In these postscript days of the 70-year reign of Queen Elizabeth II, much will be written and remembered of her visits Down Under.
And as this latest great historical chapter is unfolding, it's the smaller histories that are now gathering on the surface.
Zoom in close, and it's not just people with stories to tell, but cities and towns, too.
When it comes to seminal moments in Australia's post-war history, the Queen's first visit in 1954 shines out.
For Canberra, that visit was a turning point, a chance to become more than just a symbol. It was time for Canberra to become a city that mattered.
History tells the story of a glittering, glorious tour filled with cheering, devoted crowds, in thrall to the proximity of the glamorous young monarch.
And history would have it right, at least on a macro scale. It was the first time a reigning monarch had visited Australia, and is recorded as an epoch-defining journey, both for the country and the Queen herself.
The royal couple visited 57 cities and towns in every state and territory except the Northern Territory; around three-quarters of the population were estimated to have glimpsed the royals at least once.
But zoom into any government office, suburb or country town, in that hot, dry summer of 1953-54, and you'll get a very different micro-history.
And the teeny, tiny capital - population, 28,000 - was no exception.
Climate change may dominate our headlines nowadays, but back then, it was still just referred to - and cursed as - "the weather", and in January 1954, it was weather of the worst kind - hot, windy and dusty, with not a rain cloud in sight.
Despite years in the planning - she was supposed to have made her first visit to the capital as Princess Elizabeth two years earlier, but this was postponed following the death of her father King George VI - schedules and routes were being refined down to the last weeks before her arrival.
Because Canberra, emerging after years of neglect due to war and the Depression, was not looking its best.
Indeed, it was too young and deprived by circumstance to even have a "best" yet, with grassy, undeveloped open spaces, half-built suburban streets, and spindly trees that had many decades before they would become the lush, leafy canopies that define many inner suburbs today.
But the ultimate visitor was on her way, and if anyone was going to bring an innate sense of Making the Best of It, it was the young Queen, coming, as she was, from a blighted island still emerging from the chaos of World War II.
And truth be known, the young and energetic Superintendent of Parks and Gardens, Lindsay Pryor (my grandfather), had always been, he would later admit, quite fond of a royal visit, and all the better if it had been cancelled or postponed a couple of times.
The imminent arrival of royals usually meant a convenient influx of funds and equipment that wouldn't otherwise have been granted.
Alas, tractors, watering devices and a workforce of 250 men were no match for the endless blue skies and brown grass that characterised that Canberra summer.
A detailed program of the four-day visit to the capital, which would include a garden party at Government House, the official opening of Parliament, the opening of University House and the unveiling of the eagle-topped Australian-American memorial, had long been circulated to the public.
On the logistics side, nothing was left to chance, especially not when it came to gardens.
As the hot days dragged on, the royal route was refined to include only the most dependable flower displays, while much of the nascent capital would have to be left to wither in the interim as water was restricted and funding was tight.
There was also the insidious issue of flies, and how to control them in the Monarch's vicinity; plans to spray clothing and garden beds, and cover the dump with dirt, were reported in The Canberra Times as the visit drew closer.
Meanwhile, in a bid to keep lawns green and flower beds vibrant in time for Her Majesty, Pryor made several stern pleas to his superiors in the Department of the Interior for more funding, staff and water.
But, to his endless frustration - how on earth to do more with less? - he was knocked back at every turn.
On the last day of 1953, The Canberra Times reported that the weather - that most stubborn and unpersuadable of life's certainties - threatened to derail the festivities, with the department "appealing to residents" to keep street plantations clear of garden rubbish in a bid to pretty things up.
Meanwhile, as trestle tables, car parks, security, accommodation and entertainment were being nutted out, the list of gardens, streets and public buildings on the official "neglect" list grew.
But then, some royal-infused magic!
Just two weeks from the Queen's arrival in Canberra, the skies opened and the rains fell, leaving all worries about dried-out flower beds and crunchy lawns behind.
The city bloomed and the visit was an unqualified success.
But it also marked a different symbolic turning point for Canberra.
Zooming out again, away from the promise-filled streets and soon-to-be-populated suburbs, and the capital, once a symbol of so much beauty and potential, suddenly seemed terribly lacking.
With all eyes on the city, including those of 30,000 visitors, there had never been so much interest in Canberra and what it represented. And there were, suddenly, many questions to be answered.
It was in this same year, as the glitter settled and Queen Elizabeth sailed back home, that a Liberal senator called for the creation of a Select Committee to investigate the development of Canberra, such as it was.
He found full bipartisan support, and the committee's report, tabled in October 1955, was filled with critique and misgivings about how and where the Canberra project had been derailed.
Three years later, the National Capital Development Commission came into being, bringing a new era of bureaucracy to Canberra.
There's nothing like the breath of a monarch to bring a kind of reckoning to a bold national project.
Or maybe it was just the blessing of the rain.
