Last night I watched a documentary on Elsa the Lioness. I was given the first edition of the book Born Free as a young girl. I was captivated by the story and fell madly in love with George Adamson! Then I discovered Jacques Cousteau. When kids were talking about favourite people they would have around for dinner, and were dreaming about rock stars, my interests were conservationists. I admired their spirit of adventure. Of living life differently. Their fierce commitment to Nature. They were conservationists, but I didn’t know the meaning of the word. Until now.
I’m now switched on. The change in thinking was abrupt. I’ve come to realise we don’t have to hear the message in ad breaks. We live the message. Like Adamson and Cousteau did.
On a recent trip to Jurien Bay I woke to watch dawn break at the beach and took it all in. The message of plastic pollution of the oceans foremost in memory. I wondered how I could make a difference. Could I live more mindfully? I realised, shopping is all about planning. When I went home I packed a few shopping bags in the boot and was ready for another grocery trip. I took only two cooler bags to the store and placed my shopping straight into them. To my surprise, I was shopping mindfully. I bought only what I could fit in. The impulse buying was placed back on the shelf. I checked out and found I had spent way less money than I normally would for a weekly trip. Importantly, I had not used any single use plastic bags. The change was so easy to put into practice.
I wondered if I could try the same strategy with money. I use my credit card all the same and rarely use cash. It has been a helpful strategy for business accounts. But when reflecting on it, I realised, I have to keep receipts whether I use cash or credit card. So why not use cash? Now when I travel, I take just what I need in cash with my card as back up. What a difference I’ve made in a month! Money is the tangible proof of hard work. When one has cash in hand, one builds a relationship with it and makes it hard to part from it. The credit card is impersonal.
My only regret today is that I wish my learning took place earlier. 
I often despair watching children with hand held devices. Immersed in technology, they miss the world around them. So when I saw a young boy wetting a line on the beach, Pacific Seagull by his side, it made me smile. He could have been sitting in the hotel room playing video games. But he was out here at dawn, because he enjoyed the experience of what he was doing. He didn’t catch any fish. It was just the enjoyment of anticipation and being near the sea. He had a relationship with the environment. There is hope ….
I look at the ocean differently. The responsibility for keeping it pristine lies with each of us. The answer to a complex question ‘What can I do?” lies within the question. It starts with “I …”.
I look at the debris left behind by the tides each day. It’s the kind that makes me happy. Like watching a child fishing at the beach, it also makes me hopeful.
The debris left by the human tide will one day, change.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
Between Kellerberrin and Merredin is a parking spot where I usually stop for a few minutes to stretch my legs. The solitary trees in the paddock and the wide open horizon, is a familiar sight. It was dark every where, yet, the horizon was still bright.
I left Merredin a couple of days later, with the silo paintings on my right. They are a welcome sight by day break, but invisible by night.
In the dark I knew I had familiar landscape around me. The water pipe, for one. It carries water from Perth to the Goldfields. It was commissioned in the late 1800s and completed in early 1900. It is the lifeline of the people of the Goldfields. I cannot imagine the hardship endured by the workers who constructed this for hundreds of kilometers in harsh country. A reminder, life for me may seem challenging at times, but in comparison, I have nothing meaningful to complain about.
At night the air was acrid as I drove through tiny towns with streets empty of people. Bakers Hill, Clackline, Meckering, Cunderdin, Tammin, Kellerberrin. At times a distant glow kept me focused. The farmers were burning paddocks in readiness for seed. I’m impatient for winter to see some of these beige paddocks turn gold with canola.
During one trip to Lake Thetis I searched for the tiny bird for over an hour and then reluctantly decided, it was not my day. I took one last photograph of the Lake before turning around to walk away.
Then an imperceptible movement caught my eye. By the shore.
It turned around and looked straight at me! Joy!
Then turned away, the beautiful red cap clearly visible.
The stride is quick and effortless.
The stop and stare, well, fierce comes to mind!
This bird is a tiny creature. Yet, somehow, has the capacity to fill vastness by mere presence.
I love the sound of my hollow footsteps as I walk down the ‘gang plank’ to the viewing area.
The stromatolites look like giant cow pats. I come here for the bird life too.
On one trip the white faced heron was my muse.
Such elegance!
And simple lines!
And in the distance, the large cormorant seemed almost fluffy, in comparison.
It is hot. It is red. It is dusty. The sky is blue. It is magnificent. 
There is a solitary tree at Spoilbank, in South Hedland. It is my favourite view from across the water. This is harsh country exposed to cyclones. I love the statement it makes. 
The muted shades of dusk.
The day ends beyond (tidal) Pretty Pool. It casts an iridescent glow.
The bird life at Pretty Pool is discreet. This heron was among the mangroves. It was barely bigger than a crow.
With a stretch that was amazing!
The tide had left a calling card. 
My favourite place early morning is near a church. The eagles like it too.
The magnificent cargo ships glide by, often without sound.
I’ve visited Cemetery Beach before when the turtles were hatching. (Yes, the beach is across the cemetery!). This time I found sculptures on shore. The real turtles in the sea were too quick to photograph.
A beautiful egret. An Eastern Reef egret, I think.
The rugged Pilbara shore.
I stood under the canopy. I knew I could choose to be either frustrated or excited at what I could hear but not see.
You can imagine my excitement to catch this fleeting moment, high up in the tree!
I watched dawn break and fretted about the clouds. The small plane would have to punch through these, the thought making me feel sicker than I had been.
As the sun broke through, I saw a line of birds above.
On one side were the Cape Barren Geese, large, ungainly birds on ground, but graceful in flight.
Dozens on ibis, untidy in formation, also headed somewhere else. (I obviously need more practice with my new camera!).
Far across the Lake, on my right, was a flotilla of pelicans, dozens of them. On my left, a solitary white heron, posture perfect, even when alone.
Thinking that was my quota for the day, I started to drive out of the reserve slowly when I saw it, sitting all plumped up, large as a hen, a common bronze wing pigeon.
Preening, pretty as a peacock, in an unguarded moment, challenging the notion of “common”.
Near my car, a silver eye feeding. Usually they swarm in small groups but this one was alone.
Eye to eye. For a moment, it was heaven, right here on earth.
Well, not quite! The noisy wattle bird, now silent, was within reach. Keeping my movements small, I put the sandwich down and picked up my camera.
Emboldened by the quiet, the bird started to feed. They are a joy to watch.
The wattle bird has ordinary plumage, and blends into the scrub with ease. But I look for the distinctive vivid yellow belly, when I find them, nestled deep in foliage.
The wattle bird is fascinating to watch when it feeds, with the delicate red wattles dangling on either side of the head. What is sacrifices in an unattractive metallic cackle call, it makes up in elegance.
When the wattle bird left to feed elsewhere, I found an acacia, the tiny flower, bright as a spotlight. It shone a light on a simple truth.
Not far away from my car, was a Western Grey kangaroo and joey. Aren’t they perfect in the bush!
These looked different to the ones in Esperance.
The eyes, large and luminous.
Was that curiosity or a ‘don’t mess with me’ look? This one was huge, the stance looked threatening.
With another joey, much paler than the other one, they were eight in the mob. They stared at me in silence. Oh! I wished my heart didn’t beat so loud!
When I’m in Esperance, now my second home, I wake early to catch sunrise at the Bay. I’m yet to see a repeat light show, as the one I saw that day.
I then head to Woody Lake where the white faced heron is perfect in silhouette.
In my garden, I breathe deeply. The roses are there to remind me. Life is sweet.
I’m not big on garden ornaments, but I love this one. My son used to sleep this way in infancy. He says it was a reflection of inherited work ethic. Head down, bum up!
This elegant statue I bought in Kalgoorlie. It is placed under the jasmine shrub. She waits for it to bloom. Waiting is good, sometimes.
I bought these rocks to remind me each day how uncomplicated life can be. Why make it anything else?
There would have been a time in my life when I have would turned tail and run, confronted. Not this morning. I felt I had the best company. The yellow throated miner bird sat still and silent. Reflective, like me.
My galleries and museums are now different. I look. Touch. Feel. Sniff. And taste the salt on my lips, and occasionally, cheeks. Yes, the galleries and museums are more interactive. I immerse myself. I don’t want to miss a moment of the experience.
These were embedded in rock. Immovable despite the power of the sea.
The tell tale signs of seagull that raided the turtle’s nest along the shore. What is food to one, is death to another. The cycle of life.
when I drove through a weather cell in the Wheatbelt, frightened out of my wits, the huge road train turned into a road angel that afternoon and illuminated the instant dark. I found silence and calm in a paddock, some 85 kms down the road.
About my work in Moora where I go looking for the butterflies in the garden of my hotel. She looked at the picture and said drily. “It’s just a monarch!” There was a slight thaw around her mouth when I said, “yes, wearing polkas!”
I told her about my work in Bunbury where I found the ocean turns pink at dawn.
And about the bees among the prickly dryandra in Narrogin, that look like a long eared bunny, close up.
About the filigree found in leaves that remind me of the silver jewellery gypsies wear in Rajasthan.
And the single, plain leaf in the sand that caught my eye even when there was so much more to see.
How the honeyeater’s song in the Goldfields helped me discover ….
among the tangles, there’s simple beauty.
How the flowers don’t all burst into bloom at once. Maybe Nature sets a pace to slow us down. Wait and see.
I told her about the seagull with the broken foot that probably landed too hard at Walyalup Rocks, but can still fly.
And about that time when locals in Bunbury asked each other if they saw the sunset the previous night.
A Shared Space 
You must be logged in to post a comment.