My Mentors

My Mentors

By Donald Bambrick

The term seen in some reference material, BCE, often refers to Before Christian Era. In these crazy times, for many, when referring to events of only a few years ago, it is beginning to mean, Before Covid Era.

In the middle of 2019, which was the latter BCE, I took a payout from a job I really disliked.

There was a lot of dust, hot metal, hundreds of stairs, and I felt like I was just about the only one in my section really doing any serious cleaning up on all the machinery becoming coated in a powder that eventually absorbed moisture and set like cement.

It was demoralising, but for some reason, I stuck it out, although my friend, Willow, told me it was killing my soul.

Then, after another round of redundancies, I found myself to be just about the last man standing who would use a crow bar to clean up the growing mountain of rubbish.

So, about a year after the last redundancy, I was offered a payout.

I jumped at it.

I was over sixty and had quite an amount of superannuation I could draw on, without being taxed on it.

My plan was to put the bulk of it against a mortgage, and after a holiday, seek out another, easier job.

Then, as all know, late in 2019, Covid 19 came along. Jobs started shutting down left right and centre.

Now, I lived in a small rural community, an hour out of the major regional centre of Rockhampton in Central Queensland, Australia.

My little bush retreat was beginning to need a fair amount of TLC. Trestles, Ladders and Concrete. Some years before, a category 5 Cyclone, TC Marcia, had wrought havoc and destruction on much of Central Queensland. My place suffered a bit of superficial damage but my orchard was flattened.

I thought the requirement to isolate as much as possible was really me just living how I liked. You see, when I was only 54, I read an article about E stories, and thought I might give it a go. I became sort of obsessed and wrote a lot of things along quite a few genres. It was my escape from reality, and people. I am published on Amazon, and occasionally sell at markets, however, I think I shall never rise to financial freedom or fame. Probably a good thing. I doubt I would like to be recognised whenever I went to town for supplies.

Not that I hate humanity, but just so many of you together is just anathema to a person who likes trees, tranquillity and time alone. I dislike loud music, crowded pubs, and smokers.

Now, I know some humans I liked, but had never had the time to catch up with. A chap I know as Birdie, and Willow, both took me under their wings.

I was nicknamed Bambi. It was a childhood nickname anyway and I accidentally mentioned it, and so I was renamed again.

Rather than thoroughly enjoying my home renovation tasks, I became bored, well, actually, somewhat depressed. You see, with the never-ending list of repairs that I discovered needed doing, each was related to another repair requiring a fix.

It was akin to a mountain of little mole hills, each little stone building a huge cairn.

In short, I got nowhere fast. And I bled money on materials for the tasks.

Birdie and Willow began to suggest I come along and work with their little environmental projects.

I did know some people there, but most were strangers. However, what everyone was doing was good and desirable environmental work, albeit as volunteers.

Only a two-hour stint, twice a week, but tea and coffee were supplied after, with biscuits and cake, and a good old-fashioned whinge about aching joints and difficult weeds. I think I was probably the youngest there. My years of heavy physical work had me still being strong, and I often tackled the more difficult plants needing ripping out of the ground. Invasive lantana and an introduced Cassia variety, not to mention all the guinea grass choking out small native plants and grasses, and the introduced or escaped garden ornamentals.

Birdie started trusting me to work alone, but not too far from others, for safety, and Willow got me involved in her yoga classes.

She spoke of the need for stillness in life, to just sit with eyes closed, and listen to life all around. She talked about the maddening rush that was forced upon people, and how they let that intrude and dominate their personal life. She spoke about the false pursuit of personal material wealth instead of personal mental health.

Birdie spoke of his passion for environment and birdlife. He was a wildlife photographer and his photos appeared in local newspapers. I began to notice the birds more, and it seemed I had a good eye. I was able to tell Birdie about nests and other things, and he managed to capture some brilliant photos.

And not only birds. One site we were at had a tidal marine water hole, and one day I noticed two stingrays in it. I managed to zoom in with my phone and capture them. I showed Birdie. It took him half an hour, but he finally managed to take some very good pictures.

He asked how it was that I saw so much that he missed. I said I just looked around to assess my location and always looked where there was movement. Sometimes a bird flitting about, and this time, movement in water. I live in a location where we have 8 of the worlds most venomous snakes. You learn to be aware. I sometimes relocate some of those intruders from my abode.

Part of what we did at the marine site was remove rubbish, and I brought a pair of gum boots, which helped me remove bottles, cans, plastic and other human rubbish from the marine environment. I was appreciated for getting into the water and cleaning up. Few others were keen on that.

I began to feel really appreciated, and realised that occasional time spent with good humans was actually quite nice. You are not all bad. Smiley face.

Slowly, Willow drew me into her circle of beach clean up people, doing orchestrated weekend blitzes on local beaches for an organisation called Tangaroa Blue. She thought the ocean was her mother, and was deeply passionate about the ocean and marine life. She, and her circle began to rub off on me.

There is a young marine scientist we call Data Girl, and she groans at my dad jokes, then laughs. Another we call PK, who rises early before work so as to patrol beaches for turtles and plastic debris. His passion is turtles. His sunrise photos on Facey are sometimes stunning, as well as short clips of turtle hatchlings heading to the water. Such beautiful and perfect miniatures.

Not only did they clean up masses of tide borne rubbish, but they data logged it in an attempt to determine sources, and hopefully, help to reduce rubbish, particularly plastics, at the source.

I found myself drawn into it more and more, and without really realising it, I seemed to have become a mentor to new folk. I think I am re-learning people.

After about a year of volunteering, and a little paid work through a firm Willow worked for, my money was getting low. I started seeking full time work, and as some places were opening up again, I began to find full time work.

Sadly, this meant an end to environmental volunteering.

I now work shift work for a transport company, unloading freight and even running deliveries.

I still love my me time.

As I work really early hours, waking at 2 am, when I have my days off, I sleep.

Me, and my tranquillity. I abhor chaotic surrounds. Some of you thrive in them, but slowly, I am learning to let it wash over me and be gone.

My time alone helps me endure my time with all you noisy, uncaring, boisterous, impatient, littering, and polluting humans.

My sanity is preserved by sitting and listening to wildlife sounds.

I may not have found this peace in my life without Birdie and Willow, quietly mentoring me in life and worthwhile activities.

Willow is soft like eroding water. She doesn’t push hard, but slowly, she changes you.

Birdie just led by example, showing what to do, and thanking us for what we did. In many areas, it was not that obvious what we did, but he took photos, and showed us what our areas had looked like before we started. We had a sense of pride and achievement.

And a good old-fashioned gossip afterwards.

I miss them.

I am still a few years away from pension age, but I reckon when I do retire, I know what I will be doing in some of my spare time.

Well, apart from this never-ending list of repairs.

Covid is starting to spread like wildfire across Central Queensland, since we opened our border.

I hope I make retirement and get to enjoy it.

I now have a fairly good Canon digital camera. Mayhap, if I practice stillness some days, I may see something Birdie will be envious of.

You see, my little rainforest block has Wampoo pigeons. Possibly one of the most psychedelic birds you will ever see in flight. Wampoo pigeons like rainforest too.

Maybe I won’t share my photos. People might want to visit and see my pets, as I refer to the snakes, birds and animals that wander as they will, in and around my little retreat.

There is a song which has lines like; “Let me inside you, into your room.”

Perhaps I have been ‘Closed’ too long.

I must think about whether I want you all intruding.

I must speak to Willow about this.

Since I wrote this, I have shared this with Willow. She replied that it was an interesting pondering.

I am a volunteer rural fire fighter, and treasurer of my local hall.

I have been at large fires, and seen the damage, and felt the emotions of those affected. I was affected as well. Although this story seemed mostly about me, it really was about those who care, and are not paid for it.

To me, all who volunteer, giving of their time for the community benefit, selflessly, are no less a hero than those paid public servants who get so much recognition.

In my little way, I consider my two most close mentors as my heroes.

But, to all those untold millions of volunteers, thank you.

You are worth billions to the economy, and are of untold worth to those you help in times of need.

Thank you so much.