Small world

I did a Skype presentation today to a group of social work students at Griffith Uni. I think the novelty of having someone so remote means that my name sticks in the minds of lecturers. Hence the invite. I promptly co-opted my colleague (and former social work placement supervisor), Rosalie into it as well. Just for company.

Plus, really, Rosalie is more deserving of this request, being almost an institution out on the Lands. She's been here seven years now, and set up the Department's permanent presence on the Lands. I was musing the other day that she defines for community members what a social worker is and does, based on who she is and how she chooses to act (or not, if the case warrants). She's also been recognised for her work, having won the WA Social Worker of the year last year. She's embarrassed to have it referred to all the time, but I think it's worth the accolade being mentioned every now and again!

As we Skyped away, all going to plan, Rosalie made mention of how the IT infrastructure on the Lands was not available to a former social work student she supervised. My inability to access the internet the past few weeks has also sheeted home to me how different Warburton is now to a few years ago. One memorable week in 2007, I was stuck up in the roadhouse. Mobiles of no use (no reception). A dodgy satellite phone, hideously expensive in any case. No internet access. A battered old Telstra public phone, sitting above a broken old chair at the back of the roadhouse laundry, my only connection to anyone outside Warburton. It was a very isolating week, and I was glad when it was over.

Now, back again in Warburton. My trusty little pink Samsung mobile works. There's a community access wireless internet service available (strongest reception near the shop). ADSL broadband if you can get a laptop and wireless broadband token. I'm still working off a pretty slow laptop that I've borrowed but, importantly, I am now connected. The world suddenly becomes smaller and for that I'm thankful.

A cup of life

I have been reflecting lately that friendships and family are like cups. Over time, we collect a motley set. Occasionally, we clear a few cups out, or they get broken. Irretrievably. Some can be patched together, bearing their scars with fragility. Others not.

A few friendships are like precious, fine china cups. Delicate. Great care is taken. They are looked after. Travel with you wherever you go. Family seem to me like sturdy pannikins. No amount of hard wear and tear changes their essential reliable character. An important part of any kit of cups.

Some friendships are like the mugs you have at work. Important for a time, but not the kind of friendship that really lasts the test of time. A good mug of its time, for its time.

Occasionally I strive to get my collection of cups at home all alike. Whites of various hues and textures was my latest futile endeavour. But then someone gives you a mug that you can't bear to throw away. Or there is the precious cup and saucer in eggshell blue that I love for no particular reason. Any attempt to make all my cups the same is really just striving to achieve some Vogue Living ideal. For show only, without any integrity in purpose. Just like life, I embrace my motley cups and enjoy them in all their wonderous diversity.

All in a day's work

Today was quite a standout. Fred and I came to Warburton yesterday for computer training (sigh) and a specialist appointment (thankfully, nothing wrong, and the best part of that was the specialist agreed to see me, despite being non-Indigenous, thereby saving us an 18 hour round trip). This somewhat banal trip to Warburton, however, turned into an eventful occasion.

About 9.30am, when Eleanor and I were settling into playgroup, the heavens opened and it proceeded to bucket down. We stayed on playing with Eleanor's friend Nadia until the very end of playgroup, rain still coming apiece, and hotfooted it to the store. Went shopping. Rain still coming down with reasonable force. Shoes completely drenched, the rest of me not much better.

As we made our way back to the poor trainees in the courthouse (which was temporarily commissioned as our DCP training room), I noticed that we seemed to have a pretty strong current running in front of the station. Blocking our way back to the roadhouse. No problem, it will recede.

Airstrip: bowsers in centre, waiting area on left

Now, 10 hours later, one submerged airstrip and 23 houses inundated, we find ourselves camping overnight at a friend's house, separated from our possessions by a strong flowing new river (complete with partially submerged and stalled troopie from an injudicious attempt to cross). Eleanor is wearing Nadia's clothes and I'll be decked out in her mother's tomorrow.

Fred is exhausted in bed, after rising to the challenge of negotiating and handing out mattresses, blankets and food vouchers to the 100 or so occupants of the aforementioned houses. DCP is the emergency response agency in WA, so all the team - except me on daycare duty - were holding fort at the store with the all important house list and a crowd of expectant and somewhat bedraggled community members.

All in a day's work (better than training, that's for sure!).

Water on the wrong side of the levee bank

Photos courtesy of Nadia's mum, Toni.

The other side of life

As we experience an interesting week weather-wise, with the wussy remains of Yasi knocking the clothes line about and threatening to push Eleanor off her feet, it's been an interesting week in other ways.

For a start, Fred and I seem to be having an unannounced bake-off. I made Almond Meringue Torte with Lemon Curd and Mango (backed up by an impromptu trifle with fresh custard from the leftover egg yolks), while he responded with Sour Cream French Pastry Tart with Plums. Both excellent, if I do say so myself... based on tasting very very small slices, since I am (as already announced) in 'Week 1' of the fitness blitz. One of the things I've noticed about myself since living remote is that the opportunity and motivation to make something a bit different tends to arise more than normal. After all, there's no cake shop down the road to step up to the plate. The only limitation is finding a recipe that is both interesting and comprised of ingredients that are actually available. Or can be left out. So to answer the question of whether it's possible to make meringue without cream of tartar: yes.

Second, I have had two experiences of a relaxed, social nature with community members. Noteworthy in and of itself for not occurring very often. Interestingly, in such small communities, you would imagine that there are lots of opportunities to meet up with local community members and participate in the same event on equal terms. This just does not seem to happen very much. Normally, interactions are loaded in some way with work elements. Even trips to the shop take on a work quality as the opportunity to talk to a client or relative appears. The main community events that tend to happen are a barbeque, but these are nearly always organised with an ulterior motive (usually, to draw a crowd for a meeting about some new policy or program).

Last night, however, the coppers decided to put on a movie night in the courthouse (outside being too windy, refer to earlier Yasi note). We decided Eleanor could have a big night out at the movies, and kept her up way past her bedtime. Packed into the courthouse, surrounded by kids demolishing small bags of $1 mixed lollies (prices almost like my school days) and copious cans of 'cool drink', we strained to hear the dialogue above the din. It didn't matter much for Shrek is just as enjoyable without the sound. Eleanor fluctuated between wanting to sit on my lap during the scary parts, and wanting to ensure no other little kids sat on her camp chair. A hard decision. It was, however, a lovely evening with community kids and a few adults - all of us enjoying the same thing together.

Just as enjoyable was the Warburton Aqua Aerobics that I did on Thursday night. This is the second time that I've managed to get to the aerobics, which is apparently now happening every weeknight at 5.30pm (for those of you who can make it). The sky above the open air pool was threatening, with a few calls among the women of 'kapi pitangu' (rain coming). The instructor pointedly replied that we were wet anyway, so why were we worried! Point taken. As serendipity would have it, the partner of one of the nurses is a qualified fitness instructor, and she has taken it on herself to run these evening classes. Both times, there have been as many, if not more, community members doing the class as staff. The women go in their clothes (swimmers being too revealing) so my covered up SunSmart swimmers fit right in. Swimming together, laughing at our ineptitude, sharing names and some language, it is a lovely relaxed atmosphere. No work, no ulterior motives, no attempts to build relationships. Just relationship building in a genuine way.

The new word I learned on Thursday - munkarra - the other side (shouted at the kids trying to move past the divider of the wading pool into the deep end, where they were not allowed during the class). A fitting word for this week, where I had a taste of how sweet the other side of community life can be.

It starts with today

Today is day one of week 1. The fitness blitz 2011. Since coming out to the Lands, as can so easily happen when no longer able to access a good gym with a great program, I've steadily put on those few pesky kilos that are hard to shift without consistent exercise. The regular travel also plays havoc with good intentions. So part of the many purchases last week was a blitz program of fitness, good eating, and crystal clear guidelines premised on the simple notion: eat less, exercise more.

The result is that I'm tired and grumpy. Moody as all get out really. But I did get through day one, program intact. And this little post is all part of my strategy - publicise my intent, then work on following through! So for those of you pursuing your New Year's Resolutions with vigour and vim, I'm right there with you. No luck needed, it's all done to consistency and planning. February 2011 is the month of hard work and rewards. Watch this space.

See her while she's hot

Alice Springs' old tourism motto - see her while she's hot - and sure enough we were lucky to do that this week. Well, I say lucky a little tongue-in-cheek. This week has been hot. Very hot. More so than usual. Not just on the temperature gauge, either.

With a sense of foreboding, I remarked to Fred on Saturday that the air conditioning in the car didn't seem to be working. Fred tried to work some magic on the weekend but to no avail. When we set out on Monday for a planned overnight trip to Warakurna via Wanarn (a 270k journey), we had a lot of water in the car. Within about 10 minutes, Eleanor was red in the head, and I was wondering what the hell I was thinking in following through with the trip. It was hot. Damn hot. Hot air blowing through the vents. Hot air blowing through the windows. Hot seats. Hot floor. Hot roof. Hot.

We gasped into Jameson en route and made a beeline for the store. Icecreams all round (Eleanor thought it was great... briefly). Icy cold cans of Coke Zero, more water, and we were off again. As luck would have it, one of the clients we were searching for waved us down on the Great Central Road. We crossed her off the list before we got to Wanarn - five minutes of luck sparing us the disappointment of just missing her. And this on a day when going to Wanarn was like a marathon effort. The store manager of Wanarn took pity on us and let us into the store, even though it was closed for lunch. Bliss. More cold water, another icecream, some fresh green grapes from their orchard for $2. And on we ploughed on to Warakurna.

That last 90 k was the hardest journey I've had on the Lands. About half way, I leaned over to Fred and beseechingly implored "are we nearly there?" He was kind enough to say "almost". By this time, we had moved on from reminding Eleanor to drink her water to playing games that consisted of spitting water onto each other and drenching her in the process. We then backed this up by, rather out of character, handing her precarious small tubs of water that she could try to drink from (and, as intended, accidentally spill all over herself). We collapsed into Warakurna and went straight to the roadhouse. In a random act of kindness, the staff had put the airconditioner on for us and we walked into a cool room that felt like a fridge (to our poor unaccustomed pores).

The last ten minutes of the journey was spent with me fixated on how we could get to Alice Springs and get the car fixed. Pronto. No return trip to Blackstone. "We could buy some clothes in Alice." "If it's the short trip on the mail plane, Eleanor and I could catch that while you drive". "It's worth paying for the flight ourselves - imagine this for 7 hours!" As luck would have it, there was a seat on the mail plane. It was the short route (the plane alternates which route it takes each week, giving each community a short and long flight once a fortnight). The car could be booked in. The boss said yes. Poor Fred. He definitely drew the short straw having to drive to Alice.

Breathing easy in Alice

So, Tuesday in Alice Springs, Wednesday buying new clothes and swimmers and catching up with a good friend, Thursday relaxing by the pool as the car was fixed, Friday doing a little shopping and waiting for the car to really get fixed. Saturday at Ayers Rock relaxing by the pool. Sunday, home at last. She's hot, but we can hardly feel it in the car. It's like a different world with cold air blowing on your toes.

That's my naapa (thing)

The house was starting to overflow with Eleanor's toys. With Christmas, a recent birthday and bursts of unnecessary purchasing on my part, new areas of the house were being colonised by multi-coloured plastic and wood in various permutations. I'm a bit of a neat freak. I also remember the 'pre-kid' days, entering houses of people with young toddlers and making slow work picking a safe path along the floor. As a result, I tend to spend a little time every day doing a small clean and organise. The toys, however, had got beyond that level of organisation. I did a big pack up and removed half of them from the living areas. They are now precariously perched on the top shelf of the study cupboard.

This constant need to manage our ever burgeoning pile of possessions has prompted a few thoughts of contrast with the toddler-life of the locals. Just yesterday I was struck yet again by a common response to possessive behaviour by Eleanor. While in the clinic at Pipalyatjara, visiting some clients, Eleanor saw their niece playing with her 'black baby' doll (a 2009 Christmas present from Blackstone Community). "Miiiiine, my black baby!!" she cried, immediately rushing to get it. The father present replied in an instant, "it's mine, my baby", smiling in claim. Eleanor looked taken aback, worried, clutching the doll closer. "Mine". "My baby", he replied, gesturing to hand it over, smiling still. Eleanor took the baby away for safe keeping. The irony of Eleanor taking a little black baby away didn't escape me.

This response is very common. Whereas we tend to rush in and reassure Eleanor that something is indeed hers, or negotiate with diplomatic tact of international quality when fights break out between cousins and (Western) friends, I have never heard local community members say anything close to the following: "How about you let Eleanor play with it for a little bit, then we'll play with it after... don't worry, it's yours, it lives here". There is one community member who calls out to Eleanor everytime she sees her at the shop, "my car Eleanor, my car." Eleanor will fall for it everytime. "No, Marcia, that's your car there." "My car, give me the keys", gently chiding her possessiveness. "No, it's oooour white car, ours". Then she'll turn tail and head into the shop, every step a righteous one.

I do not claim to know much about Aboriginal parenting styles and cultural values, but these little exchanges do regularly remind me of the constant value placed on sharing and common ownership. From the earliest attempts to assert individuality, little kids are encouraged to think about others around them. Our family - without even a thought to what we are doing - reinforce our possessive, accumulative inclinations. Without a thought too, no doubt, the community members reinforce common wealth in the family. Neither is better, just different. Deeply embedded in our world view, lasting well beyond the period of childhood amnesia. Mine. No, mine.

In hot water

The cold tap refuses to run cold. No matter how long I let it run. Usually, it takes a while for the water in the pipes to flush through the 200 metres or so from the water tanks, handily positioned just at the end of our street. But in the summer months, no amount of waiting makes a discernible difference. I've gone to drinking water that is beyond tepid, beyond lukewarm, and definitely verging on what I would ordinarily describe as 'hot'. An interesting experience. Fred tells me that room temperature water is actually more quickly absorbed by the body. He says drinking cold water slows down hydration because the body has to warm the water up first. No problem in that department right now. Come on down, ready for you.

Shimmering does not adequately describe the heat of the days here during January and February. Yes, I know it's the desert. I should expect a little heat. The biting quality of this heat though, which continues well towards sunset, is extreme. Yesterday I made the mistake of deciding to go for a jog at 5.30pm. A short half hour down the bore road, up to the airstrip and back home. With the sun not yet at the horizon, but I thought close enough, I was only 5 minutes into my jog (plastered with sunscreen) when I knew it'd been a bad decision. Exposed areas of skin were tingly from the heat in the ground, the air, the sun, the shrubs. I could feel my skin burning. A radiating heat that saps all energy and makes a short jog like this seem like an event worthy of a number pinned on my back. Only freshly back to the sport after a 6 week break, I unfortunately had to slow my progress home by slipping back to walking. There wasn't much option though. In this heat, even at my fittest, I don't think I could have run the whole way.

Days like this remind me of my first summer in Warburton, in 2006. I was sharing an old staff house (one of the first built), and as is usually the case with staff houses of a certain vintage, the airconditioners were both insufficient and prone to failure. I recall melting butter to make a cake by taking it out of the fridge and putting it in the mixing bowl. Presto. The fruit was hot. The chairs were hot. The cutlery was hot. The room took on a sauna-like quality, our sweat adding the necessary water. At the time, in my early adventurous days, it was all part of the experience. I think I would be less patient now. It's enough to have the moment of stepping outside hit you with a whoosh, expelling the air from your lungs, and replying, as if to the forebearing earth itself, 'phew, it's a hot one today'.

Comments enabled

After reading my latest post, Fred tells me that I have forgotton to include a few of his produce. Cauliflower, swiss chard, oregano, bok choy, mint and silverbeet. You'll appreciate now why it's been hard to keep up with production. He also wants more current photos of the backyard, featuring his ingenious shade cover. "You should have mentioned it was 44 degrees in the shade this weekend". 

So, on a related point, comments on this blog are now enabled. They always have been, but some followers were experiencing problems. I drew on the resources of the world wide web, casting my problem out to users more experienced than I. DarkStar answered the call, gave me some handy tips and did a test run. And, just to prove it, I had my first comment from a stranger, who I think is based in the Netherlands.

This little post is a call for feedback - if you like what you're reading, let me know and let others know too! I'm planning to go viral... (just like the garden).

Verdant times

This weekend was a lovely typical example of the quiet life on the Lands. Saturday was so hot we filled the little wading pool to capacity, and all squeezed in for a very short dip. Archimedes' principle came to life as Fred hopped in and Eleanor watched astonished as magical bucketloads of water overflowed around us. Out came the bubbles, almost blowing themselves in the hot gusts of wind. We spent a lot of the time pottering in the garden, long overdue tasks finally completed. Weeded the front yard and, with Fred's ingenuity, erecting a shade for the bulk of the long suffering vegie patch out the back.

Eleanor in front of the 'vege patch' (Aug 10)

I'm reminded of the TV series 'The Good Life', mostly because of the spirit of the couple who were trying to live off the land and get back to basics. Fred's vegie garden has started to boom, and we are beyond keeping up with production. Too many things are going to seed. The amazing fertility of the soil (when a little water is kept up to it) is the dominant theme. From its humble beginnings mid last year as a wide patch of rocky brown dirt, the vegie garden has sprouted into a well maintained hub of activity.

Initially, I thought Fred had overestimated the size of our vege garden needs. Worrying that we'd be looking at this patch of earth for the rest of the year and well into this one, I'd dropped a few hints that the whole space was somewhat unsightly. Within a few weeks, however, Fred had dragged over some leftover wire from a 'sorry camp', and an old unused gate from next door, and the space started to take shape. Next came the dripper systems, and with a steady stream of water and judicious planting, the place started to come alive.

Garden starts to take shape, and first batch of rocket
already gone to seed (Oct 10)

Before long, we had an explosion of rocket and more broccoli and spinach than we could keep up with. Strawberries, followed by broad beans, parsley, and then the emergence of cherry tomatoes with a well timed basil flourishing. At last, zucchinis popped out from their enormous leaf shades, and the heirloom tomatoes plumped up, dripping with succulent sweetness next to the fragile capsicums. Beetroot made a brief appearance, but sadly the purple carrots never emerged.

The next stage is watching rockmelon and 'moon and stars' watermelon (each patterned with tiny yellow dots, and one larger white round blemish) fatten up. Space has come at such a premium that the melon patches are scattered throughout the garden beds, nestled next to the odd cucumber. Pumpkins steadily march along, like the tortoise of the garden race, acquiring girth with a measured pace not seen in other parts of the garden.