Saying Yes

Posted on March 18, 2015 by Kama

Waking up in Wellington, New Zealand this morning, I am still humbled by the kindness of strangers. A handful of them made my stay in Australia magical (and of course are no longer strangers). These humane humans also devote their lives to rescuing, rehabilitating and releasing wild animals.

They’re people who “just say yes”: Yes, I’ll give my spare bedroom to a wombat-obsessed American for a week. Sure, I’ll bottle-feed an injured possum with a thumb-sized bottle every two hours for a month. Right then, I’ll drive you around Canberra for a day of sightseeing. Yeah, I’ll pull over on the highway right now and check this dead kangaroo’s pouch, using a flimsy plastic grocery bag as a glove. Yup, let’s drive two hours each way to pick up a scabby wallaby from another wildlife carer who doesn’t have space for her. Absolutely, this blind elderly wombat can live with my family and I for the rest of his natural life. Yes. Yes.

You know how when you’re traveling in a foreign country everything is a thing? The littlest tasks like filling your car with gas, making a phone call, frying an egg. It’s like you’re a little again and the grown-up locals have to show you how to do the most basic things. But my hosts never made me feel dumb, just laughed with me when I laughed at myself. Then they would usually make everything okay by putting an animal in my lap.

I was in Australia for two weeks and only spent one night in a hotel. I am the luckiest. Here are some of my main kind strangers (now friends). I’m sure the animals are grateful for them, too.

Donna of Sleepy Burrows Wombat Sanctuary (with Cruiser)

Phil and the girls of Sleepy Burrows.

Dianna of Rocklily Wombats (with Wiggles)

Warwick (right) of Rocklily Wombats, with George the builder

Janine of Shoalhaven Bat Clinic

Wendy (right) of Shoalhaven Bat Clinic with her partner Jenny

Gerry, founder of Shoalhaven Bat Clinic

Trifecta

Posted on March 10, 2015 by Kama

Three experiences over the last 24 hours have made me feel like I’m on drugs.

1. Last night I lay on a trampoline and looked up at stars. There’s zero light pollution in the bush, of course. The Australian sky includes something called the Southern Cross, which I only sort of knew about from the Crosby Stills and Nash song. I think in the song it had something to do with sailing. Anyway, last night the stars were so bright and numerous that there seemed to be tiers and layers and levels of them, suspended at different lengths from beyond the tippity-top of the universe.

2. This morning I sat with two wombats in their enclosure and communed with them in such a way that everything felt like it was going in slow motion. Maybe that’s what being in the moment is all about. I don’t have a lot of practice being present but I think the wombats are changing that.

3. Then, today Donna’s fundraising partner took me on a tour of Canberra (the country’s capitol, and a way underrated city) and to the National Gallery. We spent most of our time in the Aboriginal wing and once again…mind blown:

Tanks

Posted on March 6, 2015 by Kama

A wombat is a cross between a bulldozer and a tank. There’s even a group of young wombats here named for WW2 tanks: Sherman, Panzer, Lincoln, Abraham, Barron, and Cruiser.

Wombats use their heads like battering rams and their butts like lethal weapons, crushing the skulls of their predators against the wall of their burrows (that would be called a “bum buck”). You don’t want to mess with a fully-grown wild wombat. They’re all muscle, sturdy and squat. They’re also faster than they look. They don’t suffer fools gladly.

Nor does Donna, the founder of Sleepy Burrows. She is also super-sturdy (though much more shapely than a wombat). Good thing, because there’s a dark underbelly of caring for these furry little tanks. She regularly witnesses profoundly horrible treatment of these creatures and steps in to make things right.

She’s made of steel, but has a heart of red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting.

Three Signs

Posted on March 5, 2015 by Kama

On the road to Sleepy Burrows Wombat Sanctuary I saw this sign:

Upon arrival at the main gate of the sanctuary, this sign:

And soon after, the sure sign of a contented wombat—a milk-drunk grin: