ON MY school holidays as a boy we often travelled up to the small rural town of Lockington, where my Aunty Mary and Uncle Frank had a property, to take in some country air and run around the wide open spaces.

It was a long way from Dreamworld (the preferred destination of my vintage), but I loved every second of it.

The property was filled with adventures just waiting to be had. Rusted-out old cars, a mob of sheep dogs, the odd motorbike ride, and of course the sheep themselves. I was scared of the sheep, and often found myself making mud pies with my cousin from some old camping bowls that had been left in the shed.

All these memories glow with the same sun as the one that drenched those long, hot days. Except one — the day Aunty Mary thought it would be fun for the kids to have a ride on their Shetland pony.

After being led around the paddock a few times, the novelty wore off and I thought we could take things up a notch. Damien Oliver-style, I kicked the pony in the ribs with ample force and she took off like Bonecrusher.

Showing little regard for her own safety (and none for mine), we did three full laps of the paddock before I was eventually thrown clear and rolled into the fence. I've had it in for ponies ever since. Lucky mum was close by and she picked me up and dusted me off; us blokes need a good woman to help us when we're a bit down.

Unlike sheep, horses are one of my all-time favourites, right up there with the elephant and the always-amusing sloth.

After the game in Darwin on Saturday night, I jetted out before the rest of my teammates for some healing on the NSW coastline. With a sore hind leg and fetlock, I felt a little like a horse that had been put out for a spell and needed some salt water and sugar cubes to get some pep back in the step.

The healing powers of salt water is a constant fascination for me, and as I limped into the drink on Sunday afternoon I felt a lot older than what my birth certificate would have you believe.

Falling into the waves more than carving through them, the sensation of pure healing had taken hold, and with the sun gazing down, those limbs that ached suddenly began to return to their old self.

A thickly bearded man swam nearby, and for a second I thought it could have been our very own Martin Flanagan, or even John the Baptist. But it turned out to be a wild man from Nimbin, healing himself just like I was. Even without John the Baptist present, I could certainly feel a fresh start of biblical proportions.

Walking down one of the sandy paths near this particular beach, I was taking stock of my life, as one does when going for a stroll.

I can't speak for others, but as far as I can tell the best times in life, and also the worst, are always shared with the people we're closest to. Weddings, funerals, birthdays, operations, illness and the beginning of new life are all things we celebrate or endure with the people we hold most dear crowded around.

Bruised and weary from battle (just like I was after the pony accident), this time it wasn't my mum to whom I turned to make it all better. I don't want to get all Bec and Lleyton on you, but with Jarvis' mum beside me, the beach in front of us and the rainforest as a backdrop, I knelt down on a sore knee to ask my most special person the most special question of all.

She said yes, and we walked back towards our hotel, full of smiles and giggles, a million miles away from anything and anyone.

(And then we were nearly bowled over by my old teammate Jimmy Plunkett and his wife, Bianca. Now Jimmy is one of the great people I've met because of the oval-shaped red leather thing, and Bianca is a special person in her own right, but it just goes to show that you're never far away from footy and all who sail in it, even on your very own secluded trail to wedded bliss.)

It was not until I returned to my room to check the news that I heard about Graham Polak's health crisis and this notion of healing came into sharp focus. Aching bones and tired muscles are one thing, but the injuries and challenges facing Graham and his closest people will take more than some salt water to fix.

In adding my voice to the chorus of prayers and well wishes for Graham and his family, I hope he is up and about before long.

The mid-season break could serve as a checkpoint for all of us so consumed by the game to sit back and be with the ones who mean the most.

I know I will be, and I'm sure the Polaks will do the same.