’s (63) property

Collette scoops out ice-cream for a customer

Lester works behind the counter

In between their vegetable garden and food from the shop,

the couple is self-sustaining



A pick nick with Ruth and her children in a national park Dolphins in front of Ruth’s house

Birds, a great passion of Ruth. In the distance the stretch Ruth at work in her vegetable garden

of land that connect the peninsula to Tasmania

Ruth (66) on one of our morning walks. Milos (42) and Sally in the distance


One of Ruth’s glass houses

Chris (64) with the nearly finished garden shed



Getting sand for the foundation of the shed Figuring out our next move after laying the foundation

Putting the walls up Nearly there, putting the roof on

Chris’ miniature replication of where and how he would want to live the most



Frances (63) with one of her friends from the Red Cross committee

View across the Campania valley from the property of Chris and Frances



Myrthe: Do you ever think about leaving Zeehan?

Raymond: Nope. What for?

Myrthe: Well, possibly when you would need aged care. That could happen

Raymond: Well! Haha. Home, here. Home, here. Home, here.

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An exploration of late life in rural Tasmania and the relation between people and place - Master...

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