We were fortunate to spend a lot of weekends and holidays enjoying time on the Murrumbidgee River. Obviously, growing up and spending so much time on her banks, playing on her sandy beaches, swimming and having fun in her murky waters, and canoeing significant sections of her, I have a soft spot for her and am grateful that we had the opportunity to enjoy time with her.

I call her Mother Murrumbidgee because she is kind and generous to those who live with her, she is strong and even though I enjoyed her company, I also had a healthy fear of the consequence of not taking her seriously when she was in flood….and I should mention her curves….she has beautiful curves that should only be negotiated with care.

I am trying not to ‘google-ise’ my blog, but rely on my personal memories, but to back up my claims on her expanse and provide insight into why I think she is magnificent, I need to refer to my friend Google. The Murrumbidgee River is the second longest river in Australia, flowing 1,485 kilometres (923 miles). Murrumbidgee means ‘big water’.  

Many of these weekend camp trips were due to my parents being youth leaders at St Peter’s Anglican Church in Leeton…..the first time I have brought religion into my blog….the fact is, it played a large part of my younger years and I can’t continue without bringing it in.

Youth group was open to everyone. I met a lot of interesting people there that otherwise I would have had nothing to do with. Because of the other kids that attended, I got to learn a lot about humour (that you didn’t get on the ABC), music (that wasn’t on the ABC) and more of the tolerance stuff! I have many fond memories of roller-skating disco nights (yep….loved my roller skates), with lights and music.

In Blog 1 I mentioned having to listen to my grandfather’s long stories without having the distraction of flicking through Instagram or the like.He had lots of stories, because he had spent a lot of time in the bush and shearing. He wasn’t a drinker, so the stories weren’t fueled by anything but his own enjoyment of sitting down and having a yarn.

One of our youth camps, he and my grandmother joined us on our adventure with the plan of teaching us all about ‘real’ camping….the camping you did without a caravan, or fresh food or a bed even….He was in his element! Captive audience! No distractions from technology….or even a phone!

His goal…construction of a camp bed made from tree limbs and hessian….because in his day, that was all you had to work with! There were probably a few intro stories about shooting and skinning rabbits and how delicious rabbit stew was if made properly….only a few people knew the secrets evidently! Anyway, he did indeed, construct a camp bed that we all got to try out. He didn’t sleep on it that night though….my grandmother would never have allowed it regardless of how much he would have wanted to reminisce!

I often used to think about the naming of the Murrumbidgee. Who told who? For all of the horrible atrocities in our history that surround aboriginal and white interactions, someone communicated this beautiful Wiradjuri name to someone who had the nous to realise that it was significant and important and needed to be kept. They perhaps didn’t realise the gift that was given to them in this name by people who loved her and understood her better than anyone did back then.

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