Her Place Goodwood
The emus formed a welcoming guard as I turned across the creek,
I’d come to Goodwood station for Her Place, a writer’s bush retreat.
Could we write? Should we write? How do we start the process?
What is your dream? What do you want? Come share now, do confess.
The waterhole became the inspiration that we needed,
Trees and birds, breeze and water, all aspects to be heeded.
The shooters and the dogs we passed, all dozing in the sun,
Bemused by this women’s gathering, the talk, the quiet, the fun.
Biographies and children’s tales, one of the swinging sixties,
A traveller’s story, reflected glory, even one of pixies.
Different stories, different tales – all needing to be told.
All are valuable, all can dream. Just let the words unfold.
So thank you, Stephanie, for the chance to give our thoughts an airing,
We’ve made a start, we’ll follow through and tell you how we’re faring.
Randel Greene, White Cliffs
FEEDBACK EXTRACTS
– I realised that the thing I value most – ‘my creative streak’ – has been rediscovered and it is important to have that balance back in my life
– met and made good friends. My writing will be clearer, more concise, with insight into what I knew not before
– I have found a new group to help me feel connected
– I have been stuck in my life. Now I can find a way forward
– thank you! The first exercise pushed me out of my comfort zone but also created a safe space to share our innermost thoughts/feelings
– can’t begin to count the ways I have benefitted
– I learned that it is okay to share (thoughts/feelings/writing) and everyone has something to offer
– (learned to) let go of thoughts and feelings that are not benefitting me or those around me.
STORIES
Woolshed Waterhole
Louise Turner
White Cliffs
I didn’t think I would find myself living in and raising a family on a semi-arid rangeland block in the middle of nowhere. I do it because I love it and the middle of nowhere becomes the centre of everywhere.
For me, the place that is the centre of my everywhere is Woolshed Waterhole. I think of it as mine, but I share it with so many – husband, children, visitors, animals.
It is a peaceful spot, enticing me with whispers of stories – old, very old. For me, this old waterhole is wizened from the many years of travelers, both animal and human. It will not be manipulated.
Its graceful gums grow not how they ought to, but how they want to, arching over both sides this quiet spot, protecting maybe from the outside world.
It is my favourite place and when I think people, I conjure up stories and laughter, billy tea and biscuits, new people and new friends. When I sit under the arms and legs of the massive gums I hear the chatty birds and the crunch of the leaves. The twigs have been washed here from far away and dried out in the hot, harsh sun.
The wavy light from Woolshed Waterhole plays across the smooth bark of my old campfire and protecting gum. I see debris, blossoms and new grassy shoots. I love that the sun is shining and warm and bright. The wind is still and silent; it knows everything. It knows our stories before we do. It carries the stories of other that we cannot understand because we do not speak wind. It is timeless.
I feel blessed.
Thoughts on a Writer’s Retreat
Randel Greene
White Cliffs
The emus formed a welcoming guard as I turned across the creek,
I’d come to Goodwood station for Her Place, a writer’s bush retreat.
Could we write? Should we write? How do we start the process?
What is your dream? What do you want? Come share now, do confess.
The waterhole became the inspiration that we needed,
Trees and birds, breeze and water, all aspects to be heeded.
The shooters and the dogs we passed, all dozing in the sun,
Bemused by this women’s gathering, the talk, the quiet, the fun.
Biographies and children’s tales, one of the swinging sixties,
A traveller’s story, reflected glory, even one of pixies.
Different stories, different tales – all needing to be told.
All are valuable, all can dream. Just let the words unfold.
So thank you, Stephanie, for the chance to give our thoughts an airing,
We’ve made a start, we’ll follow through and tell you how we’re faring.
My Place
Marie Kelly
Ivanhoe
January, very hot, and I drove into the remote city in my Feroza, mate J9 navigating. A quick trip to bring a load of gear and pick up uniforms before I start a new job at the hospital in a week. Nothing looks familiar, it is 13 years since my last visit, as a 15-year-old on the way home from a school trip to the Gold Coast. I had remembered fondly the tiny towns either side of it, but this place had not left an impact. Well that didn’t matter as I was only staying one year and was heading back to NT!
I’m 28, the other new grads and most people in the staff quarters are 21-23 years old. I had always looked a few years younger, and I was happy to party with them so no problem! Work was different to other places I had worked, but it is a great place. Social life excellent. Not homesick for friends and family in SA, just for NT… but knew I’d be back there soon.
My comfort and competence in this workplace place developed well, especially when they moved me to ED – an achievement on its own. Old mate J9 is on to me about a 3-month trip to the northern hemisphere next year. Well I could stay until then, and go to NT after the jaunt.
Someone dared to suggest I should work in one of the remote communities nearby after the jaunt to prepare myself for the return to NT. I had lived with a burning desire to ‘be out bush’ since I was 15. This seemed a fast track option. So that’s what happened, working in the remote city I got many opportunities to further my qualifications. I was in one of the remote clinics within 18 months.
Wow I was in my element, love the work despite long hours, challenging nursing and distressing and traumatic situations, it was rewarding. The secret to lasting was time out with loads of travel and adventure on weekends, thousands of bush kms to all sorts of events and many interstate and overseas adventures. After a bit of moving around, more qualifications, I became manager of the clinic I had first gone to 5 years earlier. This life almost equalled the NT life. Now I say it is better.
14 years after my arrival I met the love of my life. “oh my god she is going to settle down at last at 42” I heard them say. Well my commitment to the little community continued and my love and I commuted the 410km round trip for over 8 years. Now I have made the move to be with him, and took up a job working across the whole area health service. Brilliant, as I love every inch of the place, I love the work, and most of all, enjoy the people I come into contact with.
Whoops, I didn’t get to move back to NT. There have been dozens of visits though, often the stepping stone to Indonesian holidays. Often to check the two properties I have purchased in Darwin, or to attend events or spend time with mates from the early days. Always a great time, but nice to return to my western NSW. Maybe I will return to NT to live there one day, but no use making plans, they sometimes just don’t happen . . .
Brave New Day at the Waterhole
Cindy Massey
Broken Hill
Alone in my skin in the company of others
Reflection on the water like memories
Feeling broken like the cracks in the earth
Feeling cleansed by the cool of the water
Feeling warmed by the heat of the sun
Feeling joy at the sight of the flowers, almost hidden in the grey
Alone and broken like the branch at my feet
Seeking to be healed by words on a page, memories I hold, and your love of the land
My patchwork bag sits by your chair in the quilt of earth and leaves
Solid ground strength to all
Water is life, life is love
I think of you as the breeze touches my skin
And the sunshine warms my heart
New life begins transformed from the old
A brave new day at the waterhole
Sister River, Brother Stone
Trisha Gregory-Hunt
Broken Hill
My Sister,
Where have you come from?
What have you done?
I am old yet young
Finite and infinite
Life and death … and I come for you
Sister,
Can you wait awhile?
Look to the spring
Where fresh rains fall and
Freshen through your folded deepening
Over sparkled, glittered pebble and sand
Sister, please….
Hear my whispered entreat
Wait for the summer
When the winged things come
To spend ecstatic first (and last) days
In that final (and first) exultant frenzied tango
Of neonate copulation, death
…… and promised rebirth
Written by Stephanie Dale, author, journalist & traveling writer; founder of The Write Road and Walk and Write.
Stephanie Dale is an award-winning journalist and author with a fondness for walking and writing. She is a passionate advocate for the visibility and voices of everyday people and focuses on supporting new and unpublished writers to write and keep writing. The Write Road is dedicated to empowering people to tell their stories, their way.
