After being called in early for a flight back home, we boarded a little before schedule, headed out toward Mudgee, before Taree. In an attempt to connect and learn, I yarned on the first leg. Then the second was in awe of the fire that took the Mid North Coast. A firestorm week, full of radio mismatch and constantly updating social media feeds. All while our Worimi land burned.
My mind turns to the soil under my feet. Our home is within moments of a traditional Bora Ring, the saleyards nearby marked by tree carvings to symbol sacred ground and the Buccan Buccan sings in the sun of men’s business. Reflected in shadows peacefully on the ground. Here, birds chirp with meaning and crows gossip on the handrail across country for understanding. Together, we search for modern relevance and understanding.
Upon this land is where I awoke, born after a history of strategic decisions based on hope and opportunity. Despite denying the past, society shifted, the streets continued to bustle and visitors made their way in vehicles rather than horse. But alas time and the invention of modern luxuries doesn’t erase the past, nor the pain of the soils and souls. It still shapes the land, upon land I know.
I've spent way too long this week in a state of flux, riding a rollercoaster of uncertainty and fear over misjudgment. I'm not quite sure where the week has gone, how days have fed into nights and back to days or where the caffeine has overtaken my conscious mind. And yet is the stress really all worth it? Long term, perhaps. Just not now...
We are embraced by the same Mother Earth, founded by Biame and built on Black Lore. Founded on principles guided by the land, our culture sings her songs, responds to the stories of the past and is guided by Elders. This is the same Earth, the same mapped landscape since eternity. Our guide.
I called in Friday afternoon to spend some time with the horses, watching them connect and cherish their new friendship. A true gentle nature is more than evident, as they slowly share a pat and brush. Despite the hustle of a mobile phone connected life, these odes to the old times showcase and demand true connection.
The garden has started to thrive despite the lack of rain, with broccoli forming and the other plants growing quite well.
I pulled in back home around 12:30 Saturday morning, somehow the time from plane to car dragged as I waited for my bag and then a cab. The morning counted second hands too quickly before the back road through Krambach reached Wingham. The home of wisdom sits seemingly vacant while I gather my thoughts of happier times. If only time favoured now- perhaps it would still be home.
Polly seemed to ensure we didn't get much sleep Friday night, finding joy sleeping inside and being captured by the shadows forming outside. Before long the 5:30 alarm made itself known, shouting at the rooster for his sleep in. The next 30 minutes moved slow, and then it was off.
The alarm sounded at 3 on Saturday morning, awoken to a cup of coffee, quick shower and an early morning drive. Back up north, we loaded the Morris and turned straight back around down south. The Morris Eight demands a bit more attention in the sunlight, as the 70 year old car tells her story of a different past.