In June I spent a week in lutruwita Tasmania and journeyed to lunawanna-alonnah Bruny Island. I stayed in a windswept old farm house on a hill. There were pine cones to collect from the pine forest, fires to build from wood dragged up from fallen trees and black cockatoos a plenty. I walked down to the cliffs at the end of the property and scampered down the sand stone to the rocks below. I collected oyster shells from the shore line and chipped off oysters to taste them. Live and salty they were soft to touch. I pocketed some shells and took them back to the house and lined them up on the deck. I called Laura to ask her what sort of oysters they were and she confirmed that these were the Pacific Oysters. 

I was shocked. The invaders! The colonising species. How different they were. How plentiful. How large! How they clinged on!

We discussed if I could bring them back to work on them and with them. I found them beautiful and so different from the Baludarri. On her advice, I collected the shells and placed them in a bucket of chlorinated water. 

It came to pass that I left them in the bottom of my friend’s garden. They would not travel with me.  I would not work with these shells nor share their stories. They needed to stay.