20.7 C
Byron Shire
November 27, 2022

S Sorrensen’s Here & Now: The journey

Latest News

A treasured community asset

The Bowlo, a treasured community asset in Bangalow very popular with young families, is now destined to be part...

Other News

Cinema: Black Panther: Wakanda Forever

In the sequel to Marvel’s Black Panther, starring Chadwick Boseman, who played King T’Challa, the Black Panther and the...

Concern over Belongil Creek fish kill event

An investigation is underway into a fill kill event in Belongil Creek earlier this month.

Piccadilly Circus comes to Mullum

When it comes to the art of complaining, I’m among the best. Ask my friends, my partner, my mum-in-law – the cat…

Varroa mite detection sees Red Zone expanded

NSW Department of Primary Industries Varroa mite tracing and surveillance work has confirmed a new detection of Varroa mite, as field officers continue hive inspections with beekeepers across the state.

From Margaret River to Byron to save veterans

William ‘Will’ Burnett served in the RAAF for ten years in logistics and ended his career as a well-established physical training Instructor. After his discharge, on his return from the Middle East, his mental health declined and he struggled through the clinical health system.

A treasured community asset

The Bowlo, a treasured community asset in Bangalow very popular with young families, is now destined to be part...

Image S Sorrensen

S Sorrensen

Waukivory. Saturday, 8.35pm 

I left my shack under the cliffs at the dawning hour on a clear day in the supercharged summer of the year 230 (since invasion). With my little caravan clipped securely (I hoped) to my Superoo, I nosed out of my valley, crossed Leycester Creek and was at once cruising the backroads, keeping the rising sun on my left. Waukivory, land of the Worimi and Biripi people, place of bald rocks, talented musos and swarming flies, lay to the south.

In my hand is a cocktail. I don’t know its ingredients. The cocktail-maker poured different coloured spirts into my glass, added some soda water and a slice of lime. The spirits, homemade and unlabelled, are lined up at the bar, a sparkling spectrum of sozzle: green, blue, yellow, red… In my glass is a mixture of the green and blue.

Alcohol is the drug of celebration – the legal one at least – and that is what I’m doing in Waukivory: celebrating. I’m celebrating a marriage.

Waukivory is a long way from the Homelands, and the journey here is a perilous one. There are ranges to climb, and many rivers to cross. There are strange people with tattoos who cluster outside bakeries in rustic villages and stare as you drive by with Jimmy Cliff wailing from your car speakers.

There’s a dead wombat, feet-up, at the base of a look-out-for-wombats sign.

There are rivers that demand that you swim in them – so you do, despite the no-swimming sign. (Who dares refuse a river?)

Travelling to Waukivory is not for the faint-heated. At journey’s start, I was apprehensive, but after conquering Thunderbolts Way I have confidence in my little rig, and I appreciate the precariousness of life. Plus, I have reached Waukivory Hall, a little country hall built in 1932, set among the cow paddocks and overlooked by abrupt rocky mountains.

The cocktail, surprisingly, tastes really good. Blue and yellow is a sophisticated combination, creating a fluorescent cyan in the glass and a breathtaking afterburn in the throat. With my glass I salute the groom’s father, who made these spirits. He’s sitting with his other son under a photo of two blokes with whiskers and axes standing beside a massive tree stump. He acknowledges my salute with a nod and satisfied smile. It’s a good night to be a parent of the married couple.

Marriage may seem irrational. How can anyone say they’ll love and be with someone forever? It seems such an unreasonable vow. Who can know what the future will bring (apart from hotter summers)? There’s enough irrationality in the world already – bottled water, January 26 celebrations, shark nets – without adding to it.

Coming south, I avoided highways. Highways are fast, efficient and unsurprising. Like McDonald’s, you know what you’ll get with a highway. You learn nothing. The backroad, however, is a drive into the unknown; every corner a mystery revealed, every side road a question to be answered.

On stage, musicians are rocking out a Brazilian tune loaded with sexy syncopation and peppered with Portugese. The dancefloor is packed. The bride, from Brazil, is with her family and Brazilian friends, and they’re moving to the grooves in funky Latin ways.

The newly married couple has taught me something: Marriage may well be irrational but, hey, life is irrational. (Driving Thunderbolts Way with a 60-year-old caravan is irrational. Drinking by colours is irrational. My trying to dance the samba is irrational.)

The newlyweds have raised a finger to rational – and pointed it at something bigger: love.

Love is the last magic left. And magic needs ritual. Marriage is the ritual that activates the power in love.

Marriage is taking the next exit from the highway.

Marriage is the backroad that leads to who-knows-where.

 

 

 

.

 

 


Support The Echo

Keeping the community together and the community voice loud and clear is what The Echo is about. More than ever we need your help to keep this voice alive and thriving in the community.

Like all businesses we are struggling to keep food on the table of all our local and hard working journalists, artists, sales, delivery and drudges who keep the news coming out to you both in the newspaper and online. If you can spare a few dollars a week – or maybe more – we would appreciate all the support you are able to give to keep the voice of independent, local journalism alive.

2 COMMENTS

  1. At dawn I left my shack from under the cliffs on a clear day in the heat of a super-hot summer. My caravan was securely clipped on the back of my superoo and I was in my boots and not my shoes. This trip was to be no hop, step and a jump as the accelerator went down and we hit the tar with a rumble, down the valley, crossed Leycester Creek and over the rickety bridge with the hum of the tyres forming a backdrop to my imagination of what was to begin in the back roads dust kicking up on the curves now and again.
    The glint of the rising sun came intermittently through the trees on my left. This place was so indigenous far from the city. I dreamed of the Waukivory, land of the Worimi and Biripi people, place of bald rocks, talented musos and swarming flies, it all lay ahead.

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here

Curious statements on Assange

The couple of letters under the headline of ‘In Defence of Julian Assange’ contained some curious statements in an attempt to justify the unjustifiable.  Marc...

Emergency radio tower

An emergency radio tower is proposed for Teales Lookout, Koonyum Range. It is proposed by the telco authority via Catalyst One Pty Ltd, via Amalgamotion...

Ballina water supply

A recent Echo article regarding Rous County Council’s plans to access Alstonville ground water through bores for its Future Water Project 2060 via an...

For the record

Since early January 2020 when the COVID-19 pandemic started, when the world population started to be informed of the new health danger facing everybody,...