Doing Our Best by Occupational Therapy Australia

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

Copyright © Occupational Therapy Australia 2022 This publication is protected by copyright. You may download, display, print and reproduce this material in an unaltered form only (retaining this notice) for your personal, non-commercial use or use within your organisation. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, all other rights are reserved. Requests for further authorisation should be directed to General Manager, Membership, Marketing and Communications via email at info@otaus.com.au OR via post at Occupational Therapy Australia 5/340 Gore Street Fitzroy Victoria 3065 National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data Doing Our Best: Individual and Community Responses to Challenging Times ISBN 978-0-646-85951-4 Printed and bound in Australia by Printgraphics. Printgraphics is a “green” printer, internationally accredited with ISO 14001 – Certified Environmental Management.

Doing Our Best: Individual and Community Responses to Challenging Times

Acknowledgement of Country Occupational Therapy Australia acknowledges and pays respect to the past, present and future Traditional Custodians and Elders of this nation and the continuation of cultural, spiritual and educational practices of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. Locations of the stories contained within this publication acknowledge the Traditional Owners and Country as informed by the local government areas and authors.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

Foreword

As president of Occupational Therapy Australia, I am tremendously proud of this book Doing Our Best: Individual and Community Responses to Challenging Times. Given the challenges that have faced Australians, it provides uplifting insights into how people find creative ways to respond to adversity and grow. Doing, Being and Becoming are core concepts of occupational therapy practice and at the essence of what we do. The importance of being able to engage in occupations to restore meaning and balance in our lives through doing, even during hardship, is incredibly important. As occupational therapists, we appreciate the privilege of doing with and doing for as we work with individuals, families and communities. From the seemingly simple to the complex, meaningful occupation is at the heart of what we do. Reading about the challenges faced by those who contributed stories, how they reacted and what gains were made, illustrates the power of being human, from heartfelt stories of how people engaged with their communities during the many COVID-19 lockdowns to how they rose to challenges to care for wildlife in bushfires. The impact on people’s lives of natural disasters is not easy to convey, yet the stories describing these experiences are insightful and powerful. The use of various expressive arts, crafts, photography and writing outlining how people took up new occupations and rediscovered former occupations was a significant feature. Enabling people to engage and connect with others using virtual technology demonstrated the problem-solving capacities of young and old.

Contributions from a wide range of people is a feature. There are children telling their stories of what they did to reach out to people and connect. People of all ages were moved to improve situations for not just themselves but also their families and communities. A professional sports club recognising the need to support those in lockdown made a significant statement indicating bigger issues were at play. Starting small and building, taking others along to achieve a greater impact, was another significant feature. Reducing the effects of trauma and social isolation, developing new skills and personal lessons were often expressed in stories. Contributors found purpose and meaning when redirecting energy to focus on others and took great pride in what they achieved. We can dwell on the negative impacts of challenges or seek opportunities to improve and evolve. I know occupational therapists throughout the world will relate to these stories, finding inspiration from those overcoming hardship and adversity. People with little understanding of occupational therapy will also gain much from these stories. I thank those who shared their stories and commend the project team and OTA staff involved in pulling together an excellent book. Enjoy the read.

Associate Professor Carol McKinstry President, Occupational Therapy Australia

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

Introduction

To suggest that Australians have lived through challenging times in the past six years is an understatement. Droughts, bushfires, floods and COVID-19 came one after the other, and presented contexts that called for a range of responses from individuals, families and communities. In other words, it has not been “business as usual” for some time. But how did Australians respond? What did they do that enabled them to not just cope, but meet these challenges proactively? That is what we wanted to illuminate through the stories presented in this book, drawing on the voices and experiences of people around the country. How a book of curated narratives was created is a story in itself, and involves many people. From the initial bold decision of Occupational Therapy Australia to make this book a reality, numerous processes were involved. First was the call to OTA members to express interest in joining a project team, which resulted in the creation of a talented, diverse group of occupational therapists (listed at the end of this section) who brought experience and passion to the project. Second was the call for stories through the membership, with the intention of members reaching out through their networks to people with stories to tell about bushfires, floods, drought and COVID-19. While awaiting submissions, decisions were taken on a graphic designer for the job of giving the book a stylistic coherence. Then was story processing. In order to be objective as possible, stories were double blind reviewed against established criteria for inclusion such as readability and relevance to the overall focus of the 7

book. The stories were categorised as broadly falling into one of three categories: Doing, Doing With, and Doing For. We encouraged people to accompany their stories with photos where possible and appropriate. These pictures represent an integral part of the book as they capture so much detail of the local environments in which individuals, families and communities focused their energies. We hope you enjoy the stories and photos as much as we enjoyed curating them. It is the hope of the team and OTA that the book reaches a broad audience. Through illuminating the range of occupational strategies used by people in so many different settings, we hope to inform policy makers, researchers, educators, carers, health professionals, students, politicians and service providers as they evaluate, plan and act. We are also of the view that the book will inspire, engender hope and infuse some positivity into an unprecedented period in our history. We hope you enjoy reading the stories in this book but also appreciate that for some people they may be confronting because of personal experiences. If that is the case and you need support, we encourage you to visit the national website http://headtohealth.gov.au/. Finally, the project team would like to thank all the people who took the time to prepare and submit their stories for this collection. You are all living examples of doing our best in challenging times.

Project Lead Professor Gail Whiteford Deputy Project Lead Adjunct Associate Professor Alison Wicks Project Team Members Dr Daniela Castro de Jong Lisa Copland Liz Doyle Jessica Kearney Shane McSweeney Adjunct Professor Jeannine Millsteed Elissa Moss Lisa Murphy Dr Micah Perez Kerryn Searle Associate Professor Aunty Kerrie Thomsen Dr Leah Wiseman OTA Project Coordinator Damien Pitts

DEDICATION This book is dedicated to the memory of Professor Ann Wilcock, whose original scholarship on occupation taught us all so much about “doing” and its centrality to the human experience. The profession of occupational therapy is indebted to her for her sustained contribution in Australia and internationally.

doing

Our Stories 12

Fires? I’ve Come Out Fighting Sue Webb

A Stitch in Time Jackson Wicks

Creating Something and Working on the Next Move Val Haysom Maine

Dropping the Esky at the Front Door Vivienne Miller

Having My Jabs and Staying Safe Ben Doyle

Pandemic Poetry Shafiq Khan

It Takes a Village Gail Lillo Sherman

Getting the Veggie Garden Going Rebecca Purvis

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

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Living on a rural property, the threat of bushfire is a very real and present threat for about six months of every year. 11

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Bakers Hill Ballardong Noongar

Fires? I’ve Come Out Fighting by SUE WEBB

There was a bushfire in Wundowie, Western Australia, in the first week of January that started about 4km from my property. I was away from home and not allowed back so had to ask my neighbours to get my animals out.

uckily within a couple of days the attending brigades were able to control the fire before the wind changed direction and the fire put my property at serious risk. That scare prompted me to join my local volunteer brigade, the Wundowie Bush Fire Brigade. I had been a member for only a week when the Wooroloo bushfire broke out in the first week of February. I was one of the first to report the fire as I could see the plume of smoke from my property. I hadn’t had any training yet and had no personal protective clothing or equipment, so I was unable to help fight the fire.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

The Wooroloo fire started about 10km from my property, and had the wind been blowing in a different direction I could have likely lost everything. We were spared, largely because of wind direction. I watched the fire grow and spread. On the first day, a Monday, I could see the smoke from my house. After the first day, it moved too far north to be able to see it from my place. I watched it on the EmergencyWA website, and the Bushfire.io app. I also listened to the scanner to hear what the brigades were doing, and then when the fire bombers arrived I watched from a different website (FlightRadar24.com). While all this was happening, I checked my go box, and made sure the car was fuelled and ready if I had to evacuate. The only time my property was in the red zone was on the Wednesday due to a change in wind direction, but it changed back again. I liaised with my neighbours to ensure that between us we could get all humans, pets and as much of the livestock out if we had to evacuate. We stayed in constant communication. We were lucky in that we never lost power or phone signals. My street has 10 houses. Of those, five have fire brigade volunteers of one kind or another (some are Fire and Rescue, some are Bush Fire Brigade), so a lot of my neighbours were off fighting the fire. We needed to make sure we could get their pets out if the fire came our way and they were unable to get back to protect their own properties. The parents of one of my friends and neighbours who is in the same brigade that I joined lost their home in Gidgegannup. He was there with his dad but they were unable to save it, which was really sad. I had joined the volunteer brigade after the Wundowie fire, so the Wooroloo fire just reinforced that decision. I am now the training officer for the Wundowie brigade, and also for the Avon District Incident Support Brigade,

which runs out of Northam. We provide the human resources needed to operate the incident control vehicle used to provide communication and support in major incidents including bushfires, searches and storms. I have also put my hand up to become the Bush Fire Ready Group facilitator for our region. Ready groups are supported by the Department of Fire and Emergency Services, they get set up by residents, usually for a street or small subdivisions, and the role of facilitator is there to help the street co-ordinators. I have only just qualified for the facilitator role so that hasn’t started officially yet, but I am also street co-ordinator for our own group we are in the process of establishing, though I’m hoping one of my neighbours will take the role of street co-ordinator. Living on a rural property, the threat of bushfire is a very real and present threat for about six months of every year. Living on my own, I don’t have the resources to stay and defend my property so my plan has always been to leave. Now that I’m a trained and qualified firefighter, I know that I will likely be busy helping contain and control the fire. If it’s a major incident I’ll be busy with the incident control vehicle supporting the incident management team. I’m perfectly OK with that as I know my neighbours will do their best to get my pets out if need be. Being in the fire brigade is amazingly rewarding. The camaraderie I have experienced in the short time I’ve been with both brigades cannot be measured. The way the different services (bush fire brigades, fire and rescue brigades, SES etc.) collaborate is brilliant, too. It takes a certain type of person to voluntarily risk their lives to help others and their communities, and these are the types of people I want to spend time with. It’s quite possibly the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

Melbourne Woi worrung

A Stitch in Time by JACKSON WICKS

I moved from Sydney to Melbourne in February 2020. My first four weeks in town couldn’t have gone better. I found a nice place to live, I had a lovely weekend away in Daylesford, I reconnected with some old friends as well as making some new ones, and was feeling really good about my decision to move. Then the first lockdown hit.

ll of a sudden, I was in a new city, a new apartment, and having to adjust to working from home. Generally, I’m quite a social person and like to keep myself busy catching up with friends, exercising and taking trips. I was scrambling for ways to fill my time. I was doing lots of cooking, baking sourdough, and completing puzzles, but I needed more hobbies to get me through. My grandma taught me to cross-stitch when I was a kid, but I hadn’t really touched a needle and thread since. I knew that it took a long time to complete a cross-stitch and I enjoy working with my hands so it seemed like a good hobby to get back into. For my first cross-stitch, I found a pattern on Etsy that reflected my mood, which was 15

“F--k this s--t”. I enjoyed stitching while watching TV or listening to music, and it kept me from checking my phone every five minutes and expecting it to entertain me. After sharing my work on Instagram, I became aware of the @covid19quilt page and found it a great place to share and connect with other crafters doing similar things to express themselves in lockdown. My cross-stitch pieces reflect a combination of my feelings in lockdown, nostalgia and pop culture. A couple of friends saw my work online and liked it so much they commissioned me to do some pieces for them. At first, I wasn’t so keen on that idea, because doing cross-stitch takes a very long time and I didn’t expect the lockdown to continue for so long. But when it became apparent I was going to be spending a whole lot more time stuck at home, I jumped at the chance.

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I showed my grandma some of my pieces (even though I was a bit worried she’d find some of them shocking) and she was very impressed that someone in the family was carrying on her skills. Her eyesight is no longer sharp enough to do embroidery (she is 97), so she sent me all of her threads, aida cloth, and some pattern books, which spurred me on to continue creating embroidery works.

My cross-stitch pieces reflect a combination of my feelings in lockdown, nostalgia and pop culture.

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I taught myself how to make my own patterns, which wasn’t too hard as I’m familiar with graphics software due to my background in design and when you think about it, cross stitch is really just a grid of pixels. I have now completed more than 20 pieces. I gained a few paid commissions, but then instead of selling my embroidery I started trading my pieces for works from other craftspeople as way of connecting with

people and giving myself new briefs. I traded for things like a painting, a custom-made kaftan, and a cake. Some other highlights of my stitching career include: stitching a song title reveal for Kate Miller Heidke’s track This is not Forever which coincidently captured the zeitgeist of the lockdown, and having my piece featuring Steven Oliver from Black Comedy shared on the @ abcindigenous Instagram page and receiving more than 250 comments. Most recently I nostalgically stitched “Tall Jan” from a 2008 All-Bran commercial and the actress who played Tall Jan, Belinda Bromilow, stumbled across my work and commented that she was “genuinely honoured” to be embroidered. This was a real kick for me! I must admit by the sixth lockdown my interest in stitching had waned. We’d surpassed 250 days of lockdown in Melbourne, reluctantly winning the title of most locked-down city in the world, and counting. I’m now quite proud of the work I have produced and fantasise about having an exhibition one day. 16

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

Melbourne Woi worrung

Creating Something and Working on the Next Move b y VA L H AY S O M M A I N E

What was I DOING!? Suburban Melbourne is my home. At the beginning of the first lockdown I was caring for my terminally ill husband, and looking at ways of keeping myself busy and fit, as my only source of exercise— golf—had been forbidden.

hile tidying up my laundry, I rediscovered a large knitted doll, the size of a two-year-old child. I had purchased it in a charity shop because it was dressed as a golfer, and just sat it in the laundry to amuse me when I was washing and ironing. Being an occupational therapist from years ago, I was thinking how could I entertain my sick husband and provide some diversion for my golfing friends at Sandhurst Golf Club. NB: You can take the girl out of OT but you can’t take the OT out of the girl, even if she is 80 plus! So I came up with a plan. My husband would take photos of me practising golf on a doormat out on the lawn with Molly watching and giving advice. Sometimes Molly was in a chair, or up a tree, or relaxing on the lawn. I would then place photos on a Facebook golf page. We had fun devising all sorts of positions for Molly. Sadly, my husband died during that lockdown (April 2020) but I continued with Molly, making up all sorts of stories that my friends could follow. She was so loved

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by the golfers that I wasn’t allowed to miss a week! She even has her own Facebook page MOLLY MAINE! Sometimes I dressed her up to suit the story; when she was learning French she wore a beret, and when telling fortunes she had a glass ball. One day she caught sight of my photos that I was sorting and demanded to know all about puppets or marionettes. This happened to be a photo taken while I was a student at the Occupational Therapy School in Lansell Rd, Toorak, in 1956, so I was able to take a photo of her holding it. At least a hundred golfers were following Molly, even people that I would not have thought would be bothered, but it was so pleasing to create something that also kept me thinking and working out her next move. She has now retired from the golf page as more important news is current, but has promised to visit the golf club when a fun day is planned. I love that doll!

At least a hundred golfers were following Molly, even people that I would not have thought would be bothered, but it was so pleasing to create something that also kept me thinking and working out her next move.

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D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

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There were many months in 2020 and 2021 of lockdown and stubbornly high case numbers. During those months of isolation we were unable to see our twin seven-year-old grandchildren.

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Sydney Gadigal

Dropping the Esky at the Front Door by VIVIENNE MILLER

The year 2020 started with terrible bushfires around NSW. Sydney was surrounded by fire. Summer consisted of dark, red skies bearing soot and dust into every crevice of our house, our noses and our eyes.

e stayed indoors most days for months as venturing outside caused paroxysms of coughing. A recent trip to England and Italy in the previous November quickly faded. By January, in the middle of the bushfires, we began to hear about a virus in China and Italy that was causing sickness and death. By late March, I gathered up all the current files on my desk in the office and bid a temporary farewell to the staff—or so I thought. I was ahead of the game in moving my office to my home. But only a week later the whole of NSW went into lockdown. Since that day, I have been back in the office only twice in almost two years. In July 2020, I retired from my job of 30 years. The handover to the new person was not the way I had envisioned. Everything was done virtually, online. There was no welcoming the person to the office, showing them this and that. Since then I have remained as an adviser for some specific aspects of the job. Hence I have spent

many hours in front of my computer in Zoom meetings. As “older people”, my husband and I were carefully looked after by our grown-up son and granddaughter. Our family remained isolated from society for months on end, until we were vaccinated, when we allowed ourselves to go out to meet friends in outdoor settings. During lockdown we became very productive. My (big) granddaughter crocheted toy animals and my son’s partner made beautiful hand-sewn quilts. I crocheted many blankets, some in wool, some in cotton, several for a single bed and several for babies and toddlers born during the pandemic. A family production line made face masks. I cut the material (beautiful material that I had stored for some important occasion), my son’s partner pinned the layers, and granddaughter sewed each on the super-duper new sewing machine. We made 31 masks; some stayed in our household and some went to other family members and friends.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

My son, who makes podcasts, enjoyed ensuring that each member of the household had the best home setup: new computer for me with large monitor (for my poor eyesight), good quality microphone and speaker, wifi charger for the headphones, lamps specially designed for lighting up the face with just the right luminescence for Zoom meetings and conferences, duo/Google hub for contacting grandchildren, and sub-woofers and speakers surrounding us as we watched telly of an evening. There were many months in 2020 and 2021 of lockdown and stubbornly high case numbers. During those months of isolation we were unable to see our twin seven-year-old grandchildren. We were allowed outside the house only in the company of household members. We had to stay within our local government area or within 5km from home. This meant that my younger son and his family, including the seven-year olds, were out of bounds for us. They lived about a dozen houses outside our area and were in very strict lockdown in their area. So? What to do? Food! For months I cooked shabbat dinner (the sabbath dinner on Friday evening) for our household and theirs. We did a furtive food drop to their house every Friday. This involved packing an Esky with the various food items—teriyaki chicken, steamed broccoli, spaghetti bolognese (meat and vegan), sweet corn, sliced fruit.

We phoned my son as we arrived, dropped the Esky at his front door, picked up the empty from the previous week and waved at them as we drove away. No contact! Later we reasoned that it was OK for us to see the grandkids outdoors, though contact with adults in the strict lockdown area was still not allowed. What to do with two seven-year olds outdoors, on the streets or parks, for two hours in wind, rain or sunshine? Keep them occupied and active! So, I designed a “trail” around the suburb. Google streetview was my best friend for planning these mystery tours. Each child had a copy of the instructions, a pencil and clipboard, and had to read the instructions to find the next street name or count the bus stops to get to the next place on the trail. “Safta, how did you know that there would be a pink door on that shop in Summer Hill?” “How did you know that there would be seven bus stops along that street?” Each trail lasted about 90 minutes, ending at the corner café for a takeaway milkshake, or a pizza from a restaurant or some time to play in the park. My self-confidence was stymied on one of these trails when my written instruction said to find a particular building and write down its name. On Google Maps it was a Portuguese Baptist Church (in English), however, as we stood on the footpath at the front of the building the name was written in Portuguese—just a little difficult for seven-year olds to translate. I became confident and accustomed to supermarket

shopping online and even purchased items sight unseen, in a Sportscraft online sale. Even though retired, I had central responsibility for the mental health program of two large online conferences. Then only a few days later I gave a paper to the World Psychiatric Association conference in Colombia. This was the first time (and I hope the last) that I presented a paper at 3.15am Sydney time. What did I do during the pandemic? Actually, yes, I did quite a lot, though it didn’t seem like that at the time. I became proficient at participating and organising Zoom meetings. This was something I had put off learning during “normal” times. I produced several crocheted blankets for our household and for grandkids. I also made it my objective to crochet a woollen cardigan for myself and have it finished before the end of the winter lockdown. I succeeded at this, though the weather has taken a decidedly pleasant turn. Oh, and I made some time to read about my favourite subject, Italian women of the Renaissance. This time it was about Isabella de Medici, of Florence. There were days I didn’t feel very productive, but there were many others when I was. It has been a time of productivity, creativity, innovation, repetitive activity and contemplation, but I hope I don’t have to experience another pandemic.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

Melbourne Woi worrung

Having My Jabs and Staying Safe by B EN D OY LE

This is Ben speaking. I can’t write so I’m telling my dad and he’s writing it down for me. I’m 35. I live in my flat in Preston. My two sisters help me whenever I’m asking, all the time. My mum and dad, too. But it’s getting too old for them. My carers come every day. They’re my friends. They help me have a shower and get breakfast and dinner ready. One of my friends always has to be with me when I go outside the flat. My flat is full of toys—hundreds of toy cars—DVDs, and my magnetic plastic blocks to build houses in my games with carers, and lots of other games, and my headphones and things, like my wooden blocks. I change the date on the blocks every morning. I do that as soon as I get up. I was going every day with my carers: good places like Melbourne Museum, Scienceworks, MCG Museum and to different car yards seeing new cars. I was walking a lot, going to Werribee Zoo and the Aquatic Centre, busy doing things every day—things that make me feel good. I get along with my carers choosing together where to go. We talk about the best places before we leave the flat. My favourites are Pick-a-Part and Lorbek Luxury Cars.

I know about COVID-19. People get sick. It is very bad. Very sad. People die. I know what that means because Grandpa has gone. We never see him. He’s gone. He went before COVID-19. I’m lucky, I have my family to look after me for COVID-19. My carers keep me safe, too. There’re posters all around my flat to help them. When I woke up one morning, somebody was shaking the flat. The whole wall wobbled. I didn’t see who was doing it. One of my carers came to my flat when he had the COVID-19 but didn’t know he had it. Mum had to take me to the Austin Hospital to have a test. I was scared. I had to go into a special room and a nurse scraped my mouth with a little stick. It didn’t hurt. But after that I had to stay in my flat till the hospital said I could come out.

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The worst thing with COVID-19 for me is the places I was going are all closed. I can’t stay home. There’s all that time. I have to find new things to do.

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Later, my mum had to find a special doctor for me because I’m frightened of needles. Now I’ve had two jabs. What happened next? Two people in our flats got the COVID-19. Everybody was scared. The flats all had special cleans twice. We all had to stay in our rooms for four hours while they did the big noisy clean outside. The two people who have COVID-19 have to stay in their own rooms by themselves. The worst thing with COVID-19 for me is the places I was going are all closed. I can’t stay home. There’s all that time. I have to find new things to do. I’m going for longer drives with my carers, like to Rosebud. My carers have a letter from my doctor who knows me saying I’m allowed. I go to Princes Park to do a long walk around the park. With my carer we do tours of the Melbourne Cemetery next to the park. I can read names so I tell my carer the names on the graves. My carer tells me that we don’t make fun of any names because we wouldn’t

like it if people did that at Grandpa’s grave. Now we go to new places instead. At Essendon Fields I see the new cars in the showrooms through the big windows. We go to Edwards Lake instead to see the steam train. We go to the Maribyrnong instead and walk along the river. I am waiting for my old places to open again. Waiting and waiting. Today, everybody is allowed to go out again like it was before COVID-19. It’s a good day. I’m so happy. I’ll be able to visit my places outside I go to again and see everyone. My jabs will help me keep safe. Everyone should get their jabs. They help stop the COVID-19 coming back all the time. I am wanting in saying thanks, everybody, for showing me the different things, new things and places, seeing everything and being busy. Everyone is happy today, everyone has a COVID-19 story. This is my story.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

Canberra Ngunnawal

Pandemic Poetry by SHAFIQ KHAN

My presentation is the narrative of my life, supported by verses from my poems. My story revolves around the turmoil caused by the pandemic and how I coped, emotionally, socially and physically.

was born in 1940 on a small sugar cane plantation in Fiji. The farm was on undulating terrain with a prominent peak from which one could see the distant horizon. I often sat there and looked in the direction of the sea as it collided relentlessly with the coast. This lit my desire to travel, meet people, learn and expand my horizons. I embarked on a global journey across the Pacific to the North Sea. I travelled with just twenty pounds, which soon landed me on the poverty line in London. There I was often lonely. Soon I found myself submerged in a bubble and wrote a poem expressing my inner thoughts. This verse is from my poem, Loneliness: Alone I stand in the cloud of depressions and miseries, In days gone by I was careless and free, Flying from brown bushes to the evergreen trees, To the deep blue sky for peace and serenity.

After hard work and perseverance, I earned a degree in Geoscience from London University and shortly after found myself on a flight to Australia, bound for Canberra. This city has been largely spared from natural disasters since the devastation of the catastrophic bushfires more than a decade ago, but the fires of 2020 reached into the western fringe of Canberra, bellowing out ash and cinders and shrouding us in smoke for many anxious days. Just as we thought we were out of that frying pan, we plunged into the fire with the hint of “pandemic”. Initially the threat was taken lightly with a blame game as to its country of origin. However, with the rapid spread of the virus the urgency for finding a vaccine began across the globe. As with the fires, the virus invades our respiratory systems. Unprecedented lockdowns followed.

Home confinement, social distancing and restrictions of movement meant an inability to see loved ones, and the end of plans to travel. These measures in addition to a diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease plunged me into depression with a sense of hopelessness. During the last lockdown in Canberra, beginning in August 2021, I received a welcome invitation and ultimate circuit-breaker. Our PACT occupational therapist invited me to join a virtual travelling group flying to Fiji. My partner Margaret and I accepted the invitation and turned up on Zoom. Every passenger was made to feel relaxed and confident to contribute experiences and to compete during quiz time. The session was interesting and challenging. From time to time we had virtual high

teas as an extra activity, giving the opportunity to dress up for the occasion. Our OT virtual travel guide invited passengers to recite poetry. I put my hand up and recited one I had composed on Fiji. Soon I became the resident poet and thanks to our OT’s encouragement I find myself out of the doldrums and starting to regain my confidence and desire to write and sketch. I started with a modern Japanese poem of five lines. I composed one based on the subject of the national flowers of the countries we visited. I challenged others in the group to do the same and these were proudly shared with one another. I was thrilled with the outcome.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

In addition to my active involvement with the virtual travellers I had virtual exercise sessions with the University of Canberra neuro-physiotherapy clinic. I was asked to submit a poem for their newsletter and I chose one celebrating springtime. Inspired by these interventions I composed a poem about my Parkinson’s and optimism for the future: Pronouncement of Parkinson’s affliction, Sends the mind into the realm of confusion Comes to us as unexpected visitor, Taking residency in our mental sector. Strengthening our physical and mental traits, Ensuring sufficiency in our physio-mental states, Be innovative in one’s practicality and exploration Thrust forward within achievable expectation. Together we can do it, Hand in hand combined we can fight it, Capture that smile on our sullen expressions, Staying safe from encroaching depressions. Reach out to the tulips’ vibrant colours, Sooth your souls with these Parkinson’s flowers Embrace the gift of spring and its potency, Applaud the nature for its vibrancy.

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Melbourne Woi worrung

It Takes a Village by GAIL LILLO SHERMAN

My name is Gail, and this is my story of how building a tiny village helped me get through the COVID-19 lockdown. But let me start from the beginning.

find myself at 62 separated from my husband of 35 years, living alone in a two-bed unit with one of the rooms used as a storage area to house a lifetime of collectables. Compared with the big four- and fivebedroom houses we lived in as a family over the years, this is a big change. I was always surrounded by family during those former years, with a husband, four kids and my mother staying with us for long periods. So, living alone came as a shock. I have never lived alone in all my life, and it is something I always feared. Well, I’m not living entirely alone—I have two Yorkshire terriers who give me the encouragement to get out of bed, change out of my pyjamas and take them for a walk to the park. They are so different in character but are warm, comical fur babies. I am not ashamed to say that they sleep in my bed, one each side of me.

But then came the COVID-19 lockdown in Melbourne. Being forced to stay indoors with no one to talk to for such long periods of time was worse than anything I could have imagined. I started to visualise the walls closing in on me. I had to think of something to keep myself occupied, otherwise I feared I might go crazy. Attempting to keep busy, I thought it best to clean up my small new apartment and make inroads into the storage room. Being alone, I tend to order everything online and found myself taking out an awful lot of cardboard boxes of different shapes and sizes. Cereal boxes, juice boxes, packing boxes, shoe boxes and, of course, medication boxes (after all, I am over 60!) So, it struck me that I was just adding to the world’s junk, although mostly recyclable, and I was sure I could occupy myself by making something with the cardboard boxes. So, I chose to make a tiny village. Where to start! Well, I figured that any village would need a good foundation; maybe I was thinking about my

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own life. I looked around for a firm corrugated cardboard carton to use as a base but instead I took out one of my large unused art canvases, laid it flat on my dining room table and set out to design my village. I remembered the tiered villages in Positano, one of the jewels of the Amalfi Coast, with all its coloured picturesque buildings—one of my good family holiday memories. And so, I started to sort my boxes and cardboard into sizes. I quickly found it wise to turn the boxes with labels and a lot of print inside out. I figured that, in this way, I would need much less paint to cover the print and labels.

Building my village has given me a renewed sense of purpose. I managed to get through the long Victorian lockdowns in a good mental state.

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I also started seeing everyday objects in a different way. Lids of small bottles became washing tubs, corks could be reshaped into barrels, and so on. To recapture the colourful memories of the houses in Positano, I felt I would need acrylic paint, paint and foam brushes, air dry clay and either a scalpel or carpenter’s knife and, oh, let’s not forget the kids’ PVA glue that peels off your fingers so nicely and dries transparently. As the days turned into weeks, my tiny village grew. Layer by layer the buildings started to take shape. I remembered our happy family times in Positano. It made me feel connected and less alone. My houses started to become brighter and more elaborate. As weeks turned

into months, getting up was no longer a chore. Each morning my tiny village brought a smile to my face. I must be honest in saying that as my town grew, I changed my design and added a lot of extras. Where I had a single storey, I made it a double storey. I haven’t quite got there yet but I intend putting up street lamps with wires going here, there and everywhere, as a poorer town might have. I will also have string from one house to another as a clothesline, with tiny clothes hanging from it. I will also find signs online such as Butcher, Bakery and so on, print them out and label the different buildings. I find myself now occupied thinking about many more ideas of how to make potted plants, fruit and vegetables with air-dry clay to include in my village. I have had so much fun making my village that I’m not sure it will ever come to an end. Building my village has given me a renewed sense of purpose. I managed to get through the long Victorian lockdowns in a good mental state. Creating my village has also rekindled my love of art, something I had let go during the tough times of my marriage separation. My tiny village has become a starting point for my big new life. I wish that everyone could find theirs. Some say that it takes a village to raise a child, for me it has taken a village to restart my life.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

Melbourne Woi worrung

Getting the Veggie Garden Going by REBECCA PURVIS

A couple of years ago, there was a running joke in my family that l couldn’t even keep a hardy yucca alive. In April 2020, while working from home, l decided to grow my first vegetable garden. Now l have a flourishing vegetable garden and a brand new hobby. With little gardening experience, l initially relied on the advice of nursery staff at Bunnings, in addition to Facebook and Instagram gardening groups to learn what to plant each month. It was trial and error. l learnt that it does not have to be expensive and you do not need to be a good gardener. Over the pandemic, l’ve grown pretty much every vegetable from broccoli, sweet corn, carrot, cauliflower, cabbage, kale, silverbeet, potato, brussel sprouts, celery, cucumber and zucchini to snow peas and beetroot. I learnt that a well-lit space, regular watering and some quality potting mix are some of the only things you need to get started. Once I decided what to plant, there were also some other considerations:

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Edible plants like lots of sunlight; Growing from seed is cheaper than buying seedlings and is so rewarding when seedlings start to form, which in some instances takes only a week or two; Veggies can also grow in pots; Soil quality is really important and can be tested with a pH tester; Veggie gardens need regular watering; and A fortnightly feed of liquid fertiliser is really important to keep the veggies growing.

I joined Instagram and Facebook groups dedicated to growing vegetables and found the people l met along the way to be lovely and helpful.

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It’s easy to get down and depressed during COVID-19 restrictions and we decided to think, “Well, what can we do? What needs to be done?

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I’ve met people from not only Melbourne and other Australian states but also many others from countries across the globe. One of the benefits of growing food in my own backyard was reducing trips to the supermarket, which was obviously a priority given l work with disabled and elderly people. Inadvertently, we also reduced the cost of our grocery bills, but probably the greatest benefit was enjoying a new hobby, meeting new people and focusing on something other than the pandemic. Over the lockdowns, we learnt to do things really differently, and to think outside the box. It’s easy to get down and depressed during COVID-19 restrictions and we decided to think, “Well, what can we do? What needs to be done?” and we pushed through that way. In addition to planting the vegetable garden, we completed some renovations, painted and fixed our house. My business changed significantly as well—it changed for the better, really, because we’ve been able to do things in lots of different ways, such as Telehealth. We also expanded my private practice, OT Group, to regional Victoria. Something I’ll keep doing in 2022 is planning my vegetable patches and incorporating companion planting; that’s where you have different flowers you put in—things like nasturtiums or marigolds—and they look good but they also repel cabbage moths or other pests and attract bees. I am hopeful for 2022 and I plan to continue working on the garden. I just love it, and I’m not losing interest at all now that lockdown has lifted. I have everything under the sun and the patch has expanded to another patch, greenhouses and everything else! If I can do it, anyone can!

doing with

Our Stories 37

Lockdown Survival: The Theme Scheme Miriam Cafer

If Only You Could Hear It, Too Georgia Pike-Rowney

Not Such a Bird-Brained Idea Beth Walker

We’ve Been Virtually Everywhere, Man Kate Sterrenberg

Togetherness and Camaraderie: The Big Clean Up Janine Hoult

A Community Growing Together, Apart Sarah Gallagher

Regeneration on the Wing Rob Dunn

Creatively Overcoming Isolation Deirdre Hyslop, Ro Pimlott, Rachael Haggett, Penny Blair

Grit Was Needed: Dealing With Fire on the Farm Florence Thompson

The Ukulele Connection Tessa Moriarty

Creating a Drought Driven Connection: The Story of Imagination Downs Jo Jackson King

Jamming the Lockdown Elissa Moss

The Dust Bowl Bash Kieran ‘Rad’ Kelly

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

Cornubia Yugambeh

Lockdown Survival: The Theme Scheme by MIRIAM CAFER

Following a great year, we flew into 2020 with a crash and burn. It’s hard to go from the pristine beauty of a New Zealand holiday to the harsh reality of major surgery and whispers of some weird flu coming out of China.

ut my family thrives on action stations. This family of girls held in place by my husband embarked on a crazy couple of weeks of lockdown fun. We did what we do best and created our own fun, memories, life skills and a social following we never expected—all from the comfort of our home in Brisbane. Recovering from major cancer surgery, COVID-19 came at a good time for me. Lockdown and restrictions forced me to take it easy at home and be present, as a mum, as well as home-schooling teacher. The family got to bond in ways it never used to around the kitchen table. My hubby being the incredibly social being he is, came up with the idea of playing dress-ups every weekend. The kids took turns choosing a theme. The ideas grew bigger and better in celebration that we had made it through another week of lockdown.

First up was obviously ’80s theme: fluoro outfits with the music turned up loud, of course. As we couldn’t shop for costumes we got creative with what was in the wardrobe. Since we had time up our sleeves, special care was taken ensuring that everything fit the theme, from blue eyeshadow and puffed-up hairstyles to the dance moves. The kids’ imagination was sparked. With a house full of girls dying to dress up, the next theme was Red Carpet. We decided to go beyond our house and put it out on the community Facebook page that a red carpet strip was needed to set the scene. The community didn’t disappoint and I was able to drive my designated 5km radius to do a pickup of carpet flung over a local fence for us to use.

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I got to spend wonderful moments with my family, seeing them in a new light. I appreciated their imagination, enthusiasm, youthfulness, versatility, adaptability and support for each other.

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D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

The old tux got a dust-off, expensive ball gowns were donned by all, and we clinked glasses, strutting our stuff down the gangway and posing for the camera as if it was the Oscars. With each theme posted on our Facebook page, my husband suddenly had a following with friends, family and even work colleagues eagerly suggesting themes. We decided to up the ante and set the girls challenges. Each was responsible for part of a three-course meal that fit each theme. New skills were learnt, new tastes acquired and memories made. Some themes took all week to prepare. There was the research required, such as for Viking Night. The kids looked into costumes, traditional food and spent hours at Bunnings to make swords and shields. I feel hubby especially loved this theme as he allowed himself to come home with a different power tool each time. There was war paint, food cooked over an open fire and sword fights. While the end product was truly magical, the process of

getting there—the doing, the allocation of roles, working as a team—made it so much more than just Theme Night. It gave us purpose during uncertain boring times. We could have just as easily sat and watched TV or played games, but we decided to push ourselves. And push ourselves we did, with Circus Night. That week was spent secretly working on circus skills to be performed on the night. Doors were shut as we worked on our routines and costumes. The menu was fun and reminiscent of real circus showgrounds, with corn on sticks, burgers, popcorn and toffee apples. Even the dog was included in the act, made to perform tricks. We had ribbon twirling, a magician, a gypsy telling fortunes in her lair, a dancer and—voted the best—hubby learning to walk on stilts as a juggling clown. I nearly cried seeing my bedsheet turned into long pants. What next? The community was cheering us on for bigger and better and the pressure was on not to disappoint. All of a sudden Theme Nights were a tradition.

It would go down in Cafer memories as a historical moment. COVID-19 might be keeping us from meaningful relationships with the outside world, but here we were creating something that others enjoyed watching. I’d like to think we may have inspired other families to find their “thing” that would bond them over this time. Voted the most popular was Goth Night. Black was the new fashion. Dark make-up, torn tights, black fingernails, heavy boots and fake tats and piercings set the scene. Food was a little more challenging but we had black lemonade, and black spaghetti. Never had I realised how important a part colour plays in making food appealing. Lockdown was coming to an end but the kids didn’t want to stop. Nor did our dedicated followers. As a farewell to Theme Night, our last one was Onesie Night.

We had ordered a range of animal onesies to reflect our personalities, and spent the night tucked up in front of a movie marathon. Mattresses lined the TV room, face masks were donned, and we relived happy times of past Theme Nights. This storytelling cemented our memories as cherished times that got us not just through COVID-19 but my cancer recovery. I got to spend wonderful moments with my family, seeing them in a new light. I appreciated their imagination, enthusiasm, youthfulness, versatility, adaptability and support for each other. Now whenever there is a hint of another lockdown, we all look at each other in excitement rather than doom and gloom. We have since had Casino Night. Reflecting back, we learnt so much. We learnt to be a family in the true sense, and do our best to stay positive in a challenging situation.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

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We have been able to share music through online platforms, providing opportunities to “sing out” to others and feel connected.

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Canberra Ngunnawal

If Only You Could Hear It, Too by GEORGIA PIKE-ROWNEY

Never before have I felt the act of singing—something I firmly believe should be shared with others for communal wellbeing—would become a threat to people’s health.

have sung my entire life, professionally, as a researcher, and as an educator, but most importantly as a way to connect with others. Thanks to COVID-19, singing with others became dangerous, especially for those with complicated medical issues. Based in the ACT, my colleague Susan West and I run the Music Engagement Program (MEP), which for 30 years has promoted musicmaking for wellbeing in schools, care facilities, health contexts and the broader community. We regularly work with the “dis”-ability sector, through specialist schools and community care organisations.

But while face-to-face singing was not at all possible during lockdowns, all was not lost. The late Dr John Diamond, an Australian pioneer of holistic and artsbased approaches to health and wellbeing, wrote: “Inside each of us is the deep desire to open our hearts and sing out with love.” (Life Energy in Music Vol. 1, 1981, p105). This desire is never more profoundly expressed, in my

experience, than by some of our participants who live with so-called “dis”-abilities. We have been able to share music through online platforms, providing opportunities to “sing out” to others and feel connected. I would like to share a particularly heartening example. Since 2019, we have collaborated with Andrea de Vaal Horciu, of Embracing Ministries, to run a weekly singing group for adults living with “dis”-abilities, their carers and families. Participants would help to lead songs, selecting their favourites, and reaching out to each other physically and emotionally as they shared the occupation of making music together. But when lockdowns first hit in late March 2020, everything stopped. At the beginning of May we began to sing together online. This was more complicated than it sounds! The philosophy foundational to the MEP is about sharing, connecting and passing over control to participants.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

But making music online requires only one microphone to be active at a time. This is for two reasons: the lag that occurs online means we are all out of sync; and online platforms use a sound cancelling system, so only one input (the loudest) can be heard, even when everyone’s microphones are on. When there is a big group all joining from different locations, it can get chaotic! So how can you share music making when we are all apart, and you can hear only one person at a time? Well, firstly, while only one person might be able to lead, everyone is encouraged to join in enthusiastically, with their camera on and microphone off. Being able to see each other engaged is still a great way of sharing music making. We encourage the carers and family members who are there in person to sing with their loved ones and clients, facing each other, while still being able to sing along with us online. Second, we use the chat function for people to make song requests, or turn people’s microphones on to collect requests if typing is an issue. Third, we facilitate different people leading songs, so a participant might lead the verses of a song, then we can come in and help lead the choruses. The song-requesting aspect of the program has become particularly important in supporting a sense of agency and identity. Many participants might choose the same song every single time—it becomes their song, and we all sing it for and with them. One young gentleman absolutely adores the song Oh, What a Beautiful Morning. When he asks for this song, he comes close to the camera and conducts, waving his arms and joining in. It is wonderful to see, and all the other participants love to sing it with him, even if they can’t hear him. Another participant loves the song Tomorrow from the musical Annie. She particularly likes to create a big finish, and we are all encouraged to throw our arms in the air when we sing the dramatic high note at the end.

When lockdown eased a little in 2020, we continued to meet online, as face-to-face singing was still unsafe for many of our participants. But they could begin to attend their carer group settings again and join online as a larger group. So again we encouraged them to sing with, and for, each other. It was beautiful to see, even if we couldn’t hear it ourselves. One of the carers emailed me: “If only you could hear it, too!” Andrea, who was able to visit one of the groups, said similarly: “You can’t be heard, they are so loud!” This was music to my ears. Our goal is to facilitate their music making, not to give performances. One of my favourite moments occurred in one of these group settings, where a participant requested the favourite song of another person in her group. He is nonverbal, but gave a huge smile when she asked for “his” song. She reached out and took his hand as we sang Can’t Help Falling in Love. We were all close to tears after that! My colleague, Dr Peter Muir, runs a similar online program in New York, with the same philosophy. We are joining our groups together for the first time in October 2021, our first international multi-ability singing session! This would not have been possible were it not for adapting to online platforms. While face-to-face singing can never be replaced, being able to participate in singing online has become a means of social and emotional resilience. The effectiveness of the online adaptation may be due to the connections we made face-to-face before lockdown. And when we can safely sing together in person again, how wonderful it will feel!

Perth Whadjuk Noongar

Not Such a Bird-Brained Idea by B E T H WA L K E R

Birdlife WA is a bird conservation organisation in Western Australia with 1200 members, many of whom are keen photographers. Most of our activities are outdoor and group based, so when the first lockdown happened in March 2020, members were unable to get out and about.

was a member of the WA executive committee and with two colleagues come up with the idea of keeping members engaged by asking them to contribute to our fortnightly electronic newsletter. At the same time, to keep myself connected to my family and friends, I posted on my Facebook page a photograph I had taken of a bird for every letter of the alphabet. I did it every day, so within a month I had completed the whole alphabet. I did it again… and we were still in lockdown. Rather than boring my Facebook friends, I suggested to my colleagues that we transpose the photograph idea to the BirdLife WA members. So in July 2020 we put a notice in our electronic newsletter asking people to send in a photograph of a bird whose name began with A. Photographs came from all over the state. We were not too prescriptive or strict about the formal names

of the birds. Some bird people can be formal, but we wanted people to feel free to send in whatever they wanted. Depending on what was sent in, we would name a winner plus two or three honourable mentions. We were fortunate in that there was normally an outstanding photograph. We were very relaxed about our judging; no birds begin with the letter X so we asked members to send in any bird they thought was “extraordinary”. The newsletter is published on a Wednesday so on the Monday prior the three judges—me and my two colleagues—would Zoom for 30 minutes to pick the winner and the hon mentions. We had members who engaged with the project for the whole year (26 letters in the alphabet equals a year) and some who dipped in and out. It was interesting that it was the ordinary members who were participating; no recognised or professional photographers entered. So ordinary members were prepared to try something new.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

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Early in 2021 I contacted the City of Wanneroo to see if it would be interested in hosting an exhibition for Bird Week, the third week in October. They loved the idea.

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We were about three quarters of the way through the alphabet when I started to wonder what we could do with all these excellent photographs. The judging panel discussed having some kind of exhibition. As we never had a formal project plan or scope, we were open to amending or adding things to improve the process. I should also add that I had never organised or curated any kind of exhibition. Early in 2021 I contacted the City of Wanneroo to see if it would be interested in hosting an exhibition for Bird Week, the third week in October. They loved the idea. They gave us a space in the foyer of the library, provided the display boards and a “people’s choice” prize. Once that venue was secured, I managed to get two others, one being a building in Kings Park, the premier botanic garden in Perth. We tied the event in with the Kings Park Festival, which runs every September. Over the first weekend in September 2021, more than 600 people came to see the exhibition. WA was no longer in lockdown but we did have to observe rules about numbers of people in the venue. The third venue was the Herdsman Lake Discovery Centre, another popular place for families. Over the three venues about 1200 people saw the exhibition. The highlight for the photographers was an award evening in October 2021, with the first prize of a $250 voucher, as well as three honourable mentions worth $100 each, all donated by Midland Camera House.

What started off as a way to engage with members morphed into a big project. As there was no initial project plan, there was no budget, so all of the photographers had to pay for their own mounting of photographs. There were 48 photographs from 24 photographers in the exhibition; some had just one, others had three, which was the most we allowed from one person, to get as many different members participating. Over the period of the competition more than 500 photographs were submitted from 134 members. We had terrific feedback from members who participated, all of whom were grateful for the opportunity to go out and take new pictures or revisit old ones. Those who came to the exhibition were blown away to see their photographs professionally mounted and displayed in great locations. None who I spoke with had ever entered a competition and had certainly never had a photo displayed. It was such a buzz to see their pride when they stood next to their photographs. I am especially proud of the time and effort we put into making the event such a success and of the generosity of the organisations who give us free venues and more. I believe the members who participated really valued the experience, and so did I.

D O I N G O U R B E S T: I N D I V I D UA L A N D C O M M U N I T Y R E S P O N S E S TO C H A L L E N G I N G T I M E S

Canberra Ngunnawal

We’ve Been Virtually Everywhere, Man b y K AT E S T E R R E N B E R G

Who would have thought that the pandemic would bring together a diverse group of individuals affected by Parkinson’s disease to share fond memories, laughter and friendship?

s the occupational therapist for a Parkinson’s organisation, I was concerned that the immediate and severe lockdown restrictions would make many feel lonely, isolated and at risk of mental decline. I decided to start a virtual travel group to keep people engaged. “Pack your bags, we’re travelling virtually,” I announced via a broadcast email, hoping at least one person would join the initial Zoom session—first destination, England! Seven travellers arrived for that first session, somewhat apprehensive and reserved, but in good spirits, to see what their virtual tour guide had in store for them. Like any tour group, we plunged right in, making introductions and getting to know each other better. It was reassuring to see that this now tech-savvy crowd easily embraced the virtual format. Word soon spread, with our traveller numbers steadily increasing over the

21 sessions eventually held during the lockdown. The travellers were hooked immediately, and, as one said, “time flies by, and at the end of the session I am happy and content, with something to look forward to – the next session”. The format was simple. I posed the question: “Have you been here?” After sharing stories about travel experiences, we perused the geography of each country using Google Maps, identifying key landmarks like rivers, mountains, major cities and bordering countries. We switched views to survey the terrain and commented on forests, deserts and metropolitan spread. We studied more deeply about each country, its people, and culture by watching scenic and informative videos, also learning some amusingly bizarre fun facts. It was then time to test memory and knowledge with a few quizzes.

“ July Pilgrimage painted by Derren Gillespie 2021

I had no idea how fiercely competitive everyone would be! Scores were kept and compared with previous sessions and against the online world population who had taken them. This desire to improve scores was the impetus for many to do “homework” for the next virtual destination that was collectively chosen. We concluded each session in fits of laughter by watching comedy clips of the British comedian Michael McIntyre. His style of humour resonated very well with the group, and it was wonderful to experience this shared hilarity. As one of our virtual travellers aptly stated, “there is always lots of laughter—something our home has always contained but an element sadly missing in my solitary life now”. One traveller said the sessions were therapeutic in that they “rekindled my interest in expressing my deepseated thought in writing poetry/prose”. Born in Fiji, he would compose poems about the countries we visited and read them to us. We listened, spellbound as he transported us into different worlds with his words. He

I decided to start a virtual travel group to keep people engaged. “Pack your bags, we’re travelling virtually,

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gave us the knowledge to write Tanka and Haiku poetry and, to everyone’s credit, most of us attempted a poem, though in the end we decided he was better skilled, and we were happier to listen. Another traveller had been a public servant in his working life and travelled extensively. His knowledge of how history shaped the world was incredibly interesting and informative and he certainly boosted our quiz scores. His wife told me, “He has enjoyed the talks; I hear him join in—much more than he discusses anything with his wife!” A keen and genteel lady traveller, now 80, must have had a wonderfully exciting world trip when she was 23. The group never passed a tongue-in-cheek opportunity to ask about her experiences as we visited outlandish and romantic destinations. She recalled fondly, “it seems we can enjoy the places we have been to with a flick of a switch, and nothing is gone forever”.

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One of the other travellers, at the debilitating nonverbal late stage of Parkinson’s, who needed the help of his attentive wife to communicate, often created watercolour paintings to share with the group. These expressive images gave him his unique voice to share his remembered experiences with us. One evening we needed to push the session to a 5pm start, due to a “Zoom conflict” (a new term in global vernacular, I am told), and so decided to have a cocktail session to acknowledge the lateness of the hour. Well, this was routinely done on other trips—particularly exotic African safaris—so why not virtually, too? Hats and pearls were donned, lipstick was applied, hair and beards were groomed, and colourful cocktails poured. The atmosphere was festive, and traveller numbers swelled that night. As we journeyed along, I was humbled by the rich and rewarding stories that travellers shared. One remarked, “as we visit each country, I relive the happy times my husband and I had, travelling the world”. We heard fond memories of marriage proposals in Venice, kisses from camels in Israel, epic pilgrimages across the breadth of England, flying the Flight of Angels over the thundering Victoria Falls, sharing cross-legged chopstick meals in Japan, witnessing the vividly colourful aurora borealis across Icelandic skies, sailing on cerulean blue waters of the Greek isles, walking the impressively Great Wall of China, haggling in aromatic Turkish bazaars, skiing down snowy alps in Switzerland, riding camels across shimmering deserts of Dubai, and so much more. It was apt that we adopted the mantra from an old favourite song, ironically composed by fellow Australian Geoff Mack in 1952, that everyone knew and hummed along to: I’ve been everywhere, man. Crossed the desert’s bare, man. I’ve breathed the mountain air, man. Of travel I’ve had my share, man. I’ve been everywhere. As any tour guide would report, I felt privileged to receive this message from one of our virtual travellers, “this has been an experience of a lifetime, one we must do again … it nourishes us”. Travel well, my virtual companions.

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Brisbane Turrbal and Yuggera

Togetherness and Camaraderie: The Big Clean Up b y J A N I N E H O U LT

It was a shock to everyone as it happened quite suddenly; the 2010-11 flooding off the Toowoomba range and down through the Lockyer Valley, and the overload to Wivenhoe Dam and resulting flooding of Brisbane.

e owned a house at Rocklea and had a phone call telling us the lower-level laundry and electric box had gone under, with water lapping the joists. We hoped it would go no further—time to wait for the level to settle and then drop. On inspection it was overwhelming the mud lines on the homes; some had gone under and others still had clean peaks. We had gained layers of mud, dead fish and a rainwater tank that had floated into our yard from a factory in the suburb. The most poignant thing I remember is not the mess but the sense of togetherness and camaraderie that happened the days following. We all came early with gloves, spades, brooms and hoses, going to the nearest

homes to offer hands and feet, beginning the enormous task of removing entire household contents into the street after they had effectively been at the bottom of the Brisbane River. The stench was overbearing, mud caked on everything, dead fish littering yards, and footpaths covered in muddy household goods—fridges, furniture, mud-soaked piles of carpets and curtains. I was worried about infection, and we had to cover ourselves carefully and watch where we put our feet so as not to get any scratches. It seemed an unwritten agreement among the hundreds I joined at Rocklea that we clear and then the washdown of retrievable items would begin.

I recall the sadness as I carefully separated photos to keep from other unrecognisable piles of filth sagging with wet mud in all corners of my neighbour’s home. The piles on the sidewalk grew and neighbours couldn’t comprehend the generosity of lines of strangers passing items down queues to the rubbish heaps. There were those that cleared, electricians who drove up donating their time to rewire and get the power back on, and those who fed from Tupperware containers and frontyard barbecues. I

remember going to a home in a nearby street that hadn’t flooded to beg use of their toilet, and was offered lunch on my way out. The generosity we all experienced was special. It was hard work and we stank dreadfully, but to feel the closeness of community and work with strangers from all walks in unity of service, “love thy neighbour as thyself” was seen in Brisbane that day.

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In and around these events was space for sharing thoughts, fears, joys, challenges and hopes. We came to understand what support different people needed and learnt to ask for what we needed ourselves.

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Bendigo Dja dja wurung

A Community Growing Together, Apart by SARAH GALL AGHER

I have a group of friends known as “The Darlin’s” who live predominantly across Melbourne, while I live in Bendigo. With Victoria going into lockdown during the pandemic, seeing these friends regularly had the potential to become infinitely more difficult.

his group have long been a great source of joy, support and friendship to me, and I knew their absence would contribute significantly to the inevitable isolation of a lockdown experience. As we cancelled plans for a camping trip in April 2020, I could not foresee the creative ways this group would develop to not only maintain our relationships but to grow closer than ever before. We started by simply attempting to recreate our usual camping experience from our own homes, over video calls. What would usually have been putting up tents in the great outdoors became building blanket forts in our lounge rooms (from which we participated in many of the other activities);

cooking together over a fire became a cooking class (with one enthusiastic member completing this in their “camping kitchen” outside); the usual group walk became a scavenger hunt, with a list of things to find and do as all walked at the same time in our respective neighbourhoods. Other activities, unrelated to camping, were also included, e.g. a movie night accompanied by banter in a group message. This catered to the interests of an even broader group of friends. The weekend was a great success, and as the lockdown unfolded, and further lockdowns followed, the experience was replicated. Additionally, we started running occasional activities on their own.

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“Meal of Fortune” or “Dinner Together, Apart,” became a regular, with each of us being allocated another Darlin’ to order dinner for. We would then gather on the video call to eat together and share our surprise meals. The technologically savvy and creative among us developed virtual escape rooms, online murder mystery parties, open mic sessions and “Taskmaster” (British TV series) competitions. In and around these events was space for sharing thoughts, fears, joys, challenges and hopes. We came to understand what support different people needed and learnt to ask for what we needed ourselves i.e. did we need to share the challenges of COVID-19, or did we need to distract ourselves with anything else? There was no judgment about who participated in or contributed to what, just an understanding that there were activities to do if you wanted to, and people there if you needed them. We were all friends well before 2020. COVID-19 created an environment where conscious choice and effort were required to stay connected and where that social connectedness became invaluable. We are emerging from that environment as a community—one that we know will continue to be an important support for all of us, whatever may lie ahead. These are my people, and I am so grateful to have them in my life.

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Jervis Bay Dharawal

Regeneration on the Wing by ROB DUNN

Everyone noticed the sudden absence of birdsong in those places hit hardest by the fires. This was especially the case in the Shoalhaven, on the NSW south coast, where 90 per cent of the native bushland was burnt.

irdLife Shoalhaven wanted to get a better understanding of what had happened. So, we did what serious birdwatchers do; we went birdwatching to see what we found.

garden, which was unprecedented. Gardens had become important bird sanctuaries.

Our early observations were telling. They confirmed our worst fears, but also provided some good news. Just after the fires, some of our members looked for birds in Meroo National Park. The whole site had been burnt. At the start two white-headed pigeons flew overhead—a bird not recorded before at this site. For the next half hour, we did not see nor hear any more birds.

Days after the fires at one of the wildlife water and feeding stations near Kangaroo Valley, two yellow-tufted honeyeaters were foraging on fruit. A superb lyrebird was also heard in an area surrounded by burnt forest. A few weeks later, not far away, another member went to a lookout above the Shoalhaven River, where fires were still smouldering nearby. To their surprise they found two threatened rockwarblers and four other species among total devastation.

On New Year’s Eve, fire crossed the Princes Highway south of Nowra, stopping just 1km from a member’s back fence. Birds he had never seen before came to his water bowls in clear distress. Further south near Milton someone else recorded 40 bird species in their

Beach birds were also affected. A pair of threatened hooded plovers had been seen by two of our members at Berrara Beach next to Conjola National Park the day before the January fires hit the dunes. There were no further sightings afterwards. But it was not all bad news.

close to where they live, which gives the project a special relevance for them.

Nearby a pair of threatened pied oystercatchers with their chick had also been spotted. The day after the fires, they were all still there, hiding in the incinerated vegetation. However, everyone knew that what we were seeing was not the whole story. So they started doing bird surveys, recording the birds they saw or heard over 20 minutes in a 2ha area. We are using this information to track the long-term recovery of birds as part of our Bushfire Research Project. Over two years, 400 bird surveys have been completed at 100 sites by more than 30 members. Most have gone to places that were burnt

The project was formally launched by the president of BirdLife Australia at an event at Mollymook in March 2020. All three levels of government were represented and the Welcome to Country by a local elder reminded us that the original custodians of the land had been especially affected. The bushfires in the Shoalhaven had been confirmed as extinguished only a few weeks before the event and nearby Shoalhaven City Council’s main fire evacuation centre was still giving much-needed support to the community. So, there was a real concern that it might be too soon to hold this event. This proved to be misplaced with over 130 attending, including national parks and council field staff, members of the community, landowners and other conservation groups. Everyone wanted to come together to share experiences and offer support to each other, as well as hear about the impact on wildlife. The event revealed to us that the project was about people as much as it was about birds. Later in 2020, our research project expanded through a partnership with Shoalhaven Landcare. New survey sites were set up on private properties where Landcare groups have carried out extensive plantings of trees and shrubs and other environmental projects over many years to support local biodiversity.

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These projects had been devastated by the fire and, on some properties, homes, sheds, businesses and fencing had also been lost. This initiative allowed landowners to learn more about the birds on their own properties through our Bird for Beginners talks and bird walks. It also allowed birdwatchers to learn more about Landcare and how the fires had affected landowners. Some of our members also joined Shoalhaven Landcare groups to help out on their postfire recovery planting and weeding days.

Everyone wanted to come together to share experiences and offer support to each other, as well as hear about the impact on wildlife.

In February 2021 on the first anniversary of the Currowan megafire, an exhibition of artwork made in response to the fires, including many featuring birds, was held in Ulladulla. The exhibition focused on loss and recovery in the natural world and healing for the people affected. An underlying theme

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was the power of immersion in the natural world to help us heal from the trauma of the fires. There were daily art therapy workshops and we gave talks on our Bushfire Research Project. Our project has evolved and become multi-faceted; making casual bird observations, completing surveys, preparing research reports, helping landowners, supporting arts events, running bird courses, organising bird walks and giving presentations. Importantly new friendships have been made through a long period of loss and slow recovery. Birds are an ever-present link for us to the healing powers of nature. When they disappear, that link is broken. However, the reverse is true. Seeing birds return to local bushland became a subject for conversation in Shoalhaven. More birds are being seen and talked about—ironic when so many have been lost. BirdLife Shoalhaven will continue to build on this as bushland regenerates and birdsong comes back from the ashes.

Canberra Ngunnawal Adelaide Kaurna Sydney Gadigal San Francisco

Creatively Overcoming Isolation b y D E I R D R E H Y S L O P, R O P I M L O T T, R A C H A E L H A G G E T T & P E N N Y B L A I R

In March 2020, a world pandemic was announced, and countries, cities and households went into lockdown. We (Ro, Rachael, Penny and Deirdre) in different cities and two countries (Adelaide, Sydney, Canberra and San Francisco) started Zooming weekly.

e had met during the 1960s and ’70s in Britain and Australia, sharing houses and interests in cultural and social movements, and careers in psychology and education. When the world went into lockdown, the Guggenheim Museum came up with an idea for people to be creative at home—re-create famous portraits using yourself and only things you could find in your house. This inspired our first project. A “show and tell” exchange of photos of the original painting alongside our re-creations launched us into exciting weekly projects that gave so much meaning to our lives. We were inspired by artists from Rembrandt to Matisse, from Whistler to Polish art deco artist Tamara de Lepicka—via French post-impressionist Suzanne Valadon—as well as Frida Kahlo and Miriam Escofet. We combed our wardrobes, pantries, kitchens,

sheds, bedrooms and gardens to come up with costumes and props. Of all our projects this was perhaps the one that gave us most pleasure. A smaller project was the shoe story, inspired by an exhibition about shoes and their life stories. Choosing a pair of our own, we told their histories, which took us to other parts of the world where our shoes had trodden, perhaps even danced—Sydney, London, Scotland, Italy, Greece, city pavements and woodland paths. Being at home in lockdown we began to see everyday things in different lights. We could see meaning and history in items we owned that normally we took for granted. We began to honour the everyday, to “exoticise the domestic”. This idea came from an article that Rachael, a narrative therapist, found on the Dulwich

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Centre website. Michael White had developed this idea of “exoticising” things as a way of rendering the familiar exotic, making it seen and valued.

about objects we had not previously known, realising how much this added to enjoyment of the objects themselves, particularly for when they would be handed on.

This inspired us to collect items and place them in new contexts. One collection was of silver, denoting silver linings. These projects were a definite silver lining to the difficulties of being alone at home.

Creating something out of whatever we had around the house was an exercise in recycling: eggbox pen trays, sheet music and poster vases with jars and wine bottles inside, 3D wire and newspaper crows painted black, fruit-box cityscapes candle-lit, and strings of beads made with discs cut from postcards and calendars. We learned skills in decoupage and collage, and each week it was a thrill to see what the others had made. Our weekly Zoom deadlines were a much-needed punctuation of the long weeks of lockdown. We often laughed.

Choosing a pair of our own [shoes], we told their histories, which took us to other parts of the world where our shoes had trodden, perhaps even danced— Sydney, London, Scotland, Italy, Greece, city pavements and woodland paths.

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We made collections of other things as well— brooches, notebooks, coasters, thimbles, birds and scarves. What a treat it was to share where these things had come from, who had given them to us, or where we had found them: memories of a London market, a shop in Vienna, exchanged mementoes from time in Canberra, family heirlooms and op shop finds—such treasures. A fabulous book inspired us: Life in a Box by Sarah Jane Adams, who made collections of her possessions and presented them as if in an auction catalogue. We did something similar, finding out information

Inspired by an article in the Sydney Morning Herald about an initiative of two National Art School students, we each made a small quilt to commemorate 2020, the year of COVID-19. We embroidered and appliquéd our names, corona bursts and dates, sewing on buttons to represent the four of us and using netting to symbolise the confines caused by the virus and the strengthening of the web of friendship. It took us some time to nut out how we would represent the struggles and triumphs we had experienced during the year and overcoming fear, isolation and loneliness by inspiration, humour and love. Hence our patchwork weaving of friendship has continued. We remain loving and supportive friends welcoming opportunities to meet as often as our lives and exchequers allow, and sharing our passions, creative ideas, music, poetry and sewing just as we always have.

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We were devastated! Fire is always a threat in rural Australia; they can start in many ways, lightning strikes, hot machinery emitting sparks, carelessness with barbecues, etc.

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Wongan Hills Ballardong Noongar

Grit Was Needed: Dealing With Fire on the Farm by FLORENCE THOMPSON

I live on a farm 190km northeast of Perth where we grow wheat and other cereals and run sheep for their fine wool.

n early December 2019, harvesting was well under way and the men were working long days aiming to finish before Christmas. About this time Jeanette, my daughter-in-law, and I usually go to Perth to shop for gifts and related things such as decorations, ingredients for special recipes, and so on. Our local town is small and unable to cater for all these needs, plus it is almost impossible to keep secrets about anything we might purchase as a surprise for Christmas Day. I made provision for two nights and one day we would be away, then we left home after lunch on Tuesday and drove to Perth. We arrived at my daughter’s home about 5.30pm. We were having a cup of tea when my daughter’s telephone rang. She left the room to take the call and Jeanette and I remained sitting on the back veranda.

A few minutes later my daughter returned and the look on her face was enough to tell us something serious had happened. My husband had rung to tell us that a wildfire had raced across about 15 square kilometres of our farm, leaving a trail of destruction. He couldn’t say how much destruction, but wanted us to know the fire had circled our two homes. The homes survived because each had 2m solid fences. We were devastated! Fire is always a threat in rural Australia; they can start in many ways, lightning strikes, hot machinery emitting sparks, carelessness with barbecues, etc. All thoughts of Christmas shopping were abandoned, and we decided to return first thing the next day. Over the years I have seen the results of

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The first thing we had to do was find and capture 5000 sheep who had raced away from the fire. One lucky aspect of the fences being cut was the sheep and cattle could escape the burning paddocks, so none was harmed. This was an enormous relief.

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fires in the Wheatbelt, but nothing prepared me for the devastation when we turned off the main road and entered our property. The paddocks were black, with no grass anywhere (feed for the sheep), fences were cut, and long lengths of wire were hanging off the fence poles; areas of virgin bush were bare except for the naked black trunks and branches silhouetted against the blue sky. We drove in shocked silence the 3km it takes to reach the buildings. When Jeanette and I saw our homes, standing apparently unharmed, our self-control left us completely and we cried with relief. We didn’t take time to look around to see how the farm buildings had fared, we just bolted into our respective homes to see if there was any damage. Structurally, the houses were intact, but the smell of burnt ashes and mess inside was horrendous. Black smoke ash covered the walls and the smell of fire impregnated everything—walls, carpets, curtains, anything that would hold an odour. With the fire blazing at speed across the paddocks it was perfectly understandable that the men gave no thought to coming home to close windows. Jeanette’s home was similarly affected, but not quite as badly, as her house was built more recently and without chimneys. This was not the moment to lose control—easy to say, not so easy to do. Together, Jeanette and I drew up a rough plan on how we would go about cleaning our homes, once the rest of the farm was under control.

There was considerable damage to fences as the first on the scene cut the fences to get to the fire as quickly as possible. Most of our sheds, vehicles and some machinery were affected. The first thing we had to do was find and capture 5000 sheep who had raced away from the fire. One lucky aspect of the fences being cut was the sheep and cattle could escape the burning paddocks, so none was harmed. This was an enormous relief. Once the sheep were secure my attention turned to the house. My starting point was the kitchen where the ash on benches was thickest. The task was truly confronting and emotionally terrible. Grit was needed. If I had a choice, I would have thrown all the curtains and any other smoke affected items away. This would have been folly given all the additional costs the farm budget now had to cover in rebuilding sheds, re-fencing kilometres of paddocks and replacing machinery. Later that day a car drove up to the house; it was my two daughters from Perth. They had taken time off from their work to help with the clean-up. They stayed for five days and the four of us cleaned and cleaned until the two houses were livable again. When my husband eventually got home that evening, he was exhausted and the strain on his face indicated how bad the situation was. However, he had some very

good news. Three farmers from adjoining farms had come over early in the morning and offered some of their grassed paddocks for our sheep through summer. What a relief this was; our paddocks were covered with nothing but ash, not a blade of grass to be seen until the winter rains, which would be months off. The aftermath of the fire was with us all through summer—the paddocks remained blackened, and the wind constantly renewed the layers of ash in our houses. After two years the vegetation in what was virgin bush remains charred and with little regrowth on any trees. Our main strategy to survive the constant reminder of this fire was to maintain routines. Of things that had to be done, the farm still had to operate, and social activities with our community, for example, playing lawn bowls on weekends, and volunteering at the local op shop. Fires in farming areas happen all the time, and reports in the media are rare. More often than not, the only source of support comes from the local community. It was our farming neighbours who helped to put the fire out, and who helped to look after our sheep through the long, hot summer, and our family and friends who kept our spirits up. Rural live is both rewarding and challenging, but what I know is that rural communities pull together in tough times, and that we will be there if ever others need us to help them.

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Somers Boon wurrung

The Ukulele Connection by TESSA MORIARTY

In the face of family and social disconnection brought on by the pandemic and the lockdown of July 2020 in Somers, a windswept corner of Western Port Bay, a long way from crowds and my life pre-COVID-19, I was acutely aware of my need to link up with others.

een to dust off the musical instrument in the corner of my room and accustomed to the communication tool of video platforms through work, I contemplated reaching out to my community for interest in an online ukulele group.

I posted a request through a community Facebook page, “Anyone interested in a Somers ukulele group? Obviously via Zoom, the group would need someone good enough to lead it.”

Sydney), our own Facebook page, a list of songs and our first Zoom group session booked. Locals, even if far and wide, were keen to come together (albeit online) for the thrill of playing ukulele. My request for interest hit the right chord! Even those who didn’t end up playing in the group helped bring us together, recommending someone or providing contact details for others who might be interested. In the cold of a coastal winter, as a southerly blew across the shore, the goodwill and support of people warmed the heartstrings.

The response was overwhelming. Within a few weeks we had eight locals (one in America on holiday), a teacher (the son of a local living in

As I scroll back through our early online posts and recordings, I see the enthusiasm and energy that brought us together. People gave their time to sharing resources, song suggestions, favourite ukulele YouTube videos, and links to ukulele sites to view in our own time.

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We were all in the same boat, with similar frustrations and needs, all struggling with the restrictions and isolation of a pandemic.

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That we were a diverse cohort, with differences in skill level, experience, age and life-stage, type of ukulele and music knowledge did not get in the way of our common goal: a desire to be part of something local, a desire to learn ukulele and a common bond of vulnerability in an uncertain, fragile world.

and patient teacher kept his own microphone on, with the rest of us on mute—in tune or out—playing along to his tuition as best we could. For some, not being heard was a bonus. There was comfort, and a little fun, in the freedom of going it alone, with no one else to hear how good or bad it sounded.

Although from the same seaside town, many of us had never met. We made new connections and friendships, and discovered common interests. Of course, with the video platform we couldn’t all play and sing (or try to) simultaneously. The syncing of eight to 10 instruments and voices was not pleasing to the ear. So our wonderful

Technical glitches were astutely managed by our savvy musical lead who also created a Google doc list of songs, some of which he rearranged with easy chords so those of us with fingers that fumbled between chord changes could keep up while learning to master a tune.

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The social element of our sessions, on early Sunday mornings, was an integral part of what we did. A quick debrief about the fortnight’s events in lockdown and how we were managing became a regular opener. This brought a leveller to the process. We were all in the same boat, with similar frustrations and needs, all struggling with the restrictions and isolation of a pandemic. While there were differences in our playing skills, there was common ground in what we were going through. Then came Christmas, and as the sun pulled its way from behind winter clouds, we got to meet face to face. Our teacher came down from Sydney, and those in Melbourne were at last able to return to the beach. As the clock brought in the light of a New Year, our Aussie in America returned to our sandy bay. It was such a thrill to finally connect in person. Through the summer we shared Christmas carols, lounge rooms, cake, more

cake, and the odd bubbly, while singing to the ukulele. We even contemplated a performance at our local yacht club, but time has yet to give us the confidence for this. Fast forward another year and much has changed in our ukulele group. Between the vagaries of many lockdowns, people have come and gone. We’ve sustained a small group of members who live here. We use our teacher occasionally for an online session or tips and meet in person through house rotations. Some still join when down from Melbourne, others have new interests. Our group remains open to new or rekindled membership and the potential for another local teacher. Persistence, friendship, the joy of playing ukulele and singing harmonies keep us together. We have made lasting ties and would not have done this but for the need to connect.

Austin Downs, Cue Wadjarri

Creating a Drought Driven Connection: The Story of Imagination Downs by JO JACKSON KING

The Southern Rangelands, where my family’s pastoral station, Austin Downs, is located, has become increasingly prone to drought due to global warming. Drought is the stealthiest of natural disasters as the losses mount slowly.

he insects disappear, the birds fly away, the lizards are seen less and less often, the fairy-dainty and ferocious tiny marsupials fade away … the stories told in scats and tracks on the dirt from the night before become distant memories. The land seems to seal itself off from all except the most deep-rooted plants.

Family members who have worked closely together have to give that up; “working off” becomes the norm as there is no income possible from the land. Most or all of the livestock is sold.

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Altogether, much that makes pastoralists’ daily life meaningful and enjoyable vanishes. Who knows when the next big rain will come? Drought is not a crisis to get through, but drudgery to endure, and, like the land, people seem to seal themselves off beneath their gritty exteriors, determined to not be burdens, but leaving loved ones more isolated. Drought was not just my personal situation, as a pastoralist and mother (teaching my children on School of the Air). It was also the situation of my clients as a community-based occupational therapist working alongside my mother, another OT. We needed to add more individual support for our pastoral clients, and to offer them the chance to replace the relationship with the land with increased time relating to other people. We did many things during this time supporting the community in building resilience in whatever way was asked: we gave massages, taught drama, cleaned, wrote up meeting minutes, and developed resources from subjects ranging from managing change to occupational health and safety in the pastoral setting. All of this did mean increasing the crossover between our work and personal lives. Eventually we entirely abandoned keeping that arbitrary line to bring all our

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professional skills as well as our family resources into creating an inviting and rewarding occasion for pastoral families. To induce pastoral families to attend (which can mean travelling hundreds of kilometres) we needed the event to be worth the trip; we needed to offer free accommodation, have a range of service providers on tap; we needed to offer useful general learning, access to emotional support and the chance to be relieved of accumulated grief, to provide people of all ages opportunities to talk to each other, to build positive memories and deepen relationships. We developed partnerships with the agricultural extension officers, CSIRO staff, financial support services, the School of the Air and many others who we felt could bring something to a field day from which all members of a pastoral family could benefit. We contributed our property as the location. This meant all houses at the homestead, the shearer’s quarters and the shearing shed needed to be prepared for service providers who would stay two nights, as well as the pastoral families. We (the family team including my father, husband and children) cleaned, shopped, cooked, found beds and bedding and planned. We called the event “Imagination Downs”.

The sky was suddenly dark. The houses shook. Windows exploded out of their frames. Fountains of debris including vegetation and corrugated iron flew up and crashed down in the previously tidy homestead.

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On the day the service providers were to arrive for the evening meal we had no time for looking at the sky. Indeed, in drought, pastoralists find the cloudless blue overhang across the flat rangelands does not bear much watching. And so the two “cock-eye bobs”, or willywillies (the Australian equivalent of the tornado), caught us entirely by surprise.

We welcomed yet more helpers. The School of the Air teachers arrived to the great excitement of the children. While the children did exciting science experiments with their teachers, my mother Barb and I, and our colleagues in the health department, from nurses to psychologists, provided massages and counselling to their parents.

We set out the morning tea, the lunch and the smoko. My father laid out for pastoralists his understanding of how the land worked, how it healed itself where it could, and how we could work with those processes to heal it faster and deeper. His was just one of a number of presentations that culminated in a half-day workshop in which pastoralists could develop a modified business plan. Like everything else in this field day, the focus was helping pastoral families find meaning and new skills to bring to bear in their lives and on their properties in the face of drought.

There was no time to mourn. We swept up the glass. We went back to the kitchen and our cooking. We finished making salads and desserts. We lit the barbecues. We had smiling, if slightly rueful, faces for the 20 people there for dinner and fine-tuning of the events schedule. The shearing shed had been the venue for the biggest workshops and talks – we quickly relocated that to my father’s work shed. We located more chairs and tables. We settled our guests in for the night. Then it was the next day, and we cooked breakfast, and fed and welcomed the many pastoral families as they drove in with their swags and tired faces. We placed specialists in their designated consulting rooms.

The lifting of hearts and minds was evident by evening. On the long verandah of the shearer’s quarters played a local Indigenous rock band. Fires blazed in 44-gallon drums, children danced, and people laughed and ate and drank and talked – and they did not talk about the weather. It seemed to me that the homestead, and the land around it, was basking in the warmth of a reinvigorated community.

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Canberra Ngunnawal

Jamming the Lockdown by ELISSA MOSS

In summer of 2020, we discovered the family jam session. Canberra was covered in a pall of bushfire smoke so thick we could barely see the neighbours’ houses.

uring the day the haze would lift a fraction and the outlines of hills about a kilometre away were vaguely recognisable. But every evening the easterly set in and rolled the smoke from the fires of Braidwood back over us, to our cry of “Quick! Shut the doors again!” We taped up the windows and doorframes in an attempt to seal out the smoke. And in the mornings, we’d wake to thick, dirty silence, and the rising tension of knowing bushfires were now even closer. The air was so foul the city went into an unofficial lockdown. We went outside only when it was strictly necessary, and stayed inside, on holidays with nothing to do - except play music. So we wrote a blues song. Actually, our eldest wrote it, but we all played it, recorded it, and made a video clip for it. Our technique would have curled the teeth of any self-respecting jazz musician, but for the first time all six of us were jamming together. Our son assured us it would be easy. All we had to do was stick with a swing beat and play any note we liked in the E minor 73

blues scale. The tune was whatever my husband and daughter felt like singing at the time. One son was the guitarist, another played the cahon, our youngest played the kazoo (which has to be heard to be believed) and I improvised—badly—on violin. Oh, that sky ain’t blue. This air makes me choke. That sky ain’t blue ‘cos that air’s full of smoke. Oh yeah. No kids played outside. No one mowed their lawns. No one hung out their washing or it would come back in filthier than it had ever been. For weeks, the air quality index measured far above the levels experienced in the most polluted cities in the world. No one knew what the long-term effects would be. Health authorities warned against using evaporative air conditioning units, as the batts couldn’t filter out fine particles. We were stuck inside on 40-degree summer days with no aircon, and no air purifiers could be bought within a 250km radius.

We kept the curtains closed to block out the heat and turned the family room into a tropical jungle of steaming washing lines. There was no room for instruments, so we crowded into our son’s room to record our racket. I went to Bunnings just in case they had me a gas mask. But they didn’t. No, they didn’t. Sold out last week. They had sausages. No onion. And no gas masks. The Von Moss Family Singers was born. Two months later, COVID-19 hit and we went into Canberra’s first real lockdown. Then a message popped up from Trevor, our church music coordinator. “Would your family be willing to provide music for online church on a rostered basis?” Um. We all gulped a bit and looked at each other. We hadn’t jammed together for weeks. We’d all played for church services over the years, but never as a whole family, partly because we didn’t have the right mix of skills to make it work well. And our church had never

dreamed that one day we’d be meeting via Zoom instead of in person. “Sure. Stick us on the roster,” we wrote back, and started panicking. The fine details came out over the following days. Every person involved in the service was to do their part live, from their own computer. The first thing we discovered was the violin sounds so bad over Zoom that a beginner’s squeaks are a delight to hear in comparison. Then we learnt that Zoom is temperamental with almost every frequency and nuance known to musicians. When we were playing live in our own rumpus room, rendered slightly self-conscious by a whopping great borrowed microphone and the unblinking gaze of a computer camera, we couldn’t hear how bad we sounded. It felt a bit like singing at the top of your voice in the shower, pretending to be oblivious to the effect on the rest of the household. And when other families were rostered on—families whose pianists reign supreme over the entire keyboard and whose vocalists soar—we realised just how cracked and clunky our part sounded. Because they sounded terrible!

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“

We hadn’t jammed together for weeks. We’d all played for church services over the years, but never as a whole family – partly because we didn’t have the right mix of skills to make it work well. And our church had never dreamed that one day we’d be meeting via zoom instead of in person.

”

We sang along to keep those on screen company, even though they couldn’t know it. When it was our turn, we gritted our teeth and played our best, hoping like crazy the whole church was also singing along in their own homes, loud enough to drown us out. But in the end, the glitches didn’t really matter. The first lockdown ended and music life slowly returned to normal. That is, our family went back to individual music lessons and playing in our own various groups. Now it’s 2021, and we’re in lockdown again. The day after Canberra snapped shut, a message popped up from Trevor. “Hi, guys. Would you be able to look after music again this week? We’re going to pre-record the service this time and put it together to be streamed at church time on Sunday.” In two days. Gulp again. “Sure,” we said, and we were back to playing as a family band. Pre-recording has been a vast improvement on the sound quality. Jamming together is teaching us where to improvise, where to keep it steady, and where to cover each other’s weaknesses. Fortunately, none of us is a perfectionist and last year’s efforts taught us a bit about humble pie. Even more fortunately, Trevor edits out the bits where we all fall apart giggling. But we’ve made it through two rounds as a family now and are experimenting with playing each other’s instruments just to mix things up. We’re rostered on again in another few weeks, so all we have to do is choose a few songs and pick an instrument. Oh well, and panic a bit, and practice like mad, and then play. One. Two. A-one-two-three-four... we’re jamming.

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Werrimull Latje Latje

The Dustbowl Bash b y K I E R A N ‘ R A D ’ K E L LY

I’m a third-generation farmer from the wheat farming district of the Millewa, northwest Victoria. 2019 was a really tough drought year. One farmer, Geoff, had been thinking about organising a cricket match for the locals for several years, and the drought was the trigger to make it happen. He thought it might provide a distraction at a time of year when we would normally be busy harvesting and a great way to bring everyone together. November is usually one of the busiest times of the year with farmers racing to harvest but the drought had left us without crops and most of us didn’t even get our headers out of the sheds. The Morkalla Cricket Ground—known to locals as the MCG—was the perfect venue for the match. The last

game of cricket played at the MCG was about 70 years ago. The ground has always been grassless so the game was known as the “Dustbowl Bash”. Geoff contacted me and asked if I could muster enough players for a team. My team was the Millewa Eastsiders and included my mate and neighbour who at 73 ended up being the oldest player. He lives far away now but he travelled more than four hours back to play. Like lots of us, he hadn’t played cricket for a lot of years. Another local farmer captained our opponents, the West Millewa Worriers.

More than 200 spectators attended the game including lots of people from Mildura, 80 miles away. Local businesses from Victoria and South Australia sponsored with food, drinks, and a prize for player of the day. The game was supposed to be just a bit of fun, but a game of cricket is serious stuff and everyone showed their competitive streaks. The match went down to the wire. The Worriers began celebrating during the final over. However, a scoring discrepancy quickly stopped the celebrations. There was a little bit of controversy, so the other captain and I decided the fairest outcome was to declare a draw. So the Dustbowl trophy went up in the local pub. “We’ll share it and wait until the next game.”

The women had their own Big Bash game and this was fiercely contested, too. After the game we had an auction with goods donated by local businesses, a barbecue tea and a few drinks. It was so great to sit around and share a laugh about things that happened in the past. So many people hadn’t got together for years. Retired farmers who have made the move into town (Mildura) came back out for the game. We all really looked forward to it and have talked about it ever since.

doing for

Our Stories 81

The Glass Half Wool Project Lucinda Marshall

Our Fire. Our Stories Anthony ‘Ash’ Brennan

An Animated Lockdown Trevor Smallwood

The Scary Bushfire: People Came to Help Each Other Peyton Armistead

Making a Bookshop From Ashes Kate Jackson

Producing the Mallacoota Calendar Mariska & Martin Ascher

Supporting the Big V Frank Ponissi

101

Wet Dogs and Snake Bites: Being Part of a Caring Community Leigh Kinsman

104

Coming Together to Create Dóra Rögnvaldsdóttir

107

Storytelling: Helping Me, Helping Others Zoe Simmons

111

Donkeys Making a Difference Sarah Jane Munn

114

Pulling in One Direction Megan Dover

117

Forging Onwards Carolynne White

120

Birthing a Community Task Force Paul Yandle

123

Farmer Joes Pantry – Feeding Body and Soul Jane Evans

127

First Fires, Then COVID: Uncle Albert’s Story Uncle Albert Baxter

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Perth Whadjuk Noongar

The Glass Half Wool Project by LUCINDA MARSHALL

I work as a therapy assistant in community aged care in Perth, Western Australia, and have done so throughout the pandemic. It’s the perfect job to support me through studying my occupational therapy degree.

he people I engaged with as a part of this role allowed me into their lives_—sharing their concerns and hopes—and families during this difficult time. Many were coping with isolation, boredom, and anxiety and found it challenging to adjust to a new way of life. During a typical day, I overheard a conversation between two women: one in residential care and the other paying a visit to an old friend. “I’ve been knitting to keep busy”, one said, “but I don’t need that many blankets. I don’t know what to do with them all!”

Just months earlier, I had been taught to crochet by a client during an arts and crafts activity. I quickly fell in love. I had been experiencing the same issue as the chatting ladies: what was I going to do with all these finished projects? I did my research and discovered that many charities did not take handmade items or had very specific patterns that need to be followed. I could see that other states and countries had groups that collected and distributed handmade, unique items created with love and care to those who needed some warmth. I decided to start up something similar in WA. The Glass Half Wool Project was born out of a surplus of knitted and crocheted items, created as a result of lockdowns and mask mandates, and as a potential avenue for talented crafters to make a small difference in someone’s life. I created a website, email address and a social media presence and began to spread the word.

“

The Glass Half Wool Project was born out of a surplus of knitted and crocheted items, created as a result of lockdowns and mask mandates, and as a potential avenue for talented crafters to make a small difference in someone’s life.

”

I established “drop-off locations” (a fancy phrase for a Bunnings plastic tub and a laminated sign) across the city in libraries, community centres and yarn shops. I waited. After a week or two, emails began to trickle in: “Hi Lucinda, our box is full!” I would pop in to collect the donations in between shifts at work and classes at university, filling my car to the brim with beanies, blankets, baby clothes and scarves. Soon, my spare room was stuffed with stunning knitted and crocheted pieces, each created by the generous people of Perth. I set to work emailing charities supporting people experiencing homelessness, the families of children and babies experiencing serious or terminal illness, and women escaping domestic violence and abuse. I also contacted hospitals across the city. The response was astounding – meetings were arranged, bags of blankets were delivered, and relationships were formed.

A community arts centre reached out and offered to host a crochet workshop to spread the word about the project. I was a beginner crocheter myself, but we decided to run the workshop for free in the hopes of sparking a desire to learn more in the participants and creating a new group of donors—or at least people to spread the word! Tickets could be booked online and, to my surprise, sold out well before the date of the workshop. After a sleepless night I arrived at the centre with enough wool and crochet hooks to start a shop, and the workshop began. To date, more than 200 items have been delivered to those who need a bit of cosiness and warmth, from patients in palliative care to families supporting an ill child, to residents in aged care. While a knitted blanket may not seem much, I strongly believe there is great comfort in wrapping oneself in an item made just for you by a community that cares. The generosity and talent in the people of Perth is heart-warming. I hope projects like this will revitalise these centuries-old hobbies and inspire people to keep creating and stay involved. The project is only just beginning and I hope to continue contributing to the community for years to come.

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“

Once I started pre-production, the community, who had previously closed its doors to all media, said I was the one they entrusted to tell their bushfire stories.

”

Conjola Park Yuin

Our fire. Our stories b y A N T H O N Y ‘A S H ’ B R E N N A N

“2020 has been hard for all of us.” How often have we heard people say that? I don’t think they realise just how hard it has been for those of us in bushfire-affected communities.

he people of Conjola on the NSW south coast will never forget New Year’s Eve 2019. On that day, the world found out about this piece of paradise for all the wrong reasons. In Conjola Park on the western edge of Lake Conjola, 89 houses were lost. One of them was mine. I wasn’t there on the day. My only solace was a video from my sister-in-law showing her, my brother and their dog in a boat fleeing the flames. A month after the fire, I was having a beer with my neighbour Adam. He told me he and his wife had lost their home plus his life’s work of sculpture, paintings and tools. Adam said, “I need to start creating again so I can start to heal.” That was my lightbulb moment.

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Another neighbour, Stefo, started writing amazing poems on the recovery page, inspiring the community to write poetry to express their grief. Then local painters, writers and musicians started creating, with the same effect. It became apparent that locals were turning to their art to inspire a pathway to recovery. As a film maker I felt I needed to document this process. Once I started pre-production, the community, who had previously closed its doors to all media, said I was the one they entrusted to tell their bushfire stories. I suddenly felt an enormous responsibility to get it right. And to tell the communities’ stories, not one that necessarily aligned with a TV broadcaster’s target audience. The result is a one hour 46 minute documentary We Are Conjola—Our Fire Our Story. With the help of a small crew, and the community, I’m proud to say that this film is my greatest work to date. It’s also been the most personal and emotional.

What makes this film even more special is that it was funded mostly by people who lost their houses. The brave people of Conjola wanted their voices heard. From the obvious questions of climate change and Indigenous land management to the not-so-obvious failures of emergency services, We Are Conjola puts the viewer in the line of fire and asks: What would you do in this situation? More importantly, the film acts as a historical document from which government agencies can learn from their failures, to lessen the impact of such disasters in the future. As well, this film shows the importance and value of art in our community. When it was released in local cinemas exactly 12 months after the fire, I was concerned that it could trigger those who were affected. In fact, their reaction was completely the opposite with the community unanimous that the film has helped them recover by offering some closure.

All nine cinema screenings of We Are Conjola at the Arcadia Cinema, Ulladulla, sold out as quickly as the sessions were announced, and all were met with standing ovations. To sit among the locals in the cinema, and hearing their gasps, tears and laughter was my highlight of this incredible journey. The film has also been a hit on the festival circuit, winning awards in New York, Los Angeles and Edmonton, Canada. And at the 2021 Melbourne Documentary Film Festival, We Are Conjola was nominated for best film and director. The awards and accolades are obviously great reward for this massive task, but they are accepted on behalf of the Conjola community, whose kind donations, support and insight made this film a reality. We Are Conjola—Our Fire Our Story is available to view on the Hyvio streaming service.

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Canberra Ngunnawal

An Animated Lockdown b y T R E VO R S M A L LW O O D

I’ve been a doodler all my life. It doesn’t matter if I’m on the phone, in class or at a meeting. If there is pen and paper I will doodle. Sadly for me, there is not much pen and paper around anymore.

ome people think that if you are doodling you are not paying attention, but that is not true. When challenged I am fond of telling people that our brains process at about 700 words a minute but people only speak about 100 words a minute. That leaves 600 words a minute of free processing. Then I say with a smile, “I doodle with mine, whereas most of you probably just daydream.” However, I’m no artist. I will claim to being a bit better than average when it comes to drawing but that’s about all. My style is mostly cartoonish and I would never have thought much more about it, except that one day I found that my team at work collected my doodles after meetings. They had them all stashed away. So I started keeping my doodles, thinking that some day I would do something with them, perhaps when I retired. I’ve been retired for eight years and until recently hadn’t done a thing.

Things changed a little when a new young assistant minister arrived at our church. He wanted to start a creatives group at which anyone with any kind of creative interest was welcome. I joined thinking here was my chance to do something with my doodles. A couple of meetings went by and I still had done nothing. I wondered why I seem to lack motivation. Is there such a thing as artist’s block. I like to think of myself as creative. I used to score well on the creative side of personality tests for work. I’ve come to realise that while I can do creative things, I don’t seem to have creative ideas. I don’t seem to have any drive to do any particular thing, or put a message into art. When the first lockdown came along, my church went online and live-streamed our services, with many people connecting and doing their part, as they usually did in church. When lockdown finished my church continued to

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live-stream our services, but this time on YouTube as we didn’t need to connect people in from their own homes to do their reading, praying, kids’ talk, music, etc.

“

When the next lockdown came along we decided to continue on YouTube. This meant prerecording the components that make up the service. Each segment needed to be “produced”, which might include adding graphics or text, then it was trimmed and edited into the service. I offered to produce the music. This meant adding lyrics and copyright notices. It also meant syncing independent recordings for separate musical parts, such as different instrumental and vocal recordings. We always have a kids’ song following the kids’ talk, and when I was “producing” the first kids’ song it occurred to me that I could enhance the video with some graphics. Now, I could have just got some free graphics from the internet, but I like originality, so I thought I’d draw my own. Then it dawned on me that, as this was video, I could add animation. I’ve always been attracted to the idea of animation. But, as with my other creative interests, coming up with something to do always eluded me.

I started keeping my doodles, thinking that some day I would do something with them, perhaps when I retired.

”

But now I had a reason. I could look through the lyrics for ideas that I could animate. Kids’ song are usually not short of such opportunities. The first song I did was Practise Being Godly by Colin Buchanan. It talks about people doing exercise. I did two small stick figures, one doing star jumps and the other running across the screen. It was not very good but it gave me a buzz. And when our church members got together for our online Zoom gathering after church a few people commented on it.

This was followed by another of Colin’s songs called Be Strong and Courageous. Among other things, it mentions thunder and darkness. I looked up the internet for some ideas about how to animate a lightning strike and then created one, along with a thunder sound clip. For darkness I turned the screen black and animated the eyes of the two vocalists. Still all very simple but it worked. Staying with the blinking eye theme for a third song, I drew some cartoon kids and animals to appear at different times during a short refrain. I made a little bit of animated movement but mostly it was just in the eyes. I also added flashing stars. I’m gradually getting bolder and doing longer animations. In one I had a snake drop on to the screen then slither off. And most recently, for another Colin Buchanan song, a crocodile walks on, dances with the music, snaps his jaws and then splashes off. Back at our creatives group we have continued to meet online. Strangely, this has been beneficial as many of us do our creative work these days using technology. At our meetings I was able to demonstrate the software I use to make the animations, and show the various techniques and the individually drawn frames that are involved. So, I’m having a very animated lockdown that has given me the motivation to achieve something I’ve been interested in for some time. And while it is an individual pursuit, going online has also provided an avenue to share my work and put it to a purpose. Every cloud has a silver lining ... perhaps I should animate one of those, too.

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Bruthen Gunaikurnai, Monero and Bidawel

The Scary Bushfire: People Came to Help Each Other by PEY TON ARMISTE AD (age 9)

In the morning when I woke up it was hot. I felt strange because all mornings are usually cold. Then I looked out my window and saw lots of smoke.

asked my mum and dad what was happening, and they said it was a big bushfire. I felt scared, worried and nervous because the fire was getting closer to our house. And then I helped my mum pack things into boxes and we packed a bag of clothes each. And on the radio, the news man said we needed to evacuate from our home. We gave Dad a kiss and cuddle because he stayed at home to keep our house safe. When we left home Mum was crying because she was worried. And I felt scared for all the animals who might get hurt in the bushfire. We got to stay at a friend’s house for 10 nights after Dad came and stayed with us, which made me feel much more safer.

After the fires when we were allowed to come home, I saw lots and lots of burnt trees and houses. I felt sorry for the families who lost their homes but lucky ours did not burn down. When we got home, we watched the news and we saw helicopters dropping food into the bush for animals who survived. This made me happy as they were getting help. After the big scary fires were finished lots of people came to help other people with building new fences, houses, roads, giving food and support. And that made me feel happier.

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Mallacoota Gunaikurnai, Monero and Bidawel

Making a Bookshop from Ashes b y K AT E J A C K S O N

On New Year’s Eve 2019, my partner and I prepared and awaited a bushfire, as did the 1000 residents of Mallacoota and 6000 tourists. These fires have been well chronicled, and all I want to say is: we survived.

fter the fires I needed some mindless, repetitive tasks to keep myself busy. It was difficult to help out around the town, as a huge number of counsellors, medical and military workers, chaplains, aid agencies and government support workers were busy helping those in need. Killing us with kindness and concern. What could I do that would be of use to people, many of them friends, who had lost their homes? Normally (a tricky word) I volunteered at the school, but there was no room in the classroom with all the visiting counsellors, and I just felt in the way and inadequate. As soon as COVID-19 hit in March 2020 I was permanently locked out of the school, as were all volunteers. As a community person, I was adrift, purposeless, useless.

More than 10 years ago, Mallacoota had inherited a massive book collection, bequeathed by Melbourne State Library employee Josef Hull. About 12,000 books were stored on pallets of boxes in a shipping container and a garage belonging to Janine Jackson. I contacted Janine, who said she would be delighted to have her garage back after all these years, but could we clear the shipping container first, please? It was urgently needed for storage by someone who lost their home—everything. My partner Phil and I investigated the shipping container, sitting intact on a block of land completely burnt out. The books were in very good condition. A miracle! My next job was to find a temporary bookshop, so that we could sort the books, give priority access to those who had lost their book collections, then sell the rest as a community fundraiser. At last! Purpose!

“

It was never about the monetary value, but the sense of meaning each book had for their new owners.

Do you think that any empty shop owner would “give” us a shop? No, they all wanted rent, and, not being a business brain, I couldn’t predict or guarantee we’d make any money. There was no room in either opshop for more books, and our local shire, while making friendly noises, could not get past the red tape. Same with our ironically titled Bushfire Recovery Victoria office. Some suggested a caravan or shipping container (both now as rare as hen’s teeth) but the owner of the local noodle restaurant Lucy’s was our champion. She agreed to loan us the shed behind the restaurant. Thank you forever, Lucy.

”

We moved boxes into the tin shed (unlined, concrete floor and prone to flooding, but what the heck, it had a roof and walls) and Rosy Morton and I got sorting to fill the 20 bookshelves that came with the collection. Rosy runs a bookshop in Melbourne, and I had run a bookstall for Lifeline for many years; both of us are bookworms. We knew what was treasure and what to recycle. The shelves soon filled with fiction, Australiana, history, philosophy, science, poetry, drama, art, music, biography, travel, religion, war, nature, cultures, domestic bliss, language, literary, atlases and children’s’ literature. A reader’s heaven. We found old books, anthologies, bird books, books never reprinted, books from the 1800s that

people whose books had burnt fell on with cries of joy. I felt a purpose return to my life. The comfort of books, of familiar and beloved stories, returned to those who had lost everything and now had something. A group of locals came to help staff the bookshop, whenever COVID-19 allowed us to open. In the meantime, Rosy and I just kept sorting books, and Phil kept making trips to the recycling depot. It felt good to survey the bookshelves, to recommend books to customers, and to send people home with treasures they never thought they’d see in print again. It was never about the monetary value, but the sense of meaning each book had for their new owners. We asked people to pay by donation, and the generosity of some outweighed the occasional parsimony of others. In August this year, Lucy advised that she was selling her restaurant, so we cast around again for a new home, because the bookshop was becoming well known and loved. It needed to become permanent, not temporary. So with no red tape we quietly moved into the community hall. The bookshop is now on the stage, looking like the backdrop to a literary play, complete with comfy lounges and a coffee table. Hooray! A warm dry place for the books! We open the bookshop on Fridays and Saturdays, and can provide patrons with hot drinks and home-made cake, if they want to sit and read or chat. Kevin comes in Fridays to play classical piano, and our band rehearses on Saturdays.

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Books, food, music and company: I am perfectly content with that. Every week I go through at least 20 books to evaluate, consider whether to read and recommend, or who they may suit. My good friend Don is a fellow bookworm, and we exchange and discuss books, and have started a weekly book review program on our community radio station. We will soon be branching out to invite local authors in to speak, and will use the profits from the bookshop to fund an annual publication from the writers’ group we are just starting to establish.

From little things, big things grow (thank you, Kev Carmody). I am not a committee or paperwork person. I like to just get on with things, rather than talk about it. In our small coastal town it is possible, with good friends and networking. Thank you, one and all, for giving me back my sense of purpose after the bushfires. *As I write this, nearly two years later, only a handful of the 135 homes burnt on Wednesday, January 1, 2020 have been rebuilt. Owners are still collecting furniture and furnishings. Some have bookcases containing books found in the collection of Josef Hull.

Mallacoota Gunaikurnai, Monero and Bidawel

Producing the Mallacoota Calendar by MARISKA & MARTIN ASCHER

We are part of the Mallacoota Fundraising Group, and have been producing a beautiful Mallacoota calendar for seven years, donating the profits back into the community to buy essential items for the emergency services.

t midnight on December 31, 2019, we stood on our driveway. The sky turned red. We could hear the roar. The ash fell from the sky, burnt leaves around us. We knew we were in trouble. Several times on those days, the sky filled with stifling smoke. You couldn’t see 30 metres in the distance, then about 2.30pm, the sky turned pitch black, then brown. The fires burnt until March. When the Black Summer fires hit Mallacoota we were the first to post our images on the community news page on Facebook. Those images went worldwide. Within a day we had 4000 followers and within a week there were

more than 10,000. Phone calls came in from BBC London, The Netherlands and France, wanting our story. We had calls from Australian newspapers and radio stations, wanting an insider’s perspective. This continued for two months. Within a few days, we decided to put in place a GoFundMe to raise money for emergency services and wildlife. There were so many generous people wanting to help. Every dollar was so important to get us back on our feet. In the first 48 hours after our images went viral, I was so very busy I didn’t sleep. I had questions coming in on the Facebook page and also on Messenger.

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People from all over were asking me: Which homes were burnt? How was the wildlife affected? How about family and friends? It didn’t stop. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t let people down.

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People from all over were asking me: Which homes were burnt? How was the wildlife affected? How about family and friends? It didn’t stop. I was exhausted, but I couldn’t let people down. I answered every message. So many people were relying on me for information. After the first 48 hours, I continued, but still with only a few hours of sleep. I wouldn’t go to bed till the last question was answered and when I woke up there were many more. We had no power for 13 days and I had to keep charging my phone with the car battery. We relied on neighbours’ chargers. We wore our masks 24/7 as the smoke just lingered on. During this time we were also receiving donations from all over the world; the final total was just under $400,000! It was simply overwhelming, and if it wasn’t for this generosity we wouldn’t have many lifesaving items. Martin and I were just the middle men. We received the money and distributed it according to requests from emergency services. We did the best we could. We have donated a total amount of $394,398.48 to the ambulance, fire brigade, SES, the medical clinic and for wildlife. It has been extremely hard for so many locals, some still suffering with anxiety and depression, some still without their own homes, some having to leave Mallacoota. So much wildlife perished. Will they get over this? I don’t know. We are now selling our 2022 Mallacoota fundraising calendars. Stay safe.

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Melbourne Woi worrung

Supporting the Big V by FRANK PONISSI

2020 yielded many unexpected stories for Melbourne Storm. Our NRL club played two away games in Sydney, then everything changed as lockdowns arrived, COVID-19 spread, and the nation stopped.

hen we restarted we were relocated to Albury, before returning to Melbourne two weeks later. After then spending the next month back home playing two games at an empty AAMI Park without our loyal fans, in late June we were given 48 hours to get out of Melbourne, firstly to play a game in Sydney before moving on to Queensland to help ensure the NRL could run a complete season with as few hindrances as possible. This ultimately turned out to be four months away from home, in hotel rooms, a sacrifice that would ultimately win us the premiership. However, being removed from Victoria in a flash created so many distractions for the players and staff. We were relatively immune to the situation back home until one of our club legends, Billy Slater, in early July sent the players a message reminding them to be conscious of what they posted on social media given the hardships being experienced by people back in Melbourne. This

message resonated strongly with the group and a conversation within the squad began on what Storm could do to provide hope, positivity and inspiration, not only to the people of Melbourne, but to the whole of Victoria. People are important to the DNA of our club, and as a collective relocated in Queensland we explored what could we actually do to This Big V on my help. This gave jersey, on our jersey, birth to the idea this is who we are of incorporating playing for, everyone the “Big V” in back home in Victoria— the centre of this one is for you! our playing and training shirts, to remind us not only of where we came from, but also the many members we represent. A slogan was created,

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“Our home, Victoria”, that was emblazoned on our match-day jersey along with the “Big V” to show our support for every Victorian in lockdown. The “Big V” helped our members and staff in Melbourne to feel the love in very uncertain times. Being based in Queensland created challenges on how we could make a tangible difference to Victoria, however, we feel we created a sense of pride within our group and back home for everyone experiencing the negative effects of lockdowns. The “Big V” became not only a focus for our group to encourage our supporters through video messages and for them to see us wear the “V” on game days, but also offered us reflection once a week in a dedicated group session to discuss the stories our members were sharing with us. We were humbled and moved to hear so many stories, some that brought us to tears, on how COVID-19 was impacting them. We hope the “Big V” helped people feel valued and remembered in an extremely tough time. What we learnt and continue to instil in our players, staff and members is that the little things do count, and are extremely valuable—much like in a game of football. We want all aspects of our game to be healthy, and the mental health of our fellow Victorians shone through as a priority. It led to something much bigger than we ever imagined. Captain Cameron Smith’s words when accepting the Provan-Summons premiership trophy after defeating Penrith in the grand final encapsulated what it all meant: “This Big V on my jersey, on our jersey, this is who we are playing for, everyone back home in Victoria—this one is for you!”

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Port Macquarie Birpai

Wet Dogs and Snake Bites: Being Part of a Caring Community by LEIGH KINSMAN

I live with my wife on the mid-north coast of NSW and am a professor of nursing. Our town was devastated by severe floods in March 2021 that led to loss of lives and houses, livestock washed up on beaches and thousands of people evacuated.

was called on to help in a local evacuation centre, even though I hadn’t worked at the bedside for 15 years. They were desperate. Many nurses couldn’t get to work at the hospital, and those that could were working double-shifts, so any nurse who was “upright and breathing” was called in to assist. The role was basically to assist with any health problems and to assess where more help might be required. When I got there, my first impression was desolation and emptiness. The 80-plus survivors had vacant facial expressions and were physically sagging. It was their third day in this golf-club-turned-evacuationcentre and many had pets with them, adding a slight wet dog smell to the place. My second impression was generosity. All survivors were provided with new mattresses by a local company and there were piles of donated new clothes, towels and

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washers, bed linen and toiletries that could have met the needs of five times as many people. My first real nursing challenge was to assess a small wound on a middle-aged man’s upper leg stump. Two small puncture wounds had been assessed by volunteers as a possible snake bite. After talking it through it was clearly not. He had been knocked around a fair bit after being swept away and clinging to a tree overnight. He was traumatised by the loss of his home, the fear of drowning and, now, the fear of a snake bite. So the most important thing I could do was reassure him it wasn’t a snake bite and ease his anxiety about the wound. In addition to explaining why it wasn’t a snake bite I drew a circle around the wound and took a photo on his phone with the plan that we check it for changes in four hours. This seemed to work. When I checked him again he had forgotten about it—job done!

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For this woman, the best role I could play was to listen. While virtually everyone else there wanted to be left to themselves, she needed to describe her experience and what she had witnessed-

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A woman approached me for a chat, which I am always up for. She described how she was holidaying in a caravan park and didn’t realise the floods were coming. Upon leaving the back door of her cabin she saw a boat chugging along where the road used to be, and water lapping at her feet. To her right she could see a dark shape floating down the river and thought I was proud to be it was a tree trunk. She part of a caring then showed a photo community, including on her phone revealing other health that it was a man in professionals and a wheelchair being volunteers. None swept, out of control, of what I did was down the fast-flowing particularly hi-tech, river. Her next photo complex or magical. showed him being pulled out of the water after he’d been caught up in some stray fencing reaching out into the river. He was OK. For this woman, the best role I could play was to listen. While virtually everyone else there wanted to be left to themselves, she needed to describe her experience and what she had witnessed— just trying to make sense of something that was shocking, but could have been tragic.

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It was clear that much of my role was about observing, communicating and listening, but understanding medications soon became essential. Numerous survivors

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had run out of prescribed medications and scripts had been lost. I also had to become a detective to find out what the “blue, round tablet that I take with breakfast —not the yellow one I stopped taking last month” was. I needed to do this multiple times by talking it through with survivors and ringing their pharmacists or GPs where possible. The pharmacy teams were particularly cooperative, even delivering prescriptions to the evacuation centre. Some clearly had well-established relationships with their customers and took the time to find out if they were OK. That disasters disproportionately affect the disadvantaged was obvious to see. Most of the survivors were permanent residents in caravan park cabins and, in losing everything they owned, they had limited capacity to recover. Fortunately the centre was well staffed with government representatives assisting with the completion of disaster payment claim forms. They were busy. I was proud to be part of a caring community, including other health professionals and volunteers. None of what I did was particularly hi-tech, complex or magical. The floods were overwhelming and the survivors I met were overwhelmed. Yet, the basic things of observing, critically thinking, communicating and listening made differences here and there, including not stressing about a snake bite, getting the right medication and, more often, just being there.

Nowra Dharawal

Coming Together to Create b y D Ó R A R Ö G N VA L D S D Ó T T I R

I am a sculptor, arts educator and community artist from Shoalhaven in NSW, living and working in Dharawal and Yuin country. I run Mad Cow Studio in Nowra where I teach classes in art, sculpture and mosaic.

am a firm believer in the power of community art. Community art projects offer people opportunities to work together for the common good while strengthening bonds between all involved. The bushfires of 2019-20 were catastrophic for the beautiful region of Shoalhaven. As an artist deeply involved in the community and aware of the healing powers of art, I was moved to apply for funding to create a community sculpture to mark that terrible time. I wanted the sculpture to allow people to come together and create a beautiful artwork that all could be proud of, as an opportunity for regrowth and optimism. After success in obtaining funding from NSW government, administered through Shoalhaven City Council, work on the Gateway Public Sculpture

Shoalhaven project started in early 2021 and has continued during the lockdowns. The sculpture consists of three tall, twisting steel spires in the shape of flames. Each spire has four sides. You can walk around the spires in any direction to view all 12 sides. Each side of the spires is about a specific chosen community in Shoalhaven. The three spires symbolise a gateway with multiple entrances as we all come from different walks of life and our paths lead in different directions. In the middle area between the spires is a beautiful intimate space where people can feel at one with the sculpture. The bottom part of each spire is based on photographs from different communities and people’s experiences during the fires. Using these photographs we created line drawings that were converted into computer files to be laser cut into the bases.

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...contributing to the project has connected people to their communities and enabled them to experience creativity as a healing tool in the aftermath of the fires.

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Above the laser cut imagery are panels made from ceramic work and tiles, commemorating the flora and fauna destroyed by the fires. The main community involvement has been here. In order to work with people of all ages and abilities, I decided to approach the making of animals by making moulds as a starting point for individual creations. This chapter of the project involved the local artist community and my students from the Mad Cow Studio making clay animal prototypes for more than 100 moulds that I created for the ceramic figures. These created a starting point for people to use as the basis for their creations, although by the time people added their own touches every piece was different. Assisted by volunteers we printed and laminated about 200 images of native creatures. Armed with moulds, images, tools and clay, I ranged through Shoalhaven conducting workshops so residents can be

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a part of making the ceramic and tile sections of the sculpture. So many people have wanted to be part of this celebration. We have had students and teachers, Aboriginal TAFE students, community members from Lake Conjola—an area devastated by the fires—and community organisers such as the Bushfire Recovery Hub in the Ulladulla Civic Centre, and photography groups, to name some. Some 400 to 500 participants, ranging from five to 95 years old have contributed to making 1200 ceramic native animals leaves and seed pods. Other beautiful ceramic pieces, animals and plants, were made from scratch. Every piece was then fired, glazed and refired. My students from Mad Cow Studio have assisted in shaping and grinding over months thousands of tile pieces that are woven around the animals representing the sky, the winds that played such a crucial roll, the leaves and the embers that were defining features of the bushfire experience.

To date, 18,000 people have indicated their appreciation via our Gateway Sculpture Facebook page. As I write, in November 2021, the project is coming together. It has grown beyond expectation because of the enthusiasm of the community. The structures are stunning, laden with symbolism and people’s energy. When finished, Gateway will be the biggest public sculpture in the Shoalhaven region, in size and participation. Collaboration and inclusion have been key elements of this project. Likewise, contributing to the project has connected people to their communities and enabled them to experience creativity as a healing tool in the aftermath of the fires. Hopefully, by the time this story is published, the sculpture will be installed at the northern side of Ulladulla Harbour as a representation of hope and regeneration.

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Batemans Bay Walbunja

Storytelling: Helping Me, Helping Others by ZOE SIMMON S

I still remember it. The flames. The fear. That feeling of not knowing if we were going to survive. I remember the smoke was so thick, it made our heads pound—our lungs desperate for clean air.

remember the planes and helicopters flying overhead, dropping load after load of much-needed water, hoping those deadly flames wouldn’t spread. I remember ash swirling around me—and stinging my eyes—as it fell from the too-dark crimson sky. And I remember the feeling of utter desperation as I waited to hear if my friends and family survived. Not all of them did. If you’ve never experienced a bushfire, I’m not sure you could ever really understand. It’s terrifying. Exhausting. And soul-crushing—especially when you see the world you once knew devoured by flame. It was, without a doubt, the most terrifying thing I have ever experienced in my life—and it still affects me every day. I returned to my beloved hometown of Batemans Bay, only to be trapped by the horrific Black Summer bushfires of 2019. It was certainly a New Year’s Eve I’ll never forget. That morning we woke to news that the fire had

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drastically changed its course, and was now kilometres away, with only a few suburban streets and a corridor of too-dry bushland between us. We spent that morning frantically packing and preparing the house. Spurred by a mix of adrenaline and fear, we didn’t think much; we just did—because if we spent too long thinking, we’d crumble. You could see the fire in the distance, and hear its crackle. I vividly remember a single charred gum leaf falling from the sky, and landing at my feet, still warm. And when we drove to the evacuation centre, my knuckles were white from clenched fists—the bush on either side of the highway was bathed in wildfire. That morning was terrifying. But the afternoon was worse. Because while we were packing and readying the house, at least we had something to do. At the evacuation centre, all you could do was wait, and watch the changing sky around you, black smoke billowing.

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The people who have told their stories to me tell me how much it means to have someone listen— especially someone who understands.

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Despite the fact that the majority of the south coast was largely without reception (and power), I texted my loved ones, in hopes they’d have a pocket of reception, too, and could tell me they were OK—especially my friends who lived on properties surrounded by bush.

It wasn’t enough to calm my nerves. So, I thrust myself into action. I thought about volunteering at the evacuation centre—perhaps I could help direct cars, provide information, or help prepare meals. But I also live with chronic pain, so moving is not always the easiest thing for me.

Then it hit me. There’s limited internet connection. The Fires Near Me App is outdated. News sites don’t even know what’s going on here ... but I do. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be using my journalism skills in a bushfire. But that’s exactly what I did: I reported what I saw with my own two eyes. A natural disaster is always terrifying, but one of the most unnerving parts is not knowing what’s happening around. I knew if I was having those fears, others would be, too. And if my journalism helped someone make a safer decision ... well, I had to try. I watched what was happening. I spoke to others who’d evacuated to the centre, as well as firefighters and other volunteers. I captured videos, and shared regular updates on my social media pages—my small journalism following coming in handy. Before long, my content had thousands of views, and had been picked up by news outlets around the globe.

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I was even interviewed by i98 Radio and the BBC. It felt good to know my work was making a difference— because while media outlets were doing their best, they simply didn’t know what was happening inside the firestorm. I received countless messages from locals and their loved ones worried about their safety. My brother is in Malua Bay, one person wrote to me. We haven’t heard from him all day. We’re so worried. My grandmother was evacuated from Catalina, and said she was going to the evacuation centre, but we lost contact, another wrote. Is Batemans Bay safe? I didn’t have all the answers—but I could at least provide comfort and information. And in that bushfire, our lives literally depended on information. The day passed in a blur after I kicked into journalist mode. I even wrote an article! Of course, we had no electricity, so I wrote it down on a scrap of paper, before

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using my laptop’s last 20 minutes of charge, driving into town and hot-spotting my phone to send the article to my editor, safe in Sydney. It’s hard to believe almost two years have passed— and honestly, I think parts of my soul still live in those terrifying moments. I’m often haunted by them. But writing helped. I’ve written countless articles, and interviewed dozens of locals to share our voices: our history. I’m even writing a book about our survival stories. The people who have told their stories to me tell me how much it means to have someone listen— especially someone who understands. And through my journalism, I was able to assist in raising a whopping $20,000 for my community. Doing helps me—but it helps others, too, and that’s what makes it all the more powerful for me. I hope that by sharing stories, I can raise awareness about what we went through, and encourage others to share more. Or, at the very least, I hope it helps someone feel a little less alone.

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But writing helped. I’ve written countless articles, and interviewed dozens of locals to share our voices: our history.

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Mornington Peninsula Boon wurrung

Donkeys Making a Difference by SARAH JANE MUNN

When we were kids, Lucky, the donkey, would bray loudly and terrorise our horses by galloping along the fenceline as we rode by his paddock, often bareback and barefoot, pelting down narrow Cornish laneways just before dark.

ometimes we were tipped off the side of a pony prancing on the road after Lucky took them by surprise.

The local farmer won Lucky in a card game. I would go into his paddock, wrap my arms around his neck and breathe. This would calm my endless anxiety for a while, and at 12 years old I just loved him. I looked out of my bedroom window one night and saw Lucky racing around like a wild thing, a silhouette, kicking up his heels in the light of a massive full moon. From that day on, I believed in the moon, donkeys and magic. Travel forward 40 years to Australia when donkeys come back into my life like a gift from the COVID-19 gods. Lockdowns had been tough, business had been stressful as we wrangled not only eight horses, two goats, two bunnies and three dogs, but also 20 staff, hundreds of families on our caseload and hundreds more on our

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waiting list, plus my two children with additional needs. Not to mention both mine and my husband’s anxiety, which rose and fell like king tides in the ocean. But then a phone call came: “Could you take in my donkeys? They haven’t done any therapy through COVID-19 and they need a new home. I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather them go than to you.” Flattered, I really wanted Boots, Donnie, Wonka and Plonka. We didn’t have enough space on our little five-acre hobby farm where we run Barefoot Therapists, a service for children and families. We were already drowning, with staff working from home, all the animals to care for, remote schooling our two kids with autism and ADHD, and one of them needing full support with also having Down syndrome. My husband retreated outside to build new stables and sheds for the business. “When the fishermen can’t go to sea, they mend their nets,” he said. My mental health was not great.

I got shingles, which wrapped around my body like a web of scabs. It was crazy to take more animals. But I held a deep belief that somehow if we took the donkeys, we would find a bigger farm. That they would come with the magic of the moon and everything would be all right.

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My husband tossed and turned at night thinking I was mad to take more animals. Had I lost the plot entirely? But I went and got them, and when I met Boots I knew I had a soul mate. A history of obesity and trauma was reported, and this prehistoric donkey with the gentle soul rested his big grey head in my arms.

Our community needs to heal, and we are here for them.

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After they had settled in, and the horses had finally got over the shock of the asinine intruders, I would lead Boots around. He had been very reliant on Donnie but slowly he learnt to come further and further away with me until I could take him anywhere and could even ride him in a different paddock. He was happy to carry me around listening to my soothing and delighted voice saying “Good boy, Boots, what a brave and clever Boots.”

It reflected my own feelings that we had pulled through challenging times. I had my business still working and we did ride it out. I ran three team-building days just to look after the wellbeing of Barefoot staff; we were all frazzled and lacking the connectedness needed for healthy living, but we kept working and stayed together, getting more and more creative in response to the everchanging guidelines. Donkeys are different to horses, a rare, healing energy of calm intelligence. I could now sit in the paddock with parents when I did parent and child sessions, and Boots especially would come and touch his soft muzzle on their hair and smell them. He would go from one to the other, as if checking they were in the same family, as if giving them a message that they were connected. He brought a new and soothing energy to the space. We had only had Boots, Donnie, Wonka and Plonka for a few months when we saw Gadara Farm come up for sale at the bottom of our road; it backs on to wetlands, where wildlife abounds, and the pasture is lush. It was as though we could see the stars lining up for us. We went into a competitive bidding war for the 20 acres, which we won.

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We sold our farm along with our new stables and sheds. The poor fisherman would have to start again, with or without stormy waters. Gadara Farm is beautiful, but there is nothing but a two-bedroom cottage so there’s lots of work to do. Now, we are just leaving the clutches of the terrible Melbourne lockdowns with shops and restaurants opening properly. Our kids have been at home for 10 months altogether and are just coming out of another isolation period due to cases at school. But things feel good. I am committed to running more trauma-aware animal-assisted therapy with Boots. Our community needs to heal, and we are here for them. With more space, we can start to tackle that waiting list, and we can see people in groups again. We can do more farming with the children and there is an orchard and plenty of space to share.

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There are lots of great occupational and speech pathology programs, a dietician and a teacher, too, not to mention animal assisted therapists all there to help our families cope with the challenges of everyday life. Animal-assisted therapy and farming are such a great antidote to the reclusive, screen-based lives we have been living. Donkeys pulling carts with children recovering from trauma or learning to live with a disability aligns with my values and vision. Who would have thought COVID-19 lockdowns would have provided the perfect climate to move farms and develop a dream? Gadara Farm will open its gates in March 2022, and if you happen to be travelling the southern end of Mornington Peninsula, you might just see our horses and donkeys parading down the road.

Shoalhaven Walbunja

Pulling in One Direction by MEGAN DOVER

The dark skies billowed as the distant smoke-filled horizon moved in and bore down upon us. Summer was in full swing, and the year was coming to an end, but it wasn’t going to go quietly.

e bunkered down and hoped the fires would soon pass, but as it turned out we were uniquely positioned for a fire season like no other. It wasn’t long before we were enduring a summer where breathing was no longer safe outside as Shoalhaven burnt around us. As we approached New Year’s Eve, 2019, we braced ourselves for the southerly busters that would cause the embers of firestorms that were raging to reach far and wide. As we clocked over into 2020, communities and townships braced for the worst. Homes burnt, people were injured and died, property, livestock, wildlife and our beautiful bush were lost. It was a start to the year none of us will forget, almost like an ominous prelude to what was to become one of the hardest times we have endured as a community. As we prepared for the practicalities of supporting Shoalhaven, we rallied the churches to pray. Every day, people gathered on the lawn of the Shoalhaven

Entertainment Centre and prayed for rain, for protection, and for help, until the fires ceased. The Currowan fire burned for 74 days as the community mobilised to support our firefighters, neighbours and wildlife. It didn’t take long for the whole of NSW to be activated and truckloads of supplies started to arrive on the doorstep as Aussies everywhere pitched in to help. Salt Care volunteers grew exponentially. The community spirit was an example of what we can do collectively when all pull in the one direction to care for our brothers and sisters who are suffering. Logistically, though, getting all those supplies to where they would be helpful was a mammoth task. Partnering with local businesses and council, Salt began the process of collecting, storing, and distributing truckloads of supplies. We worked with local communities to distribute food, clothing, toiletries, furniture and generators.

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As the smoke began to lift, the harsh reality of the loss became apparent. The Shoalhaven was scorched from end to end, covering 500,000ha, close to 80 per cent of the land. It was a devastation difficult to comprehend.

Lockdowns and predictions of a different kind of devastation forced an already traumatised community into a new state of anxiety.

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Not long after this, torrential rain caused flooding that forced many, including those who had lost homes, to higher ground. The collective trauma became very heavy to bear. Salt volunteers and staff, tired as we were, continued to help those who reached out.

The supplies kept arriving and, as much as we gave out, more came in. In March 2020, with a full warehouse, we realised our bushfire disaster was now making way for a new emergency, the COVID-19 pandemic. Lockdowns and predictions of a different kind of devastation forced an already traumatised community into a new state of anxiety. Fortunately, Salt, as an essential service, was able to stay open and filled Bomaderry Community Hall with food, toiletries, nappies, formula and other basic needs. With a full team of volunteers, we opened the doors for the community to come and get what they needed. Salt also initiated a home delivery service for the elderly and

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those who were isolating, and our incredible volunteers, who were now trained in COVID-19 safety, were essential in getting supplies to each household that needed them. In the simple act of giving, whether it be food, nappies, formula or a smile and comfort, we could maintain connection and solidarity with our community. All the while, those who had lost homes in the bushfire-affected areas were forced into extended delays in building, disruptions to supply, uncertain housing, and a world that had shifted its focus rapidly away from their recovery. One of the areas Salt worked closely with was Conjola, where three people died and 130 homes were lost or damaged on New Year’s Eve. Not only were we able to supply basic needs on the ground, but we also had the opportunity to advocate with council for individuals as the process of rebuilding and navigating help became heavy with difficulty. Christmas 2020 presented an opportunity to participate in some morale-boosting efforts. One event was a barbecue for victims of the bushfires in the Conjola area. Christmas gifts were distributed, and families took a welcome reprieve from the stress of the year. Salt’s disaster relief team was formed in 2020 in response to the trauma we faced as a community. We have initiated disaster recovery training for our staff and volunteers, and continue to be ready for the challenges we may face together. We are also taking rests and catching our breath when we can!

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Melbourne Woi worrung

Forging Onwards b y C A R O LY N N E W H I T E

It was a 46-degree day in Melbourne. In the late afternoon of February 7, 2009, I stepped outside and stood on my veranda to feel the heat.

he sky was red and hazy; a helicopter hovered.

So, I did what I could. I gave money to support the

as a child, this was not the first time I had looked up

and shelter, clothing and care for people in fire-affected

Ominous. Having lived at the foot of Mt Dandenong

to see the signs of bushfire in nearby hills.

volunteers who were offering practical support: food communities.

I went to bed, exhausted from the heat. But sleeping

is never easy when there is fire about. The next morning, I turned on the television to discover how devastating

*** Nine years later, I was sitting in my office checking

the fires were. Thirty kilometres from my home, the fire

my emails when I noticed an unusual request. The subject

rushed up into the hills.

social impact filmmaker on community health project”.

destroyed all in its wake as it crossed the highway and

The next weekend, while getting a haircut at my local

salon, I overheard people discussing the fire that was still

line read: “Opportunity for your staff to work with Intrigued, I read on.

Going to the movies is a familiar leisure activity

raging. I learnt that a local shopkeeper had lost her life

for many. But this documentary was different. Forged

to do something to help but I didn’t know what I could do

to the Black Saturday bushfires, the very community

after returning home from work, one week before. I wanted that would make a difference, without getting in the way.

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from Fire documented how a community had responded

where my local shopkeeper had lived and died.

Its premiere was timed to coincide with the 10-year

commemoration of Black Saturday and was to be shown in St Andrews, one of the fire-affected communities.

Andrew Garton, the film maker, was looking to

collaborate with people with experience in community health and trauma to create a safe environment for audience

members. Knowing all too well the trauma the community

had experienced and having seen how viewers had

responded to short versions of the documentary by sharing

Andrew’s request for assistance was a no-brainer. As

the descendant of blacksmiths and having grown up with the ever-present threat of bushfire, I felt an immediate

connection to the project. As an occupational therapist who had worked in mental health and health promotion, this

was a project where I could directly apply my expertise. Here was my opportunity—albeit belated—to do something to help.

Over eight months, I worked with a small team including

their own stories, Andrew wanted to ensure that audience

the film maker, psychologists Danielle Williamson and

fire.

Jenni Aldred to design a screening guide to accompany the

members were supported to share their experiences of the

Forged from Fire tells the story of Amanda Gibson, a

designer and metal artist who led a group of blacksmiths

Jessica Mackelprang, and students Lili Korndorffer and film and prepare for the documentary’s premiere.

With Andrew’s support, our team connected with people

from Australia and around the world to create a memorial

in fire-affected communities to explore what the 10-year

Saturday bushfires and the bravery of volunteer firefighters

and find out what support they wanted. Following these

to honour the 173 people who lost their lives in the Black who risked their lives to protect their towns.

The Blacksmiths’ Tree was a labour of love that brought

the community together and used fire intentionally, not to

destroy, but to create. What began as an idea in an online

commemoration meant to them, understand their concerns,

discussions, we decided to create a trauma-sensitive

screening guide for hosts and accessible self-help resources for audience members.

The screening guide offered hosts advice on what

forum, evolved into a tremendous undertaking that grew

to consider when planning a screening, how to set up

three-tonne, 9.8m gum tree with more than 3500 leaves

stories, and what to do if someone became distressed.

well beyond what the blacksmiths originally imagined: a forged from stainless steel and copper.

a safe environment for audience members to share

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We designed postcards for audience members that outlined

My continued involvement with the Blacksmiths’

activities, such as breathing for relaxation, they could do to

Tree project gave me a focus and sense of continuity as I

information about where to go for additional support.

bushfires, closely followed by the COVID-19 pandemic and

care for themselves if they felt overwhelmed, and provided

***

transitioned into a new job and faced the Black Summer its associated lockdowns.

In November 2020, shortly after Lili submitted her thesis,

Sitting among community at St Andrews Hall on

the “ring of steel” that separated metropolitan Melbourne

immense privilege. Our team was warmly welcomed by the

dismantled. To mark the occasion, I ventured outside of

February 8, 2019 for the launch of Forged from Fire was an community who extended a generous invitation to gather afterwards at the Blacksmiths’ Tree.

I didn’t visit the tree that night. As an outsider, I did

not want to impose on the community’s moment of collective remembering.

But, over the next 18 months,

the Blacksmiths’ Tree and the community who created

it remained close to my heart as Danielle, Jessica and I co-supervised Lili, a Master of Psychology student, who analysed interview transcripts from the film to understand how this grassroots project supported the community to heal from their collective trauma.

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from regional Victoria during the second lockdown was my 5km radius and drove up the narrow, winding road

to Strathewen. This was my time to visit the Blacksmiths’

Tree—a moving memorial and enduring tribute to the power of people doing together, to connect, cope, and heal from trauma.

*** You can view Forged from Fire and access the screening

guide and resources online: forgedfromfirefilm.com.

Emerald Woi worrung

Birthing a Community Task Force b y PA U L YA N D L E

On Wednesday, June 9, 2021 a storm buffeted large parts of Victoria including the Dandenong Ranges with fierce winds—well above 100kmh. We get many wind events in the hills, but this storm was different in two ways: Firstly, the wind direction, and secondly the depth of the event.

t literally just kept blowing at an ever-increasing velocity from late afternoon, continuing without a break overnight and into the Thursday morning.

Brigade, part of the Country Fire Authority, recognised

With roads blocked in every direction, no power, phone

we initially aimed to get a small work crew together to help

or internet services, for many there was no capacity to contact triple zero or the rest of the outside world to seek

help. Local volunteer emergency services were stretched

to capacity; where do we start and what do we prioritise?

Seasoned emergency service personnel working during the storm experienced the most frightening event they had attended—and many had been at Black Saturday, Ash Wednesday and other large-scale disasters.

Eighty homes were destroyed or uninhabitable and

hundreds more experienced varying levels of damage.

Having been part of the initial emergency response

activities and seeing the level of widespread damage, a small group of volunteer firefighters from the Emerald Fire

that people needed help with recovery. CFA volunteers are

community-focused people and want to get in and help residents. Although not in our CFA capacity, as individuals

residents with clearing trees from driveways etc. We quickly understood the task was much bigger than that, and shifted

focus. We decided that instead of doing the chainsaw work ourselves, we could use our organisational skills to be

effective on a bigger scale by organising other spontaneous volunteers, thus being able to help many more people.

On the Thursday night we decided to pull the trigger

and put out a call for volunteers. Help the Hills—

Dandenong Ranges Taskforce was born. A massive

effort from a small group of organisers ensured we had

a system in place for the following Saturday. Much had to be done to develop a structure to find and manage willing volunteers, as well as collate and assess the

requests for assistance and all the associated logistics.

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The safety of participants was also a priority. The saying

disciplined, safety-first environment gave us credibility

was very appropriate for this occasion.

volunteers due to the fact they were being used in an

“Bite off more than you can chew, then chew like buggery”

Within a few short days social media was used to call

for volunteers and let people know we were there to help.

effective, efficient and meaningful way.

Although the dreaded lockdowns brought our work to

Our Facebook page had an enormous organic growth with

a premature end we were able to put 50 to 70 volunteers

and this really helped to rally volunteers and invaluable

approaching 5000 people hours of tree clearing, wood

more than 100,000 engagements in the following weeks, support from businesses who wanted to help. This

included local contractors who offered trucks, excavators

“

with the authorities and also encouraged the community

and

What became evident very early was the importance of listening to people’s stories. Many felt isolated and some were traumatised to the same level as a bushfire affected community.

”

machinery,

businesses

and

local

large

companies who donated safety

goggles,

vests,

lubricants Monetary

gloves,

chainsaw

and

fuel.

donations

on the ground on five weekends, resulting in something splitting, mulching and cleaning up. I simply can’t thank enough the individual volunteers, car clubs, small and big

business who made this possible. People came from all over Melbourne to help the Hills with many people volunteering

every day we were operating. The camaraderie and

willingness to get in and get this very unglamourous work done was simply outstanding.

For the residents that needed help, our work was, at

allowed us to organise

times, life changing. Especially for older residents, and

service companies for

manage the clean-up, or those families simply overwhelmed

professional

tree

the more dangerous or technical jobs. We were also extremely grateful

for huge support from

Disaster Relief Australia

which supplied big crews including qualified tree fellers and chainsaw operators with huge skills and work ethic.

Over the next few weeks, we gained the support of our

two local councils and Bushfire Recovery Victoria who were

tasked with much of the overall clean-up. They quickly

people without the physical, technical or financial ability to by having 10-20 trees down in their yards. What became

evident very early was the importance of listening to people’s stories. Many felt isolated and some were traumatised to

the same level as a bushfire affected community. Our volunteers were encouraged to listen to people’s stories (if

comfortable to do so) as many hadn’t unpacked or processed

their experiences at that stage. In many cases this was just as important as cutting up their trees. The fact that caring people came to help meant the world to them.

Putting a spontaneous volunteer group together is

realised the benefits of a well-managed, proactive and

complex and time consuming, but the combined efforts of

we needed. The fact that our group was led by (off duty)

communities.

community-led recovery operation and were asking us what CFA volunteers who understood how to work in a managed,

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a community-led recovery operation is a powerful tool for

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Port Macquarie Birpai

Farmer Joe’s Pantry – Feeding Body and Soul b y JA N E E VA N S

It was reported to be Australia’s worst drought in 100 years; no real rain for seven years and farming communities west of Wauchope, NSW and beyond were doing it tough. We heard on the news that local farmers were shooting livestock as they couldn’t get access or afford to buy feed.

he Rotary Club of Port Macquarie Sunrise has members from the affected area and in October 2019 when some did their grocery shopping in Port Macquarie, they noticed supermarket trolleys lined up outside asking customers to donate food. The donations supported a pantry in the Tamworth farming community. Led by Pam Foye, the Sunrise board and Rotarians agreed that we should also set up a pantry for droughtaffected farmers in our community. Our contacts were clear that local farmers rarely travelled to Port Macquarie but they would come to Wauchope. We needed a shed that was rent free, and by chance a contact had one and the rent was already covered by Rotary. This would be the base for Farmer Joe’s Pantry, later also known as Pam’s Pantry!

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It took six weeks to establish, during which the area had unprecedented bushfires, but by November 13, Farmer Joe’s Pantry was up and running. Due to the ongoing drought and fires, it was agreed that instead of offering the service to farmers, it would be available to anyone local who was doing it tough. The geographical area the pantry supported was anywhere west of Wauchope down to John’s River and Taree, but no one was ever turned away. We got the ball rolling by putting a call out to Rotarians to clean out their pantries and bring whatever they could spare to our weekly meetings. A list of items required was circulated such as non-perishable foods, toiletries, pet food, bottled water, children’s requirements like nappies, and as we got closer to Christmas, wrapped presents for children, decorations and Christmas treats.

Woolworth’s supermarket at Settlement City included our pantry in its weekly collections of food and its customers donated at least four full trolleys a week to us. Our treasurer Pam and her 2IC Lynne coordinated communications to encourage anyone to help, they told the story on community radio, pleading for supplies and volunteers. They used social media, setting up a Facebook page, and established a roster of about 20 locals to staff the pantry on Wednesdays and Fridays from 10am to 2pm. Three weeks after opening, a truck travelled from Dural, northwest of Sydney, and unexpectedly arrived at Wauchope Fire Station to support the local need for clothes, bedding and food. Rotarians unloaded the truck into the pantry which by now had taken over the whole shed and was well stocked. Word got out about the pantry and a local woman, whose business was visiting farms to do their bookkeeping, came in every Wednesday and loaded her car with care boxes that she delivered to those in need.

We helped more than 90 customers. Initially some were reluctant to visit, but once they found we offered tea and coffee, a lounge to sit and chat, and a book library, we started to get regular visitors. It was usually the female of the family who came first, often tentatively, but later bringing children, and then the menfolk came to see what it was all about. Our customers had lots of stories; we had lots of tears. Sometimes the volunteers went home after a shift in a bit of an emotional mess but satisfied they were helping people stay off the breadline. Not everyone was comfortable accepting food for free. Some would bring surplus from their farms or gardens. One woman brought buckets of cucumbers in exchange for items she needed. Towards Christmas local businesses that regularly support community engagement donated vouchers for families to spend at Hastings Cooperative on Christmas food and gifts, so the children had something on Christmas Day. Further afield, money was sent from a Rotary club in England and recreational club in Darwin. This helped us to buy from the local butcher.

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“

Not everyone was comfortable accepting food for free. Some would bring surplus from their farms or gardens. One woman brought buckets of cucumbers in exchange for items she needed.

”

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We had amazing feedback; letters and beautiful cards commenting on the difference we made to families. For our volunteers it was one of the most rewarding things we have done. There were surprises, just how tough a lot of people were doing it. It was hard to image just how little people had at that time – not even a packet of tea to offer a drink to a neighbour. It made us appreciate our own circumstances. We were surprised that some people returned every week as they liked to socialise with empathetic Rotarians, and it was noticeable that we provided a break from isolation and loneliness for some. We made emotional connection with people. Some wanted to share their worries, their stories of drought and fire, and many commented what a positive impact the pantry made. We faced some challenges. Some are always prepared to rort the system. Our volunteers decided on a two-bag limit to manage supply and demand. We had no authority and didn’t want to be judgmental as most were genuinely in need. We touched a lot of people in a short time. The greatest challenge was COVID-19 from late February 2020. Sunrise Rotary applied for a District Rotary grant, which provided a $70 voucher to all our 90 customers. These were mailed with a note to wish our customers well and explained why Farmer Joe’s Pantry had to close on March 20, 2020. Would we do it again? “In a heartbeat” was the sentiment of Pam. “It was exhausting, probably not possible for Rotarians to maintain, both physically and emotionally, but we found resilience for the cause.”

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Gippsland Gunaikurnai, Monero and Yorta Yorta

First Fires, Then COVID: Uncle Albert’s Story by UNCLE ALBERT BAXTER

My name is Albert Baxter from East Gippsland. I am a proud Gunaikurnai, Ngarigo, and Yorta Yorta man with Elder responsibilities with the Gunaikurnai Peoples. I have grown up in Bairnsdale my whole life but travelled around NSW and Victoria harvesting beans and different kinds of produce when it was ready. I used to work with my mum and nan, as well as my grandfather, aunties, uncles and cousins. We picked all the way from Bega-Narooma area to Thorpdale and up to Mildura. I am very proud of my culture and the way I grew up being a First Nations person for this area and surrounds. I grew up witnessing a lot of domestic violence from my Mum and Dad, but we managed to stay together and look after each other. I have six siblings, two sisters and four brothers, so we were able to look out for each other. As one of the eldest a lot of responsibility was on my shoulders to look after the younger siblings as Mum and Dad worked all the time. I was especially proud of my

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Mum as she and a few of her sisters and First Nations women from the community started the Gippsland and East Gippsland Aboriginal Co-Operative (local health centre for First Nations people). Working for Department of Environment, Land, Water and Planning (as a firefighter was absolutely brilliant because it was always in a different area. I stopped working for DWELP in 2010 after the Black Saturday fires. I chased the fires from Mansfield, up to Melbourne and all the way back to Heyfield and then up to Dargo. I lived in a Heyfield for probably a month. In Dargo I was working in asset protection. I had to set up water irrigation around the Department of Sustainability and Environment building, a band of pumps around the shops, the garages, houses and everywhere in Dargo.

When the Black Saturday fires were on, I got set up to go down to Ground, because one of the leaders, Alex, had gone away and we couldn’t get in contact. We got out of Dargo, but then Alex came out of the Ground road sideways. He said, “Get out of here, it’s going to turn to shit” so we spun around, but driving back to Dargo there was actually fire both sides of the road. Got back into Dargo and I turned on all the pumps, then everything went black; I think it was for probably 40 minutes, 45 minutes. The wind then changed on us and blew all the smoke and fire back out, but it got within about 200 metres of the Dargo township. We were so lucky the wind changed at that point. When the fire first started here in Bairnsdale, I remember getting sent to Mansfield. I had to drive the truck with the bulldozer on and while I was driving into Mansfield we actually got blocked by the fire and they’re trying to get up from Berrigan up to Mansfield through the Mansfield road.

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“

I can’t wait for the day for that family time. I can’t wait to see my family and give them a cuddle and a kiss, but you just can’t do it. It’s [COVID-19] taken away a lot of stuff.

We actually couldn’t go through because there were cars that were burnt out with families still in them. Those memories are still there, they are so hard to talk about. But during those 14 days, it was very tough trying to control the fires down that way. It’s a long way to chase fires and we ended up from Berry to Omeo then to Buchan, then back to the Bairnsdale side. We were chasing lightning from Berwick through to Heyfield and I was living away from home and missing the family. But I had a job to do and I think I did a good job with it all. I put myself out there and got burnt a lot of times – very scary. I think it was that isolation and being away from my family that made it hard. I was home for two nights and then you’re gone again for another 14 days – it was exhausting, and there were some times that I didn’t get home for three weeks.

”

As for the Black Summer fires in 2019-20, I remember that with all the fires going on, I actually sat down and thought about it because I’ve got cousins, my brother and other extended family working with the bushfires that year – they went all the way through from Bairnsdale then right up to Batemans Bay and even Wollongong. There were fires at Sarsfield, Bruthen, Lake Tyres, Nowa Nowa, Buchan, Mallacoota, they were everywhere. Just sitting and waiting and listening to the news and checking the Vic app to see where the fires was spreading, I just felt so helpless. To hear it was in Narooma and then making its way to Wallaga Lake in NSW was so distressing as my mum’s side of the family is from there, and I have lots of family there I was so concerned about. It’s worse at Wallaga Lake as there is only one road in and one road out. And I was wondering how they were all going there and concerned for their safety. But the next day, I got a phone call to let me know everyone was all right.

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When the fires hit Sarsfield my cousins were living in their house and they got evacuated. My cousin and I were going out that way, but we go stopped just out of Bairnsdale and were told to turn back. That night my auntie and uncle’s house burnt down where my cousins were living. We found that out a couple of days after the fire went through, as no one was allowed out there till it was safe. If we could have got through on that day before the fire came through, Willie and I would have saved that house. But during the waiting, the fire made its own wind and actually blew embers to the base of the house. We were not allowed out there unless we were a firefighter with the CFA or DWELP so that was very painful. My cousin’s house burnt down but next to her there were two houses still standing, so the preparation of clearing around your houses can potentially save your house. Some of the houses were still standing through Sarsfield but most were gone. It was very painful for my cousin as she is a foster carer and has her own kids and grandkids, and that house hasn’t been rebuilt so they’re not living back there. Then COVID-19 hit and that turned the world on its head and everything upside down. There’s been no closure, especially for what First Nations people do as families, like we have been missing all our regular catch-up and gatherings like camping, going to Robinvale, Mildura on the Murray River where my dad’s families are from. When we have family gatherings they come from South Australia, NSW and Victoria and there’s probably 300 families that come down along the Murray River. They’re the kind of things that you miss doing. Funerals have also hit hard as you cannot say goodbye to your loved ones and start the grieving process as it’s too late to say goodbye and start grieving 12 months down the track. I lost my father at the start of COVID-19 and was restricted to a group of 10 at a time. It was a really hard time for us all as we have such a big family and not everyone could say goodbye properly.

The grief, isolation and fear from COVID-19 that has been affecting so many individuals. I am not sure about other people but I now be myself and I’ve actually started drinking alcohol a lot more as a kind of coping mechanism. I used to drink excessive amounts of alcohol around five years ago and when I went through it I tried to kill myself, because I lost my kids, but I’ve got them back now and was referred by the police who helped me get some professional help. I started a local men’s group through GEGAC talking about issues and this really helped me. I was down to drinking to only one night a week on the weekends and I felt good. But since COVID-19 has hit and I find myself more isolated and anxious with nothing to look forward to, I turned to drinking again. I drink probably three four nights a week again now and I don’t want to get back to the way I was when I was younger where I drank seven days a week.

where I need to stand up and be accountable again and start looking out for my family. I can’t wait for the day for that family time. I can’t wait to see my family and give them a cuddle and a kiss, but you just can’t do it. It’s taken away a lot of stuff. It’s taken away camping. It’s taken away fishing. It’s taken away sports activities. I will always be there for my children; from the oldest to the youngest one they all know they can come to me for anything. All of my kids will ring me or look for me when they need me to help with anything, and they know I will be there for the 100 per cent. Even a lot of community members like to sit and have a yarn with me as I can just listen to them and offer my advice, and will even help if they need me to do something. That’s where I get a lot of my satisfaction; that is when you sit down and help someone out, and it might just be a simple little talk. But it helps them so much because they just want to be heard and I’m quite happy to do it.

I can’t wait for it to be over because I don’t want to be drinking like this for the rest of my life. I think this is

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About Occupational Therapy Australia Occupational Therapy Australia (OTA) is the national professional association for occupational therapists in Australia. Our vision is that people and communities are engaged in occupations that bring meaning and purpose to their lives, fostering health, wellbeing, participation and inclusion. For more information about Occupational Therapy Australia, visit otaus.com.au

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