Sam Leader, Mullumbimby
Today I drove to the Mullum Farmers Market in my Subaru, skilfully avoiding potholes en route. I returned home and helped my kids pack their stainless steel lunch boxes before walking them to the bus stop.
Back home, I smudged my office with sage, lit an oil burner and took some drops prescribed by my kinesiologist (for ‘removal of creative blocks’) and spent the rest of the morning working on my feminist manuscript.
At lunchtime, I peeled a carrot into the kitchen caddy, which was lined with a Who Gives a Crap wrapper, and ate it along with some hummus from Santos. I had a browse of The Echo, then sat down to compose this letter.
Do I win a prize for the most Mullumbimby-ist morning ever? Perhaps other readers could share details of their Mullumbimby mornings. (Note: my partner made the astute observation that if the prize were for the smuggest morning ever, I’d win hands down.)
For four decades The Echo has printed the stories some people loved, some people hated, and some pretended not to read. If you want us to keep telling the truth, the real truth, not the sugar-coated version. We’ll need your support to keep the presses rolling. 
