In the last few years fermented food has been promoted as being good for the digestive system. It came as a surprise. Nothing novel here. Why the focus now when numerous cultures have regarded pickled food, part of their every day diet. Take pickled herrings in Scandinavian countries, pickled cucumbers (Poland), sauerkraut (Germany), pickled ginger (Japan), kimchi (Korea), to name a few.
People from India love their pickles! Lime, brinjal (auberine/eggplant), mango, tomato, chillis, are the common home made pickles, found in a jar on any dinner table. What is less known is pickled fish, usually mackerel, in a spiced brine. Delicious! West Coast fare. Then there is Bombay Duck. It’s not a duck, but a lizardfish, to be exact, the origins of the name you can find on the internet. When eaten fresh it is usually coated in spiced breadcrumbs and then fried. The result is delicious, crisp on the outside and gelatinous on the inside. A curious thing is that it does not taste fishy at all, except when dried in the sun on the beach for consumption later. The smell, then, is overpowering but worth the prize. Pickled in Goa Vinegar and spices, the very thought makes me salivate.
If fermented food is good for digestion, can memories be too? Like pickles, in moderation, perhaps they are. Some can last forever. No use by date, or best before date. They remain there suspended and contained. Some ferment, the longer, the better (or not). Best tasted, a little at a time. One can have the same recipe, the taste is never identical. We add spices, we embellish, we detract and edit. (Some call this perception). We hold them to light and check the sediment. (Some call this insight). We open the lid from time to time and sniff. And when we scrape the bottom on the barrel, we sterilize the container and make a mental promise to make another batch again. (Some call this resilience).
Memories are important, good or bad. They shape our experience of the world. Rather than minimize them for someone in distress, there is leverage in celebrating what once was, accepting the present for what it is and mourning what can never be. These are the steady steps in any recovery that cannot be rushed. Each individual takes the journey at their own pace.
After enjoying an evening with friends, I observed myself and others going back in time offering and exchanging with each other the gift of “remember when”. It made me realise. Friendship, like life, is fragile. We are privileged to enjoy its brevity or longevity. We can nurture it and be nurtured by it. We are warmed by the memory, or chilled to the bone by the loss. Despite one’s efforts, it can crumble without warning, leaving one standing in the debris with more questions than answers. Whatever the outcome, I do know for sure, if there is one shared moment in time that makes one smile because the friend and friendship was valued, then it was worth it. Because, there will always be a joyous sentence that starts with “remember when …”.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
I watched sunrise from bed. The sun appeared, a bleary eye, and then disappeared, like the town beneath it in the distance. Oh! well! I better pack and try and head off home cautiously, I thought. I did just that.
I got out of my car to all that I wanted in that moment.
I found colour and life.
Refreshed by rain, the greens and greys of the bush were vivid. I was greedy and gulped the pristine air.
On prostrate scrub there were splashes of white, pale pink and peach.
At the cusp of winter, a hint of spring.
It’s difficult to see but this track sparkled like a carpet of a million diamonds. I’ve never seen anything quite like it!
I took it all in. What falls away, makes it autumn. Then comes spring. So in life, too.
Deep in thought I was startled by a rustle behind me. I turned around and caught this mother kangaroo in mid hop.
She led her joey to feeding. I was transfixed.
The joey was curious about me.
Oh! those eyes and beautiful velvet ears!
The red breasted robin hopped around me, then perched on a branch for a perfect picture.
While Mrs red breasted robin watched his vanity.
Just outside Geraldton, Western Australia is Greenough, famous for historic buildings and the iconic Leaning Tree.
The snowdrops in my garden first appear in August. The anniversary of my father’s passing. Far from saddening me, the flower, like memories of him, delights the heart.
My father was my David Attenborough. He showed me the wonders of the world in words and books. Through his eyes I see softness in ranges and know Nature’s hand can shape and smooth the most difficult terrain.
Jostled in the air, I have learnt to focus on the sun ray bursting through a storm.
I know no fear travelling in desolate outback. I’ve come to learn, there is beauty in the barren. There is peace in void.
My steps are measured and mindful because I know there’s more to experience in the journey between A to Z.
The humble ground cover roadside in Bunbury that glowed like a star.
The beauty of water lilies in a billabong in the Kimberley. I will return.
The solitude of sunrise at Esperance Bay.
I found this banksia in Esperance when I went for a walk one evening. It was getting dark so I did not take my camera. I was deep in thought trying to process an eventful day. Then I saw it, candle like, low in the scrub. I kept walking but somehow felt drawn to it. Unusual because they bloom everywhere. Compelled, I returned to it. I leaned into it with my phone.
My eyes lit up. I saw perfection.
I turned off my air con and coughed my way through the next 160 km. When I arrived I could barely speak, my mouth and teeth gritty with dust. The next day I headed further north east. I had another two hours of driving.
I could see the dark clouds build up on the horizon. I tried to beat the rain. It arrived before I could step it up. The rain was like a powerful waterfall. The wipers could not keep up. The road started to flood in places and my car bounced off sheets of water. I could not see a suitable place to stop and park. I was doing between 50-70 km/hour in a 110 km/hr zone. The stress of someone coming up behind me and not seeing me in time was ever present. The only thing I could do was hold my nerve and pray, “keep me safe”. 
I got to a tiny hamlet called Latham when the sun broke through and it felt like I was on another planet. The birds came out tweeting. The wedge tailed eagle. Pink Galahs. Tiny honeyeaters. And, I even saw a Maleefowl saunter back into the bush. The difference in the weather was unbelievable.
Another day of criss crossing towns and then I was finally on my journey home. This time I indulged in a little rubber necking. There was no one else on the road for one stretch of 51 kms, so I stopped and took this picture. One of the most meditative drives I’ve had in a while.
There’s nothing like a sunset across the water here. I caught a brief glimpse, just a memory of what I know to be here.
The colours then muted down as it darkened.
Then there was night sky.
As the light faded I found a wader perched on a rock, like me, watching the schools of fish, some that jump out of the water with a splash. River mullet, I’m told. I’ve seen them dance upright across the surface of the water, flapping madly.
The fish were too quick and perhaps, the school too big, so the wader had to be content among the molluscs. It was as still and silent, as me.
One last pic before nightfall, and I’m happy, satiated even, with the few moments I had with my camera.
On the road beside me were several inland thornbill, given their size, they are also affectionately known as ‘button bums’. Had I not been forced to slow down, I would have missed this beautiful moment of shared joy.
The rain had left a puddle in the middle of the road. The birds were thoroughly enjoying a communal bath, undeterred by my presence.
Some immersed themselves fully and then shook themselves fluffy. 
Others walked away from the puddle with confidence and returned. Dip, fluff, repeat.
There was one that tried not to get wet and stretched tiny legs to stay upright.
The result was inevitable!
While another took a break and found me the curiosity. And, that was just fine with me!
The view from my hotel bed is always spectacular. As soon as it was light enough I scrambled out of bed, bed hair tucked under beanie and headed to the Lair.
The fog hung low as I walked alone, taking in every sensory experience. The crunch of my footsteps, gum nuts showering around me (courtesy of the parrots), the birdsong, the honking of the Australian shelducks that chased each other above the trees, the smell of gum trees. 
There were boughs of delicate golden wattle, breaking up the grey green of winter that’s only weeks away.
Lichen painted limbs strewn carelessly.
While other limbs were decorated with frills.
The occasional splash of colour at my feet.
Then the parrot caught my eye. It was probably watching me long before I saw it! It was silent and blended in beautifully with foliage.
Soon followed by a shower of red robins that descended on the trees and shrubs around me. Curious about my presence, they were gorgeous!
As I was leaving I met a local who knows the reserve well. He told me he found a bunny orchid the day before, so I followed him like a child.
The bunny orchids on the stem were tiny. Each flower the size of a child’s pinky nail. Exquisite! My delight was so obvious, he left me alone with them!
I learn from educational programs. Is sugar good for you? The insidious nature of it should stop us in our tracks. If we stopped supporting the fast food industry, will we be healthier? Can we reduce the use of plastics? How do we combat pollution? For me, these TV shows have become an unwitting mentor to living life with meaning. I recall years ago when someone stood up and was counted. We now have labels that identifies food from source countries. The ones that say ‘some imported ingredients’, the percentage never identified, I leave those well alone. I don’t see any reason for fresh food to be transported from across the world, when it is available a few kms down the road.
The road out of Broome is initially a sealed one. Then comes the fun part!
About 90kms of unsealed road. I’ve driven up here with others on four occasions in different weather conditions. It has always been an adventure!
Sometimes one drives through deeply gutted and mousse like pindan (red) earth.
At other times one eats dust.
The road etiquette is pretty easy to adapt to. Ride the ridge to allow oncoming traffic pass safely.
A Shared Space 
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