Meg grew up in Australia, reading Enid Blyton books, and the love of literature has never left her. Working as a teacher librarian made her wonder how she could have so much fun and actually be paid for the privilege.
My mother. Nature. The words are inextricably mixed. You’ve asked about my earliest memories of engaging with nature and its majestic power. Memories are tumbling and jostling. Violets, peach blossoms, lilacs, roses, weeds!
My mother loved her garden and I grew up watching her planting, weeding and harvesting. She taught me the plant names as she worked. And woven in amongst those gardening forays, she taught me “life”. Where did my resilience and fearlessness come from? Elsie. She brought down huntsman spiders from our bedroom walls. One sweep of the broom and out the window. Gone. No big deal. She demolished the snake with a few hefty blows of the hoe. (Yes, I know. Not so correct in current thinking, but her children’s safety came first, after all.)
We harvested small pieces of coal from the train tracks, we picked wild boronia from the forests and I lovingly took to school a bunch of colourful leaves from the rhus tree. Thanks, mum. My face blew up like a balloon.
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