The run up to the end of the financial year is always busy for people like me. I am booked solid until the end of June. I come home to swap suitcases. I’ve had to transfer all my indoor plants to the patio where the gardener can water them in my absence. Nothing upsets me more in the home than to see a plant wilt from lack of water. In my world, it is an egregious act of neglect. Perhaps this strong emotion stems from my cultural values, when someone visits your home, offer them the best hospitality.
As a child I can remember my aunt’s university friend who visited India. She would walk around the field behind our home and take photographs of the nomads and cattle. Beyond a rocky ridge was more housing but it was in the distance and even though my best friend lived there, I was not allowed to walk there on my own. At dusk we could not find our American friend. My parents and aunt grew increasingly anxious. People spread out in different directions looking for her. The ridge was dangerous. It was regularly blasted for building purposes and left behind deep pools after monsoon rains. I recall a neighbour drowning in one of the pools, after she slipped washing her feet. Then word came someone had found our visitor. We went to where she was. She was seated on the ground, coughing from dung fire, enjoying a cup of sweet tea and a piece of dry roti with her delighted hosts. She refused to leave until she had enjoyed her moment with that family. The joy in the interaction between this woman and the family is a moment that stays with me. They did not have much, but they gave generously.
I had a pretty packed day yesterday and found it difficult to sleep in. I woke to a beautiful morning in Bunbury and watched sunrise from my hotel balcony.
I had an hour long drive into forest areas so I just stayed where I was, watching the ocean The waves were fearsome and I could hear them crash from where I was. Soon it was time to shift gears and head into timber country.
I have driven through this tiny town many times. I love buying fruit and vegetables here. All locally produced and have watched staff rinse off the dirt from freshly picked vegetables before placing it on the shelf. It’s that fresh! This was the car park of the place I visited. The local school has just 25 children who attend kindy to the year before high school. Charming is too sophisticated a word for it! I fell in love with the place instantly!
I then had an appointment with the mother. She told me she’s “just down the road” out of town. It was a long few kms of unsealed road! I thought I was in an enchanted forest. The drive got darker and darker with towering trees on either side. I was so relieved to spot her standing at the end of a long driveway. My car skidded and crunched it’s way to the homestead. She had sent me a text earlier in the day saying it was Tuesday, nothing would be open in town so she had made lunch for me. She offered me lunch including fresh fruit from her orchard. We talked for hours. Her parting words of thanks is something that will stay with me. I remembered my mother’s constant mantra, “give like you have plenty to share”. This, too, is hospitality.
As I drove away I had another 3.5 hours drive before I got home. A very long day but I felt energised. I had lived a day that reflects one of my favourite proverbs, German I believe it is, “When one helps another, both are stronger”.
I’m headed out again … more later.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
In response to Word of the Day Challenge: Hospitality
Sunset, Back Beach, Bunbury, Western Australia
The sunrise was glorious. I sipped coffee while tucked in bed and watched the sun melt the meringue mist that hung over the town. I still felt exhausted and unwell and wondered how I was going to function in a day that was fully booked. Then I remembered reading an article on a flight about ‘forest bathing’, a Japanese therapy, Shinrin-yoku, that developed in the 1980s when people were dying from working too hard. The concept is simple as it is complex. Essentially one is among trees, among nature, in a mindful way. I decided to try it. It was cold this morning so I dressed in layers and headed to Foxes Lair.
The reserve is lush in winter green. It was quiet and I was the only one walking around. My steps were slow. My movements slower. I took it all in. The kookaburras chortle grew more distant as I walked away from it. The parrots flew in and when they left, the honeyeaters and silvereye swarmed high above my head. I wanted to do nothing but just absorb the energy of the moment. I walked around for half an hour. I was rejuvenated and renewed. I returned to my hotel, completed half a report and then headed to work.
It’s Mother’s Day today and I’m making a late start after a quiet morning. As a family we are taking a rain cheque and will celebrate the day at another time when everyone is at home. The quiet time today has also given me the opportunity to think about what this day means to me. Like all parents, over the years, I developed my own views on being a mother.
First published some seventy years ago, The Chef was written by my grandfather and considered ‘a cooking bible’ by some Indian women of a certain generation. He lived with us for some years in his later years but I don’t remember him ever cooking. I do recall him hanging about the kitchen much to the annoyance of our cook. He could develop a recipe by smell alone. I have his instinct for cooking. I love to cook and often make adjustments by smell rather than taste. I’m not sure how I do it, but, like him, it comes naturally to me. Sadly I rarely cook these days but some of the meals I’ve taken are memorable. 
Indian street food, called chaart, is a new trend that has caught on in Perth. The ingredients are generally the same (fresh coriander, green chilli, red onion, plain yoghurt, sweet and tart tamarind sauce) over crispy mouthfuls of tiny discs and sometimes stuffed in balls the size of a communion host, eaten in one bite. My family loves this and we eat this at least once a fortnight.
In Bunbury I enjoy buying dinner from the Indian food truck. His meals are made fresh and tastes authentic. A hot curry on a winter’s night with the wind blowing a gale beach side is a treat I look forward to when I’m there. He makes the best pistachio kulfi, an Indian ice cream.
And when he’s not around, my favourite room service pasta, is my comfort food.
I recently discovered Fish Face in Esperance. A gourmet fish and chips place. I had a delicious meal of Queen Snapper, pippi (a tiny clam) and steamed potatoes with lemon butter. I had not eaten pippi in over 40 years! They were a taste from childhood.
The stickers and giveaways were funny and made by your talented artist friend. 
I was confused and could not envision what C had planned for the centre pieces. Each table centre piece was a theme from childhood favourites – Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, Winnie the Pooh, Frozen, Beauty and the Beast etc. It was such fun that the guests went table to table to check them out instead of staying seated. All made by C herself, sourcing items from vintage shops. They were better and more fun than the baby’s breath and peonies I had envisioned.
It was a joyous occasion. The best thing I did was step out of the picture and let the night be what the young couple envisaged for themselves. By all accounts, it was everything and more what friends expected of them. There were no dramas as seen in ‘reality TV’. Just a lot of laughter, at times chaos, and oh yes, the rings were left on the bench at home. There was a quick reaction from others who offered theirs, and most guests thought it was part of the lighthearted fun! It wasn’t! The celebrant (a friend of the couple) covered the gaffe with aplomb!
There were tiny personal touches like the confetti made from cut out fallen leaves.
Much like me, she believes fairy tales can come true, so the theme of her dress was princess. She bought a vintage dress, handpicked it and created a dress she always dreamed of. She floated down the grassed aisle like she walked on clouds.
And, yes, there was cake! Also made by the bride. 
My daughter was part of the group made up of “best people”, not gender specific of best man and bridesmaid. It was a special night that included their father and his current partner. I’m sure he felt as proud of them, as I felt. I was even more proud of my son for acknowledging his father’s partner because she has been a presence in their lives for over ten years. For a brief moment, we were family again, the boundaries set years ago, made seamless by the joy of the occasion.
I enjoy my lunch break in the Arboretum in Kalgoorlie where boughs of gum flowers hang above my car. I’m usually alone here with the only sounds being the buzz of bees and birdsong. I love the solitude of an hour in a crowded day.
I love the Wheatbelt in winter. The fog across the paddocks in Merredin makes everything glow.
And the primary colours in Broome, north of Perth, where the sea is bluer than the sky.
My daughter S with Embley – Perth Hills
We are mid-way into autumn in the Southern Hemisphere. There’s a chill in the air in the evenings and early mornings. There’s a need to seek warmth in another or in memories. It made me reflect on my life journey, this time, my professional journey.
A Shared Space 
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