Kerry Tolson's Blog, page 3

Fall into the "Purple Snow' of the Grafton Jacaranda Festival

by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
Grafton Jacaranda Festival
As the mercury hits the 35.6degs we kick up our heels and skip through the piles of purple snow that scatters across the parklands, sidewalks and lawns in the historical country town of Grafton, located on the North Coast of NSW.

Above us a purple rain sprinkles down and flashes against the bluest of blue skies.
The famous Jacaranda trees - over 6,5000 of them! - are in full lilac bloom. 

And wherever you look people are taking joy in 'splashing' through the petals. 

We watch a girl resplendent in a wedding dress throw herself into the purple carpet. Couples cuddle together in the mauve masses and groups of picnickers lunch in an almost 'fairy-land' scene.
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Book Review: Penguin Bloom.

by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
"We are all so much more than the sum of our fragile parts. 
We are all our journeys, hopes and dreams, clad in mortal wrapping paper."
Oh my, what a beautiful, breathtaking, heartfelt book this is -
                           Penguin Bloom "The odd little bird who saved a family"
Exquisite beyond words.  I was given this book by a friend to 'have a look through'  and upon first turn of the page I devoured its heartbreaking but uplifting story of family whose 'world' was crushed and changed in the instant of a breath.
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Teasing out the secrets of a Busby's Flat bloke.

by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
One of the things I absolutely love about being a part of a writing community is  hearing and discovering the stories that dwell in the most unlikely places, and then having the privilege of watching those stories unfurl as the writer goes through the process of creating narrative, capturing the characters essence and building an image of place; bringing it altogether to be told and shared and to inspire.   I feel incredibly blessed to be involved in a writers group with wonderful creative, talented writers of which one such author - Meg Heggen is not only accomplished but inspiring. 

Meg is a biographer and memoirist; writing emotive, thought provoking, absorbing life stories of people who sometimes feel there is no story to tell.  Last night was the launch of Meg's latest book (her 10th I believe)  -


Geoffrey Hannah :
Never a less likely bloke.
From Relinquished Child to Renaissance Man. Read more

Getting high on the sunshine of Broome.

by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
 A little Vidpic of my recent trip to this stunning little spot in the Aussie sunshine.
Images by Kerry Tolson.   2016

Music:  "High on the sunshine"  by Kelly Brock (under licence of 300Monks)

Take a Judge, a Queen and a scribbling line of writers and what to you get? Corrugated Lines: A Festival of Words.

by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com Even as I write this, I’m still pinching myself on the arm and telling myself “it really did happen”.  I’ve got the photos to prove it. The programme is sitting on my desk - my name is right there in it.  I've even got the drinks bill reminding me I spent nineteen dollars on a cocktail – twice!  and yet I’m waiting to wake up and discover it was all a dream -
                                                    a beautiful, wonderful, exciting dream. 

It was an absolute honour and privilege to be invited to the 2016 Corrugated Lines: A Festival of Words – Broom’s readers and writers festival, now in its fifth year.

And I felt so incredibly blessed and humbled to share the programme listing with esteemed and inspiring writers such as Zohl de’ Ishtar, Mari Lourey, Emilie Collyer, Andrew Burke, Dr. Peter Stride, Jacqueline Wright, Juliet Middleton, Antoine Bloemen and the incredible Pat Lowe, among many others.    

Infused with  stories from the Kimberley and across Western Australia at its heart, to have my little book about Nepal included in this festival was indeed a privilege.
The organisers and volunteers who put together this amazing programme deserve bouquets of accolades and congratulations heaped upon them, as the festival was a feast of ideas mixed with thought provoking discussions, conversations and  stories to hold you captive and poems and plays to whirl you away.

The creative inspiration that flowed from the sessions energised both the mind and the soul and is sure to stay with me for many years to come.

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Sweeping in for some Broome time.

by Kerry Tolson @kerrytolson.com
Part one. . .
“I swear I’m going to have a blister on my butt” I say to Mal as we sway back and forth, the leather rubbing uncomfortably hot against my 3/4pants and calves. “Forget butt, the ‘boys’ are copping a beating” Mal groans back. 

I hear him push himself up off the saddle, then settle back down. 
A golden hue blanches over us and as I look down onto the sands, I’m struck with the vague feeling I have seen a scene similar to this before - long stilted legs silhouetted in a palette of burnt orange, carmine and rust – although it was elephants and not camels.  And just like the Salvador Dali painting this image conjurers up, I feel as if I’m in a surreal moment right now, surrounded by dreams and creative energy. As the plane sweeps down into a velvety green oasis fringed by garnet red and brilliant turquoise I hear someone say “Welcome to Broome time.” I give a little giggle; back home broom time would be swishing dust balls around the floor, but here it is the sweeping of azure waves, camel footprints padding across silvery sand, a swirl of liquid amber against golden sunsets and an ancient Kimberley dreamtime whispering into the ethos.

I’m eager to get busy with the Broome. I have come to Broome to take part in town's 5th writers and readers festival, the Corrugated Lines: A Festival of Words that will be happening over the weekend of 5th,6th, and 7th August.  And as soon as Mal and I step down onto the tarmac we are immediately immersed into Broome’s big heart.  Everything in Broome appears to be BIG –  from the wide expansive countryside to the tropical tides that are the world’s largest. It is home to the largest ‘perfect pearl’ in the world – a pink-hued near-golf-ball sized jewel; the biggest sitting crystal Buddha in the southern hemisphere; the longest stairway to heaven aka the Staircase to the Moon; the oldest open air garden picture theatre in the southern hemisphere and after dark, some of the most enormous meals I’ve ever seen served up.

Here Cable Beach stretches forever and is filled with characters who exude big personalities whether they be driving along its sands, ripping off their gear for a skinny dip in the almost flat ocean waters or wandering the historic streets in their wide brim bush hats.  

(And then there’ was the hipster sporting the bushiest beard, rippling muscles and tiniest bright fluro pink ‘budgie smugglers’ that had everyone talking! Well those we shared camel tethering with that is) Mal and I arrived in late afternoon with our friends and after throwing our bags into our gorgeous Airbnb guest house (we won the jackpot with this one – it was stunning) we all headed straight for the shimmering hue of Broome’s pearl – Cable Beach –  just in time to soak up the golden rays of one of the most exquisite sunsets to ever lay eyes on.  This is something not to be missed for once that sun kisses the horizon, for a split second life stands still. The sky turns an incredible orange then suddenly everything becomes a silvery hue of blue.   The next morning is a juggle of busyness.  I’m up early for a stroll back down to cable beach where it’s yoga stretchers, joggers and puppies enjoying the sands, then a quick stop to the Zookeepers Store for an amazing coffee and an out-of-this-world croissant - it was like nothing I’d ever tasted before and later I found out that it may have been a kronutz (a croissant crossed with a donut. . . I think!?!?) of which this place is famous for.  I don’t dally about too much, even though I’m supposed to be on ‘Broome Time’ as I have an interview with Hutzy at the local radio station, Spirit FM 102.9, then it’s time for some serious sightseeing.  For a small town, it packs a big punch - there is an incredible lot to see.  We start with a wander around Chinatown where quite a few of the original buildings from the pearling days remain. Retaining their touch of vintage-rustic, the beautiful old corrugated iron sheds have been given the trendy treatment, with open rafter awnings adorned in colourful silk Chinese lanterns, big timber casement windows – some in fiery red- and plenty of wrought iron trim.  

The pearling days are also still here too, with pearl shops everywhere and I am in heaven.  Pearls are my all-time favourite . . . er… seed.  According to some websites pearls are not gems – some call them ‘hard objects’ or seeds or organic matter, but I prefer what Broome’s tourist brochure calls them - the queen of gems and the gem of queens.   A must-stop for anyone visiting Broome is the magnificent Tourist Information Centre, a building and service to rival any TIC in any major city – the building is stunning – and like everything else in Broome has an incredibly unique story to tell. 
            It fell out of the sky!
                                              Yes, seriously!
This is the actual plane that became an information centre. Image reproduced with permission and supplied by Geoff Goodall http://www.goodall.com.au/photographs...  Back in 1974 a Garuda DC3 suffered engine failure and belly-landed into mud at Broome - thankfully all the passengers were ok-  and Broome Shire acquired the plane, restored it and sat it on the outskirts of the town where for the next decade it played home to the Broome Visitors Centre until visitor numbers became way too great for the fuselage area to service – apparently people were lining up down the street to get in.  For the first two years of its service, the bureau saw over 25,000 tourist climb the ramp stairs. Today it serves over 1000 people per day (during the peak season). The other wonderful ‘shopping’ thrill of Broome (for me anyway) is the art galleries -  again I’m in heaven…. Though Mal is mightily worried when he sees how many galleries there are and how many paintings I’m loving!  Broome and the Kimberley are filled with awe-inspiring creative souls.  I didn’t know where to start first – the Short Street Gallery where Helicopter Tjungurrayi was having a solo exhibition (don’t you just love his name? – he was given this as child when he needed to be airlifted from the extremely remote community of Balgo), the work was stunning and evoked images of a Great Sandy Desert. 

Or  the Broome Gallery, where resident artist James Down was painting up a visual feast to set the imagination racing about his subjects lives.   The swirls of vibrant colour mixed with hilarity and spontaneity offered a glimpse into the everyday life of Broome. Then there was  the incredible works of Nadeen Lovell who was exhibiting in the grand-dame of Broome buildings – the Old Pearler’s (Quarters) House; this property is an architectural oeuvre in itself – here the ballroom was alive with incredible surreal images of the Bungle Bungles and the Kimberley, with the ultimate piece on display, the 16metre panoramic “Beehives of the Bungle Bungle” which just has to be seen to be believed.  This amazing piece of art, which portrays the Bungle Bungle Massif from Echidna Chasm, to Piccaninny Creek (some 45 kms) took -it could be said- over 18years to create, including the time Nadeen spent walking, exploring and gaining an insight into the spirit of the land. 
And then there was Gallery Sobrane, again my mind takes flight as I lose myself in the lightness of her birds – the brolgas, the cockatoos, and the fairy wrens – they enticingly tease for you to reach out to stroke their soft feathers (but I wouldn’t dare and don’t recommend!) and cheekily twinkle their eyes at you. Mal decides we need to check out the art of nature and off we trek to do the Jetty to Jetty trail, taking us along the coastal line of Roebuck Bay and into the cultural and spirit of the Yawuru people – the traditional owners of this land.   Planning to start at Streeters Jetty, an attack of the midges saw us scrambling helter skelter for both the aeroguard and dryer ground – away from the mud flats.  We wander along Dampier Terrace, take a quick wander around the old pearl luggers – where two of the last surviving, fully rigged pearling luggers are on show;  go past Sheba Lane – once a street of opium dens and noodle shops, now upmarket apartments, then up Kennedy Hill where beautiful views of Roebuck Bay and onwards could be gazed upon.
I notice that the hill has a smattering of concrete slabs and a derelict house or two but take little notice of them, later, as I write this, I’m horrified to learn that only as far back as last year – 2015- this area was home to some of Broome’s most poverty-stricken residents; the community who lived here were living in conditions one could not imagine would even exist in a developed country, let alone Australia, and according to news reports when the WA (Barnett) Government reduced funding for remote communities, the homes here were deemed uninhabitable, the residents moved out and the buildings. demolished.  No new homes were supplied for these people – according to the news reports, Broome has a homeless rate of 7%. . of which 90% are First Peoples. Further along we find a beautiful sculpture, a woman rising from waves with a pearl shell in her hand.  The inscription reads that it is to honour the contribution women made to the pearling industry – the plaque is all very neat and nice in description.  On closer look it shows that the woman is possibly pregnant which piques my curiosity – why would the ‘woman’ be rising from waves with a shell if she was with child?  A further read into the background of the statue has me (once again) sadden. This beautifully and sensitively sculptured piece commemorates the bravery and fortitude of the local women who were blackbirded and forced to dive for pearls back in the 1800’s, many who did so while pregnant, with stones tied to their ankles (as well as being tied to dinghies).  The statue also honours the onshore women who worked in the pearling industry. The site that the statue sits is also important in that it marks the spot where wives, mothers and children would come to see the luggers return and pray the flags would be fully raised, not at half-mask which indicated that men had died at sea. 
Across from the pearl statue is a park featuring beautiful boabs and twisting palms – both types of trees are prolific in Broome, but it is the boabs I find incredibly majestic and sublime, Mal loves them because they remind him of stubbies – beer stubbies that is,  the perfect tipple for Broome. It’s hot! 

This park is also home to the war memorial and at the very end a large carved granite box - a sea trunk - dedicated to William Dampier (a former pirate turned commander of the Royal Navy warship HMS Roebuck). 
And strangely enough, despite half of Broome in some way being named after Dampier and or his boats, it turns out Dampier never step foot in Broome or even close to it, not unless 200kms away would be considered ‘close enough’!  But then come to think of it, the next town south of Broome is some 600kms away (Port Hedland) so 200ks really is, just down the road. . . We finally reach Town Jetty after two hours of wandering, and find ourselves a seat overlooking the gorgeous Roebuck Bay where dugongs, turtles and dolphins dally about in the pristine, calm waters.  Today we see none, but not for trying.  Later in the afternoon we are lucky enough to see whales breaching out from Gantheaume Rocks, but for now all we glimpse is a deckchair fisherman who’se not trying very hard. 

Behind us on the small hill sits a cemetery with some of the best views going.  The pioneers really knew how to ‘see’ the rest of Broome time out.  As the day draws to an end, we find ourselves back down at Cable Beach, where the northern end looks more like a parking lot than a glorious stretching-forever beach with all the 4WD’s taking up spots to watch the sunset.  We’ve decided to do the most ‘must do’ of Broome – Ride a camel.  Earlier when we booked our camel ride at the tourist centre, we had been asked our weight and upon answering, I received a look of doubtfulness and a ‘sorry did you say xxxkilos?’ - and no I'm not going to tell you – at the time I wasn’t sure if they were having a dig but upon arriving, our camel train driver gave us all the once up and down and directed us to specific camels. Ours was Sunny, a strapping handsome chap who just wanted to chill out and gave not a care in the world when we clumsily heave our bulks onto his back – unlike some of the other camels who let their riders know in no uncertain gargling terms that they were feeling the weight.
                                     Yes Elvis, I talking about you 
                                                                                man, can you whinge! The sun kisses the horizon and the sky turns deep sorrel, Mal raises himself once more in the saddle and I too do a little shift, in Broome Time  an hour on a camel can feel like a eon as the padding of enormous pads sink into the sand. Finally we reach the end, do the ‘farkk I’m going to faceplant the back of a camels head’ look  as the camel sinks to its knees and we ‘fall’ ungainly off.  Mal walks with a touch of bowleg and I can barely move, hunched at the waist from the continuous swaying. I make a mental note to join the greet-the-sun-yoga beach goers in the morning and get some flexibility back into the ol bones. 
The stagger up the beach needs to be done with a touch of dash as a conga line of 4WD’s make way to the entrance, their lights blinding us at times when we stop to look back at the dying embers of the day – it’s like a freeway as they roar past and in a small way the noise and smell takes away from the magical moments we’ve just experienced. 

This however is quickly forgotten when we settle down to a cocktail and raise it to heavens as the deep indigo blue seeps into a wave of sparkles.

Salt and Ore, red dirt dreams. Port Hedland.

A drifting of red covers the horizon and slowly blankets the scene into muted tones.  It could be a Eugene von Guerard painting from colonial times, the rust sprinkling across a greyish blue sky, then forming a more solid brushstroke to the ground blending the red with ochre and tan with patches of silvering green and white. In the distance a ribbon of brown cuts into the landscape and trails towards large oxidised bulks.  For as far as we can see it’s flat, stretching endlessly, stunning yet harsh, a place where the dreaming is of red dirt dollars. We are standing on a small hillock watching an approaching dust storm roll towards us and the township of Port Hedland and its satellite sister South Hedland.  This is pure mining country, the red dust mingles and swirls with iron ore power plumes and a fine film covers everything tinging it pink.  Even the flocks of corellas here look as if they need a good scrubbing, their feathers, normally a smooth creamy white, have a muddy tarnish with a touch of fraying edging.  The dust storm passes quickly and a new canvas unfolds, brilliant blue, deep cobalt, emerald greens, soft mauves, stark black and a dazzling white all shine out under a blazing sun. 
We’ve come to Port Hedland as a side trip to my appearance at the Corrugated Lines: A Festival of Words in Broome.  Although 600 odd Km’s away from Broome and its multitude of things to do, I have been trying for close to 6years to get to Port Hedland to visit friends who lived there. Now I was here and I’m loving it. 
I have been told that this place is nothing more than a mining town with a whopping great round-the-clock working harbour that loads massive ore ships on an endless rote – out to sea the ships line the horizon as they wait in line for their turn -   but I discover it has quirky street art and sculptures, an array of  aquatic and birdlife and the most stunning rock formations that drop into the sea – not to mention that at this time of the year there is a glorious splash of yellows, purples and crimsons of the wildflowers. There is also the most bizarre, unexpected, sight I never expected - a massive hill of white behind the town’s main street that looks like a mountain of fresh snow but is actually salt.  In the sunlight it sparkles.  It can also be seen from just about all points of Port Hedland and from across the bay – it’s that large. There is another, even more enormous salt mountain just outside the town, along with acres of dove-blue salt ponds with tips of crystal white. 
Our friend takes us on a personal tour of the town and its industrial sites, we are shown to the various ore loading facilities where trains at length of 2.8kms long unload their 180tonne bins at a rate of 90seconds per pair, the massive conveyer belts that roll for tens of kilometres across the land to the port, trundling the ore in one long cobalt and deep red line,  the processing plants which resemble rusting skeletons, yet come night-time are ablaze in orange lights and take on a mesmerising, almost festive, aura. We visit the harbour and watch the bulks load – it takes a full twenty-four hours to load and turn around, as one ship loads, sinks to its water line and guided out by a flotilla of tugs, another takes its place. Just off the port we see seventeen ships lined ready to come it and are told that because this day is a maintenance day at one of the processing plants there wasn’t many ships in that day. There are three mining companies in town, each with their own plants and train lines, this is place that never sleeps in a land of ancient dreamtime.
We wander around the coastal line stopping at the many parks to find the quirky sculptures made of woven iron and steel. Beyond the palms rock formations evoking images of fairy chimneys and ancient pipes lead down to sand dunes and banks. They look delicate and easily breakable, but in reality are hard layers of ancient lace.  We stroll along the soft sand, hoping to catch a glimpse of turtles but it isn’t quite the right time of year.  Port Hedland has a healthy population of nesting turtles and a highlight for visiting tourists is the Tea with the Turtles.  Unfortunately, we have missed this weeks cuppa with them – we’re only here for two days.  The water is enticing but I’m not game to paddle thinking about the possibility of sharks and crocs. 
Lunch is at the gorgeously swank Esplanade Hotel and I’m surprised how affordable and fresh it is, considering the extensive food miles the produce needs to travel to get here.  My friend tells me how hard it is to grow fresh food here, especially in 50degree summers, that there is no butcher let alone an abattoirs and any consideration of a dairy is crazy fanciful.  Absolutely everything is trucked to here, nothing but iron ore and salt is produced in this red dirt town. At the Dome Cafe I get a fabulous barista-made coffee that would rival any trendy city café and I wander around the beautiful ambient surrounds, the Dome has been cleverly blended to a 1907 historic house – the former District Medical Officers' Quarters - in perfect simpatico with what appears to be many of the original features beautifully kept. A poke around the various rooms shows a very creative hub as I discover a meeting going on in one of the rooms and in another, a woman typing furiously away – a fellow writer perhaps?   
We stop off at the local sports stadium – Wanangkura Stadium - the building is a piece of modern artwork in itself with its curvature walls of glassed cubes in deep blue and brilliant orange.  At night these cubes seem to morph into a   silvery glow - it looks incredible! The next morning, we have a late start, I have a few ‘authorly’ duties – a radio interview with ABC Kimberley promoting my session at the writers festival and then a trip to the South Hedland library to say hello and drop off some copies of my book “Buddhas, Bombs and the Babu”. 

I’m delighted to find that the library is a bustling little hub.

Then our delightful Miles’ Magic Moments tour (as we’ve jokingly dubbed our friends sightseeing-show around PH) continues with a drive out to Finucane Island to take in the craggy cliffs jutting out to the sea.

We top this off with a sunset picnic and drinks and watch the tide beaten rippled cliffs catch ‘fire’ under a blazing orange-domed orb that sinks into a golden-topaz tinted ocean.

Corrugated Lines: A Festival of Words

Broome's Readers and Writers Festival
August 5th - 7th 2016
Here it is, the official program for the upcoming writers festival at Broome.  I'm ever so excited to be listed here beside these talented and engaging  storytellers, wordsmiths, poets, playwrights and  musicians.  

Click on the program cover to check out the amazing line-up.  

                                                                                                            Ooh and there I am on page two.

Why it's not a crime to celebrate the long list.

 As a writer who wants to share the stories in my being, to have them read by others, find a home in someone’s imagination, thoughts, heart even, any little accolade bestowed on that story is an exciting ‘event’ to celebrate and so upon opening my email this morning it was an absolute delight to be greeted with the news that my dear friend and writing mentor – Jan Pearson - had been long-listed for the very prestigious Davitt Awards hosted by the Sisters in Crime Australia association.  
Yes I know it’s a LONG-LISTED announcement but even just making the long-list for this award is quite an achievement and therefore, I am very proud of my friend and her book for making it onto that list. Read more

July 15th, 2016

As a writer who wants to share the stories in my being, to have them read by others, find a home in someone’s imagination, thoughts, heart even, any little accolade bestowed on that story is an exciting ‘event’ to celebrate and so with upon opening my email this morning it was absolute delight to be greeted with the news that my dear friend and writing mentor – Jan Pearson - had been long-listed for the very prestigious Davitt Awards hosted by the Sisters in Crime Australia association.  
Yes I know it’s a LONG-LISTED announcement but even just making the long-list for this award is quite an achievement and therefore, I am very proud of my friend and her book for making it onto that list. Read more