22 December 2025, 1:00 AM
When Ben and Kelly Phillips packed up their lives in Melbourne and moved to Hay in April 2023, they weren’t just changing postcodes. They were reclaiming time, sanity, and the simple joy of watching their four daughters walk freely down the street without constant supervision. The catalyst for their tree change was an unlikely one, COVID-19 lockdowns. “We wanted to get away from the rat race a little bit,” Kelly explained. “I kind of loved almost being in lockdown a little bit. It was hard, but it made us go, oh, hang on, there’s a lot of stuff that we do that we probably don't need to do.” For Ben, who worked in civil construction on major Melbourne projects including the Metro Tunnels, the daily grind was unsustainable. “I’d have to leave home at around four thirty in the morning and then get home about seven, seven-thirty,” he said. The couple’s commutes added two to three hours to their days, with Kelly frequently calling the school to say she was stuck in traffic and couldn’t make pickup on time. Their connection to Hay began a decade earlier through friendship. Kelly went to high school in Berwick with Sam Harrison, and the couple had been visiting the Harrison’s for years, wherever they lived around Australia. “We just kind of stayed in that same friend group,” Kelly said. When they attended a New Year’s Eve party at Fraser and Jenny Dwyer’s place during one visit to Hay, they met many of the people who would become their closest friends after the move. The decision to relocate happened almost by accident. “We were actually looking at buying or extending our current house or buying a new house in Melbourne,” Kelly said. “I didn’t want a bigger mortgage and I just joked to Ben, let’s move to Hay,” Kelly recalled. “He instantly agreed.” They briefly considered properties in high country Victoria but realised that spending another million and a half dollars on a property wouldn't actually change their lifestyle. “I’m not going to be home more in a different house,” Ben said simply. The financial calculation made sense, but their biggest worry was how their four daughters, India, Nyah, Sahara, and Alaska, would adapt to small town life. That concern evaporated on moving day. “The moving trucks were still there and a young Maggie Shields turned up to our front door and said, welcome to town, I believe one of your daughters will be going to school, would she like to come for a walk?” Kelly said. “My Melbourne brain was like, yeah, should we let her walk off?” When their daughter didn’t return for hours, Kelly and Ben started to worry. “The sun starts going down, so we start freaking out,” Ben said. “I said to Kelly, look, this is probably the dumbest thing here, let’s not start freaking out yet.” Another girl’s mum eventually dropped their daughter at the front door. “That was our welcome to country," Ben said. Each of their four daughters had similar experiences on their first day of school. “Each girl, when the first day they walked into school, had a little welcome party of kids that took them off," Kelly said. “We didn’t expect that. Our biggest worry was the girls transitioning to a small country town.” Nearly three years later, the family has no regrets. Kelly kept her job in defence logistics and now works remotely from home. “I work from home in my dressing gown,” she laughed. “The dream.” Ben has shifted his focus from large commercial projects to renovations, extensions, bathrooms, and kitchens around Hay. “Most of the jobs I’m getting, they’ve said, oh, you know, we've contacted other builders and they’re either not interested or we’re waiting, would you be interested in doing it?” he explained. He's found satisfaction in the work, estimating he enjoys about eighty per cent of his job. “It’s pretty hard yakka on these old places, but I do enjoy it,” he said. Ben was recently nominated for the Hay Business Excellence Awards by a client he’s still working for, something that meant a great deal to him once he realised nominations came from actual community members rather than being automatically distributed. There’s a running joke in the Phillips household about Ben’s professional success. “Don’t marry a builder because your own house will not get done,” Kelly quipped. Ben admitted that if he had to make a speech at the business awards, he would’ve said something along the lines of not knowing whether his wife would be happy or mad about the recognition because it’s just a reminder of how much work he’s done everywhere else except their own house. The adjustment to country life hasn’t been without challenges. “Sometimes just the accessibility to things,” Kelly said when asked about disadvantages. The lack of a local dentist means appointments become day trips. When the girls need red t-shirts for sports day and Kelly isn’t organised, she can’t just drive five minutes to Westfield. Materials for construction projects can be harder to acquire. But Ben sees a silver lining in the isolation. “What we loved about moving down here with the kids, is it highlights what is really important,” he said. “The wants aren’t there for them anymore, so they’re so much more relaxed and find joy in simpler things rather than wanting to go shopping or live at the shops with their friends or whatever city kids do.” When the family drives back to Melbourne now, the contrast is stark. Ben can point out buildings and infrastructure he helped construct, but the lifestyle they left behind holds no appeal. “The resounding feeling is we’re happy we’re not there,” he said. The girls have embraced country sports, particularly league tag, which doesn’t exist in Melbourne. “They’re all giving everything a go, which makes it turn into a nice family day, all driving together for the sport, and then coming home together again,” Kelly said. The family travels for three to four kids to play sports, but it’s become a bonding experience rather than a logistical nightmare. Ben coaches Lions reserves, an involvement that would have been impossible in their old life. Kelly’s parents, Ray and Kerry Gordon, followed the family to Hay, and her sister lives there as well. Ben’s parents are still in Melbourne, and the couple hopes they might eventually make the move too, though they’re still relied upon by Ben's siblings. Perhaps the most profound change is the freedom their daughters now enjoy. In Melbourne, the Phillips lived on a quiet street in a nice area, but there were two parks at the end of their street, one of which the girls couldn't visit without supervision. “Now your kids can just leave the front door and go,” Kelly said. undercurrent of vigilance, always something to worry about. The knowledge that everyone in town would recognise the Phillips girls provides a safety net that anonymous city life could never offer. The family’s four daughters have distinctive, beautiful names, each chosen through different circumstances. India’s name was initially rejected by Ben during pregnancy in favour of Harlow, but when their daughter arrived, Kelly decided she didn't look like a Harlow and Ben suddenly loved the name India. Nylah came from combining Kelly’s choice of Nala with Ben’s preference for Naya. Sahara was inspired by a woman Kelly met in a shop who had just named her daughter Sahara. Alaska’s origin remains a mystery even to her parents. People often assume the girls are named after geographical locations, an assumption Kelly finds amusing since Nyah doesn’t fit that pattern, though everyone calls her the Nile anyway. “They’re going to cop that for the rest of their lives and it’s our fault,” Kelly laughed. “It was an oversight.” But she’s unbothered by the potential teasing. Growing up as one of six Kellys in her year at school in Berwick in the eighties, she was determined her daughters wouldn’t have three of the same name in their class. “From the very first night we stayed here, it felt like home,” Kelly reflected. The street they lived on in Melbourne was nice enough, but there was always an In Hay, if Nyah was walking up the street on her own and someone came across her, they’d recognise her as one of the Phillips girls. If anything happened, someone would have seen her just five minutes ago. The girls can walk to their friends’ houses without elaborate safety protocols. COVID-19’s legacy for the Phillips family isn’t one of loss or hardship, but of clarity. Those lockdowns forced them to examine what they truly valued and gave them permission to walk away from the endless treadmill of city life. Now, instead of adding hours to their days sitting in traffic, they’re adding richness to their lives through genuine community connection, watching their daughters flourish in the freedom of country childhood, and building a business that serves neighbours rather than disappearing into the anonymous machinery of metropolitan construction. When asked if they had any regrets nearly three years after the move, the reply was a simple and emphatic no. What remains behind in Melbourne are empty rooms where laughter once echoed, parks the girls couldn’t visit safely, and the ghosts of commutes that stole precious family time. What lies ahead in Hay are open streets where daughters can roam freely, a community that welcomed them with open arms from the moment the moving truck arrived, and the echoes of a life well lived, built on the foundation of what truly matters.