Summer shack: A photographer’s home on North Stradbroke Island

PHOTOGRAPHER KARA ROSENLUND DISCOVERS THE WONDERS OF THE EVERYDAY AT HER NORTH STRADBROKE ISLAND HOME.

WITH A FULL HEART I’m writing this to you from North Stradbroke Island, a sand island in Queensland’s Moreton Bay. The local Quandamooka people call it Minjerribah, which means ‘island in the sun’. It’s just turned spring, though it always feels like summer over here.

People like to keep Stradbroke Island a secret. It’s a haven — for people and nature. Being here feels wild.

People say the island feels this way because a planned bridge was never built to connect it to the mainland. Being isolated only attracts a ‘certain type of person’, the type who doesn’t see travelling over water as a barrier, and who yearns for simplicity. The seclusion has kept the island safe from change.

My husband and I bought a weekender here about 18 months ago. An original 1970s timber A-frame, which we are slowly doing up. We fell in love with the house the moment we first saw it. Lots of natural light and glass, with knotty pine shiplap walls.

Starting Friday nights, we abandon city life and head for the ferry. I’m usually cutting it very fine timewise, dashing to catch it and running with baskets and weekend bags madly slung over my shoulders, with whatever precious find I have made for the house that week in my arms.

Once onboard, I head straight out the back to my favourite spot. There are lots of seats inside, but there are six magical faded plastic chairs on the open deck, drilled into the floor and this is where I sit. For an old ferry it goes fast, quickly gaining speed over the bay. Within this moment onboard I feel completely free, watching the mainland disappear in the distance, as the churned water trails behind.

Our life before the island was very different. Instead of catching ferries, we would be catching planes, going all over the country and all over the world for work. Always in different directions. We were worried — how long could we keep going in such disparate ways from each other? I would think often about an Esther Perel quote: ‘The quality of our relationships determines the quality of our lives.’

Something needed to shift and it did when we found this island. Embracing this new life was very easy. I began to see the weekends differently. As two special days which needed to be protected from other days of the week. Sacred time.

When I started to think like this, simple things began to reveal themselves to me — or maybe I had the time to let them in. It started one Saturday afternoon, seeing shadows dancing on the wall of the back bedroom. The shadows were cast by a palm tree outside the window. The fronds gently swayed in the breeze. The shadows looked like a slideshow; the warm sunlight projecting on the pine walls.

In that visual flicker of insignificance, I was reminded of the weekends I grew up knowing — weekends of simplicity.

I would bring all the week’s dirty washing over to the island with me — the washing has a way of catching up with you wherever you live. First thing on Saturday morning >

I would put a load of washing on. We don’t have a tumble dryer at the house, instead I use the weathered old timber clothesline in the backyard — which is half falling apart. I would peg the washing out, gingerly adding more and more layers to the shaky line.

I found myself looking forward to this morning activity with an unusual level of excitement and wonder. I would be precariously pegging the white sheets on the rickety line, while getting slightly tangled up in a cocoon of wet white linen, trying hard not to let them touch the ground. Being in the moment and seeing the beauty of sunshine and shadows on the clothesline would bring me such joy.

I decided to start documenting the simplicity of these ordinary days — photographing my everyday life on the weekends as something to remember them by.

I would crave the dishes my mum used to throw together on the weekends, like prawn sandwiches. As a child I would watch her fingers rhythmically peeling prawns in front of me, like a magic show.

I had always longed to photograph the sea, to capture the freedom of being underwater. How the waves crash against your body, invigorating the skin and mind. I wanted to share the simple pleasure of rearranging objects at home and how satisfying it can be to bring together a collection of things you absolutely love.

When you allow time for the ordinary moments, they have a way of becoming so much more.

This is an edited extract from Weekends by Kara Rosenlund, $50. The book and a selection of prints are available at kararosenlund.com

The 1970s weekender of photographer Kara Rosenlund and her husband Timothy O’brien. FACING PAGE The house is filled with works by Kara, including the print of trees on the living room wall.

The living room is filled with secondhand items. FACING PAGE, CLOCKWISE FROM TOP Treasured objects on display in the entry area; shells inspired the colour palette used in the house; a window reflecting the beautiful surroundings; the Australiashaped shell mirror in the outdoor shower was a gift.

Swimming in the pristine waters of the island. CLOCKWISE, FROM BELOW Plants among the dunes; Kara enjoys the ritual of hanging the washing; their island car, a 1971 Land Rover called Dusty. FACING PAGE, CLOCKWISE, FROM TOP LEFT Kara displays work by ceramic artists; some of her negatives; the Gorge; a shell on Kara’s bedside table; pandanus grow abundantly; a precious framed photograph.

The grasscloth wallpaper blends seamlessly with the custom bedhead. FACING PAGE, CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT The house has the original 1970s crazy paving; pandanus fruit is used for decoration; the seashell necklace she likes to wear while on the island; Queensland pineapples; the cover of Kara’s new book.