I have been quiet on the blog the past week. While it's my aim to write something every few days, it has been a busy week past.
One very very long day on Tuesday travelling from Warburton to Perth. We arrived at the airstrip at 11am to discover that the fuel pump was broken. Rosalie commented that whenever it seems like all is going to plan, something (small but significant) goes awry and the day is thrown. A commentary on life in general in remote communities. That day, it was the fuel pump. Eventually, two planes were refuelled by makeshift means and on their separate ways.
As luck would have it, we arrived in Kalgoorlie just in time to check in for our flight to Perth. All seemed good. We'd made our connecting flight... or so it seemed. The brakes on our connecting plane had failed on landing. Men swirled like ants around the wheels. Eventually, a new plane was brought in and we boarded. It was 11pm when a reasonably bright and perky Eleanor arrived in the hotel room ready for bed.
As always happens when transposed from life remote to life in the city, the differences are stark. Maybe it's fashion this season, but why this sea of grey and black? As fashionable as the cut may be, the colours are dull, despondent, trapped. Is that what people are feeling, in this concrete place, or are these my thoughts transferred? My eyes are drawn to any tiny burst of colour. I'm conscious of the muted tones of my own city clothing. I'm determined to wear bright pink tomorrow.
The pace is frenetic. No space for the unfolding of the day. Measured from breakfast, morning shop hours, lunch, the return of activity, school bell, dinner and then evening calm. Perhaps a church service or community event. The pool closes. A few kids out and about, making their fun. Here, step out any time and activity surges forward. Undaunted by the changing seasons of the day, unaffected by the passing hours, the city continues to move and hum. Dragging you along in its unceasing pace. Urging you to consume, aspire, envy.
Every place has its pace. This is not mine. I enjoy the unfolding days, the ebb and flow of daily life at its essence, the unhurried energy of time spent present. Guided by shared community markers of the day's passing. Unbidden by the need to achieve, produce, present, impress. Just me... and you. Here and now.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Long days at work
One of the challenges of the job is the long hours travel.
This week, we unexpectedly had to go to Blackstone from Warburton, twice. In two days. After driving 5 and a half hours return on Thursday, I couldn't face another long drive again on Friday. Thankfully, my boss agreed to us chartering the plane (this being one of the rare times when capitalising on the moment was best).
When we went by car, we could only spend 3 hours with clients and even then got back well after dark. Two thirds of the time spent travelling. By plane, it was only 1 and half hours, with 4 hours client time. The cost difference was enormous, $1150 for the 6 hour charter. $140 diesel for the car trip. It's hard to weigh up the relative benefits. Time in the car is a much better space for preparation, and sharing with colleagues (an indispensable part of the job). On the other hand, it exerts considerable wear and tear on you and car. The flight was quick, efficient and got the job done in a classic 'fly in, fly out' approach. Not the best look, and we have no idea what happened in the community after we left. But we were home for tea, and I guess that counts for something.
Courtesy of my new Flip videocam, we now have some footage of the two trips for your viewing pleasure. No pictures of communities or community members, as it wasn't appropriate. There will be some in the future no doubt. Enjoy the scenery.
This week, we unexpectedly had to go to Blackstone from Warburton, twice. In two days. After driving 5 and a half hours return on Thursday, I couldn't face another long drive again on Friday. Thankfully, my boss agreed to us chartering the plane (this being one of the rare times when capitalising on the moment was best).
When we went by car, we could only spend 3 hours with clients and even then got back well after dark. Two thirds of the time spent travelling. By plane, it was only 1 and half hours, with 4 hours client time. The cost difference was enormous, $1150 for the 6 hour charter. $140 diesel for the car trip. It's hard to weigh up the relative benefits. Time in the car is a much better space for preparation, and sharing with colleagues (an indispensable part of the job). On the other hand, it exerts considerable wear and tear on you and car. The flight was quick, efficient and got the job done in a classic 'fly in, fly out' approach. Not the best look, and we have no idea what happened in the community after we left. But we were home for tea, and I guess that counts for something.
Courtesy of my new Flip videocam, we now have some footage of the two trips for your viewing pleasure. No pictures of communities or community members, as it wasn't appropriate. There will be some in the future no doubt. Enjoy the scenery.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Verdant in deed (yirtangu)
It may be the desert but it's not brown. It's not that sandy. It's not that hot.
Now, with unseasonal rains, it's verdant, lush, luminous, cool and somewhat muddy. A green so vibrant as to knock you into submission.
Yirtangu. In 2007, I once travelled a delightful trip with an Aboriginal colleague from Wanarn to Warburton. With us, an experienced woman who understood a lot of language and even more of its contemporary complexity in the Lands.
The countryside was as green then as now. It sparked an unusual conversation amongst us. We exchanged words. Verdant. A particular word in English, evoking the landscape around us. Not well known, but perfectly suited to our time.
Yirtangu. The Ngaanyatjarra equivalent, given in response after a moment's thoughtful contemplation. Language rich with its knowledge of seasons, rich with its reckoning of daily life. Rich with the lives of ancestors before him.
Later that weekend, a woman came to sell me a painting. I had tired then of buying small canvases, rough, crafted for a box of groceries. As soon as it was unrolled, however, the woman in the car and I both smiled. Yirtangu. For a $100, a box in deed, memories of the lush green desert then and now.
For Inge and Robin
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| Coming in to Blackstone today from Warburton |
Yirtangu. In 2007, I once travelled a delightful trip with an Aboriginal colleague from Wanarn to Warburton. With us, an experienced woman who understood a lot of language and even more of its contemporary complexity in the Lands.
The countryside was as green then as now. It sparked an unusual conversation amongst us. We exchanged words. Verdant. A particular word in English, evoking the landscape around us. Not well known, but perfectly suited to our time.
Yirtangu. The Ngaanyatjarra equivalent, given in response after a moment's thoughtful contemplation. Language rich with its knowledge of seasons, rich with its reckoning of daily life. Rich with the lives of ancestors before him.
For Inge and Robin
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Sunday, lovely Sunday
Weekends in Warburton. Some things haven't changed. There's still takeaway night at the roadhouse on Friday nights (not a favourite of mine) and takeaway pizza on Saturdays (pretty good). Now, however, by the various forces of serendipidity and opportunity, there is Sunday morning cafe at the Shire.
The Shire building is one of those unusual features of Warburton. It's architecturally quite interesting, but sadly showing its weather-beaten cracks and crevices after a decade or so hard yakka in the summer sun. There are interesting sweeps and shadows, paths and taps, all suggesting a past and a vision that is mostly unrealised today.
I hear that the space had its heyday, soon after it was built, when community members worked and painted in the different spaces. The cafe at the end was staffed by community young people learning the tourist business (a laminated poster I found today evidence of what was once on offer). One community member used to welcome tourists and give them a tour of the exhibition and a window into the Mission history.
As with all things remote, key people with the right personality move on. The essential challenges of the place assert - the main one being distance. A vehicle is needed to get there, even though it's only a few kilometres out of town. It feels like a long long 20 minutes walking in the heat and dust and flies. No shoes. Other commitments and interests more pressing.
Today, the cafe comes to life just once a week. The industrial-strength expresso machine cranks up and churns out cappuccinos like it were Lygon St. Apprentice MasterChefs sharpen their knives and practice their arts. Those less inspired or inclined donate to keep the club stocked with essentials. Offerings today included white chocolate cheesecake, banana and blueberry pikelets, date slice, and chocolate cake with lemon icing. Warburton Food Crisis - I don't think so!
It is a shame to see the vision of the building mostly absent now. Like all spaces, however, they flex and transform. While it's only for a few hours, the space is lightly spun with the webs of social contact, fragile but enduring. A space perhaps encouraging more to stay, morphing work into play, and spurring new ideas for a better place and a better way.
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| Edge of the Shire, overlooking meeting room (one of the first photos I took in Warburton, 2006) |
I hear that the space had its heyday, soon after it was built, when community members worked and painted in the different spaces. The cafe at the end was staffed by community young people learning the tourist business (a laminated poster I found today evidence of what was once on offer). One community member used to welcome tourists and give them a tour of the exhibition and a window into the Mission history.
As with all things remote, key people with the right personality move on. The essential challenges of the place assert - the main one being distance. A vehicle is needed to get there, even though it's only a few kilometres out of town. It feels like a long long 20 minutes walking in the heat and dust and flies. No shoes. Other commitments and interests more pressing.
Today, the cafe comes to life just once a week. The industrial-strength expresso machine cranks up and churns out cappuccinos like it were Lygon St. Apprentice MasterChefs sharpen their knives and practice their arts. Those less inspired or inclined donate to keep the club stocked with essentials. Offerings today included white chocolate cheesecake, banana and blueberry pikelets, date slice, and chocolate cake with lemon icing. Warburton Food Crisis - I don't think so!
It is a shame to see the vision of the building mostly absent now. Like all spaces, however, they flex and transform. While it's only for a few hours, the space is lightly spun with the webs of social contact, fragile but enduring. A space perhaps encouraging more to stay, morphing work into play, and spurring new ideas for a better place and a better way.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Onions and apples for dinner
It's raining again. A bad sign. Scroll down a little in February posts and you'll see the photos of recent deluge in Warburton. While I'm not particularly concerned that this will happen again, the main concern is the truck.
Eleanor was (usefully) advising the shop assistant today: "It's stuck. The truck's stuck in the mud!" But he would know that only too well. The fruit and veg section of Warburton store has been decommissioned for the past 10 days or so, as there is no need to refrigerate an empty space. Instead, the apples and dates were stored in one of the emerging gaps up in the cheese and milk section. Yes, apples and dates. That's fresh fruit and veg for you.
Let's not forget the onions. I think they are probably classed as a vegetable. Root vegetable? (anyone know...) Having been parted not so long ago from the company of the potatos - now all sold - they sit forlornly in the dry goods section near the increasingly empty bread racks.
Eggs are gone. I bought my dozen a few days ago when one of the shop assistants kindly pointed out to me that while it looked like there were heaps of eggs, in fact they go through a whole fridge every four days. And that was the last of them. No truck.
I wondered if it was mostly the non-Indigneous staff who were hoarding the fruit and veg, which led to their sudden decline. I'm not sure. I find it odd that all the skim milk sold out pretty quickly too. And the canned apricots. But I noticed today that the chips have now entered an extremely bare patch. No more Smiths crisps. We're down to Burger Rings and a few corn chips. Perhaps fear of a chip shortage has led to hoarding too?
Notwithstanding the slim pickings on offer, I calculated that with the one potato, two slices of pumpkin, 4 apples, frozen peas and frozen spinach in my fridge, combined with some staples (like pasta, canned toms, fetta, and beans) I have enough well balanced and reasonably healthy meals to see us through to the weekend.
But it's raining. And the truck is stuck. Stuck in the mud maybe not, but definitely stuck. And so are we.
Eleanor was (usefully) advising the shop assistant today: "It's stuck. The truck's stuck in the mud!" But he would know that only too well. The fruit and veg section of Warburton store has been decommissioned for the past 10 days or so, as there is no need to refrigerate an empty space. Instead, the apples and dates were stored in one of the emerging gaps up in the cheese and milk section. Yes, apples and dates. That's fresh fruit and veg for you.
Let's not forget the onions. I think they are probably classed as a vegetable. Root vegetable? (anyone know...) Having been parted not so long ago from the company of the potatos - now all sold - they sit forlornly in the dry goods section near the increasingly empty bread racks.
Eggs are gone. I bought my dozen a few days ago when one of the shop assistants kindly pointed out to me that while it looked like there were heaps of eggs, in fact they go through a whole fridge every four days. And that was the last of them. No truck.
I wondered if it was mostly the non-Indigneous staff who were hoarding the fruit and veg, which led to their sudden decline. I'm not sure. I find it odd that all the skim milk sold out pretty quickly too. And the canned apricots. But I noticed today that the chips have now entered an extremely bare patch. No more Smiths crisps. We're down to Burger Rings and a few corn chips. Perhaps fear of a chip shortage has led to hoarding too?
Notwithstanding the slim pickings on offer, I calculated that with the one potato, two slices of pumpkin, 4 apples, frozen peas and frozen spinach in my fridge, combined with some staples (like pasta, canned toms, fetta, and beans) I have enough well balanced and reasonably healthy meals to see us through to the weekend.
But it's raining. And the truck is stuck. Stuck in the mud maybe not, but definitely stuck. And so are we.
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