For someone who was raised in a household where medications always seemed to be present (my father was a pharmaceutical representative at one time), it would seem natural that I collect pill boxes. But those who know me well would laugh at the incongruity of this. I detest medication unless absolutely necessary. This thinking was probably nurtured young by watching my grandfather cure an ill here and there. He was a firm believer in homeopathic medicine. If there was something in the natural world that could cure something, it was good enough for him. I have vivid memories that still make me winch, one involved extracting juice from onions using mortar and pestel then placing the mush into a clean linen cloth and squeezing the juice right into his eyes! He believed it was good for eye sight. A prolific writer and proficient in several languages, he died at his desk in his 90s, writing to the end.
On my 13th birthday I dislocated my right thumb. The years of typing have taken a toll on past injury. As I grow older, that birthday haunts me. Determined to work my way through pain without popping pills is a challenge I face every day. One evening it was cold, colder than it should have been even for Esperance, when I stopped by at the shopping centre. The best parking was furthest away and in front of the newsagent. Worked for me! I’m always careful with a hire car, the merest scratch or bump from others who park carelessly in a windy town means $$$, for me. I bought what I needed and as I was leaving I noticed a tray of plastic baggies, samples with a smear of ointment/salve. I asked what they were and the lady brought out a leaflet and read through the list of things it was supposed to heal. Judging from the range of ailments, it had to be powerful stuff! Now with anyone else who did what I did, I would say they were naive to buy what I perceived to be ‘snake oil’ remedy. I opened a sample cautiously, expecting a whiff of putrescent air to knock me over. To my surprise the ointment had a beautiful aroma. I’ll have some of that, I thought, regardless of what it can or can’t do. The aroma alone could heal anything and I wanted to wake to a bed saturated with it. After a day of using the ointment, I noticed I did not have any pain. That was over a month ago. Placebo? I’m not sure.
Smell is evocative. It stays in memory. If you have ever inhaled the perfume of a rose, you’ll know what I mean. Perhaps this is why a gift of roses is considered a panacea for all wrongs to be put right. As does the scent of roses in salve.
Until next time
As always
a dawn bird
The water pipe that runs from Mundaring Weir in Perth to Kalgoorlie, a distance of over 500 kms has been supplying water to the Goldfields for over a hundred years. Driving alongside it or watching it meander through fields gives me pause for reflection. The building of this infrastructure would have been gruelling work in heat with minimal comforts by those who may have yearned to be prospecting for gold instead. Little would they have known, their contribution is a lasting legacy since 1896. It is also ever present company, for solitary travellers, like me.
I’ll aim to arrive just before sunset. It’s always a challenge to get to the town before it is too dark. I dislike overtaking slow traffic on this road. At this time of year, I expect oversized farming machinery and drivers, all wanting to get to wherever, five minutes earlier. I usually stop at a rest stop alongside paddocks between Kellerberrin and Merredin and enjoy a few minutes of quiet. Always different, it’s a highlight for me just before destination.
Whether it is light or dark, the painted silos announce I’m either entering or leaving town. I love them. They are the bright and beautifully thought out art by Kyle Hughes-Odgers, his canvas, 12 storeys high.
I hope to stop for a few minutes at Merredin Peak, where the foundations of the Military Hospital are still visible. Transported from Palestine in 1942, it was a hive of activity for those recovering from war and those who cared for them. It is a place of paradox, historically and contemporary. From the ravages of war, they came here for the peace, to heal. Ironically, in this place of peace, one remembers war.
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 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!
A Shared Space 
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