Dust Storm (booroomugga) - from Burrowye to Booroomugga

Before Patrick John Kelly came to the country of the Wangaaypuwan (wongaibon) people he bought a property on the murray called Burrowye Station. I am currently following up whose land this was but it turns out I may know someone who is the descendant of these people. More to come on this.
After coming back to Moonahculla from Cobar and spending another few nights there, including going to the Blues and Roots festival curtesy of Cecily, I left to take the rented SUV back to Melbourne. However, I couldn't resist taking a detour to see if I could find Burrowye.
I drove east from Deniliquin to Albury and after stopping at a tourist info area I found the right road to take.
It didn't look very far on the map but turned out to be much longer due to the windy road. As the sun dipped in the sky I was plagued by thoughts that I was stupid to try to find this place which would most likely only consist of a road sign which, when I found it, I would have to turn back from and drive in the dark risking kangaroos on the road.
I pressed on regardless.
I did find the sign and the station. It was nestled in a valley surrounded by beautiful hills on the banks of the Murray river.

As I stood photographing the front gate thinking how lucky I was to have found it, my luck increased four fold as a farmer drove towards me in an old blue tractor just like the toy one I had as a child. He was James Houston the great grandson of the man who bought Burrowye at the turn of the 20th century. He graciously invited me to meet his very pregnant wife Charlotte who he said was interested in the history of the property. When I stepped into their house I immediately knew they were not the stereotype of the crusty old farmer I had expected to find. As it turned out, after some very rapid and excited (by me anyway) conversations, they were also artists and had both worked up north on Aboriginal communities and new many of the issues I was dealing with in my project. My attempt to excuse myself and plan to head back down the windy road to Albury was interrupted by an invitation to stay the night. Unexpectedly several hours later, I was sitting on the floor by the fire, drinking tea from bone china and eating a delicious desert.  I then slept in  a bed with the most beautiful old linen, presumable from James grandmother's day. Aside from their most wonderful country hospitality, I felt that I had connected in an unusual way with people who thought very similarly to me. They also gave me names of books and copies of photographs and details of the property which included PJ Kelly. I was also invited back to stay in their cottage which they are planning - synchronicity plus - on setting up as an artist residency! Obviously someone was guiding me on this trip from start to finish.

James and Charlotte Houston

They also had a delightful son named Joe. In the morning before I left I was driven up to the top of the nearby hill to see an extraordinary view. I was reminded of the colonial saying in regard to land ownership 'as far as the eye can see'. 

Evidently Patrick John Kelly had disliked the 'claustrophobic' effect of the mountains after coming from his fathers property in Sth Australia so he moved to northern NSW. I was entranced by those same mountains especially in the morning as the mist slowly rose.

View from the original orchard

James and Charlotte told me about a massacre they had been told about directly on the other side of the Murray from their property. I wondered if Patrick Kelly had been involved but it appears it happened 30 years before he arrived. However he would have been aware of it in the local memory. 
When I left I went looking for the spot. James said it was unmarked but it was near a place called Dora Dora. The only thing left at Dora Dora was the remains of an old pub.
As I drove down the road they had directed me to I stopped to look at a lone eagle circling in one spot. It was a small creek and a valley between two hills. The eagle continued circling and I took photos. It seemed significant. I decided that it was a sign that I was in the right spot. Another two turns in the road an there was the Dora Dora pub.

This journey has been amazing, yielding such rich stories and wonderful material to now uncover. I feel more at peace than I did before I went. My conclusion about this is that nothing my people did is unconfrontable, even if it is the worst of all things. Even if they were involved in massacres, participated in the worst of atrocities, (which by their very presence at the time, they would have either been directly involved in, or have turned a blind eye to, playing golf while their fellow human beings were ripped from their land and way of life) I am able to confront it and own it. This is far better than avoiding these issues and pretending that it's all in the past. That way is full of troubled shadows and furtive glances away from the direct gaze of my fellow human beings who happen to be Aboriginal.

This is also just the beginning. My next stage of work will be profoundly influenced by this experience. My fingers are already twitching.