Tree-change truths: What people won't tell you about moving to the country

The first thing I see every morning, after my lightly snoring husband, are the naked limbs of soaring deciduous trees outside my window, framed beautifully by the lofty McIvor Ranges in Central Victoria.

Two years and two months into our “tree-change fantasy” the leaves have fallen and are mulch in the ground.

My husband Trevor and I moved to the country part out of necessity, and part out of dream. We never felt at home in the concrete and the congestion of the city, and when our sleepy town of Pakenham became a suburb of Melbourne, we knew it was time to leave.

In May 2016, I walked out of my job, the one that was taking nearly five hours a day to commute to and from. A year later, we sold our brick veneer and bought the dream – a weatherboard cottage on a third of an acre, within walking distance to a brewery, two pubs, a wine bar and several cafes. What could possibly go wrong?

Before I drown this story in negativity, it’s important to advocate for the great things about rural life. Just as Dorothea McKellar wrote of her love for the land, I must share mine, too. After all, it’s one of the top reasons we moved. That, and the cost of living: our beautiful cottage, two blocks from town, cost just $285,000.

We moved because we were disillusioned with Melbourne’s urban sprawl. We were experiencing mortgage stress. and I was floundering for purpose in the corporate world.

Making a tree change felt like beginning a great romance, yet, with any new love, the gloss eventually fades. There is the isolation. The internet’s not bad, but it’s difficult to get a same-day medical appointment. There’s also a lack of public transport to Melbourne.

Our town really is great, but it may not be the right one for us. When Melbourne friends discover where we’ve moved, the response is pretty much, “Wow! I love the wine!”. All I can do is nod. They’re right. And there’s so much more right at our fingertips.

• Related: Is there such a thing as ‘moving’ etiquette?
• Related: Why I still live at home
• Related: The reality of a nine person share house

Work is plentiful, if you’re willing to travel on traffic-free roads for an hour. There are wineries, pubs, cafes, even a Mitre 10. It’s the perfect Fitzroy life, for a fraction of the price.

​Here’s the BUT, though. While Trevor and I own a house, pay rates and work in town, we’re not “local”. You’ve got to have five generations buried in the cemetery and be born on the hill, for that.

Even after two years, there are people who still don’t look us in the eye. It’s like there is an invisible barrier that can’t be cracked, no matter how much you try.

It’s so subtle, that I wonder if it’s even real. But when we don’t get invited to events that we really could have been, the truth is obvious, and painful. Trevor and I are outsiders. We’re not local and never will be.

We’ve tried to connect. And yes, we do have a handful of friends. But it’s been a hard slog, and lonely.

My husband and I have three choices. Persevere, relocate, or return. For now, we choose to stay. Although we plan to move on – eventually – it won’t be back to Melbourne.

We need the country too much. The earth, the sky, the space. The move hasn’t been a failure, if anything we’ve grown from the experience. It’s just that country living – as we’ve discovered – is more than organic gardening and whole-food cooking.