Lots of Caleos in the mud in the December of 2021, 2 days after the 18 month anniversary of dad’s death.
Photo by Zebedee Michelangelo Bamford Caleo.
Our reading was supplied by mum:
“Thy sea, O God, so great,
My boat so small
It cannot be that any happy fate
Will me befall
Save as Thy Goodness opens paths for me
Through the consuming vastness of the sea.”
Winfred Ernest Garrison
Above, people wade through some pretty sticky stuff (or ‘quag’, as it’s referred to by Joseph and Zebedee) for the second annual throw of ashes of Salvatore Michelangelo Caleo into the Barwon River. Was this our fourth year of a pre-Christmas camp there, which has taken over from the previous multi-year tradition of camping and water sports at Fraser National Park at Lake Eildon? Whatever the numbers, it’s been a pre-emptive tented getaway from the pre-Christmas maelstrom for a good few years.
Also, campsites are cheaper before the 25th.
Salv was the core of these trips, of course. From bringing a full-size fridge and plugging it into the on-site power, to the bottomless pot of tea, he was the core.
Wherever you are, dad, I bet the weather is great and the kettle’s on the boil.
Remembering Salv Caleo 