28/09/2026
One of my fondest memories of my Nan was walking our bush block as a kid during the Spring.
We would head off down the back of the 14acre bush block, finding a good walking stick along the way to see if the wildflowers had arrived yet. I don’t know whether there were really ones called egg and bacon, but that’s what my Nan called them. With the end of her bush walking stick she would point out the violets, and would become the most excited if we happened to spot a wild orchid.
I probably complained about these meanderings as a kid, as she probably didn’t know at the time that the simple act of Spring bush walks with me would become a core memory. (As well as bush fishing where we would find long bendy stick and see how many ‘leaf fish’ we could catch)
When I spot these flowers now on my walks I love this connection with my Nan. Knowing she would be smiling down as I pause to marvel at their gorgeous colours and beauty, like these ones I spotted yesterday and got to show my son.
Sometimes the small simple acts make the most memorable impact.
