Mining rites

My mother, Marisol Torres, came with her family to Australia from Madrid, Spain, in the early 1960s. She married at 21 and had two children – my brother, Phil, and me.

After 27 years, my parents’ marriage ended and Mum began the study of lapidary – the cutting, polishing and engraving of stones. Her fascination with opals took her to the New South Wales outback town of Lightning Ridge. She would often drive her Ford Fiesta to “the Ridge” with her two dogs, Ginger and Lorenzo, and in early 2000 she bought a small campsite there for $2000. It included a used caravan and a corrugated iron shed.

There were no luxuries – she would go to the bore baths for a hot shower – but she was closer to nature and had a chance to find black opals and make some money.

My mother was a beautiful, adventurous Spanish woman, with dark hair and hazel eyes, but she was also quiet and shy. Early in the Ridge years, she kept to herself, but later, she started going to the neighbourhood centre to socialise.

She would also travel to Grawin, about 55km west, and “speck” for opal: going through truckloads of rubble dumped by full-time miners.

It was her dream to mine, but her naivety and romanticised get-rich-quick thinking cost her. She was ripped off and never made her mark. But she retained a sense of humour and a beguiling smile.

Then, just as friendships began to blossom, she was diagnosed with cancer and had to return south for treatment. She had intentions to cook paella as a special treat for her Ridge friends, but died too soon. In her honour, my aunt Marisa and I fulfilled her desire when we visited the Ridge in March last year. We also learnt a bit about the place she’d come to call home.