30th December 2013
Oh, what bliss to wake up this morning and hear the wind outside while I am in my luxurious little room. It makes one feel quite smug until I think about the fact that I came out here to camp and what I am doing now is certainly not tenting. Oh well, at least I had a good night’s sleep last night and the toilet is much closer for the middle of the night call out.
Yesterday afternoon I took a drive up into the ‘real’ bush camping area of Spear Creek. I sat for some time in amongst the beautiful old trees in the dry creek bed. It is difficult to imagine water flowing through the creek but it is obvious that it does from time to time as there is debris caught in various places along the way.
As I sat giving myself over to the energy of the land I heard voices drifting on the air. It is true that we leave an energetic ‘footprint’ where ever we go in life. Here at Spear Creek there are many such energies, however the strongest are those of the aborigines of old. Their spirits linger in this place where they lived many years ago. I see camp fires burning, children playing, women chattering while they work, men working pieces of wood with stone axes and flint knives. A peaceful and contented scene. I feel that in other areas of the property there has been unrest. I do not know the history of the area but I know from within that this is quite a significant place in the indigenous history of the area.
I drive back through the gate, feeling very honoured to have been given an insight into this wonderful place. As I stop to open the gate I hear my Dad’s voice telling me that you always leave a gate as you find it. Never pass through a closed gate without closing it again after you. This became second nature to me and my siblings at a very early age but not everyone had the same education. I see that the gate on the walking track had been opened and closed but the latch had not been fastened. Some people have obviously not experienced just how clever horses really are.
My next stop is the shearing shed. The first thing that hit me was the smell. How familiar that was! Lanoline in its most natural form. Somehow a shearing shed always smells dusty also. As I walk through I remember playing in the shearing shed on our family property, the holding pens where the sheep were kept awaiting selection by the shearer, the chutes down which the sheep were released after they had been shorn. Outside in the yards there are a couple of sheep, I wonder are they there for slaughtering, crutching or what the reason is. I see a stand of lamb marking cradles where the young male sheep are held to be castrated, once again the memories rise of days in the yards as a child, when castrating, tail docking and ear marking were the day’s activities. Those stories are worthy of their own telling somewhere down the track.
The shed is on a rise on the property and the views are wonderful. One side are the Flinders Ranges and the other side the ocean at Port Augusta. Not far from the shed there is a house. What a glorious place to live.
I return to the deck at the front of my unit which juts out into the bush. What a pleasure it was to sit out there and listen to the Kookaburras laughing at me. A barbeque to cook my sausages on while I enjoy my evening drink, life doesn’t get much better. Well, at this stage I think the only thing that could actually make it better would be to have someone special by my side who understands my love for the bush and how I will forever be called to places like this to restore the balance within… the serenity.
To be continued…
Indigo's Musings 