Last night, I dreamt I was on the ferry going back to Tasmania. As it neared this state off the mainland, beautiful cloud formations of dark greys and billowing blues greeted the passengers who stood on the deck like lovers eagerly looking toward their beloved on the shore. It had been snowing, and a quiet blanket of white had settled on the hills and factories. It was a magical land, a promised land, at the end of a long night at sea. My face was wet—tears had soaked both my dream cheeks and the pillow in my happiness at being back on this small island at the edge of the end of the earth.
This image was created in Chat GPT based on my first paragraph.
There are many recent climate fiction novels that speculate on the effects of a changing environment — pollution, overpopulation, resource management, and other catastrophes facing Australia and the world. That was the essence of the dream — a sense of horror, of trauma, and the relief of reaching sanctuary.
I suspect, quite strongly, that I was dreaming this because of just how many people are on my fucking coast.
Once a sleepy road built by returned servicemen after World War I that wound along the ocean way, it is now not only a place where tourists flock unimaginatively but also where new housing estates spill forth thousands upon thousands of new residents. They jog along the beach, learn to surf, sip lattes, or let gangs of groodles loose to race through wire fences, chasing wallabies and hooded plovers—birds that, like so many animals here, are threatened with extinction.
I resent it.
I try my hardest not to. The reasonable arguments for not wishing them dead are recited like mantras: everyone has a right to the land, things have changed, you cannot go back, be happy with the small joys.
But I feel a simmering, brewing, overbubbling rage. The SUVs and Teslas and vans that angle-park along the stretch where my Nana used to drive walk her dog, the short, squat collie eagerly following her car as she crossed all the white lines. The hundreds of surfers at the one break on a Saturday morning who don’t know, or choose not to follow, basic etiquette, let alone rules. The retirees walking their dogs off-leash, letting them race up to you, jump on you, bark, tear through the dunes—and you’re the Karen for complaining.
Since 1990, when I was just exiting my teens, the population of Australia has almost doubled from 17 million. In the next 15 years, another 10 million will be added. Where are all these people supposed to go?
Forgive me for wishing for a plague.
My Indian friends on Hive would laugh at me, but more populous nations have always been so, and thus, you are used to jostling for space. Being Australian used to mean wide open spaces. Now, it means not being able to find a wild, quiet spot to camp—either it’s overcrowded, or it’s been left littered with baby wipes and beer bottles. It’s jarring. I have the symptoms of older people who struggle to adjust to a changing world. I’d like to think I’m adaptable, but like the dying fish in dying oceans, I can’t cope with change at this pace.
And that’s why I’d happily return to 1990—not to relive my angst-ridden, uncertain self with all the mistakes ahead of her, but because I long for quiet and solitude.
Tassie isn’t immune to population changes, but at least it’s less crowded than here. I would go further, to an island off an island off an island. Perhaps I should learn to sail.
And if there’s another pandemic, it can be shut off from the mainland—and that, to me, seems like something worth crying with joy over.
With Love,
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I understand your fear and I'm having a bit of the same worries.
The Netherlands is quite the opposite of Australia. It is a country with one of the highest densities in the world and unfortunately it keeps increasing.
Since 1990, the population of the Netherlands has grown from approximately 14.9 million to about 17.8 million in 2023. That's almost 20%. I think in 2025 we are already over 20%
The total area of the Netherlands is 41,543 square kilometers. If you divide that by the number of people, everyone would have 'only' 233 square meters.
There is a shortage of houses. People are getting older and stay in their homes. Especially here in the western part of the Netherlands cities and towns grow towards each other. Houses are being built where there were meadows and open areas.
The birth ratio has been declining a bit over the years and the baby boomer generation is getting old, but on the other hand immigration increases.
I'm trying not to be a pessimist, and I love the Netherlands a lot, so I won't leave anytime soon, but things aren't getting any better.
I should remember what Europe is like and perhaps that would make me get some perspective! It was hard to find space on your own there. Like you, I TRY to not get pessimistic but sometimes I'm glad I'm at this stage of my life - I don't want to die for at least 20 years but I'm not not ill want to see what happens in 30. Gosh that sounds terrible doesn't it? Really I need to work harder on my perspective.
When we moved here in 1983, there were 14 other houses on the road. The first house was built in 1970. The last in 2016 right next to us on the north side. Now there are 26. When we moved here, a great deal of the town was agriculture fields, as this is the 7th best soil in the world. Pretty much now there are only fields on the far outskirts of town. The interstate highway that bisects the town was pretty quiet in 1983. Now there's constant road noise. And just on Monday, the director of the Senior Center was taking photos of how crowded our class is to try for a larger senior center in the near future.
They built a new larger elementary school in 2003 and currently has 212 students. The town has 3,324 people as of 2023. In 1980 at the last census it had 3,352. So while the population of this town has stayed steady, there are a LOT more houses. In 2006 agriculture took up 3,500 of Hatfield’s 10,750 acres. Only undeveloped land at 5,000 acres was larger. Since we moved here in 1983 up until 2022, there have been 401 homes built on the 7,250 acres that weren't agricultural in 2006.
So even this tiny town has seen a LOT of building, if not more people. And people are no better behaved here than where you are.
But at least you don't have MORE people! Change is inevitable, right, but it's the PACE and SCALE of it that worries me. So yes, even more houses that disrupt the natural environment are caused for concern. Here they love big houses and big cars too.
Interesting!