It's the little things

It's the little things that I like about living out here. Like going to the shop ten minutes before closing, buying an icecream with Eleanor, and sitting on the bench watching the afternoon light seep into the community. The odd dog, a few kids coming in for their last treats before closing, a truck loaded with school teachers furniture setting off for the long long drive to Perth.

Just across the road, the house with 'prime position' opposite the shop is dabbed with a scattering of plastic flowers, tied into place along the fence and around the verandah posts. The usually bustling verandahs, teeming with kids, people, cooking fires and dogs, now deserted. Old Mr Lyons died a few weeks ago, and was buried on Friday last. In the short time I was here, his quiet, stately presence, sitting cross-legged on the edge of this house block, looking out towards the shop and the park, was like an institution. From this one position, he could take note of all the significant comings and goings in his community, one that he had helped to found over 25 years ago. Line of sight to the shop, office, '50 cent piece' (a octagon-shaped covered area next to the office, where meetings are usually held), the arts centre and hall. Located on the main road coming in from Wingellina to the east and Jameson to the west, he would have seen all the families and many 'maliki' (strangers) who drove in.

The little I know of Mr Lyons comes mostly from reading his funeral pamphlet. These pamphlets have become standard requirements for all funerals now, but I am reliably informed that they have only come onto the funeral scene in the past five years or so. How quickly things turn from optional to necessities in cultural life. As the only people with access to a colour printer in Blackstone, we do the final print run and get a guaranteed copy.

Beautiful cliffs 15k west of Blackstone

Mr Lyons grew up in the bush - he was one of the older generation that have seen astounding changes in their cultural and social (and economic) life in the course of just three generations. If I understand his story correctly, he lived a nomadic life into his late twenties. His first wife had two daughters, one who died a child (around the same time his wife did) and another who has gone on to be one a significant leader herself on the Lands. When his first wife died, he gave his first daughter to another family to raise, and later married again, and had more children. A strong man about whom I know little. He was described by his family as someone with a good humour and a gentle, calm demeanour. I can't vouch for his humour, not having spoken with him across the many divides that there were to cross, but his quiet, dignified presence outside his house is a loss even I feel.