Reflection on the River

This review below is from Robert, a local archeologist who has been living on the shores of the Cooks River for generations. Robert came along to a workshop and shared his thoughts below, about deep time, and the embedded ancient wisdom that there is in every blade of grass. It is kind of magic and at the same time reminiscent of ancient everyday reality.

Thank you Rob.

Cooks River delta, ancient salt marshes.

Rob Maxwell

Spring 2019

I am an archaeologist by trade, so I am used to seeing things in terms of deep time.

Many out there in the wider public think in terms of days, weeks, months, and sometimes years – but rarely do many of us think in the centuries and millennia. Thanks to my training and my scholarship, I have been afforded that rare privilege.

Being able to see, think and act in accordance with Deep time has become known amongst some as the “long now”. Evidence of the long now can appear in a myriad of ways. From the geological stratigraphy of a beach cliff to the internal fire of a sapphire; time spans beyond the human lifetime can be an abstract thing, but thanks to my friend Diego, I now have a new way to engage with not only time, but space, culture, place and identity. I got all this on the day before Beltane 2019, via foraging along the Cook’s River parklands.

Diego is an expert in his field, and I have never met anyone so respectful and at the same time so deeply knowledgeable and generous with his information as Diego. As an Italian migrant and a Scots-Norse convict descendant, we of course acknowledged first and foremost that this place we both call home is and always be indigenous land, so we paid our respect to the elders and ancestors of this place, past, present and those to come. Both Diego and I freely admit that there are things we will never know about this place we call home, however long we live, as they are not our things to know. This is as it should be.

What I got was a wonderful collection of stories, facts and observations, which literally changed the way I saw my home. In an instant, everything changed. One day, the grass was grass. Now, it is Chickweed and Amaranth and Brassica, Mallow, Warrigal greens, Fennel, Fat Hen and Dandelion, all spread out along the river as she winds her way through groves of Casuarina, the Mother Tree.

These species are a mixture of native and introduced, and some of them are a bit of both. Like our distinction between ‘food’ and ‘weed’, native and non-native is not as simple as this-or-that. Plants will move on their own; they will traverse oceans and cross land masses through completely natural means, with or without humans to assist them in their voyages.

The place we call the Inner West is home to hundreds if not thousands of species which can and have been food, medicine, recreation and myth. There is no such thing as a weed, decried Diego, and now I completely agree with him. Our designation of ‘food’ or ‘weed’, of ‘medicine’ or ‘nourishment’ have been shaped and restricted for centuries by those who produce and supply the bulk of the world’s resources – multi-national conglomerate companies. By changing the way we see the plants around us, and by knowing them as vital, useful, life-supporting entities in your own home environment, you can engage with ecology and biodiversity on a deeply personal and profound level.

In addition, the plants allow us entry into a world of ancient traditions and stories from all over the globe. They silently sing their songs of sustenance and healing, of protection and perception, all around us, every day. The plants of the urban landscape help us engage with the world we have inherited from our ancestors in countless ways

Now the green verges of Enmore and Erskineville, St Peters, Newtown, Darlington, Tempe and Stanmore are revealed to me in ways I had never seen before. My knowledge of the local flora is now deeper – modestly so – however I cannot thank Diego enough for the gifts he shared we me that day, one day before Beltane, on the banks of the Cook’s River.

Thank you Diego. Let’s do it again soon. Meet me under the Mother Tree.

Robert Maxwell
Maxwell Archeology