Beautiful women
Beautiful women!!!
All that has happened this past week is really just too much to go on in a week, hundreds of reasons to feel blessed and supported by life and love. I woke up this morning in my tent in the land of the Gumbaynggir aboriginal people to the sound of the birds and the heat of the sun on my tent. After rolling around for a few minutes, waiting to hear the rustling of other women waking from their sleep, decided that there was no reason to just lie there waiting, after all, I had had a great solid sleep. So I meandered down past a few women having morning tea, and then down the steep gully into the Kalang River. This would properly awaken my body to the day. What a gorgeous feeling to bathe in a river, even with the slight possibility of your rare snake on the shore, fish swimming by, or hitting your butt on the slimy riverbed. Floating on my back gazing up into the tree canopy watching the birds bounce from tree to tree, I heard a white cockatoo cackle and fly out of sight. At one point amidst my float, I stopped kicking to see if the river could hold me up. An eternity passed as I lied there motionless, allowing the river to carry my mind, body and soul. By then another woman had joined me in the river and celebrated the morning glory of this sacred land. On our way back to breakfast we trailed a red-necked wallaby who had just been rehabilitated into the wild on this plot of land. This was just one hour of an amazing weekend spent with beautiful women.
Privileged I am, I was able to spend hours sitting around the fire (lit upon arrival and kept going for the 48 hours of our stay) with about 25 women ranging from ages 21 up to 75 coming from up to 7 hours drive away, aboriginal, non-aboriginal, some born in South Africa, Ireland, England and the US. We listened, looked and learned as our elders taught us, but all shared our stories and tried to work on reconciliation with each other for the sake of peace, and even more so, for the well-being of the earth.
Aunty June, a slight little woman with a strong voice from Bundyalung country, taught us about kinship, totems, and many other lessons. The most important lessons that I will keep are that secrets, boundaries and mystery breed respect and awe. It is not always better to be frank and share everything, mystery teaches patience. The second lesson learned is this: Sorry is a futile word, actions are the only way to express regret.
Aunty Em from Gumbaynggir country, which is where I am living in Macksville, is a jolly, smiley, light colored woman who is most comfortable chatting away, sharing stories of her ancestors and herself, and teaching. She taught us to make dilly bags (bags made by knot tying on a piece of twine tied between 2 sticks and lots of patience), make dye using tree bark, to share our stories too, and to laugh amidst toil.
Aunty Jessie of Gumbaynggir country is a sweet, soft spoken, small woman who’s silent demeanor left me wondering about her story. As Aunty Em and Auntie Jessie live only 10 minutes from Matt, Jess and I, we had the privilege of driving them home today. Squashed in the back seat with little Jess on the left and Auntie Jessie on my right giggling at Jacinta’s antics and playing peek-a-boo, I got to hear a little more about her story. Born on the banks of the Nambucca River, about 20 feet from where we drive on the highway on our way to the beach, she was literally forced off every place she ever lived and loved by the white settlers. These parks and beaches where I enjoy the sand, sun and water and marvel at their beauty, while giving thanks for my fortune, they used to be Jessie’s relative’s camps, where they ate, slept, played, birthed and died. They were forced off this spot to make room for what Jessie calls, “the white man’s playground.” They were moved to a new spot, until the white man decided that he really needed that land too. The government said, “We’ll build you a new neighborhood on the other side of town.” This spot was to be far from the water, with no view of the sea upon which they survived. When the public schools became “too” full of aboriginal children, there was a school built for them on an island they inhabited. This island is now named Stuart Island and I drive by on the highway at least twice a week. Once the English realized what a beautiful place this was, the school was torn down, inhabitants forced out and all relocated. Now Stuart Island houses a golf course and a hotel for tourists. The English justified their actions by calling the aboriginal people “nomads,” who had no claims on any land at all. Any land they did have left was later bought for a small price. The strange thing for me coming from America, where Native Americans are on reservations far from me, or perhaps hidden from my recognition, these people are right here, amidst the new society, amongst the people that destroyed all they knew and loved, just living. They are just living on the “other side” of the highway. They are still here, and will always be here, living on their land on the white man’s terms, given the leftovers, land that is unsuitable for a white man’s playground. They watch as we destroy the earth and enjoy our vacations.
The amazing thing about these women is their ability to say it so lightly, to laugh a little, and go on teaching history. Aunty Em’s father was ripped out of his mother’s arms as “a babe in arms,” and shipped off to the North to be raised in a concentration camp-like setting to learn English, Christianity and to be White. He was released at age 17, lived to marry, raise children, a bit violent at times, and an alcoholic. We wonder why they are so many Aboriginal people who are alcoholics? Why do they sniff petrol? Why do they steal property? Why do they make up a large percentage in the jails? The Stolen Generation, the slaughter, the hypocrisy, the destruction of the land, the complete humiliation and exploitation of their culture might be a few explanations I guess. Perhaps these women go on teaching in the hopes that one day we’ll learn how to love and care for the land as they once were able to do. They are the minority, having this energy amidst all of the negativity takes strength.
It was great to share this learning experience with so many other white women, and wrestle with it together, searching for potential positive action. We walked in the rainforest, learned about the native plants and animals on the land, chopped veggies, washed dishes, sang, weaved twine, and broke bread together. I met a few great girls who only live 50 km away so we’ll probably reconnect. I really look forward to this.
Hey, I even got a few leeches on my ankles, first time. This is one more initiation under my belt. Upon return home today, I found that Major, our hen who was sitting on 8 eggs, had hatched 4 tiny fuzzy black chicks. Wow!!! Amazing new life.
After a great weekend filled with love and learning, I was greeted by Matt and my lovely little girl running to greet me across a field at the camp. Jacinta had enjoyed her first weekend without me, playing hard with Dad, Grandma and Pop. She has turned over a new leaf in her short life so far, she is now 18 months and can go to sleep without milk. She has pooped on the potty (only once though). She says “two” when you say “one.” New words are: swim, Dja Dja, Ben, turtle….hmmm, can’t think of any more. Well, she can touch any body part you say (Matt’s teaching) and loves nestling herself in your lap to sit down for a nice book about cats or any animal, really. She has learned to enter her teepee by the grassy opening without crushing the plants in the dirt. She loves watering the plants (and accidentally the grass) with the hose and watering herself into oblivion. She’ll have whole conversations with you, so earnest that you must feign complete comprehension. And hair, it’s really coming along now!
Matt had his first week working as a bank teller, he is no longer strictly in training, but…poor guy, he has to put a big L in his window to warn customers that he’s Learning, or maybe it’s a big T for training. I suppose a big L would be worse to ponder for us Americans, given our way of saying “Loser” with a big L sign on your forehead. But he comes home happy that he’s earned some money, has a cup of coffee, plays with Jess, maybe does some manual labor like lawn mowing or whipper snipping, but everyday, works on the search for a Good Job. He also worked all week at getting to know the mulcher, taking it apart and putting it back together repeatedly, trying to understand why the side shoot isn’t cutting. I’m so glad that is interesting to both Matt and Keith.
I didn’t do too much in the garden this week, but I sure watch it grow, and the ground is almost completely covered by plants now, the plants are enormous. I took a few new cuttings in the hopes of bringing more native flowering shrubs to my gardens. There is one plant that I have fallen in love with called Kangaroo Paw. We have one outside our bedroom window where we watch the honeyeaters bounce upon its flimsy stalk pecking at the “paw.” I mulched a few trees, and also dumped a few loads of dirt on my foot as I struggled to place the wheelbarrow near a hilly dirt mound. That was no fun, perhaps my first frustrating moment in working. I have a lot of trees left to mulch. Matt tries to remind me to go slow and remember that Jacinta is my full-time job, and that anything extra I can accomplish is just a bonus. I think this is good advice, but it’s hard to look at all of this potential and just let it simmer for a few years. We shall see.
I thought of apologizing for the extreme length of this letter, but then, if I was truly sorry, I’d have condensed it, aye? Thank you all for inspiring me to express these many thoughts and experiences on email.
Love,
Shana
All that has happened this past week is really just too much to go on in a week, hundreds of reasons to feel blessed and supported by life and love. I woke up this morning in my tent in the land of the Gumbaynggir aboriginal people to the sound of the birds and the heat of the sun on my tent. After rolling around for a few minutes, waiting to hear the rustling of other women waking from their sleep, decided that there was no reason to just lie there waiting, after all, I had had a great solid sleep. So I meandered down past a few women having morning tea, and then down the steep gully into the Kalang River. This would properly awaken my body to the day. What a gorgeous feeling to bathe in a river, even with the slight possibility of your rare snake on the shore, fish swimming by, or hitting your butt on the slimy riverbed. Floating on my back gazing up into the tree canopy watching the birds bounce from tree to tree, I heard a white cockatoo cackle and fly out of sight. At one point amidst my float, I stopped kicking to see if the river could hold me up. An eternity passed as I lied there motionless, allowing the river to carry my mind, body and soul. By then another woman had joined me in the river and celebrated the morning glory of this sacred land. On our way back to breakfast we trailed a red-necked wallaby who had just been rehabilitated into the wild on this plot of land. This was just one hour of an amazing weekend spent with beautiful women.
Privileged I am, I was able to spend hours sitting around the fire (lit upon arrival and kept going for the 48 hours of our stay) with about 25 women ranging from ages 21 up to 75 coming from up to 7 hours drive away, aboriginal, non-aboriginal, some born in South Africa, Ireland, England and the US. We listened, looked and learned as our elders taught us, but all shared our stories and tried to work on reconciliation with each other for the sake of peace, and even more so, for the well-being of the earth.
Aunty June, a slight little woman with a strong voice from Bundyalung country, taught us about kinship, totems, and many other lessons. The most important lessons that I will keep are that secrets, boundaries and mystery breed respect and awe. It is not always better to be frank and share everything, mystery teaches patience. The second lesson learned is this: Sorry is a futile word, actions are the only way to express regret.
Aunty Em from Gumbaynggir country, which is where I am living in Macksville, is a jolly, smiley, light colored woman who is most comfortable chatting away, sharing stories of her ancestors and herself, and teaching. She taught us to make dilly bags (bags made by knot tying on a piece of twine tied between 2 sticks and lots of patience), make dye using tree bark, to share our stories too, and to laugh amidst toil.
Aunty Jessie of Gumbaynggir country is a sweet, soft spoken, small woman who’s silent demeanor left me wondering about her story. As Aunty Em and Auntie Jessie live only 10 minutes from Matt, Jess and I, we had the privilege of driving them home today. Squashed in the back seat with little Jess on the left and Auntie Jessie on my right giggling at Jacinta’s antics and playing peek-a-boo, I got to hear a little more about her story. Born on the banks of the Nambucca River, about 20 feet from where we drive on the highway on our way to the beach, she was literally forced off every place she ever lived and loved by the white settlers. These parks and beaches where I enjoy the sand, sun and water and marvel at their beauty, while giving thanks for my fortune, they used to be Jessie’s relative’s camps, where they ate, slept, played, birthed and died. They were forced off this spot to make room for what Jessie calls, “the white man’s playground.” They were moved to a new spot, until the white man decided that he really needed that land too. The government said, “We’ll build you a new neighborhood on the other side of town.” This spot was to be far from the water, with no view of the sea upon which they survived. When the public schools became “too” full of aboriginal children, there was a school built for them on an island they inhabited. This island is now named Stuart Island and I drive by on the highway at least twice a week. Once the English realized what a beautiful place this was, the school was torn down, inhabitants forced out and all relocated. Now Stuart Island houses a golf course and a hotel for tourists. The English justified their actions by calling the aboriginal people “nomads,” who had no claims on any land at all. Any land they did have left was later bought for a small price. The strange thing for me coming from America, where Native Americans are on reservations far from me, or perhaps hidden from my recognition, these people are right here, amidst the new society, amongst the people that destroyed all they knew and loved, just living. They are just living on the “other side” of the highway. They are still here, and will always be here, living on their land on the white man’s terms, given the leftovers, land that is unsuitable for a white man’s playground. They watch as we destroy the earth and enjoy our vacations.
The amazing thing about these women is their ability to say it so lightly, to laugh a little, and go on teaching history. Aunty Em’s father was ripped out of his mother’s arms as “a babe in arms,” and shipped off to the North to be raised in a concentration camp-like setting to learn English, Christianity and to be White. He was released at age 17, lived to marry, raise children, a bit violent at times, and an alcoholic. We wonder why they are so many Aboriginal people who are alcoholics? Why do they sniff petrol? Why do they steal property? Why do they make up a large percentage in the jails? The Stolen Generation, the slaughter, the hypocrisy, the destruction of the land, the complete humiliation and exploitation of their culture might be a few explanations I guess. Perhaps these women go on teaching in the hopes that one day we’ll learn how to love and care for the land as they once were able to do. They are the minority, having this energy amidst all of the negativity takes strength.
It was great to share this learning experience with so many other white women, and wrestle with it together, searching for potential positive action. We walked in the rainforest, learned about the native plants and animals on the land, chopped veggies, washed dishes, sang, weaved twine, and broke bread together. I met a few great girls who only live 50 km away so we’ll probably reconnect. I really look forward to this.
Hey, I even got a few leeches on my ankles, first time. This is one more initiation under my belt. Upon return home today, I found that Major, our hen who was sitting on 8 eggs, had hatched 4 tiny fuzzy black chicks. Wow!!! Amazing new life.
After a great weekend filled with love and learning, I was greeted by Matt and my lovely little girl running to greet me across a field at the camp. Jacinta had enjoyed her first weekend without me, playing hard with Dad, Grandma and Pop. She has turned over a new leaf in her short life so far, she is now 18 months and can go to sleep without milk. She has pooped on the potty (only once though). She says “two” when you say “one.” New words are: swim, Dja Dja, Ben, turtle….hmmm, can’t think of any more. Well, she can touch any body part you say (Matt’s teaching) and loves nestling herself in your lap to sit down for a nice book about cats or any animal, really. She has learned to enter her teepee by the grassy opening without crushing the plants in the dirt. She loves watering the plants (and accidentally the grass) with the hose and watering herself into oblivion. She’ll have whole conversations with you, so earnest that you must feign complete comprehension. And hair, it’s really coming along now!
Matt had his first week working as a bank teller, he is no longer strictly in training, but…poor guy, he has to put a big L in his window to warn customers that he’s Learning, or maybe it’s a big T for training. I suppose a big L would be worse to ponder for us Americans, given our way of saying “Loser” with a big L sign on your forehead. But he comes home happy that he’s earned some money, has a cup of coffee, plays with Jess, maybe does some manual labor like lawn mowing or whipper snipping, but everyday, works on the search for a Good Job. He also worked all week at getting to know the mulcher, taking it apart and putting it back together repeatedly, trying to understand why the side shoot isn’t cutting. I’m so glad that is interesting to both Matt and Keith.
I didn’t do too much in the garden this week, but I sure watch it grow, and the ground is almost completely covered by plants now, the plants are enormous. I took a few new cuttings in the hopes of bringing more native flowering shrubs to my gardens. There is one plant that I have fallen in love with called Kangaroo Paw. We have one outside our bedroom window where we watch the honeyeaters bounce upon its flimsy stalk pecking at the “paw.” I mulched a few trees, and also dumped a few loads of dirt on my foot as I struggled to place the wheelbarrow near a hilly dirt mound. That was no fun, perhaps my first frustrating moment in working. I have a lot of trees left to mulch. Matt tries to remind me to go slow and remember that Jacinta is my full-time job, and that anything extra I can accomplish is just a bonus. I think this is good advice, but it’s hard to look at all of this potential and just let it simmer for a few years. We shall see.
I thought of apologizing for the extreme length of this letter, but then, if I was truly sorry, I’d have condensed it, aye? Thank you all for inspiring me to express these many thoughts and experiences on email.
Love,
Shana
posted by Matt & Shana & Jacinta & Genevieve Henry at
12:01 AM
1 Comments:
How do you whipper snip?
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