One of my favourite proverbs is “When one helps another, both are stronger”. I believe it is a German proverb. The picture above illustrates this. I’m told these birds bead together, wing to wing, to appear larger to raptors. If birds help each other, have humans lost the art and science of helping? I don’t believe so. The following story gives me hope.
I work in what is broadly called ‘the helping profession’ but there are strict parameters to what I do and how. Increasingly, I’ve come to the realisation, anyone who is in the business of providing a service to another, is in the helping profession. One does not need years of study and a degree to do this. Working in rural and at times remote places, I no longer am anxious about getting ill. I have had three episodes of illness in all the years I’ve travelled and in each instance, people have shown nothing but kindness. Today let me share something with you …
A few months ago I disembarked from a horrendous flight. It was winter, the winds were strong and the plane small. I could not choose my seat and was near the engine. I sat curled up, recoiling from the noise and the storm for two hours. As I came down the stairs, I felt a breathtaking pain in my arm. I dismissed it and when the luggage arrived in the shed (yes, it was that kind of airport!), I bent down to pick up my case and found I had no strength in my arm. The pain, too, was still there. I knew it was not a heart attack. I knew it was not a stroke either. I stayed calm and went looking for a pharmacy for good ole Deep Heat and paracetamol.
Too unwell to eat, I went to bed early and woke around 1 am. Deep Heat had not taken the edge off the pain. The pain, now making me ill. I called the emergency health line, the nurse triaged me and then directed my call to a doctor. We talked at length and he was satisfied, I didn’t need an ambulance but he suggested I see a doctor the next day. To see a GP these days in the city, one has to predict illness about four days in advance. I also know an appointment in rural areas where services are limited, can be weeks. I didn’t like my chances.
Morning came, I found a doctor not two minutes from my hotel. I rang their number at 7:30 am just checking to see if they were operational. To my surprise they open the clinic early morning. The clinic reception staff listened to distress and advised me she would fit me in immediately. The next challenge was getting dressed. Impossible! To my utter surprise I had a swelling over my shoulder and collar bone. That explains it, I thought, I’ve broken my collar bone. I threw a shawl over my top and headed for the doctor. Easier said than done!
The doctor’s rooms were impossible to find. Often in rural areas, people describe an address because replacing street signs seems redundant. People know where everyone lives and everything is. After half an hour of driving in extreme distress, I finally realised when the receptionist said “in front of the shops”, she meant adjacent. This is only after she volunteered to stand outside and wave me down the main street. I got out of my car, and walked towards her. She saw my distress and gently put her arms around me and guided me in. She ushered me into a room and away from a waiting room filled with patients. As I tried to compose myself we chatted briefly and I disclosed I was visiting for work. She sat holding my hand and said firmly, “You have no one in town. I’m not leaving you alone”. She and I knew, she didn’t have to do this, but she did.
The sequelae to this event was a non-event. X-rays, hospital visit etc came up nil. I later found out I had an extraordinarily severe muscle cramp, probably from being tense flying in a storm!
That event is nearly forgotten. I have flown many times since then, and recently found myself back in the town again. I bought some flowers and a box of chocolates and requested to see the lady who helped me. She was seated in the back of the office. I didn’t think she would recognise or remember me, but she did. I gave her what I had brought with me and she protested, “no, no, I was just doing my job”. I told her, “Maybe, but you did your job with kindness”.
As I head out yet again with just an overnight stay at home, I’m packing this story with me. The woman’s words of kindness, a reminder, we are never alone.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I usually stay opposite the tree park. It is one of my favourite places to walk in the mornings. I stride across, purposefully, for the massive boab, the matriarch.
This time I found, like me, a butterfly needed a soft place to land.
High above, there were a few boab flowers coming into bloom. They are exquisite. Thick, creamy petals that fold over like heavy taffeta …
… the inside, emits the softest pearly light.
I wandered around for hours, the sense of oneness under these trees consolidated a promise to return.
Beyond the green is Lily Creek Lagoon where this tiny bird held me captive. 
On this morning, Mother Boab taught me, nothing says new life more eloquently, than a sprig of green on gnarly, old limbs. So here I am, typing my post, experiencing life differently.
I sat in the shadow of roses, their heads heavy with petalled beauty.
The cafe garden was a world apart from the Wheatbelt, where I sat roadside to eat a sandwich in the car and watch this quintessentially rural scene.
Despite our big feet we proved, we can still walk on water.
The flowers are almost gone. At least the obvious ones. The grass is less green and more blond by early summer warmth. Some trees have shed leaves. They reminded me of chocolate curls, so I trudged around planning my Christmas menu. It helped keep happy thoughts forefront.
I don’t recall seeing these large shrubs before. They were everywhere and pretty in pink. That’s what I find so amazing about being in the bush. What looks ordinary one season, is eye catching, the next.
There were tall grass tree spikes bursting in flower. They look ordinary from a distance, just tall and white. Close up, well, a star studded sabre, comes to mind.
These flowers grow on flannel grey shrubs. There are thousands of these flowers in bloom, or waiting to bloom. Ordinary? Not to my eye.
There were a few of these still fresh and blooming. They are exquisitely tiny. And yet, each puff is several flowers within a flower. I kept walking up to it and could see it up close but stepping away, lost it numerous times in the grass. Got to get that shot became a mantra! Photography has taught me patience and persistence. 
And some were still beautiful, well past their bloom. I had to tripod my legs to steady my hands that shook with the delight of each little flower. The fragility! And, tenacity!
I heard strange sounds above me. Sounds I haven’t heard before. They, more than likely, came from young parrots, hiding in tree hollows.
I bought coffee in town and headed back to the Lair. I saw a young kangaroo family, three in a mob. The male, impressive! He was almost as big as a deer.
His face veiled by cobwebs, his gorgeous ears, twitching, alert. We were eye to eye for a few minutes, each sizing the intent of the other.
There were no small birds at all, but seeing these flowers growing profusely, who can complain.
On the way home I spotted this in Crossman, growing just off the road among a grove of shady trees.
I stopped my car to take some pictures, forgetting this is Western Australia in spring. I was covered in bush flies within seconds! If you only knew what I went through for this pic!
The Big Croc is the first thing you see as you enter the small town of less than 800 people. To quote the late Steve, Crikey! How did I miss this! It is so huge I couldn’t get the whole sculpture in the frame. 
Being off season, there was nothing open. The supermarket, too, shut early. Someone told us about a bakery, just down the road, they said. We soon saw the sign. We knew immediately, we were far from home.
This was outdoors on the way to the loo! Yes this is crocodile country, as if one could forget. There are reminders everywhere.
One of the things I wanted to show my travelling companion was the view from the Five Rivers Lookout. Because I had been here during the day, I was yearning to see it at sunset, too. I knew it would be amazing. The road up the the lookout, which is around 330 metres above sea level and the highest point of the town, is narrow and winding. The views across the mud flats, stunning. I’m surprised there are not more accidents as people peer over the edge.
We were taking in the sheer expanse of country where the rivers Ord, Pentecost, King, Durack and Forrest join forces to meld into the Cambridge Gulf. The waters must be teeming with crocs. There was an abattoir here once. The crocs remember this. They often hang around the jetty, although the abattoir closed its doors in the mid 1980s. We were taking in the views when I saw them. I could not believe my eyes. A tiny rock wallaby seated high above the town. Can you spot it on the rock between the two trees, just above the 2 in the date?
They were part of a small group, some as tiny as a cat. 
Their coats looked soft and fluffy with beautiful markings. Their feet dipped in dark chocolate.
The eyes large and luminous.
Look at that pose!
They were nimble among the high rocks and perfectly comfortable in our company.
One even sat facing us. Our delight, the evening’s entertainment, it would seem!
Soon it was sunset. The sun slipped away beyond the five rivers. 
A red disc dazzled in the darkened sky. It was time to leave.
The rainbow bee catcher is also quite unperturbed by human company. So I stayed with it for a while. Or, perhaps, it was the other way around.
It would hunch up just before launching off when it spied an insect in flight or hovering over the billabong.
The markings are gorgeous. Yet, the bird blends into the surrounds.
I usually find them high in the tree tops. 
Alert and watchful for the next tasty morsel.
So you would have excused my squeal of delight at finding this young one not far from the billabong among leaf debris.
To wake to this!
The cabins were fantastic. Clean and high among the tree canopy. It was reasonably secure and no geckos indoors! The place is so isolated. The managers told us they never lock anything here so I threw caution to the winds and slept with the door unlocked.
I woke early, too early, and headed to the walkway. The billabong was alive with birds and wildlife.
In this harsh landscape the green in trees was vivid.
As was the jewel like emerald green in the tree ants.
I’m not sure what this bird was. Researching it online it seems similar to the Asian Koel. But in the Kimberley? I’m not sure. It was black and navy blue with ruby eyes.
How’s this for perfect mirror image!
In this harsh landscape I found the most delicate jasmine like flowers on vines that entwined over the walkway.
Below me, a lone wallaby. I watched it nervously, hoping the resident saltwater crocodile was having a snooze.
I learnt later, this species is called ‘Pretty Face’ wallaby. It has delicate shading and a white stripe across the jawline.
This bird was magnificent! Some kind of pheasant I think.
The double barred finches swarmed water side.
As did the gouldian finches. Their colours were less vivid than the ones I’ve seen before.
Some had banana yellow beaks.
At first I thought the tree was shedding leaves!
Poised on the grassy bank.
Or feeding
The blues shimmer into indigo and purple when they move.
They are usually shy but also protective. Their warning call is a fearsome screech.
This was a rare sighting of a chick this spring.
My visit north will not be green. It will be encased in the fine red dust of the Kimberley.
I’m not scared of spiders at all, but I am of reptiles.
And (sensibly) scared of crocodiles.
Across the road from my hotel in Kununurra, my first stop, will be Celebrity Tree Park and Lily Creek Lagoon where I walk early morning, camera in hand. I love that this major highway is like a suburban side road.
There will be dragon flies with net wings teaching me to balance.
In groves of ancient boab trees, I’ll find a mother’s embrace, long overdue.
Despite the heat, I’m hoping there are lily filled billabongs, like ones I’ve seen before.
And migratory birds who are still calling the Kimberley home, before they fly.
The Gilbert’s dragon is known as the “ta ta” lizard and found in the hot Kimberley region, about 2000 km north of Perth. They run across hot surfaces, pausing to lift one leg off the ground and wave to cool it. before doing the same with the other. When not running and waving, they are still and bask in the sun.
The Welcome Swallows in Bunbury love the sun. In the mornings, they seem to prefer to do this than fly.
Then in Merredin, there’s the Magpie Lark, with the best vantage point in the gum tree to catch first light.
The young Pink Galah does not bask in anyone’s glory but its own as it gazes down at me at home.
There are honeymooners, basking in love, who race to kiss in dawn light, at Entrance Point, Broome.
While this backpacker threw caution to the wind at Wyalup Rocky Point in Bunbury as she watched the sun go down alone.
Much like her I enjoyed my solitude at Cable Beach, Broome.
Where I found, one heart warmed by sunshine, is better than an entwined pair scorched by rue.
A Shared Space 
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