A culture which draws its meaning from what is consumed will be a pantry full of products, lifestyles and ideas which can be purchased to create an identity. A culture which draws meaning from connection to the natural world, of sacred knowledge and complex family and kinship bonds, draws its meaning from deeper realities; a pantry full of soulful, earthy and spirit orientedd ingredients that are experienced to create an identity. All of these ingredients are elements of the imagination, how we picture ourselves in relation to others, family, community, society and planet earth.
These ideas drifted in and out of my thoughts as we left the oasis of Gregory River and headed north once more toward the Gulf Savannah. Like the towns we travelled through across the Kimberly and in the West, the towns of Normanton and Croydon have also taken on mythic status in my imagination, but for completely different reasons.
The ideas of identity and belonging, of origins and place began to excite my imagination as we neared Normanton and continued on to Croydon because for the past thirty years, I have heard stories of this part of the top end as this is Jasmin, Carly and Jack's grandmother's country. And these links stretch back to the ancestral homelands of her people, way before whitefellas changed their history for ever.
Family and historical connections still exist through distant cousins and through an amazing old man in Croydon whose enthusiasm for the history of his town and region has to be seen to be believed.
We'd spent an afternoon wandering around Normanton, doing all the usual touristy things - take photos and check out the places of interest, in particular the old train (the Gulflander) which has been in service since the 1800s. We'd heard about the train form Ivy, my ex-mother-in-law (now 90 years old) and were urged to take the trip to Croydon, but we decided to keep heading east. We stopped at Leichardt Lagoon for the night, doing battle with swarms of bugs and left early the next morning for Croydon.
The Purple Pub, Normanton.
Model of a famous salty in the area, Normanton.
A Variety bash outside the Purple Pub.
Normanton Railway Station - The Gulflander Train.
Leichhardt Lagoon x 3
Croydon is where Ivy was born and grew up, so as we drove into town I was all eyes, taking in the scope of the town and trying to imagine how it might have looked 90 years ago. We went into the Information Centre and to my surprise and delight I met with Chris, the historian Jasmin had told me she was in contact with. I sat for over an hour listening to his stories of the family and the town and as he spoke, a picture of what life may have been like began to take shape. We saw photos and a video display of the town and its people from days gone by, and I gleaned a little more insight into Ivy's life and subsequently my children's heritage.
Old house in Croydon.
Historic Court House, Croydon.
The old school house that Ivy attended.
Another historic building.
Me sitting with Chris as he took me through some family history documents.
Jack and Jasmin will be making the trip up here in October sometime and are meeting with family members and getting a feel for their ancestral country. For years now they have voiced their desire to return to their Nana's country and it is a strange coincidence that the three of us will have been here in just weeks of each other.
Connection to their indigenous roots has been paramount for my children in their search for identity. Each in their own way and own time has answered a deep yearning to understand and experience this connection through dance and literature and the arts. Through new connections they have forged links with both traditional and urban communities in both remote and urban settings.
Because I've had the children on my mind so much I thought I'd include some photos of them.
Jack, Carly and Asha.
Jasmin and Carly.
Jack and Asha.
Jas, Jack and Carly.
Carly Jane.
Jack in a performance of Lu'an (St Kilda Festival).
Jas, second from the left with Bangarra.
Jas and Jack.
Carly and Asha at the Rock.
Jas, front left, with Bangarra.
Jack Boy.
Asha and Uncle Jack.
* * *
From Croyon we hit the highway once again with Innisfail in our sights. We loved the Gulf Savannah that took us through Georgetown and Mt Surprise - driving through very similar country to the Kimberley.
As if someone drew a line in the landscape, one moment we were in savannah and the next we were winding our way through lush green paddocks and fat dairy cows into the pretty town of Ravenshoe. We collected supplies and then took a turn off toward Milla Milla through lush tropical rainforest and beautiful green rich pasture. We were headed for the Palmerston Highway which wends its way from the Atherton Tablelands down toward the coast and the town of Innisfail.
The sensory experience was overwhelming, and I went into a strange state, trying to take in the visual changes and trying to process them. I immediately felt as if I'd come home even though we were still well over three thousand kilometres from Melbourne. Being surrounded by tall trees and green pasture and rainforest, even though my childhood was spent in temperate rainforest, it made me realise how important connection to place really is - and how much landscape shapes our identity as much as any thing else.
View from the tablelands across to Bartle Frere.
Short cut from Ravenshoe to Milla Milla through rainforest and pasture.
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