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Two months have passed since our September residency and we have finally touched down again on dear earth, addressing ourselves this time to the aptly named Palm Beach, a small, dry rectangle of brittle grass, sloping down to an achingly beautiful high tide, lapping at the grass and mangroves, and bringing with it the cool, black mulch of leaves and other treasures. At the north side of the west facing park, the eponymous palms gathered, in pleasant, shady company with soft, flaking tea trees and whispering casuarinas. A good deal of vine material was sourced for weaving, which Tricia Dobson, Julie Menzies and Tania Budd set about collecting and shaping. Tania dedicated her mangrove leaf bowl to those who perished in the White Island Volcano in New Zealand, sending the flame coloured treasure off in cool eddies of the shallows. Other like leaves gathered about it in familiar company, forming a spontaneous circle about the bowl.
Sharon Jewell collected a range of objects, logs, coconuts and made of the small park a temporary sculpture garden. We returned to Spring Street for lunch and conversation. We talked about the presence of our ancestors in our lives, about the resonance of the land and of Scotland, and Tenant Creek, anger, love, gratitude and forgiveness. Then it rained. Torrential, loud, sparing nothing kind of rain that made its way across the veranda, into the house via windows, doors and fissures. It was joyful and exhilarating. It has been a very long time since we have seen, smelt, heard, felt rain like that.
