“That was Eddie’s place there,” she says, pointing to small hollow set back from the beach. It is overgrown with bamboo, and at this hour of the morning is sitting in the shade of a hill rising steeply behind it. Vines run across the yellow sand and down to the beach like cargo cultists. All around, the beach is littered with round, black, basaltic rocks, a kind of volcanic bowling alley. Some have been gathered together into a circle, a rough wire grate above them, cold black ash below, and are surrounded with translucent yellow shapes of turtle shell. “He … Continue reading The Drum On Murray Island: Mark Roy

I’ve known him for years but have no idea of his name. We sit and chat and don’t understand a single word of each others’ language. But Cowman as I refer to him in my mind spends his life tending to his small herd, four of them and, currently two calves. His cows live in a small homemade shed propped up beside the pathway which leads to a local beach. Most mornings I try to take a few bananas to feed the ‘Daisies’, skin-on is their preference. I call them all Daisy and they are the healthiest cows I’ve seen. … Continue reading … ’til The Cows Come Home: Roger Garwood

Creamy was named at birth because she was almost completely white, like froth on a cappuccino. It’s not immediately noticeable but she only has one ear. Before her eyes were open she wandered off from her birth mother who pulled her back by grabbing her ear which became a casualty of the rescue. Her hair is impeccably silky. She is groomed daily and showered once a week. Energetic and inquisitive, Creamy is a delight to onlookers but an occasional trial to her doting human. “She only eats the best food; when I eat steak she eats steak, when I eat … Continue reading Lady And The Trash