After a quick yarn to the owners of the new hardware in town, I left the workshop where my Grandfather worked for 50 years, with photocopied picture in tow. I can’t recall ever seeing it before, somehow hidden or forgotten in an old album, but there’s something about it that makes me light up. With it, old facades embracing early model Holdens, a testament to the changing times.
Our weekend started with a tribute to my Pa, celebrating his birthday in Forster. Surrounded by his 5 boys, a handful of his handfuls of grandchildren, I wonder if he feels what I am feeling. Drained, patiently almost sleeping amongst a yarn, his weary body has aged without newtold joy. Yet he powers on when needed, connecting with the memories and hope for the future.
A steaming train rattled model tracks as passion reunited the heart and mind of Loryn’s Pop, then it was back home to new produce, garden beds and baked snacks. A new Christmas bush accompanied the new side gate, rocks fill an empty drain, while bean shoots climbed rio racks to a new height. There’s a sense of progress, that things are growing and getting done.
Soon enough, the prop of a plane was buzzing to the country song infiltrating my mind. Brisbane called, as I pondered who decides our future for the Public Health Association. Flying over Worimi country on the way, it was apparent the stories from our old people were singing back out for new meaning, as rivers slithered through country glistening in prosperity. To me, planning for our future is intellectually simple- listen to the oldest living culture in the world. Yet greed closes ears and minds to sustainable futures.
My one day trip to Brisbane passed night as thunderstorms shut a lonely airport. Minutes later, a morning flight shared with country music legend Troy Cassar Daley woke me up. Having a yarn in line, he shared new stories and his thirst for our connected sacred knowledge, something that keeps me up at night as well. Hopefully, the knowledge he shared with me, sung on windy country roads by my Dad will continue my footing for more as well.
And then back to home. New chickens occupy the old chookpen that was left here, with a bit of modification, and the garden grows more with each drop of water. The jigsaw starts to form, with a new border and more knowledge yet to be built.