From Sydney’s bay walks to Kiama’s coastal vista, Fran Barton has always moved forward with quiet determination.

Now, surrounded by good company and morning light, she’s found exactly where she needs to be.

When Fran first visited Cedar on Collins, it wasn’t just the ocean breeze that drew her in, it was the sunlight.

Her daughter, who lives in Kiama, had noticed it too and gently encouraged her. “Mum, I think it’s time,” she said. 

At 96, Fran had spent years in Sydney, where her social circle had thinned and the hills near her home were, as she puts it, “a killer.”

Stepping into a sunny, north-facing unit that catches both the morning and afternoon light, Fran knew she had found her next chapter. Nearly a year later, she has no regrets.

“I couldn’t be happier,” Fran says, with a matter-of-fact warmth that suggests she’s not one for fuss.

“There’s something for everyone here, but no pressure. I’ve got my independence, but there’s always someone nearby.”

Fran, who has three children and 10 great-grandchildren, is known among fellow residents not just for her friendly presence but for her fitness.

She completed the City2Surf seven years in a row, all after turning 70. “I said to my sister, I’ll keep doing it till I’m 80 if we enjoy it,” she recalls. “And we did.”

Her sister Val, her companion in many of those races, passed away at 89, leaving behind a legacy of laughter, loyalty, and a headline that still makes Fran chuckle: “City Sisters Smash the City2Surf.”

“We were at the back of the pack,” Fran says, “but we finished.”

She laughs easily now, even while sharing the more difficult parts of her journey, losing her husband in 2012 after a long battle with Parkinson’s, navigating the quieter, lonelier years that followed, and recognising when it was finally time for a change.

“I was ready when I was ready,” she says simply.

What makes life at Cedar on Collins so special for Fran isn’t just the building, or even the outings and exercise classes she enjoys with fellow residents like Hilton and Jan, it’s the little signs that her life still ripples outward. 

Her daughter, Sidonie, a horticulturalist, has even named a flower after Fran’s cardigan - “Fran’s Cardy,” a pink bloom that links generations through colour and love. 

Fran doesn’t own a mobile phone, doesn’t see the point in it, and jokes that her daughters think she lives in a “time warp.”

But her clarity of thought and compassion are anything but out of touch. 

She worries about the future, yes, about technology outpacing humanity, and about respect becoming rare, but she believes in women’s equality and independence, and sees those gains as vital.

The hills of Kiama don’t bother her much anymore.

“I’ve walked to the chemist, down to Penny Whistler. I’m working up to the shops,” she says, describing her gradual reclaiming of confidence. “I don’t use a stick. I don’t need it.”

And when asked about a photo, Fran waves off any worry. “I’m not photogenic,” she says with a grin, before pausing. “But I don’t care.”

After all, there’s strength in being seen - and plenty of sunshine to go around.