We rented a car and headed down south to visit Jac’s mom for her birthday this weekend. The winter fog in Balingup is thick like pea soup, as a man older than myself would likely say.
Tasted a bit of wine at the Brookland Valley winery, had lunch at Flute’s restaurant, watched some surfers at Yalingup.
And I finally found out why all the place names here end in “up.” It apparently means “place of” in the Noongar language.
