There are no traffic lights in my suburb, and the biggest motoring hazard is ducks crossing the road

As we drove towards the property, an enormous avocado tree sprawling across the front lawn came into view. That was all it took. “Sold!” I declared before even stepping inside.

My daughters thought I’d lost my mind. They may have had a point. Most people inspect the kitchen or check the plumbing, but I saw an ancient avocado tree and decided the rest was paperwork.

Having grown up in Brisbane, I thought I knew my own backyard. Yet, somehow, the islands just across Moreton Bay had remained a mystery to me.

While working in Italy, I began dreaming of a new chapter. One night, scrolling through the real estate sites, I spotted a property on Russell Island. Intrigued, I flew back to Australia, and arranged to meet the agent, who collected me from the ferry.

More than 20 years living in beautiful parts of the Gold and Sunshine coasts hadn’t prepared me for Russell Island. I hadn’t anticipated a place where I’d sleep better than anywhere else, become deeply involved in the community, and treat the mainland as somewhere I occasionally visit rather than somewhere I need to be.

Life here moves at a different pace. It’s like living in 1989, before everyone became permanently attached to screens and schedules. It takes just over 10 minutes to drive from one end of the island to the other, yet a quick errand can stretch into an hour after chatting with neighbours and collecting enough local gossip to fill a newspaper column.

There are no traffic lights, and the biggest road hazard is a family of ducks crossing as though they own the place. Curlews patrol the neighbourhood like disgruntled security guards, delivering their mournful night-time soundtrack. Strangely, I find their calls more calming than any sleeping app.

Cockatoos, kookaburras and plovers are also regular visitors. I’ve become a wildlife caterer, sharing my little patch of the world with feathered guests who seem to consider my property part of their real estate portfolio.

The houses are just as characterful: quirky cottages, colourful gardens and creative renovations accumulated over decades. I love that individuality, although identical new builds are beginning to appear.

At the Russell Island Bowls Club, two vodka sodas cost less than $15. You can sit outside, watch the afternoon unfold and enjoy a proper conversation without competing with televisions the size of garage doors.

And despite what some mainlanders might imagine, there’s always something happening. Markets, performances, creative gatherings and community events fill the calendar. Through my writing for The Friendly Bay Islander magazine and organising local events, I’ve become part of a community that continually surprises me.

Our greatest attraction isn’t a beach or a view; it’s the people. I’ve met an artist whose home is covered in artwork, a retired police officer who makes Native American-style flutes, and a 93-year-old woman who donated land to council for a public park.

There’s the couple who painted a massive tree blue in memory of their son, hoping to encourage conversations about suicide and asking others if they’re OK. Volunteers Robert and Shane, meanwhile, sit on the back of a ute at the IGA, helping elderly residents, caring for animals and children, and tackling mechanical problems. They’re reminders that some of the most valuable people in a community are simply those who turn up when someone needs a hand.

My most adventurous encounter involved a boat, a surfing dog and its owner. I wondered whether I’d accidentally sailed into a surreal pirate movie. You couldn’t make this stuff up.

I also started The Mooring, a Facebook media page, because online descriptions of Russell Island seemed so far removed from the place I was discovering. There was plenty about crime and undesirable characters, but little about the generosity, creativity and humour I experienced firsthand.

I’m not suggesting the islands are perfect. Ferry travel requires planning; infrastructure is under pressure; tradespeople can be difficult to pin down; and healthcare access is a genuine consideration.

I’ve also noticed an influx of new residents over the past year. Growth brings difficult conversations about development, parking and protecting the bushland that makes these islands so special. Loving a place also means caring about its future.

Still, the everyday pleasures keep winning me over. I can swim and picnic at Karragarra Beach, enjoy what I consider the best gelato at 8th Sense Kitchen on Macleay Island, and watch extraordinary sunsets from the Macleay Island Bowls Club. The passenger ferry between the islands is free, making it easy to explore our watery neighbourhood.

My daughters thought I’d lost my mind buying a house on an island I’d never visited and where I knew nobody. Instead, I’ve found a community, work I love, stories to chase, and a front yard that doubles as a wildlife viewing platform.

Sometimes, overthinking stops us from finding the very things that make us happiest. There’s a lot to be said for trusting your instincts and seeing where they lead. In my case, it led to Russell Island, a community I adore, and a collection of stories I’m privileged to tell. Not a bad return on one impulsive decision.

And if the avocado harvest comes good, the investment might even pay dividends.