This fortnight I had begun to write a post about libraries and their quirks, but after hearing the news that the re-elected Australian Labor government and our new Environment Minister Murray Watt is set to approve a 40 year extension on Woodside’s North West Shelf gas processing plant, ‘one of the world’s biggest liquified natural gas projects’, I took a fresh tack. I hope today’s newsletter reminds you of the interconnection between humans and other-than-human, that it sparks your rememberance of the importance of nature and the environment, that it helps you to consider how caring and being informed are two conscious ways to help protect this radiant, miraculous planet for the future. If you’ve missed the news, there are many articles around, but take a look at this one which, aside from the environmental ramifications, also describes the damage that will be done to 50,000 year old Murujuga rock art located close to the gas plant, due to acidic pollution. But please take care, breathe deeply, take a moment to feel the ground beneath your feet, and meet me back here to decompress afterwards.

I went head first down the rabbit hole this fortnight, and the more I read and understood the tensions on this topic, the angrier I felt. At the point where I started to feel utterly helpless I noticed a common theme: the lingering question as to what to do with that anger, and how to channel it into something positive. This is the moment I started to see a thread of something that wasn’t quite hope, but it wasn’t helplessness either. I’m not sure what the answer is, exactly, but I’m mulling over a few ideas. And I have no doubt that my answers will be different to yours.

I joined the dots with another environmental issue I have been reading about these past weeks: the plight of Lord Howe Island shearwaters. (Sorry, more misery, but I am going somewhere with this, I think.) I got to the point where these birds and their plastic was consuming my thinking (in amongst making school lunches, listening to complaints from a tween about having run out of bath salts, clearing out my email inbox and vacuuming - the juxtaposition in this suburban life is hard to reconcile at times) so I went out and I borrowed this book from the library to learn more about seabird conservation. While this isn’t the same species as the Lord Howe shearwaters, I realised that sometimes, when feeling helpless, taking action might be as small as spending some time learning about something of importance, something outside of the things that are right in front of me. I reminded myself that even when things feel dire, there are many ways to contribute. I’m not going to pretend that reading a book is a form of activism but, then again, maybe… it is? Maybe being educated and informed in a world of mis- and disinformation is one of the most proactive things we can do. Maybe, for those who have the means, it is even… a responsibility? I’d love to hear your thoughts on this.

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I strongly believe that it takes people of varying interests, abilities and skills to have a positive impact on nature and the environment - and that one of these skills or acts, is care. To care about something, to value it, we have to know something about it. One book that deeply impacted my thoughts around this was Joëlle Gergis’ Humanity’s Moment which I’ve mentioned many times previously. Joëlle’s work helped me to realise that no matter what your skills and attributes are, there’s no doubt you’ll have some ability to make a positive contribution.

When the path ahead feels unclear or overwhelming, I try to practice finding ‘the next right thing’. This week, that felt like finding clarity through small actions, like writing to the Environment Minister (twice), and to my local MP who replied last week. It looked like borrowing a book about seabirds from the library, and planting some indigenous plants in my garden. It looked like taking my magnesium at night time, and making things with my hands. It looked like reading Woodside’s Annual Report to make sure I am not getting siloed in my thinking. Your issues might not be the same as mine, but from where I sit it feels like the common thread is first caring about something, second, learning about that issue (away from social media’s algorithm) and third, doing one right thing towards what you visualise to be a positive shift. Then the next, and the next. If you were to choose one ‘next right thing’ on an issue you care about, what would it be?

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I went out for a long walk today for the first time in a few weeks - between sick kids and an assignment being due, walking is often the first thing to go. I took note of how dry it is here, how the crisp ground underneath my feet created dust as I walked, how parched the moss and the fungi is as it tries hard to grow and flourish. I saw a pair of tawny frogmouths fluffed up quietly together in a tree, verging on invisible. I couldn’t help but think about the disservice being done to this planet, and my children, and the animals I love, and there it was - hiding behind the worry and overthinking, that sense of care nestled within me. I care about our planet. I care about plants and animals. I care about humans. What is it that you care about?

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Other things…

• I’ve been listening to Dekker again, an Autumnal favourite (with a healthy dose of this album thrown in, up loud this week to combat big feelings).

• Progress is being made on my #sweaterno23, and I’m questioning whether I’m knitting the wrong size as it certainly seems enormous right now, but there’s no turning back.

• I loved this complilation of recommended nature writing. I’ve read 13 books from this list and have at least four more here at home waiting to be read. I can personally recommend Raising Hare (please read it), Fathoms, Underland, The Salt Path, H is for Hawk, and I adored Where We Swim. I could list more! I’m wondering if I should read nothing but books from this list for the next two years - they all look wonderful.

It’s the first of June today. The first day of Winter, and we’re part way through Waring (wombat) season here where I live on Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung Country. This is the season we’re invited to take a step back, to feel the earth through the soles of our feet and remind ourselves we are here. During this season we’re woken by cold, crisp, misty mornings. The days become shorter. On my walk we saw some cube shaped wombat droppings; wombats become active during this season. When I got home I tore ‘May’ off our calendar and saw the white expanse of June opening up before me. It was an immense relief to see some space. I intend to use it taking small, quiet actions: listening, reading by the fire, and stoking the embers of care within me to see what might rise.

And that’s quite enough for now.

Until next time, travel light.

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