Devil’s Elbow, where I lived as a kid, had a population of five (six if you include the ever-cranky chihuahua, Sandy). Dad had built our house on a hill above a dangerous bend in a freeway that connected Adelaide with South Australia’s foothills. With the countless vehicle accidents—often fatal—the area was aptly named. My scariest night as a child was when a cattle truck overturned on the elbow. The escaped cattle ran up the 100-metre driveway and stampeded across our balcony just outside my bedroom. Pulling the blanket over my head didn’t help.

Once, there was a good accident. A large truck had overturned (again) right on the elbow. But this time, the cargo wasn’t cattle. It was sweets of all varieties, strewn all over the road. As reward for helping him clean up the magnificent mess, the truckie let me, my brother Dave and sister Pretty Cath fill and keep a garbage bag with sweets. The haul lasted us six months—the best six months of my childhood!

The redbrick family home and its surroundings of gum trees, koalas, echidnas, wedge-tailed eagles and blackberry bushes were perfect for developing my imagination and spirit of adventure. But dangers fuelled the adventures. The Ash Wednesday bushfires of ’83 came close to destroying our property, and we had to evacuate. The brave firies stopped the flames right at our fence.

Eventually, though, our home was knocked down to make room for a freeway underpass. There’s now no trace that people (and a neurotic chihuahua) had ever lived on the infamous elbow. And yet, a few years ago, an Adelaide Hills winery brought out a rich cabernet sauvignon in honour of the bend and called it Devil’s Elbow. My home had been given another life in the magic realm of imagination. I feel—regardless of what the makers think—that this wine is mine. I raise a glass and bend my elbow to the elbow. Okay, just one more: I’m driving.