A work in progress.

The world is changing rapidly.

Here I can retreat: go back to a time when the bush was a quiet place, decorated with birdsong.

I set up my spring camp on the shores of beautiful Bung Yarnda, where the still, dark water of the estuary carries me in my little blue kayak to secret places among the tall forest of the shoreline.

The flora changes according to aspect and geology. There are patterns in the shades of green and grey that tell stories of survival and opportunity. The bush is in bloom. Regeneration is the constant.

“I gather seeds as they ripen – wanting to tell a story of this time, this place.”

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I see the various colours of soil where the water has exposed the clay. Where the mud has blackened from the leaching lignans and tannins of the forest. Where deep red may hold evidence of fire. Where white holds a story of calcium. Where yellow might tell of ancient sea levels.

I gather seeds as they ripen – wanting to tell a story of this time, this place. The seeds are matched with the soils of their location, and I make the tiny vessels to contain them.

I don’t know what the future holds. I only know that change is happening fast.

All life on Earth is plant-based. Our long history of textile making reflects this. The traditions of textiles came with us from the Old World to the Australian continent: an ancient land with its own human traditions. We have imposed our domesticity on the people and on every aspect of the land.

My great-grandmother’s crochet, an endless thread, has continued through my hands to tell this story.

The spider, the wasp, the caterpillar and the plants are my neighbours in a shared habitat.

They have all had to move over a little bit to make way for me and my kind.

Together, we continue to spin our yarns and stitch our threads.

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Gippslandia - Issue No. 33

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