Month: April 2026

Remembering, and Who Is Remembered

Today is Anzac Day. I have always felt some ambivalence about this day. As someone who abhors violence, war and nationalist rhetoric, I feel uneasy when it is framed as a great patriotic occasion. I do want to honour the fallen soldiers and the sacrifices they have made, especially as the impact of war extends beyond the military to families and communities. I am just not sure that Anzac Day, as it is often observed, is the best way to do this.

For too long it has been used to stir patriotic sentiment and, at times, to encourage young men to enlist. It is also a contested space when we consider who is, and who is not, included in the nation’s collective memory.

The sacrifices of women and Aboriginal servicemen have only relatively recently been recognised. While Aboriginal men were often among the first to enlist in the world wars, they had to overcome the colour bar, sometimes by denying their heritage. In the army, they were often accepted as equals. This changed upon their return to civilian life. During the war they could share a beer with their mates and eat at the same mess, but afterwards they were prohibited from setting foot in pubs or RSL clubs. Their contribution to the war effort went unrecognised for far too long.

It is against this background that I read reports of today’s Anzac Day ceremonies with dismay. I feel appalled, and deeply saddened, that white nationalists have attempted to hijack the day for their own purposes by booing Aboriginal elders as they Welcomed attendees to Country.

A Welcome to Country is a gesture of goodwill. It is an act of respect, inviting all of us to share in an ancient tradition of acknowledgement and belonging. Honouring Aboriginal service, and recognising the full truth of our shared history, is part of that same work. It is a necessary step towards reconciliation.

Lest we forget.

Markets, Maple Syrup and a Wide Open Mouth

Saturday mornings are for going to the market. Even when I don’t need much, I go because I enjoy the ritual. Many people need to change things up to find their vitality. I need repetition and ritual to feel grounded and truly present. It is the simple acts such as putting the harness on the dog, getting the bags ready and choosing to walk through the park that make the trip joyful. I pause to say hello to strangers and listen to snippets of conversation as people pass me with their bags or trolleys, all heading to the same place. Passing us on the other side of the narrow track are the early birds returning with their bounty.

Today, my aim is to buy fruit and transform it into delicious baby food for my granddaughter. She has become a voracious eater. Rather than buy processed food with additives, I have taken it upon myself to cook and bottle food that contains only fresh ingredients and an extra large dollop of love.

The dog is used to the routine. I tie her up to one of the posts as she looks across at all the other dogs, patiently waiting, tied up along the fence. Then I disappear into the fray. I already know where I will buy the apples and pears but, as they will be heavy, I leave that purchase until last. Before I buy anything, I walk down every aisle, getting acquainted with what is on offer and which of my favourite stallholders has come this week. Among the many bread stalls, I find my favourite sourdough halfway down on the left. Tempting as they are, I only look at the native plants. Maybe next time, if I manage to get on top of the weeding in the meantime.

After succumbing to Greek ricotta donuts, I head to my favourite fruit stall. It is run by an elderly, weathered woman with long grey plaits, who comes every week from Batlow on the south west slopes of NSW. Unlike supermarkets, she sells a wide variety of apples, some that haven’t been seen on shelves for years. She also sells cheap, misshapen fruit that tastes just fine and is perfect for stewing. She drives two and a half hours to get to Canberra, starting her journey at about 4am to arrive in time for the market. I am in awe of her stamina and her commitment to come each week.

The dog is on the lookout, searching for me as I come out of the hall. The rucksack is heavy and I feel my centre of gravity shift as I bend down to untie her. Our walk back is slower, but it still only takes ten minutes to get home. After a cuppa and two of the delicious ricotta donuts, I am ready to wash, core and slice the fruit. To give it a little zing, I add a generous amount of cinnamon, strawberries and some maple syrup. Once soft, the mixture is blended and poured into sterilised jars. It is delicious.

Later in the afternoon, I deliver the goods. The hungry little possum is rapturous. Her mouth opens wide as the loaded spoon approaches. She repeats the wide gape again and again until the contents of a large bowl disappear. Her delight is all mine.

Through the simple act of preparing freshly sourced food, I am strengthening the connection between myself and my daughter’s family. These meals provide sustenance for the body, but also carry care, intention and love. Making and sharing nutritious meals has always been my love language.

The shape of a morning

Walking in the park across the road is a daily ritual that offers both quietude and community. This suits me well. I have never been drawn to binary thinking, dividing everything into rigid oppositions. I need the nurture of nature and that of people. It is this interplay that holds my days together.

Some mornings I choose the short circuit, aware of time’s fiendish presence urging me to hurry so I can get to work on time. Yet the moment my feet touch the earth, I resist the urgency, keen to be present to whatever nature offers that day. It may be the sound of a dry stick breaking underfoot, the squawk of a parrot, or the swishing and swaying of stooping gum leaves.

Autumn approaches and the weather shifts. The cool air on my face awakens me to the beauty of the moment. A long blade of bent grass, the smooth bark of blue gums, and Majura mountain framing the vista quicken my spirits. A slow breath in, a pause, a slow breath out, and I feel lighter, part of this landscape, not simply an observer.

In the distance, I see the wave of a hand, and a dog I recognise bounds towards me. I wave back to a fellow dog walker who has, over time, become a friend. Morning hellos have drawn me closer to the people who live in this community. We exchange a few words, learn each other’s names, tentatively invite one another in for a cup of tea, and a friendship forms. Friends introduce friends, and a small community expands to take in another kindred soul. I feel privileged to be included in their company.

As I near home, my thoughts turn to work and the day that awaits. I feel the urge to stop, to look back, to take one last glance at the pond, the trees, and the ever-present mountain. I feel held in its ambit, and it is this feeling I carry with me. It will guide me through the day. And if not the whole day… then at least until my first break.