On the edge of the Gibson Desert, it is Sunday morning. To avoid the heat, I have been out early to water my co-workers' garden and plant a few hedging plants in my yard.
I am now in another world. The Internet is a wonderful thing, I have coffee in the cup and Garrison Keillor on the Internet radio. Sounds of A Prairie Home Companion in St Louise fill my Donga while I get the humdrum weekly household tasks out of the way.
Blackstone is very quiet today as the mob are off in Sorry Camps at Wingellina and Jameson.
Soon the Sorry Camp will move here as there was more dreadful news, our own lovely old man, Mr. Jackson died last Thursday night. His daughter and son in law are driving up from Perth and when they arrive this community will move into sorry mode. How can a man of such beauty and life be dead.
I have been trying to get a history project on the go, funding is very difficult to come by. I revved up a few people last week, pointing out that our oldies a dying and their stories are dying with them. I have booked Thisbe to come for the month of April, I will need to get the money from somewhere. Thisbe has a great report with this mob and speaks the language. We will start recording the stories of those few who are still with us.