21/08/2026
"The morning sun painted the red dirt of the red center a deep, glowing ochre as twelve-year-old Harry laced up his boots. Today was different from any other Saturday. Today, his grandfather, Grandfather Baru, was taking him deep into the bush to find the hidden clay beds. Harry was a modern kid. He loved playing football, watching videos on his phone, and hanging out with his friends in town. But he also felt a deep pulling in his chest whenever Grandfather Baru spoke about their ancestors, the Arrernte people, who had walked this exact land for thousands of years. "Leave the phone in the truck, Harry," Grandfather Baru said, his voice deep and smooth like river stones. "Out here, you need to listen with your ears, not your eyes on a screen. "Harry nodded, slipping the phone onto the dashboard. They walked in silence, the dry spinifex grass crunching beneath their feet. The air smelled of eucalyptus and baking earth. As they walked, Grandfather Baru stopped by a twisted white gum tree. He tapped the bark. "Your great-grandfather used the wood from trees like this to carve shields. Everything we need is already here, Harry. You just have to know how to ask the land for it. "Harry looked around. To an outsider, the bush looked empty, almost harsh. But as Grandfather Baru pointed out the faint tracks of a goanna in the sand and the specific birdsong that signaled water was nearby, the desert began to come alive for Harry. It wasn't a wasteland; it was a map. After two hours of walking, they reached a dry creek bed shielded by large sandstone boulders. Grandfather Baru knelt down and began to scrape away the grey topsoil with a flat piece of wood. Beneath the surface, a rich, white and yellow clay appeared. "Ochre," Harry whispered. "The clay of our stories," Grandfather Baru said, smiling. He scooped up a handful of the dry earth, mixed it with a little water from his flask, and rubbed it between his palms until it became a smooth, thick paste. Grandfather Baru looked at Harry. "Are you ready to carry the story? "Harry stepped forward. With a steady hand, his grandfather painted two clean white lines across Harry’s cheekbones and a broad stripe down his forehead. The clay felt cool against his warm skin. As it began to dry, tightening slightly, Harry felt an strange wave of pride wash over him. He felt connected to the ground beneath his feet, reaching all the way back to the first campfires of his people. "Now," Grandfather Baru said, handing Harry a small canvas bag. "We take some back for the community elders. They are painting the new mural at the school on Monday. "Harry filled the bag carefully, ensuring not a single grain of the precious clay was wasted. On the walk back to the truck, the sun began to dip, casting long, dramatic shadows across the landscape. Harry didn't miss his phone at all. He looked down at his hands, still stained with the white dust of the ochre, and realized he carried the past and the future at the exact same time".
This story was used as inspiration by Ethan, our Indigenous curriculum teacher, for the children in our Kindergarten room. Over the last few sessions, the children worked on their canvas, creating their own beautiful masterpiece!
