Fires, land clearing and the value of nature

Like many, I have been dwelling on the tragedy of the extensive bushfires in the past weeks especially having been in Brisbane these past two weeks where the smoke is a continual reminder. Taking the active hope approach which forces one to start with gratitude and I’m in awe at the beauty and diversity of our bush and marvelling at the ability of nature to deliver such force yet to show ultimate resilience it seems by the response over time to recover. This has always seemed to be the case yet there is increasing evidence of the stress we are putting on nature to keep being resilience in the face of our ongoing impact.

It is somewhat easy to sit in the pain of the moment hearing for personal stories of loss and suffering and imagining the destruction of the bush on such a massive scale across so many habitats, the animals and birds, the fragile environments of rocky outcrops, etc. While I haven’t been to most of the specific locations of the fires, I’m reminded of the impact of the  fires in my local landscape.

 The media has focussed on the human aspect which is understandable yet when it turns to nature it seems to be more at the emotional heartstrings of a koala rescue and not much detail on the broader environmental concerns. The climate change aspect seems to be a media favourite to encourage polarising and politicising even when the science is so clear cut which further exasperates me.

Amongst the despair I’ve dwelt on the tragic ongoing land clearing, not just in the Amazon but also here in Australia. In the context of prosecutions over illegal clearing, a farmer put it clearly when explaining that the value of his property increases if he were to clear it. That simple comment demonstrates the value, or lack of it we place on our bushland. We reduce the value of our bush to being an economic commodity. Even in the fire context, the value of losses were almost always in the losses of machinery, houses and general infrastructure. It seems we just expect the bush to heal itself over time and in the past that is what happens but the ongoing stress puts that into question.

But seeing with new eyes (the third stage in the active hope spiral), we need to stand up and acknowledge the true value of our natural world. Some councils are beginning to do this by putting a dollar value on each tree  such as the City of Perth Tree Amenity Valuation Method:

Tree Value = Basic Monetary Value X Tree Size X Aesthetics X Locality X Species X Special Species X Form X Condition X Habitat X Significance.”

Of course it is far more complex than that but at least it is a start in the right direction.  

I’m still sitting with the broader question of how can we move towards having a farm that has higher value by preserving or increasing bushland than one that is fully cleared. Even with a disregard to the spiritual and moral factors of bush perseveration, will we learn to appreciate the connections to water table health, pollination and soil wellbeing?  

The final stage of the spiral is that of ‘going forth’ – what actions am I called on to take? This seems more difficult right now given the contagious feelings of overwhelming helplessness that seems prevalent. It has certainly re-affirmed my motivation to support land regeneration through Trillion Trees locally in Perth both donating and being involved in plantings. But for now I will continue to sit with that challenge and maybe just continue conversations of what can be a pathway forward.

My dog as spiritual guide

The first stage in the active hope spiral framework is gratitude. Live in the moment; live a life of gratitude - It is quite easy to say rather than to do. For guidance on this topic I could consult books about saintly types but they are just words words words. A life of gratitude is a practice requiring a change of attitude that is really hard at times. It is one thing being grateful when in the good times like you are on the receiving end of a gift you want or when things just go your way. But being grateful when you're on the losing end, when things don't go your way, when you are in pain or sick or stressed or just tired; that is really hard. Luckily for daily guidance on this I just have to look at my dog.

Our new dog Djilba is excited just to meet my gaze at the start of a new day: expectant, hopeful, looking for the cue for when I'll rise and walk towards the front door which sets him off completely in a frenzy of excitement for his morning walk. Or when I arrive home of an evening, his little tail wagging away and jumping with joy. True, I shouldn't seek to overstate or indeed romanticise the motivation of the basics of a walk and food but away from those moments of pure joy, Djilba exudes the affection of a grateful being and seeks to do everything to please us. At other times he will join me on the couch content to sidle up and be close. A short whistle will have him bounding to come. Surely he doesn't always expect food for enough times a whistle just seeks his presence – and I think that is enough for him. To be wanted, to be close. He doesn't have a poker face – his body language does not betray what is going on inside.

It is tempting to think that a rescue dog such as Djilba should always be grateful for their new life. This assumes he can compare his difficult past against his current life of inner-city luxury – 'he landed in doggie heaven' as Anne says. But I really think he just lives in the moment.  

Our previous dogs, Willow and Bubbles, suffered in their last days but still managed to show affection and gratitude as they always did. They know they were loved and cared for and they responded to this.

Who knows what dogs are really thinking but their outpourings of gratitude are a daily reminder of what is to be present and grateful for the simple things in life. They don't seem to be worried about tomorrow's prospects for a walk or food, just todays. So in response on my active hope journey I have sought to begin my day with a walk to be conscious of being grateful for the moment, for the sunrise, for the beauty around me, for my health and for the opportunities that may come my way in the day ahead. A good start at least.  

Photo: Willow and Bubbles in their latter days - contented and grateful.

What Learning Noongar has taught me

Kaya, nganyang korl Joe.

Ngany kaadidj nidja Noongar moort boodja wer koora-koora wer yeyi wer mila.

Ngany djerapin nidja boodja-k wer kaadidj nedigar wer boordiya wer koora-koora wer yeyi wer mila.

A bucket list item that I finally got around to in 2019 was to learn the Noongar language, the indigenous language of southwest WA. I was prompted by the combination of hearing WA Chief Scientist Peter Klinken speak in Noongar after telling his experience of hearing the widely accepted Maori greeting at a NZ conference; and soon after seeing an online course from Curtin Uni advertised. See https://courses.edx.org/courses/course-v1:CurtinX+CAS1x+1T2019/course/

This excellent course, overseen by Marion Kickett and Simon Forrest and featuring a cast of eminent Noongars such as Noel Nannup, George Walley, Della Rae Morrison and Gail Beck among others.

In the introduction Marion says I think it's great for non-Aboriginal people to learn the Noongar language. It connects you as non-Aboriginal people to Noongar people. And with that connection we can build a wonderful rapport and acknowledgment and respect of each other. I subsequently checked in with a few Noongar friends including elder Doolann Leisha Eatts to see what they thought of me learning Noongar and they were all very supportive.

So somewhat sporadically I’ve logged in and followed the 6 chapters and have been able to learn not just individual words but phrases and sentences though I confess to needing to follow this up as I haven’t practiced it and forget things more easily at this stage of my life.

The first word learned was the greeting kaya and one that I’ve previously knew. What I perhaps didn’t fully appreciate is that the role of the greeting seeks to make connection and for strangers it is about finding out how your mob relates to their mob. I see you and I want to understand how we connect.  

Seeing videos of people like Noel and George speak Noongar on country further confirmed my desire to better appreciate and absorb the aboriginal spirit of connecting to nature and understanding with the consequence of having to share and fight for our natural world even more.

As George says Noongar words are ‘more than just words’ when you learn Noongar words in relation to nature and the environment, and the meaning of these words, you start to understand how words hold knowledge within them. For example, the Noongar name for river and umbilical cord is the same – bilya. Noongar people see the river sustaining life; just like the umbilical cord of a baby in the womb sustains an unborn baby’s life.

My first public outing speaking Noongar was to provide an acknowledgement of country to about 30 supportive types. I was more nervous about remembering the words and pronunciation than anything else. After some initial platitudes a more honest feedback emerged from friends that spoke of their unease as I spoke – a combination of ‘is he showing off’ and ‘are we appropriating their language as well?’ This actually resonated with me as I recall hearing someone whitefella do what I’d just done and that was my immediate reaction as well. So I learned that I had to communicate what Marion and Doolann had said before speaking Noongar in public to address this unease. It is a shame that we feel inhibited about learning Noongar because of this perspective. Of course the ‘showing off’ thing is harder to address but if more people start doing it, then it would help encourage the speaking to become more acceptable and mainstream.

How does this relate to Active Hope? Well it relates to my desire to better understand indigenous perspectives and in particular my connection to the natural world around me – a significant part of my spiritual journey.

So as I continue my journey I invite you to have a look at the Curtin course – it is free and accessible.

Translation from opening

Hello my name is Joe. I acknowledge this is Noongar family/ people’s country from long long time ago to now to future. I happy to be on this country and acknowledge Ancestors and Elders from long long time ago to now to future.

Acting on my inner discomfort: A night on the Bibbulmun track

For some time I had been hoping to have a ‘men and boys’ weekend out bush as an opportunity to role model for teenage boys in particular. This turned into a ‘men and kids’ (boys and girls) then ‘adults and kids’ with my friends Andrew and Jen and their two kids John and Chiara, while I took David (11) and Dillon (14) (originally from Lombok). David is addicted to his phone while Dillon has an anxiety issue – both good kids and perfect for my taking out bush ambition. Neither had spent time in the Australian bush but were keen to come with me.

I’ve spent many nights out on the Bibbulmun track (a walking track from Perth to Albany), mostly solo or with a friend or two. This one was different in many ways – firstly there were seven of us and it didn’t involve much walking as we parked off the Brookton Hwy and walked less than 3km to the Brookton campsite, a new rammed earth hut built after the fire three years earlier. Dillon asked on the way if there were snakes, to which I said that I hadn’t seen any on the track up this way which I thought would alleviate his fears. Of course I was proven wrong as within the first hour Dillon almost stepped on a snake! I had been trailing at the back of the group and only caught a glimpse and while he thought it was a tiger snake I thought it more likely a dugite. Luckily he escaped unharmed and didn’t seem too affected.

We arrived at the hut to find an older fella, Sean by himself and my first instinct was poor fella as our noisy group set up house around him. He looked pale and gaunt and quite reclusive and I gave him space and focussed on setting up and getting dinner and the fire ready. An hour after our intrusion another guy turned up out of the blue and said his mates were just behind him – how many mates were there? Another five! To my disappointment, he had driven to the hut, though he had a bad leg so I tried to overlook my judgemental moral high ground position. They did break open the beers a bit later and celebrated their gourmet meal of quails and other very non-Bibb track fare. Meanwhile Sean kept to himself in the corner and was in his sleeping bag even before darkness set in. We were an odd assembly in the Brookton Hut that night.

Of course the kids loved the fire and playing spotlight and roasting marshmallows. I was happy they were fully engaged in the experience and getting along with each other. The boys hadn’t even known what a banksia was and I had to remind myself of such a new and raw experience they were having. At my level I had inspected the rammed earth hut and marvelled at the variations in regrowth after the fire. Many trees and grass trees hadn’t survived - a testament to the ferocity of the fire.

Despite the noisy conversations going on after midnight outside, we slept quite well. By sunrise I was awake and enjoyed a 6am stroll to greet the morning. Then it was the busyness of breakfast preparations while the kids reignited the fire. Dillon slept in until I rustled him up before 8am conscious that we had to be on our way before 9am to meet other appointments for the day. The flies responded quickly as the heat of the day (max 36C) set in. The other group were up and out early.

Meanwhile Sean was still camped in the corner. I wondered if he was waiting until we vacated to become a bit more active. Over the years I’ve met so many hardened old fellas on the track and had put him into that tough generation category with not much to say. He had walked into the hut after all and had well worn leather boots. When I asked how he was feeling he said fine, though his pale appearance indicated otherwise and he was a bit more vague with his responses than the previous day. We offered toast and he accepted and I wondered if he had much food at all. I ensured his cup and water bottle were filled. Otherwise I was focussed on packing up camp, encouraging the boys to get ready, and trying to squeeze four sleeping mats and three sleeping bags into my backpack for the trip back.

After dousing the fire, saying farewell and leaving the camp clean, we set off. As I walked away I felt discomfort to leave this sickly looking older man by himself. What was his story? Was he suffering from a terminal illness? Had he come out to die? Though he had said he’d only been there a few days, was this really true and was he really going to leave the next day? I started sharing with Jen. The kids were also wondering about him and Dillon had discovered his wife had passed away. I had the horrible thought of him dying out here and a group with kids coming across him perhaps a few days later. After a few minutes of ongoing discomfort I felt called to act. I ditched my pack announcing that I was going back. I ran with growing conviction though not really knowing the best approach to the situation.

He was still lying in his sleeping bag and it didn’t take long for my questions to confirm my suspicions that he was very unwell. He was disorientated, quite unresponsive to my questions even though I was being as cheery and non-invasive as I could be in an otherwise awkward conversation setting. He’d said that he had no food. The flies had established themselves all over his face and he wasn’t bothering to chase them off even when they went over his eyes. He had a car but he didn’t have keys, they were in the unlocked car apparently. I eventually got him to agree that if I got his car back to the hut that I could take him home, wherever that was. I returned to the group and we established a plan, Jen would take the kids to Kwinana while Andrew and I would drive my corolla back to the hut if we couldn’t  get his car. The kids were appreciative, Dillon even commented ‘you are a good man Uncle Joe’.

He didn’t have his car there so the Corolla ventured up the authorised zone only track. I slowly and carefully guided my city car back to the hut. Andrew and I went over options including the scenario of him refusing to come with us and resisted attempts. As it turned out he didn’t have that much energy. Fortunately Andrew was with me as he wasn’t even able to walk. It took us a solid 5 minutes to manoeuvre him to the car. At times he convulsed and locked his legs and I wondered if he was in fact close to death. He had no ID, and his pack was light though he’d had a few crackers and some cheese left.

Upon reflection, my experience of living with Anne’s dad Vince served me well as I’d had experience of dressing and manoeuvring an older man, plus a way of conversing in a non-threatening manner. Andrew shared his training in pastoral care so I think we made a good pair.

We took him to emergency at Armadale Hospital. The young doctor firstly asked why we hadn’t called for an ambulance which surprised me – an ambulance would not have even found him and it would have taken hours. Not having any ID was an issue but I had found his box of codeine which had came with a prescription. They were able to find him on their system, complete with a home address and next-of-kin details and he had even been there just four weeks before. We were able to leave him to be admitted in a wheelchair, satisfied to know he would be looked after. We returned to Kwinana to further debrief.

Several days later I phoned Armadale hospital. At first they couldn’t find a record of him and while they said they weren’t allowed to divulge information, I was able to glean sufficient details to track him to Charles Gairdner hospital. They let me know he was in intensive care but stable. No, he would not have survived out there and quite possibly he would have been found by an unfortunate walker in a bad state. His future may not be that secure but at least he has a chance and his family can at least be with him.

Our one night on the track was quite eventful! I hadn’t expected it to turn out that way but I certainly achieved my aim of role modelling to young teenage boys. My inner voice of discomfort was a good teacher and I’m glad I acted on my conviction when others would probably have walked away.