Cleaning, Preening, and Paintings of Dreaming

The problem with an out and back trip, is that no matter how good your intentions, the way back is always faster. It had taken us 10 days to get from Fitzroy Crossing to Kalumburu. It took us three to get back, including gorge stops.

A Kimberley Shower

Not much had changed at FC either. Looking and smelling like Burke and Wills would have if they’d survived their epic exploration, we checked back into the caravan park, rescued Kimmy from the clutches of the inappropriately pony-tailed park caretaker Daryl, and backed into site 53, again. This time, I allowed plenty of space between the van and the willow tree to ensure our exit would be drama free.

First on the agenda, a good cleansing.  I am aware that cleansing is often paired with the word ritual. Sadly, for the Backsons, this is not the case, although the generalisation does apply more to some family members  than it does others. No matter, each child was sent off in turn with soap, loofah, scrubbing brush, and shampoo. When they’d finished, off went the adults, although Sara yet again preferred the cramped confines of Kimmy’s shower, to the generous and relatively clean surfaces in the nearby ablution block. The result on all fronts was a shimmering, apple and cinnamon scented success. I even shaved off a fortnights worth of beard, and seven months of hair. I am now the final Backhouse brother-in-law to admit that I too, love the Wahl.

Canoeing on Fitzroy River at Mornington Wilderness camp

The next day dawned. Homework loomed. The pathetic, desperate scent of procrastination hung over the kids as they watched their Weetbix turn to glue in their breakfast bowls. We’d anticipated a long morning, and we got one. It’s amazing how out of practice the kids can get; how a task that could be done in one hour, takes three to be done poorly. I wouldn’t be a teacher for quids. You are saints Kev and Ben.

Still, threats work pretty well, and the thought of being left alone in the park got work done to an acceptable level. We’d already visited the hospital, Ivy having developed a nasty wound on her leg that was growing rapidly. The locum GP from Melbourne pretended we were local and indigenous, and as a result Ivy scored free antibiotics from the dispensary. So, given that that had been crossed off the must see list, we went into the local art centre.

Falls at Bell Gorge

Many aboriginal communities have these. They are usually professional and well run. We’d struck this one in the middle of a stocktake sale; picture Myer on Boxing Day, except that the crowd consisting of us and a dirty, fat, sociable dog called Smudge. Shoes off, we initially tiptoed around the hundreds of canvases heaped over the floor, before we stared to copy the lead established by Smudge and Ned, and began walking with decidedly less caution. The kids lost interest in dots and waterholes after a while, so we grabbed one painting we liked and went back to the van for lunch.

Ivy fishing on Lennard River. No barra to be had.

The concept of bargains kept gnawing at Sara whilst she was gnawing her way through home baked bread rolls. We left the kids in the van under the strict observance of our elderly German neighbours, and headed back to the centre. There was something delightfully childlike and free about leafing lazily through the piles of pink and orange and yellow and green and brown. The colours we saw on that floor were the colours we’d been driving through, walking in, and sleeping under for the past fortnight. We left with two more pieces, (Amy Nugget, Penny K Lyons, and Rosie King the artists for those that want to know www.mangkaja.com ). One big, one smaller. It could easily have been four works, and we still aren’t exactly sure why we chose what we did, but we are certain they’ll bring back great memories and add colour when we hang them up back in Camberwell. Mind you, the kids didn’t like our choice, but that’s fine; we didn’t like theirs!

So that was Fitzroy Crossing. Not much of a town, but a place that has proven to be a reliable staging point for us in the Kimberley. We left today for Purnululu National Park, home of the Bungle Bungle.  I think you’re not supposed to pluralise Bungle Bungle despite the fact that Bungle Bungle should really be Bundle Bundle and is the local name given to hundreds of massive beehive like domes, their pluarlity demanding an “s” be placed after the last Bungle or Bundle... No matter, linguistics was never my thing, but then neither was geology and they’re supposed to be pretty impressive rocks. Might need to get Mikey out here to sort everything out once and for all.

H