Sarah Drummond's Blog, page 2

200 years

 

Press Release * Press Release * Press Release *Press Release * Press Release

For immediate release 21/01/2026

From:

The Office of                                                                    

Sir Wilton Smee-Brough                                                                                  

Chief Protector: Arts                                                                                                

And Culture.                                                                                             

Province of Halcyon Spit

Bicentennial Celebrations Paused UntilFurther Notice

HALCYON SPIT, Australia. The Office of Arts andCulture wishes to advise that provincial organisation underway for the ‘FirstPeoples First’ Bicentenary Celebration of Colonisation is to be paused.Negotiations are currently being held with historians, community groups, artistcollectives, private contractors and first nations people to decide the futureof the Bicentennial.

“It’s been revealed that a small group of radicaldissenters are influencing vulnerable communities to deny the fact thatColonisation of our beautiful province deserves any celebration or a public holidayto recognise the hard-working pioneers,” a spokesperson for Sir WiltonSmee-Brough (OAM) said.

The newly anointed Mayor of Halcyon Spit, the honourableGeoffory Strokes, added “This is why Mums and Dads can’t have nice things likea day off in our busy working lives. Our ancestors came here from over theseas, cleared land and worked hard. The Bicentennial is a time for celebration ofthese people. I hope that those woke lefties will somehow see some sense andrecognise that our story is more relevant than their mid morning lattediscussions.”

Lifelong Halcyon Spit resident and RotaryPresident Alan Spittles said, “Isn’t this all about the Referendum? Some folksare just feeling bitter about the outcome and they’re using it against us now.It’s just sad. It’s a real shame. I can’t have day off for the Bicentennial now.”

The Office of Arts and Culture has advised thatAustralians will not be entitled to a Public Holiday.

 

The Office of

Sir Wilton Smee-Brough

Chief Protector: Arts and Culture

Province of Halcyon Spit

E: WSmeeBrough@cpac.wa.gov.au

P: 0408896382

End Press Release ###

 

“So, the historians are revolting,” Sage said witha sideways twist of her head and a smirk when she read the press release.

“Yeah, they do that,” said Ben, understandingthe subtext. “Difficult to contain that mob. Am I good to go ahead?”

Ben was the sub editor of the Halcyon Heraldbut he was also twenty years junior to Sage, a veteran local journalist andAlan Spittles’ niece. A newbie from the city, Ben’s job was to invent clever headlinesand make sure the ipso factum text was replaced with actual news. He wassupposed to report directly to Jason Edwards, the Herald’s editor. But he alwaysconsulted Sage first. Sage found this touching, a man the same age as her soncoming to her for advice but there was also a strategic edge to him that spikedher gut. He wouldn’t be stuck in Halcyon Spit for long. Not with that face, theDa Vinci perfection of his proportions, and a nose for culture wars. Heading straightto the national broadsheet was Ben.

 

“Uncle Al’s retired.” Sage said. “He doesn’t evenneed a day off. Run it as is,” she instructed him. “Then watch this one playout. Whatever comes next will write itself.” She pointed her index finger atBen. “This is gonna be a doozy.”

 

Winter Solstice

 

Jayden’s Mum had read him Beowulf, that Ladypoem about shallots and the Narnia Chronicles and she knew what happened to thechildren of those men who’d abdicated responsibility and still she got arrestedand locked up.

 

‘The swan roads,’ Jayden said, pointing to thelake. ‘That’s the swan roads.’

‘What, the lake?’ asked Matt.

‘Yes, that’s their roads to winter. They’ll goinland now, to the flooded paddocks. That’s where the swans will go to havetheir babies.’

 

They listened to the swans’ calls as the birdsgossiped together on the lake, getting ready to leave for the winter. The reservoirbegan to glow bright with the moon. And there it was, there she was, thishorned critter, like a moon but female, a Venus reflected in the lake. No, shewas like Kali. Angry and beautiful.

 

‘Oh my god did you see that, Jay?’ Matt grabbedJayden’s arm. He began to cry, again. He was trembling. Matt was weeping nowand then lifting his face to the moon. Jayden remembered when Ratty and Molehad encountered The Piper. She’d read it to him, his mum. She’d said, ‘I’mquite sure Kenneth Graeme was off his nut when he wrote that chapter. But Damn!What a good yarn.’

 

 

 

Winter Solstice Part Four

 

Jayden put his arm around his friend’sshoulders. ‘Mum will really like these shrooms too,’ he said and thenremembered that night out on the water poaching, when he felt scared and smalland cold and his Mum was ranting about poetry or something and about the end ofthe world.

‘Parents, man,’ Jayden said, trying to soundunderstanding but he also knew what he was talking about and he tried tocommunicate this to Matt through his side hug.

Parents who didn’t think, who were so busywith their own dramas that they forgot to pick him and Matt up from footy trainingon that low, misty oval late at night. Parents who privileged their ancient vendettasagainst teachers over the yearly school camp. Parents who fought a landlord’sinjustices in court and then ran some poor bastard down outside a BP servicestation. Fucking parents.

Jayden’s Mum had read him Beowulf, explained the Ladypoem about rogue onions and the Narnia Chronicles and she knew what happened tothe children of those men who’d abdicated responsibility and still she gotarrested and locked up and left her kid alone to deal with the shit..

‘The swan roads,’ Jayden said, pointing to thelake. ‘That’s the swan roads, like in the poem..’

‘What, the lake?’ asked Matt.

The two of them stared at the pond and the birds. Jaydensaw lights behind them but also lights gathering in the swans who squwarked and gossiped on the water.

 

The green leaf letters

One day early in February, at the beginning ofour second summer, eucalypts began dropping their green leaves. Bright greensickles mosaiced the concrete steps to the fire tower where I work. I’d neverseen this before. Normally the track is covered with dead brown leaves.Noticing the green ones was a bit different.

Two days later, I phoned my boss from the towerat the end of the day. ‘I’ve just spent the whole day with a sense of impendingdoom,’ I told her.

‘I don’t even go there,’ the fire officer said.‘Every morning, the crews are organised, FDIs are finalised and then it’s like,whatever happens will happen.’

That day was the hottest ever I’ve spent on thetower. Most of the small schools in the south west shut down due to firedanger. I wish I’d taken a screenshot of the emergency site that day becauselooking at the school shutdowns made me think – this is the future. If thishappens every year from now on, whose parents will be able to go on checkout atIGA? What happens to medical centres when doctors and nurses have to stay home?

The temperature readings in the tower blew outbecause I was sitting on granite, which warms faster than soil, meaning thelittle tower room turned into a hothouse. Sweat soaked my clothes. It was anact of endurance to stay there. I saw a smoke curdle into the sky behind MountLyndsey, mapped it and reported it in.

‘It’s kinda grey blue. I think it must bearound the Hay River area. It’s a weird colour.’

Turns out the smoke came from silage that had spontaneouslycombusted in the heat, knocking out a whole season of feed for the dairy familywho worked there for generations. The smoke’s colour was from all the plastics catchingfire. Silage doesn’t normally self-combust, my farmer son told me. Silage is toowet. Normally.

‘How you going on the granite?’ Marty who alsoworks on the tower was in contact throughout the day. ‘Do you have enoughwater? Use mine if you run out.’

There’s a code between us. We carry our ownstuff up the mountain and we don’t share, especially water at one kilo a litreper trek up the hill. We may text each other when the clock battery needsreplacing or maybe metho for the Trangia but never the water. Believe me. It’sa thing. We never share water.

‘I’m afraid I’ve already crossed that line,’ Imessaged him back. By then I’d drunk four litres of water, poached two litresof Marty’s stash and not even had a wee.

‘Do you want me to bring some more?’ Martyreplied and I thought, bless this man. The only person on Earth thinking of metoday is the other fire tower guy.

Just like prior to a wind storm, the Eucalyptus trees dropped their green leaves in anticipation of the event a few days later. This time, it wasn't a wind storm but an extreme heat event. All of the trees knew this event was coming up. 

They knew what was about to happen.

Winter solstice part 3

 

They drove through the night to Ellis CreekRoad. Jayden looked over to Matt as he was driving. They turned into an orangegravel road. It was jarrah forest, deep and funky with fungi. He could smellthe damp settling in for the night after a day’s meagre sunlight. ‘Close now,yeah?’ He asked Matt. The forest was crowding them now. Jayden could feel itclosing around the car. Forget Matt’s bikie family, the trees were enough. Theystopped the car at the pine plantation growing in the middle of the jarrahforest.

‘This is the spot,’ said Matt.

‘Hey, we’ve got these,’ Jayden handed Matt anMDMA tab. ‘Special occasion. Let’s go picking.’ The two young men stuffed somebeers, rollie papers, water and plastic bags into their backpacks. Jaydenlocked his car and they walked into the pine forest.

The moon was fully over the trees now andmaking shadows of them. Their boots trod quiet upon the pine needles. Snufflingof roosting cockatoos and the scampering of critters up trees. A bird flewoverhead and screeched at four points of the compass. ‘Owlet nightjar,’ saidJayden. ‘How do you know that shit?’ Said Matt. Jayden couldn’t explain that.Too many references to his Mum’s knowledge would be getting weird now.

‘Do you think anyone’s out here?’ said Matt. ‘…oh hey hey here we go, Jay!’ Matt’s whole dank demeanour changed into a caperingCatweasle. In the groove of the trees, he shone his phone torch on a grove oftiny mushrooms. They poked out of the pine needles like tiny fists, all yellowyand nippled in their centres.

As they both stared at the psilocybin mushrooms,Jayden felt his trip coming on. It was almost as though by looking at them,they communicated their properties to him. He bent down to one of them andtapped its cap to loosen the spores into the earth before he picked it. Hisback teeth began thrumming as the MDMA kicked in. He closed his fingers aroundthe stem of the mushroom. He could feel the muscles in his crouch and the moon’sbenevolence. He knew the owlet nightjar was watching him. His balls weretingling and the forest was saying, ‘Best leave now, son!’ The mushroomscreamed as he broke it.

Jayden picked just one magic mushroom. Thenoise of his plastic bag in the moonlight, as he dragged it out of his backpackand put the mushroom inside, felt deafening. Matt was running between channelsof pine trees and shouting in a kind of whisper. ‘Oh my God, Jay, Jay! There’sfucking heaps of them.’

Then Jayden saw lights and he wasn’t sure ifthe lights were behind his own eyes or in front of them. But then Matt wasrunning towards him, his backpack jogging on his back and a white plasticshopping bag swinging to one side. ‘Turn off your light man,’ he said. ‘Gotplenty anyway. Turn off your light.’

Matt was on his own trip, Jayden realised. Butturning off their phone torches was probably a good idea. They walked together upa slope in the pine plantation until they got to a peak where they could seedown to a water reservoir.

Jayden tried. ‘You know Matt, we’ve been matessince like forever.’

The full moon lit up the water.

‘What the fuck,’ Matt said. ‘Dad killedsomeone. He’s going to jail, Jay. He killed someone.’ Matt began to weep.

Jayden put his arm around his friend’sshoulders. ‘Mum will really like these shrooms too,’ he said and then rememberedthat night out poaching, when he felt scared and small and cold and his Mum wasranting about poetry or something and about the end of the world.

 

 

 

 

Winter Solstice Part 2

 

Jayden shivered. ‘We’ve got hours to wait.’ Heswitched on the TV. The opposition leader was saying something about nuclearpower and renewables. His mouth seemed to move free of the rest of his face.‘These arsehats wanna kill us all,’ said Jayden. He’d finally enrolled to voteafter a summer saturated with Friendly Jordies videos.

  Mattshrugged. ‘Turn it up, then Mr Man can’t hear us,’ he said and so Jayden did.

  ‘Maybewe should get a room at the pub,’ he said, ‘and a counter meal by a raging fire.’

  ‘Yeah,maybe some old geezer will play an Irish fiddle and we’ll all sing and raiseour beers.’ Matt chortled. He was starting to warm up. Whatever was botheringhim during the drive seemed to fritter into this more recent drama. ‘Morelikely is the local chapter will get wind of us being here and run us out oftown.’

   Theysat for a few hours on the double bed, watching culture wars and other warsplay out on the TV. Jayden had a bag of kangaroo biltong and Matt, two bags ofSamboy chips and their makings were several tiny sandwiches which theygainfully imagined was a complete food combo.

  ‘Thisis bizarre,’ Matt said at one stage, ‘watching the news on telly. Like, youhave no choice about what comes next. You can’t just click on it or click pastit. It’s …’ here he held his palms, fingers outstretched, in front of his face‘ … it’s just like right there you know? Right in your face. Kidsgetting blown up. Homeless. No choice.’ He leapt up and stalked around theroom. ‘Let’s go outside for a smoke.’

  Themoon was rising above the karris when they went outside to the car. Matt hadchopped up the weed during the drive so Jayden packed the first cone, filledthe juice bottle with water and handed it to Matt. ‘Here you go, now chill thefuck out Matt.’

  Ataround midnight, they drove away from the mill house, heading south towards theEllis Creek Road. Jayden looked sideways at Matt. ‘Want some M?’

  ‘Fuckyeah.’ Matt was looking at his phone. ‘This guy Mr Man has just put us up onFacey.’

  ‘What?How did you find him?’ Jayden’s stomach stirred, turning.

  ‘Wasn’tthat hard. Had a look around town. Who’s renting out. I’ll read it to youright? Think he knows my Dad.’

  ‘Wellthat makes sense.’

  ‘Why doyou say that?’ Matt looked at his phone again. ‘Why would you even think heknows Dad?’

  ‘Hejust had this …vibe. Like your Dad. Sorry Bro. It’s something I thought when Isaw him.’ Jayden hated this. Pale karri trunks flashed by in the headlights ofhis tinny car and he wished he could slow, pull over the car and make all thisright.

  ‘Ok. Here’swhat he said.’ Matt read from his phone. ‘“Just got a couple of young punk pickers turn up at my house. Anyonein?” ‘

  ‘Jesus!What’s his user name?’

  ‘ShroomDaddy! Ha ha ha. What a fucking idiot.’ Matt started poking at his phone.

  ‘Canyou call your Dad?’ Jayden asked. A four wheel drive overtook them, whitedashes on the road glaring in the headlights. It slowed ahead of them on thebend.

  ‘Ican’t call Dad,’ Matt said. He was really shaking now. Jayden tried toconcentrate on the road. Dark shapes of micro bats flittered across hiswindscreen. They crossed the other bridge that demarcated the town, a thwompas the little Toyota crossed the bridge.

  ‘I reallyfucking love poaching’, his mother had told Jayden, on a night when they werealone on a river, sitting in a tinny with several metres of hidden net beneaththem. Drowned corks and lead weights trained on subterfuge to the bottom.Jayden was ten years old and his Mum was training him, even then. ‘Look. Lookaround you! Everything is honest her,’ she whispered, her black curls blowingaround her head, ‘You’re on Earth. There’s no cure for that. That’s theplaywright, you know the guy?’ She began pulling up her illegal nets and pilingthem into the deck of the boat. Jayden could remember her sudden, angry brownhands moving as fish fell all over the checkerplate and her unmeshing fish intoboxes. ‘There is no cure, son. We’re all fucked,’ she said. ‘Still, ain’t thismoon alright?’

  ‘Themoon’s coming up,’ Jayden said.

  ‘Dad …Dad,’

  ‘Whathappened Matt?’

  ‘Dad.Last night.’ Matt collapsed into his phone. Jayden checked him as he wasdriving.

  ‘What?What?’

  ‘Dad,he drove into this bloke last night. He fucking killed him. He was at a BPservice station. He saw this guy, he swerved and then he killed him. They sayit was deliberate.’

  ‘Jesusfuck. Okay Matt. Let’s stop. We need to talk about this.’ Jayden was putting onhis indicator.

  ‘No no,no!Keep going.’

 ‘Honestly, it’s your Dad.’

  ‘MyDad, yeah. My fucking Dad.’ Matt shook his head. He was still looking at hisphone. .’Let’s go to Ellis Creek Road.’

 

Winter Solstice Part 1

 

Three hours out of the city and the sun sittinglow behind them, Jayden and Matt entered the karri country. There they were,one minute driving past paddocks and scrub and next minute Jayden’s littlehatchback was enveloped in blonde, serried ranks of the enormous trees. Somevalleys the sun now failed to reach and these places were dark, the sky closedover with feathered, crown shy canopy.

  ‘It’sclaustrophobic ey,’ Jayden commented.

  ‘Intiger country now,’ Matt said. He’d been quiet on the trip south, not hisnormal cocky self, a lot of time spent looking at the blue screen of his phone,finding murder ballads on Spotify or glaring out the window.

  Theycrossed the river into the old timber town.

  ‘Placeis just up here.’ Matt had the maps app open on his phone and Cave’s sombretone was replaced by a chirpy female voice: In 300 metres, turn left ontoSheffield Street. ‘Dunno why we even need an AirBnB, Jay. We’ll be out allnight anyway.’

  ‘Promisedmy Mum.’ Jayden didn’t mind admitting this to his best mate. Twenty four andstill beholden to his Mum but Matt knew why and didn’t tease him.

  It wasan old mill house, one of many lined up like a little town, opposite theabandoned timber mill. Green shade cloth flapped listlessly against weatherboardwalls, presumably to block the afternoon sun on hot days. Smoke curled out of asteel chimney. The house looked like a rental and Jayden wondered how that evenworked. He stepped onto the veranda and knocked on the zed door. Matt stayed inthe car.

  A manstepped out so quickly he must have been waiting on the other side of the door.‘Are you two the pickers?’ He looked at Jayden and then to Matt in the car. Hisface was curiously soft and hard, a criss cross of scars on one russet eyebrowbut his skin pale, like he’d stayed indoors all his life and still managed toget beaten up. About as pretty as a ditch, Jayden’s Mum would say.

  ‘Pickers?Nah,’ Jayden turned to Matt, avoiding the man’s raptor stare. ‘We’re headingsouth. Hopetoun tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay.Just don’t want any pickers stayin’ here. Fucken parasites. Come on, I’ll showyou the room.’

  Nowthat the sun had set on the shortest day, the cold crept out of the earth. Theroom they’d paid for online was out the back of the house, a veranda that hadbeen converted into a sleepout using mismatched corrugated iron. It was cleanand freezing cold. A double bed, a small white plastic blow heater and anancient television.

  ‘Toiletand bathroom through here,’ the man gestured to what used to be the back door. ‘Andif you want to make a coffee in the morning, use the kitchen.’ For some reason,he reminded Jayden of Matt’s Dad. The way he spoke, a man who didn’t botherwith menace to be unsettling.

  The manlooked at his phone. ‘Matt and Jayden,’ he said but still didn’t introducehimself. ‘Have a good night boys,’ and then disappeared into the house. Mattdropped his backpack and stared around him.

  ‘Whatthe fuck? Have you locked up the car?’

  ‘Let’s justhave a cone first.’

  ‘Not inhere mate. He’ll smell it. Also, I asked if there were two beds but there’sonly one.’ Matt’s gaze around the room and stopped at the wooden chair with asingle towel folded on the seat. ‘I don’t mind sharing a bed with you, mybrother but I’m not sharing a fucking towel.’ He stuck his hands deep into hishoodie pockets.

  Jaydenstooped to flick the switch for the heater. Nothing happened. ‘Heater doesn’twork,’ he said unnecessarily and then tried the TV. ‘Maybe the power’s off outthe back here.’ From under the back door there was a thin strip of yellow lightand then a wisp of wood smoke from woodstove inside. There was a knock from theinside of the back door.

  Thedoor opened inwards and the man stood, framed by light, holding a stack oftowels. He came in and set them down on the chair. ‘Need some extra towels, ey?’He went back inside the house and came out with an extension cord and powerboard. ‘Use this for the heater and telly.’

  Afterhe’d left again, Jayden and Matt stared at each other.

  ‘D’youreckon he’s got a camera in here?’ Matt said.

 

Solstice

Hiya bloggers. My Auntie recently asked me what the hell is going on with A WineDark Sea, because I haven't posted anything since February fire tower days earlier this year. I'm very aware that this kind of 'sorry I haven't posted for a while' can be the death rattle for many blogs. Not the case here. I've been taking a break because I haven't had many funny or entertaining stories to tell in a season when West Australians have had the driest summer on written record. We've had mass tree deaths and water carting politics going on between towns. On one day, most of the schools in the south west were shut down due to fire risk. During this period, I haven't felt able to contribute in any kind of meaningful way to the blogosphere and it was my Auntie who finally bailed me up about it last week. (Thanks Auntie!)

So, yes I'm going to write about this period. Maybe it's important to document this time of the anthropocene. It's raining now. Sheets of rain have been hammering us all day. The swans have left the inlet ('They didn't even leave a note!' said my Mum).

Aghh!

 

For those (two) of you who are interested in the outcomes of my investigation into the Youngs Siding white ant signs, here is an update.

No it wasn't sign posts to a bush doof. Apparently it's about a long standing feud between tow boat operators on the inlet and this is the latest iteration in a thirty year war. It's odd that this battle erupted at such a quiet inlet but there you go. 

The Broke Inlet Towing Company has long held the rights to towing all broken boats to shore. That's Yowie CEO. He's the guy. He'll save you and salvage your boat. Unfortunately, Yowie was not present recently when a boatsman in distress asked another party to tow him into shore. Yowie, in his most recent counselling session, reflected that his feelings were hurt, that he felt replaced and white-anted by this rogue towing company called the Youngs Siding White Ant Recovery and Salvage..

This problem all started with the Black Pig Racing Club in the 1990s and an annual race that should've been on January 1st but usually ended up being contested somewhere in September, as no one could get their shit together before then. Are you still with me? Good. 

In 1998, the Blacker family bought a 50 horsepower jet boat (Holden red motor, go the Blackers! Fuck I love that sound) but everyone else thought this was rather bad form because they were racing against the Blackers in dinghies with 25 or 15HP two strokes that sounded suspiciously like lawn mowers. That's the moment when the bad blood came in.

So ... the Blackers towing a boat out of the inlet and Yowie from the Broke Inlet Towing Company's feelings about that particular incident have rejuvenated the old war over the last few weeks. Those white ant signs are a bold move from the Blackers, and a raised middle finger to the status towing quo.

How are we going here? When I tried to explain the saga to my son, Stormboy replied, 'I'm not sure how to respond to that one but someone has dedicated a lot of time to those signs.'

Yes, there has been some effort and thought put in. I find the whole episode quite beautiful.

 

 

'Knows a cool vet'

Today I was driving home and all along the Inlet gravel track were these signs.

 

Some were sticky-taped to trees and others were attached to signs and flapping in the late afternoon wind. They all were made on A4 paper and somebody had obviously made quite a lovely stencil of a white ant and then sprayed the white paper with blue spray paint. Road directions to a bush doof perchance?

Bush doofs happen out this way occasionally and the spotter pilot mentioned today that there were a lot of cars around the area. But then I was nearly home and saw this sign outside Yowie's hut.

I sent a message to my son Stormboy, who used to live at Youngs Siding (apologies to the apostrophe police), about two hundred kilometres away. 'Do you know anything about this?'

'He's wearing his heart on his sleeve. I like him. Knows a cool vet ha ha.'

So many questions like ... how do tissues solve white ant issues?